It was a little after ten o’clock and for once Lord Digby had settled easily, taking to his bed without any protestations when Rose had suggested he might be tired. She had sat with him for a while, listening to his deep, even breathing, only rising when she could be certain he was completely settled.
She planned to take Lord Digby’s shirts that needed washing downstairs and then go to bed herself. It had been a successful day, with Lord Digby enjoying the change in scenery more than she had expected him to, but it had been tiring to always be alert, never knowing how her master would react to the different people and places.
‘Is he settled?’ Mr Digby called as Rose passed the study. She paused, poking her head round the door.
‘Yes, he’s fast asleep.’
‘Come in here, Rose.’
She stepped into the room and was surprised when Mr Digby got up from behind his desk and came over to meet her.
‘I have a surprise for you,’ he said.
He’d been quiet in the carriage on the way back from the picnic. After they had rejoined Lord and Lady Cambridgeshire, they had stayed for half an hour more until Lord Digby awoke from his after-lunch sleep and then had quickly said their goodbyes. Lady Cambridgeshire had embraced Mr Digby before he had left and made him promise to visit again soon, and Rose fancied she had seen the sheen of tears in his eyes, although she knew he would never admit such a weakness.
They had travelled in silence in the carriage with all attempts at conversation halted by Mr Digby’s monosyllabic answers to her questions. When they had arrived back at Meadow View he had hopped down from the carriage, assisted her and Mr Watkins with getting Lord Digby out and up to his rooms, before disappearing without a word.
‘A surprise?’
‘Yes, to say thank you.’
Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘Thank you? What for?’
‘For encouraging me to talk to Lady Cambridgeshire.’
‘It was a worthwhile talk?’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t elaborate further and Rose wasn’t sure she wanted to push him.
‘I am pleased.’
‘I was too absorbed in my own feelings to realise hers should come first.’
‘No—’ Rose began to say, but Mr Digby continued before she could say any more.
‘I need to put her feelings above my own. She is the one who matters.’
‘No,’ Rose said more vehemently.
Mr Digby looked at her, perplexed. ‘What do you mean, no? It was what you said to me when we were in Lord and Lady Cambridgeshire’s.’
‘I said you needed to consider her opinion, her feelings.’
‘And that is what I did.’
‘I did not say her feelings should come above yours.’
‘Of course they should.’
Rose closed her eyes in frustration. She wanted to grip his shoulder, to shake him and tell him he was a person, too, someone who deserved not to suppress their emotions to make others more comfortable.
‘She lost her brother, Rose. I was the reason she lost her brother. Of course her feelings are more important than mine.’
‘No,’ Rose said sharply, giving in to the urge that had been building and reaching out for him. She gripped him hard, her fingers digging into his skin through the layers of shirt and jacket and shook him. ‘You cannot dismiss yourself so easily.’
Before he looked away, Rose saw the same thing she had seen earlier in the day before the picnic. She wasn’t quite sure what it was—perhaps defeat, perhaps self-loathing—but it was not healthy. It pained her to see him think of himself in such a way.
After he had first spoken to Lady Cambridgeshire, when they had taken the stroll through the orchard and spent the time in the rowboat on the river, he had seemed positive about the conversation between him and his friend’s wife. There had been something almost celebratory about him, as if he was finally going to start forgiving himself, but Rose could see now he had mused on Lady Cambridgeshire’s words, pulled them apart and found new meaning.
‘You have to forgive yourself,’ she said softly, knowing her words would not get through, but needing to try anyway. ‘You must let go of this guilt. It will kill you.’
‘Maybe that is what I deserve.’
‘No. You don’t believe that, not deep down.’
He took a long, shuddering breath and then shook his head. ‘In my darkest moments I have believed that, but I do not now. It would be pointless—dying will not bring Frederick back, it will not atone for what I did. While I am alive, I can try to do some good and that at least is worthwhile.’
‘You cannot live like this,’ Rose said, reaching up from his shoulder with one hand and placing it on his cheek. It was an intimate gesture and Rose was aware she had trampled over the boundary that was supposed to separate master and servant, but right now she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Every time she looked at him, she saw a man suffering, a man crying out for comfort even though he would never admit it. She could give that comfort.
His eyes locked on to hers and she felt a pulse of attraction pass between them. For a long moment neither of them moved and Rose’s fingers felt as though they were burning where they made contact with his skin.
‘Rose,’ he said and sounded like a man who was drowning.
She stepped closer so their bodies were almost touching as his hand came up and covered hers, pressing it to his cheek.
‘You deserve some happiness,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly and inside her body her blood pulsed quickly through her veins. She felt her cheeks flush and every part of her felt on edge, as if waiting for something spectacular to happen.
When Mr Digby leaned forward and kissed her, she felt her legs tense to stop them from buckling and was grateful for the arm he looped around her waist. For a blissful moment there was nothing but the soft lips of the man in front of her. Rose felt her whole body sway and press against Mr Digby’s and for the first time in a very long time she felt warm in the embrace of another.
The kiss was long and deep, full of passion and emotion, and Rose had never experienced anything like it. She felt as though Mr Digby were drawing her into his depths, claiming her as his own, never to relinquish her. In the moment the idea excited her and she fervently wished the moment would never end.
It was inevitable that the kiss was going to end, but Rose kept her eyes closed in the desperate hope that she might prolong it. Only when her lashes fluttered open and her eyes locked with Mr Digby’s did the spell break. She felt him stiffen and then pull away, looking at her, aghast.
It was not the reaction any woman dreamed of and Rose felt a stab of pain run through her chest and into her heart.
For a long moment neither of them moved or spoke. They were standing only inches apart, both breathing rapidly, both desperately trying to understand what had just happened.
‘Rose,’ he said eventually, ‘I am sorry, that was unforgivable.’ His posture was stiff and his voice had a clipped edge to it.
She turned away first, unable to cope with the maelstrom of emotions that were fighting for prominence inside her. Kissing Mr Digby had never been the plan when she had reached out for him. She had wanted to ensure he was listening to her and to convey the importance of what she was saying, but as soon as her hands had reached out it had set off a chain of events that had made the kiss inevitable.
‘Rose,’ he said again, but she did not turn, holding up a finger, begging him to give her a moment to compose herself.
This was not where she wanted her relationship with Mr Digby to go. She had planned to offer friendship, if a maid could be friends with her mistress’s son. After seeing his pain earlier in the day, she had thought to try to help him through it, the way Lady Digby had helped her when she had arrived, broken and desperate, at Meadow View two years ago.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She shouldn’t be hurt Mr Digby had looked at her with such horror—it was exactly the right reaction to have. Any developing feelings she had for him needed to be crushed straight away. This was exactly the sort of situation she had promised herself never to get into again. Although very different to her affair with Mr Rampton, father to the two children she had been nanny to, it would end the same way, in disaster.
There was too much imbalance with him holding all the power and her vulnerable to his every whim. What was more, she valued this position too much to do anything to jeopardise it. Lady Digby had helped Rose build her sense of self-worth again—through quiet kindness, she had made Rose realise not all employers would take advantage of their servants. That was too important to risk ruining her life for a kiss.
She turned and saw the despair on Mr Digby’s face. Right now, she could not coax him through it. She knew he would be berating himself for giving in to the desire that flowed through him, for even thinking for one moment that he deserved the temporary bliss a passionate kiss could give.
‘That was a mistake,’ Rose said, so he wouldn’t have to. She saw the relief blossom on his face and realised this was another reason nothing could ever happen between them. After her time with Mr Rampton, she had promised herself that if she ever did seek out a relationship again, she would only be with someone who would love her without limit, without any caveat.
Part of her was still broken from the way Mr Rampton had used her for his own pleasure, without giving anything back emotionally. Mr Digby was different, but he was still not able to love her, not when he had so much grief and guilt pent up inside him stopping him from living his life. ‘We both agree it was a mistake.’
‘It was unforgivable, Rose.’
She held up a hand and shook her head. ‘Your conscience cannot take another thing you are punishing yourself for. Do not add this to it. It was a mistake, an overheated moment, that is all. I suggest we forget it ever happened and continue as we have been. I do not want to have to avoid your company and I certainly do not want to add to the burden you carry.’
‘A mistake,’ he murmured, nodding in agreement.
‘An innocent mistake. One we both made. No one person is responsible.’
‘I am in a position of power...’
‘And I am perfectly capable of dealing with unwanted advances,’ Rose said firmly. ‘If I had not wanted to kiss you, in that moment, I would not have kissed you. You would have received a firm knee to the groin and, in all likelihood, you would still be rolling around on the floor in agony.’
This made him smile, and Rose felt a pang of regret. In another world, in another life, she could see them having a very different relationship. Despite initially finding him stiff and formal, Mr Digby was a genuine man and she found pleasure in his company. Perhaps if they had both been born to a different station and their paths had crossed, they would have had a chance at a normal courtship.
‘I am sorry, Rose,’ he said again, taking a step forward, then catching himself. ‘That was unforgivable, especially after you told me what you went through with your old master.’
‘You are not like him.’
‘No, but it is still a position you should not have been put into.’
Rose forced a breezy smile on to her face. All she wanted to do was run away and hide in the sanctuary of her room, but if she did that the relationship with Mr Digby would always be strained. She needed to stay here and pretend she was not affected by what had happened.
‘Perhaps not, but we both are equally to blame. Now, shall we forget about it?’
‘It shall be as if it never happened.’ He said the words, but at that moment Rose could see he didn’t believe them.
‘You said you had a surprise for me.’
‘Yes, although I will understand if you did not want to go through with it tonight.’
‘Show me the surprise, Mr Digby.’
He hesitated only a moment, then led the way out of the study into the dining room. Set out on the table was a light supper, beautifully prepared, with an open bottle of wine and two glasses.
‘Perhaps not the best idea now,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘It looks as though I’m trying to seduce you.’
‘Was that the plan?’
‘No, it wasn’t. I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing a meal with you and one of the finest bottles of wine in my father’s collection.’
She could see what he had been trying to do, bridging the gap between them. Despite his unconventional living situation these last few years, it was hard to forget he was the son of a baron and one day in the not-too-distant future he would inherit Meadow View and the wealth the Digby family had amassed over generations.
In comparison, she was a maid, destined to work hard, long hours for the rest of her life. Already she had pulled herself up from the gutter and avoided the life many orphans born on London’s streets faced, but she was realistic in knowing there was a ceiling above her and she would not be able to rise much further.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sitting down. She appreciated the gesture, but now more than ever she felt the gulf between them. It would be nothing short of foolish to think they could be friends.
They ate in silence for a moment, the awkwardness stretching out between them. She kept seeing Mr Digby’s horrified face when he had pulled away from the kiss and knew, whatever she told herself, that wound would hurt for a while.
Richard knew he should say something, anything, to fill the awkward silence, but his mind was still reeling. If he was completely honest with himself, he could admit the attraction and desire had been building between him and Rose for a while. There was something about her that made him want to draw her closer, to disregard the differences in their social stations and follow the yearning he felt deep inside. Every time she came close, he felt the hypnotic pull of her deep brown eyes and had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her.
Tonight had been too much. When she had reached out and grazed his cheek with her fingers, he had not been able to think of anything but kissing her. Every reason it was a bad idea deserted him and he was left with the overwhelming urge to pull her close and make her his own.
In that moment of the kiss it had been blissful. For the first time in years, he felt as though the weight he carried was lifted from his shoulders. He thought nothing of the past or the future, only of her lips brushing against his.
Now he was almost overcome by guilt and regret, and by a terrible frustration, too. Kissing Rose had been unforgivable, especially with what he knew about her old master. Richard was in a position of power and he should know better than to abuse that, but he had not been able to resist as her body had pressed against his own.
As she sat there across from him, sipping on the wine, he wondered for a moment what life would be like if he allowed himself to fall in love. He had this wonderful image of tumbling into bed with Rose at the end of a long and satisfying day, his guilt over his past crimes lifted, allowing him to enjoy a full and satisfying life. It was never going to happen, but for a moment it was good to indulge in the fantasy.
‘You said you would tell me about your childhood,’ he said, reaching for any safe topic of conversation.
‘I am not sure you want to hear about it, it is not the most uplifting of tales.’
‘You are an orphan?’
‘Yes, my parents died when I was young, my mother first and then my father a few years later.’
‘Did you have relatives who took you in?’
‘At first, but my extended family did not have much money. I would stay with an aunt for a while and then, when circumstances changed, I would be turned out to fend for myself until someone else took pity on me.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Five.’
‘Five?’ he repeated, incredulous. ‘No five-year-old can survive on the streets of London by themselves.’
She held out her hands. ‘I am proof that they can. I was not on the streets the whole time. There was a church orphanage that I lived in for a while and various relatives would keep me for a few months at a time, especially if they thought I could be useful.’
‘What five-year-old can be useful?’
She shrugged. ‘I looked innocent.’
‘Innocent?’
‘My job was to stand in the middle of the street and cry, create a fuss. When some well-to-do lady or gentleman stopped to see if they could assist a lost young child, my uncle would sweep in and pick their pocket.’
Richard’s eyes widened, realising quite how dire Rose’s young life must have been. He knew that thousands of people lived that way, especially in the cities, but it was a world apart from his own upbringing and difficult to think about a child in such awful circumstances.
‘As I got older my uncle taught me to pick pockets. People are cautious around a hulking thirty-year-old man with a scar down one cheek, but an eight-year-old waif of a girl is a different story. He would make me scrub up and have my aunt plait my hair so I looked at least a little respectable, and then I would move among the gentry at Covent Garden or Bond Street, lifting purses and any other valuables I could get my hands on.’
His eyes narrowed as he thought of their first meeting on the bridge in St Ives. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he would accuse her of picking his pocket when she had spent her childhood doing just that.
‘I have something important to ask you, Rose.’
She shifted in her seat, ‘This is about when we met.’
He looked at her and then exclaimed, ‘I knew it. I knew I felt your hand in my jacket.’
‘I admit it,’ she said after a moment, ‘Although it was never my intention to steal anything.’
‘What was your intention?’
She let out a long sigh. ‘For the past two years I have had a stable home, somewhere I am happy and well paid. I am saving what money I can for my future, but I am all too aware how precarious my life is. I have no family, no one else to rely on except myself. Sometimes I panic.’
‘And you try to pick a pocket?’
‘I never actually steal anything,’ she said with a vehement shake of her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that, not unless I was completely desperate, but I find it comforting to know that I still can.’ She grimaced and took a sip of wine. ‘Except it would seem I have lost my skills.’
‘You pretend to pick pockets?’
‘I slip my hand into someone’s pocket and I see if I can lift out their purse. If my fingers close around it without them noticing, then I count it as a success. If not, then a fail. Until you I had not had many fails.’
‘You are an unusual woman, Rose.’
‘When you have known real hunger, the sort that comes from not having anything to eat for days on end, that deep gnawing in your belly, it changes you. Sometimes those changes lead to irrational ideas, but knowing I still have the skills from my childhood brings me some comfort, even though I hope I will never have to use them again.’
She smiled at him, but there was sadness there in her eyes and he had the urge to lean across the table and take her hands in his own. Quickly, he dismissed the thought, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground.
‘You mentioned your guardians—were they part of this criminal network?’
‘No,’ Rose said, some of the sadness lifting from her expression. ‘Mr Wetherby caught me trying to steal from him one crisp winter’s morning. He grabbed hold of my arm and I wasn’t able to escape. Normally, I was quick, but it was frosty and I didn’t have a coat, so my muscles were slow in the cold. He marched me away, ignoring my pleas, and I was sure I was about to be delivered to the magistrate. He’d caught me in the act and even though I was ten I knew there was a chance of transportation or perhaps even a death sentence. You can imagine how petrified I was. Instead of taking me to the magistrate, he took me home, to his warm kitchen and kindly wife.’
‘They took you in?’
‘Yes. They saw how thin I was, how close to starvation, how it was possible I might not survive a harsh winter. They offered me kindness and love and I knew from the very first moment I stepped inside their home that this was my chance to have a different life.’
‘That was very generous of them, opening up their home to a stranger.’
‘I asked my guardian about it before he became unwell and he said that he looked into my eyes when he caught me trying to pick his pocket and he saw a terrible desperation there. He thought he could do something about that.’
‘They gave you the childhood you had never had.’
‘They did. It took a while, but through patience and compassion they turned me from an angry, feral young girl into the person I am today.’
‘You had never been to school before? Never learned to read or write?’
‘No, but that was not something I struggled with too much. I wanted so desperately to read that I would stare at my letters at every free moment. When I eventually learned the basics, it was as though a whole new world opened up to me.’
‘I am impressed,’ Richard said and he meant it. Learning to read and write was a difficult enough skill to master if you did it at five or six years old, but leave it until a child was ten or eleven and it became infinitely harder.
‘I owe the Wetherbys everything,’ Rose said quietly.
‘They have both passed now?’
‘Yes, Mr Wetherby was quite advanced in years and he had an illness of the mind like your father. Mrs Wetherby outlived him by a few years, but she had a growth in her breast. I was working in Thetford at the time and she didn’t tell me about it, didn’t want to worry me.’
‘You never got to say goodbye?’
‘No. I wish I had been there with her at the end, to hold her like she had held me through those long nights when I had first gone to stay with the Wetherbys. She knew I loved her and that I was grateful for everything they had done for me, but I do wish I could have been there.’
‘It sounds as though she was protecting you until the end.’
‘Yes, I think you’re probably right. She did want to protect me above all else.’
‘I am glad you knew that, Rose, for a short while at least.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, reflecting on how lucky he was in many ways. It was easy to get caught in the negative thoughts, to only think of the bad, but he had to remind himself other people had their hardships and their tragedies.
‘Not many people had the childhood you did, Mr Digby,’ she said softly, but there was a slight edge to her voice.
‘I know.’
‘It is worth remembering you are fortunate to have parents who loved you throughout everything that has occurred. Even though Lord Digby struggles to remember you now, he still loves you, your mother even more so.’
‘I know.’
‘She would be devastated if you left again, but she will never tell you herself.’
Richard fell silent. It was something he needed to talk to his mother about. He couldn’t stay here, no matter how much his mother would want him to. It wouldn’t be right, stepping into the role of Baron, taking the title, and living a life similar to the one Frederick Godrum should have had.
‘You’re planning on leaving, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Eventually. I will stay while my father needs me, while I can be of help to my mother, but once my father passes...’ He trailed off.
‘That could be a year or even more. Even the doctors have said things are unpredictable.’
‘Then I shall be here for a year or more, but when it is over, I will leave.’
‘What about the estate, your inheritance?’
‘I will stay long enough to find a suitable steward, someone who can assist my mother while she still wishes to be involved and is primed to take over whenever she wants to step away from the duties of running the estate.’
‘Perhaps do not tell your mother of your plans yet. It will devastate her.’
Rose picked up her glass and drained the last few drops of wine, placing it down firmly on the table once she had finished and bobbing into a formal little curtsy.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said, her tone suddenly clipped.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘I need to go to bed in case your father wakes in the night.’
‘Of course.’
Without another word, she spun around and walked from the room.
Richard sat back in his chair, wondering what specifically had upset her. She had changed when he had confirmed he would be leaving, but he wasn’t sure if she was irritated that he would hurt his mother in such a way or sad he would be leaving because it would mean the end of their acquaintance.
For a long while he sat, spinning the wine glass in his hand, feeling as though he had made an almighty mistake this evening, but not sure which part the mistake had been.