Rose could not sleep. It had been a trying day and she felt terribly weary, but her mind was racing, and her senses heightened. Every little noise made her eyes jolt open, which made it impossible to sleep.
Lord Digby was relatively unharmed from his excursion out of the grounds of Meadow View. They had sent for the doctor, who had thoroughly checked him over and dressed the small wound on his foot. Doctor Griffiths had declared Lord Digby as well as could be expected and suggested he rest for a day in bed. This was impossible to achieve, of course, but the pain from his foot had limited his movement and he had stayed in his room for the rest of the day.
Earlier in the day, Mr Watkins had moved a small bed into the corner of Lord Digby’s bedroom and tonight and every night from now on he would be there in case his master woke in the night. It should be reassuring, but Rose still felt shaken at how easily Lord Digby’s early-morning wanderings could have turned into a disaster, so tonight she was attuned to every tiny noise.
She had spent the day looking after Lord Digby, but also doing her very best to avoid Mr Digby. Despite her resolve to try to forget the kiss they had shared she was finding it impossible. Every time he was close, she found herself drawn to him, listening intently to his every word and looking up at him as if he were the King himself. It irritated her, this reaction she had to him, and so she had resolved to avoid him.
Forcing herself to close her eyes and rest back on the pillow, she tried her very hardest to sleep. Just as she was about to drift off, a low moan roused her. She swung her legs out of bed immediately, taking her dressing gown from the hook behind her door and slipping it on as she quickly went into Lord Digby’s room.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once they had she could see the figure of Lord Digby lying in the bed, sleeping peacefully. He was snoring slightly, just as he breathed in, his breath sometimes catching in his throat. On the small bed in the corner of the room Mr Watkins slept as well, but no noise came from him.
Wondering if she had imagined it, Rose left the room and closed the door behind her, stiffening as there was another cry, this time a little louder. Now she was up she could tell it hadn’t come from Lord Digby’s room, but from a little way along the upstairs hallway.
She hesitated. There was only one other person who slept here on the first floor and that was Mr Digby. She was hardly going to burst into his room because he was talking in his sleep, but still it felt strange to leave a man shouting out.
Everything was quiet as she crept along the hall and by the time Rose got to Mr Digby’s door she felt foolish, glad there was no one to see her creeping along in the darkness. She was about to head back to bed when there was another low moan, followed by a thrashing and then a series of increasingly agitated shouts. Rose waited, hoping the shouts would calm as they had before or that Mr Digby would wake himself if his thrashing got too violent, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he was getting louder and louder.
Rose checked back over her shoulder. She hated to hear anyone in such distress, but she was also aware that Lord Digby’s room wasn’t too far away. If the commotion continued much longer it might wake the old man and then he would be impossible to settle.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Mr Digby’s door, waiting for a moment and then trying the handle.
It was a little lighter in the room than the hallway, the curtains letting in some of the silvery moonlight. Immediately, she could see Mr Digby’s dark form in the bed, tossing and turning.
‘Mr Digby,’ she called, not wanting to go fully inside.
He did not stir and now the shouts were getting increasingly frenzied. His words were incoherent, but a few times she heard stop and wondered if he was reliving the moment Frederick Godrum turned the pistol up to his face and peered down the barrel the moment before the shot released.
‘Mr Digby,’ she said again, stepping into the room now. She walked slowly, aware it would be a huge shock for him to find her here when he did wake up.
Still he did not stir. Rose was almost at the bed now and could make out the outline of his body. She was shocked to find his torso exposed and bare and for a few seconds her eyes lingered. Deep inside her she felt a longing that she had never felt before and had the urge to slip into bed beside him and press her body against his.
Forcing her eyes away, she reprimanded herself. She was meant to be here to help him, nothing more. She reminded herself of the horror in his eyes after the kiss that they had shared and the promise she had made to herself after the disastrous affair with Mr Rampton to only give away her heart to someone who could love her back fully without restrictions. Mr Digby was not that man.
She crouched down beside him and reached out, taking his hand that hung over the side of the bed. There was a pause in the moans coming from him as her hand gripped his, but after a second he began to toss again.
‘Mr Digby,’ she whispered, gripping his hand tighter. ‘You’re shouting in your sleep.’
For a moment, his eyes flickered open, but Rose could see he was not properly awake as they did not focus on her. He gripped her hand tighter, pulling her in closer so that now Rose’s face was just a few inches from his own.
Despite not waking properly, Mr Digby seemed to settle a little. His shouts turned to murmurs and although there was still a panicked quality to them it wasn’t the outright fear he had displayed before.
Rose squeezed his hand again, torn between trying to extricate herself now he had calmed and wanting to ensure he was fully settled before she crept from the room. In response, he gripped her even tighter. Panicked, Rose wiggled, realising that he was holding her so firmly she could not slip her hand from his.
She didn’t want him to wake, to see her there crouching by the side of his bed. Not now his nightmare was passing and there was no good reason for her to be there. After ten seconds of trying to manoeuvre her hand free unsuccessfully, she stood up, thinking to use height as leverage. At the same moment, Mr Digby’s eyes shot open and he let out a low, primal growl.
Rose felt him tug on her arm, still not releasing her hand, and she couldn’t help but tumble forward, her body moving towards his at speed. Within a second her abdomen had hit his bare chest and the momentum meant she half fell, half rolled over him, ending up lying on her back in his bed.
Before she had chance to work out what had just happened, Mr Digby had flipped himself over and was using his body to pin her to the bed. They were both breathing hard and Rose had to bite back a scream. It had all happened so fast—one second, she was trying to pull her hand from his, the next, he had flipped her into his bed and pinned her there with his body.
She could see his disorientation as his eyes searched her face and it took a few seconds for him to realise it was her trapped underneath him and not a stranger.
‘Rose,’ he said, his voice still heavy with sleep. ‘What are you doing?’
It was an impossible question to answer in just a few words and with her heart hammering in her chest and her breathing coming fast and hard she couldn’t bring herself to say anything at all.
As she lay there, wrists pinned to the bed by Mr Digby’s strong hands, she was acutely conscious of his body pressed against hers. His lower half was wrapped in a thin sheet and she wore her nightdress, but the layers were thin and Rose could feel the heat of his body against hers.
For a long moment his eyes searched hers and she could see confusion and longing all mixed together.
‘What are you doing here, Rose?’ He sounded a little more awake this time, but still he made no move to roll off her.
‘You were shouting,’ she said, her voice catching in her throat. ‘I was worried you might wake Lord Digby, so I came and knocked on your door, but you carried on shouting.’
‘So, you came in?’
Now she was having to say the words out loud it sounded a foolish idea. Maids would often think nothing of entering their masters’ and mistress’ rooms while they were sleeping, creeping in to lay a fire or fetch some clothes that needed to be washed first thing in the morning, but it was very different to entering in the middle of the night.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, unable to tear her eyes away from his. There was a burning intensity there and Rose felt his body shift slightly above her. It sent a pulse of longing through her and for a moment she had the urge to reach up, loop an arm round his neck and pull his lips to hers and damn the consequences.
She watched as his eyes flicked to her lips and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
‘You were shouting. I couldn’t leave you.’
Another five seconds passed, then ten, and then eventually he let out a tortured groan and rolled away from her, taking the sheet, and wrapping it round his lower body as he stood. Rose’s eyes widened as she realised, he must be naked underneath the thin layer.
‘I am sorry my nightmares disturbed you,’ he said from a safe distance of a few feet away.
Rose scrambled up on to her elbows, aware she was now sprawled in his bed. Her cheeks were burning and her thoughts jumbled and it was all made worse when in her haste one of her arms buckled and she was sent sprawling back into his pillows. She caught a hint of his scent and the desire she had desperately been trying to suppress came flooding back.
‘Are you planning on staying in my bed?’ Mr Digby asked, raising an eyebrow. She could tell it was meant to be a comment to lighten the mood, but his voice came out low and seductive.
Rose forced herself to breathe evenly, refusing to scrabble out of the bed and run from the room. Instead, with as much dignity as she could muster, she shuffled to the edge and stood up.
‘I apologise for disturbing your sleep,’ she said formally, holding her head high as she began to walk away.
She had only taken two steps when Mr Digby reached out and gripped her wrist, his fingers warm on her skin.
‘Forgive me,’ he said quietly. ‘I was shocked, that is all. A man does not expect to wake up to find an attractive woman next to his bed. I was thrown, but my reaction was not acceptable. Thank you for waking me from the nightmare.’
Rose nodded. She wanted to ask him about the dream, to see if it was as she thought, a reliving of the tragic day eight years earlier when he had witnessed his friend’s death. She almost did, almost opened her mouth to speak, but instead she gave one final nod and hurried from the room.
Outside, she let out a sigh of relief. It had been too dangerous standing in the bedroom with Mr Digby. All she could think of was how it felt with his body pressed against hers, his hands pinning her to the bed, his lips only inches away from making her forget every reason they could not share even one more kiss. Her body felt weak and spent, as if she had run miles over difficult terrain, and her legs wobbled as she hurried back to her room.
Inside, she scrambled into bed and pulled the bedcover up high, pulling them tightly around her body. She was struggling to remember why it was a bad idea to kiss the man she felt such desire for, and when she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was climbing into bed beside her.
‘He can’t give you what you need,’ she whispered in the silence. Even if he let himself enjoy a few weeks of guilt-free pleasure, it was certainly not what Rose needed. She needed someone who was free to love her, to cherish her, to want to build a future. She wanted something wholesome and lasting, not a quick fling from which he would walk away with his reputation intact and she would face ruin once again and probably lose her position.
Flipping over, she buried her face in the pillow and let out a muted scream, nothing loud enough to wake Lord Digby in the next room, but good for venting some of her frustrations with the world.