Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous) (8 page)

Rose squeezed his hand. “Do you think this room really exists?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Frederick actually mentioned it once in passing. I think he just assumed I knew all about it—”

“Hmph! Probably because you are, in fact, a Collicott!” Rose retorted.

Simon found himself grinning at her outburst. There was something rather nice about having Rose so very much on his side. “And I gathered from his comment that Caleb spent a great deal of time in the room.”

“So the room probably does exist, but you don’t have any idea where it may be.”

“Er, yes.”

“That does present a problem, you realize,” Rose said, giving Simon a long sideways glance.

“We know where the murder weapon—so to speak—probably is, but we don’t know how to find it?”

“Precisely.”

Simon and Rose sat quietly for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, when Simon suddenly had an idea. “William!” he exclaimed.

“No, Rose,” Rose said drily, pointing to herself.

Simon gave her a withering look and Rose just grinned.

Shaking his head, Simon continued. “No, William, the Earl of Pembroke…he visited Frederick at the house quite regularly. I doubt Frederick would have told him where the hidden room was, but I am willing to bet that between the two of us, he and I could come up with a pretty accurate floor plan of the interior of the house.”

“That makes sense, but if neither one of you knows the location of the room, what good is a floor plan going to do us?” Rose wondered.

“On its own, not much, but what if I were to take a walk around the outside of the mansion and create a general outline of the external plan—”

“Then compare the two and see where there are any discrepancies!” Rose finished. “That is positively inspired, Simon!”

Simon actually felt a blush rise to his cheeks. There was something about a compliment from Rose that affected him like no other. Perhaps it was because he felt she was in possession of such intellect herself, that she would be able to recognize it in others so much more readily than anyone else of his acquaintance.

“I think we should meet with Lord Pembroke as soon as possible. We are running out of time. Dr. Orfila will only be here for eleven more days.”

“Perhaps it would be more time-efficient if I met with Pembroke at his house alone. He and I could develop the internal floor plan and then later I could stroll leisurely past the Shrewsbury mansion a few times and take some surreptitious notes about the layout.”

“I suppose that would work.”

“Perfect! I will arrange to meet with Pembroke tomorrow. The day after that I will take the outside measurements and meet you back here, all right?” Simon said as he stood to leave.

“All right,” Rose agreed.

“I’ll see myself out, sweetling,” Simon announced cheerfully. “And I will be by to see you around noon the day after tomorrow.” With that, he whistled his way out of the library, out the front door, and down the front steps.

Chapter Ten

The course of true love never runs smoothly.

—The Duke of Lancaster

Rose sat in the front parlor room anxiously awaiting the arrival of Simon. He was due to be there any minute and honestly she didn’t think she would survive if he were even a second late.

It had been an entire day since she had seen him, and while she told herself that her anxiety was due to her desire to see the plan he and William had drawn up, deep down she knew that she just really wanted to see him again.

How funny was it that she went from going days, even weeks, between seeing him with nary a thought and now she suddenly couldn’t go even twenty-four hours without missing him? Even funnier was that it seemed he was feeling much the same way. She still had serious concerns about his sincerity, but in her weaker moments she found herself actually daydreaming about being married to Simon. Shaking her head, she told herself she was a fool.

Yet, she looked at the clock again for what must have been the fourth time that minute.

Where is he already?

…

Simon was standing in the hallway just outside of Rose’s line of sight.

He could see her reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall and had to smile when he saw her check the clock one more time. He supposed he should have made his presence known when he first arrived a few minutes earlier, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to just look at her.

She really was such a pretty little thing sitting rather impatiently in the overcrowded parlor.

Simon had to shake his head at the outrageous, and yet so characteristic, handling of the room’s decoration. Ironically, though, Simon found some level of comfort in the incongruence. It really wouldn’t be Warren House if the decorating were sensible and orderly.

Deciding that he had left Rose to wait long enough, Simon squared his shoulders and confidently strolled into the room.

“Simon!” Rose exclaimed, jumping up to greet him. “You’re here!”

“Of course I am here,” Simon replied. Then he leaned in as if imparting some deep secret and whispered, “Where else would I be?”

Rose simply stared at Simon as he handed her a beautiful arrangement of late winter flowers and kissed her softly. He was rewarded for his romantic efforts by a sweet blush that bloomed across her cheeks.

“These are lovely, Simon. Thank you.”

Simon smiled. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to buy Rose flowers, but when he saw them he had thought of her and just couldn’t help himself. Really, he was going to have to start distancing himself from the chit. Her smiles were beginning to mean too much to him. “Er…let me, ah,” she began. “Water…yes, I must put these in water.”

Rose nodded once, as if confirming to herself that it was a good idea, and then she practically ran from the room, flowers in hand.

…

Rose stopped in the hallway outside the parlor and leaned weakly against the wall. What was the matter with her? Flowers and a chaste kiss should not be this disturbing to her senses. One would think she was in love. In love…with Simon.

Good heavens! Rose thought. She couldn’t be in love with Simon. No, he was just playing with her feelings like always. He probably thought making her blush was great fun. Although lately, he seemed almost sincere in the way he looked at her.

Rose remembered how he’d smiled at her when he handed her the flowers. Again her stomach flipped over. What was the matter with her? The worst thing she could do would be to develop a tendre for Simon Trumbull!

Mine, she thought fleetingly and nostalgically.

“Miss?” a voice said, startling Rose out of her reverie.

Her head snapped up to see her butler, Chauncy, standing there with absolutely no expression on his face, yet at the same time it was clear he was confused by her presence in the hallway…sagging against a wall with flowers clutched to her chest.

“Yes, Chauncy. Hello,” Rose said, pushing up from the wall and smoothing her skirts with one hand.

Chauncy responded with just the barest raising of an eyebrow.

“Ah, I am, ah, glad to see you,” Rose stammered, looking around wildly for some reason for her to be loitering in the hall, when her eyes landed on the flowers in her hand. “Yes, I…need you to put these in water for me, please.”

“Certainly, Miss,” the butler said, taking the flowers from her.

“Thank you,” Rose replied.

The butler nodded and turned to head down the hall toward the kitchens. Once he was out of sight, Rose smacked herself on the forehead. She really needed to get herself together. So she was beginning to truly care for Simon. What of it? It was not as if he returned the feelings.

Oh, Rose was sure that he liked her. Probably even more than he had originally planned. But his loving her was highly unlikely. And the question was, could she live with that? Could she spend her life with him knowing that she might someday love him and that he would never return the sentiment?

Honestly, she didn’t have much of a choice. She had always known they would marry and when she didn’t harbor any feelings for him it hadn’t really mattered that he wouldn’t hold any for her either, but now…Rose sighed. Now things would be infinitely harder.

Well, she supposed she could do worse than to marry a man who thought highly of her, rather liked her, and would willingly support her in the manner to which she was accustomed. It was far better than many women had in their marriages. And, really, she had known for a long time that hers was not a love match. How could it be, considering the match was arranged when she and Simon were but children? Infants even, in her case.

So, she would try not to love him and he would be good to her. She could live with that…right?

Right.

Having put her feelings back in order, Rose tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and walked determinedly back into the parlor where she found Simon examining a small hand-crafted ceramic figurine rather intently.

“I’m back,” Rose announced.

“Oh good,” Simon replied, turning to face her. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Rose said, looking at him uncertainly.

“What kind of animal is this?” Simon held up the figurine he had been examining with a confused look on his face.

Rose moved closer so that she could get a better look at it, although she was quite sure she already knew what he was holding. “I believe it is a cat.”

“A…cat?”

“Yes, a cat. Surely you have seen a feline before?” Rose said with some irritation, not liking where this conversation was surely headed.

“Yes, Rose, I have seen a cat before,” Simon responded drily, “however, this particular feline has no tail.” He turned the figure around in illustration.

Of course, Rose did not need to be told about the missing tail, for she, herself, had sculpted the small object when she was a young girl.

“Neither did the cat from which I drew inspiration,” she replied.

“You had a cat with no tail?” Simon said in disbelief.

“There are, in fact, entire species of cats that are born without tails,” Rose informed him haughtily.

“And was your cat one of these species?”

“Ahhhh, no, not really,” Rose confessed, deflating somewhat. “That particular cat lost its tail in a rather tragic, er, furniture accident.”

“Furniture accident? Oh, this I have got to hear,” Simon replied, crossing his arms.

Rose rolled her eyes. “It’s not that interesting, really.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Fine.” Rose sighed. “When I was about eight or so my room was, like the rest of the house, packed with an excess of mismatched furniture, decorative items, and various types of knickknacks…and frankly I was having repeated nightmares of being buried under a pile of shelves, dressers, art, and any other number of things.”

“So?” Simon prompted, with a roll of his hand.

“So I decided that I needed to redecorate the room…myself.”

“Where does the cat fit into all this?”

“Not very well, clearly,” Rose said with a sly smile. “Mr. Chauncy—”

“You named the cat after your butler?”

“Yes. Mr. Chauncy was proper, elegant, and completely condescending—”

“—just like any good butler,” Simon finished with a smile.

“Exactly!” Rose grinned. “Anyway, Mr. Chauncy was apparently sleeping in one of the cabinets I was moving and, when he realized it was being moved, he sprang out of the thing and scared the wits out of me. Which, of course, caused me to drop the heavy piece…”

“And you dropped it on his tail?” Simon asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” Rose hedged. “I dropped it on the floor and it tipped over onto a pile of the other furniture I was removing. The pile fell over and one of the pieces—I was never quite sure which—landed on his tail, injuring it to the point that it had to be removed.”

Simon stared at Rose in astonishment for a moment, before breaking into riotous laughter.

Rose planted her hands on her hips and said, “It is not funny! I don’t think Mr. Chauncy ever fully forgave me; certainly he never slept in my room again.”

That just seemed to make Simon laugh even harder.

Rose glared at him, but she realized he was unable to notice her look, doubled up as he was, so she turned on her heel and stomped over to the settee where she plopped down and waited for him to come to his senses.

It took rather longer than she supposed was necessary.

…

Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, Simon was able to stand up straight and he wiped the tears from his eyes as he made his way over to sit down next to her.

“Are you quite finished?” Rose asked.

“I think so, yes. That was a wonderful story…priceless.”

“I’m so glad I could amuse you.”

It appeared to Simon that Rose was a little put out by his reaction to her tale. Or tail in this case, he thought merrily, snickering a bit at his witticism.

“What is so funny now?” Rose ground out.

“Ah, nothing,” Simon replied, attempting to sober up in the interest of self-preservation. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “Er, would you like to see the floor plan William and I created?”

Rose gave Simon a long look before rolling her eyes and nodding.

Simon smiled excitedly, feeling much like a child at Christmas, and pulled the paper from his inner coat pocket with a flourish. Pushing the small buttons and beads, tiny frames, ribbon work, and basketry cluttering the coffee table to one side, he laid the drawing out and smoothed away the wrinkles with his hands. When he was finished, he sat back to allow Rose to look at it.

Leaning in close, Rose examined the work that Simon and William had done. The plan was very detailed and complete, if Simon did say so himself. There were even bits of furniture included to help identify the room’s use.

“Wow,” Rose breathed. “This is very good, Simon. Very good, indeed.”

Smiling, Simon exhaled a long relieved breath. He thought it had turned out quite well too, but it felt good to hear Rose also thought so.

“Did you have any trouble getting the measurements of the outside of the house?”

“Well, I had a little run-in with Caleb, actually.”

“What? Where did he find you? What did you say? What did he say?”

“Ah…Caleb caught me just as I was about to leave, but I managed to convinced him that I was there to check on the soil in his garden.”

“And he believed you?” Rose asked in surprise.

“Not at first, but after I elaborated a bit about the process and then told him that I had been working on it with Frederick, he seemed to accept the excuse.” Simon shrugged.

Rose was flabbergasted. “What do you know about gardening and soil?”

Simon raised one brow archly. “As it happens I am very knowledgeable in the science of horticulture. In fact, I had been working with Frederick on enriching the soil and crop production of many of his estate gardens. He was hoping to be able to provide more fresh produce to his tenants and the surrounding townships.”

“Horticulture?” Rose said, mostly to herself. She had read about the science, of course. There were many books on the subject in her library. But never in her wildest dreams did she expect Simon to be interested in any type of science. She felt her stomach flip over with excitement. She was going to marry a scientist…oh, happy day! It took everything in her power not to do a little dance of joy right there in the parlor.

“Oh, Simon,” she said in a hushed awe-filled voice, “I would love to talk to you about your ideas! I know we don’t have a large garden like some of the Shrewsbury estates, but perhaps we can implement some of your experiments at Warren House…together.”

“I would very much enjoy working with you on the garden,” Simon replied thickly, before turning away.

Rose wondered if anyone had ever properly shown interest in Simon or his desires before. She was glad that at least Frederick had been supportive, but that made his death even more heartbreaking; first, that Simon had lost more than just his cousin, but also a true friend and; second, that the world in general had lost such a wonderful example of humanity.

She reached up and squeezed his arm affectionately. “Once we have completed this investigation, you and I will turn the garden into the pride of London, I can promise you that. And while I am not usually a proponent of lying, in this case I congratulate you on your quick thinking.”

Simon grinned. “I appreciate your concern for my soul, sweetling, I do, but now I think we should get to work on our drawings before you have to get ready for the ball tonight.”

“Oh dear, the Somerset ball! I forgot all about that,” Rose exclaimed.

“Really?” Simon drawled. “So the memory of Rose Warren is not quite so infallible after all.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at Simon menacingly, but he just smiled at her.

“Now, now, Rose,” Simon began, holding up his hand in mock surrender. “I was just teasing you a little bit.”

“Hmph,” Rose grunted, crossing her arms.

“Oh, dear, I have upset you,” Simon rightly acknowledged. “Perhaps I can make it up to you if I…”