“Have you told him how you feel?”
Elizabeth’s eyes snapped to hers, wide and frantic. “No! It would change everything.” She shook her head in quick movements, her blonde curls bouncing against her face. “No. He must be the one to declare himself if he wishes for our relationship to change. I’ve no desire to profess my affection, only for him to pat my hand and say, ‘oh, my little Lizzie,’” said Elizabeth. “I attend to my pride too willingly to place myself in that position.”
Rose could relate. But she also didn’t see how a man would know to declare himself if not given at least a small measure of encouragement. She took a minute letting the silence rest comfortably between them as she searched for an answer to the problem.
Finally Rose said, “London!” Elizabeth just blinked her long lashes and Rose decided to expound. “You are having your come out this season in London, are you not?”
“Yes…and I’m dreading it. I get terribly nervous meeting new people,” said Elizabeth. “It will be awful. Not only will I have to watch and second-guess my every movement in front of the prying eyes of society, but I will have to watch Oliver dance and flirt his way across every ballroom, all the while returning to my side only to confide in me which debutante he finds the prettiest.”
“Well, then I suggest you not be so available for his confidences,” said Rose letting her grin twist into something more mischievous.
Elizabeth looked at her from the corner of her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Rose felt like finally her years of studying the art of flirting to effectively con gentleman would serve a purpose—a more noble one. “If you want Oliver to see you as the eligible woman you are, he will need to see that reflected in the eyes of every other gentleman in London.”
The creases that formed between Elizabeth’s eyes told Rose that the girl…no, woman, was contemplating the idea. “So,” her words were slow and contemplative, “I need to get other men to wish to marry me so that Oliver will realize that I’m not a little girl anymore?”
“Exactly.” Or something like that. “Sometimes, men can be utterly daft. They don’t often know what it is they want until it’s out of their reach.”
“I’m to play with Oliver’s emotions, then?”
“No. You are to go to London and enjoy your first season. Don’t spend your evenings as a wallflower pining over Oliver. Go on a ride through Hyde Park during the fashionable hour and visit the opera. Flirt. Dance. Socialize.”
“And if no one wants to dance with me?”
Rose couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Elizabeth, if you are not the most courted woman in all of London this season I will undoubtedly die of shock.” Apparently, Kate’s drama was wearing off on Rose.
Elizabeth smiled with amusement, but then it turned nervous. “And if it doesn’t work? If Oliver doesn’t love me after all?” Rose couldn’t help but feel that there was a very slim chance of that.
But still, Elizabeth should be prepared for such an event. Just as Rose was preparing herself for the very real possibility that she would never see Carver again. But she couldn’t think of that just then. Mainly because the thought made her feel sick to her stomach.
“If he doesn’t…then it means he wasn’t the man for you. And hopefully, you will have found someone who deserves your love.” Rose said the words as much for Elizabeth as for herself. Did Elizabeth believe them? Did Rose? She doubted that there was anyone else in the world who she could love as much as Carver.
Elizabeth’s eyes moved their focus from Rose to the packed valise behind her. Her eyes snapped back to Rose and her sadness was almost too much to bear. “You’re leaving?” Her dark blonde brows pulls together. “You’ve given up on him, then?”
Rose stood from the bed and smoothed her skirt. “I’ll never give up on him, Elizabeth. But I can’t continue to stay here if…if he doesn’t want me to.” It was painful to admit. Especially after she had felt so cherished, wanted and loved by him the week before. “I need to move on and live my new life.”
Once again, she was leaving after a job, but this time it was different. She wasn’t running away or closing herself off to anyone. Well…she was running a little. Every day that Carver did not visit only brought her more pain. There was a moment where she wondered if it had been worth it, opening herself up to love only to feel the familiar ache of loss, but it didn’t take long to answer her question with a yes. It was worth it. Carver was worth it. His family was worth it.
Rose was leaving Dalton Park a stronger and healthier person for having loved and lost. She now had an entire family who she knew she could turn to in need, and that was something she would never regret. And as heartbroken as she was to leave the man she loved behind, Rose felt eager to begin a new phase in her life. And she knew just where to do it.
Chapter 37
Carver stood in front of Claire’s grave for the first time since her burial. There was no denying it anymore. She was gone. Yes, she had died three years ago, but for him, it felt like she had died all over again that week. After Rose’s accident, Carver had barely left his room. Couldn’t leave his room. He felt weary and exhausted. Crying no longer became something that belonged to the gentler sex, but rather something he was fearful would become his constant affliction.
He swallowed and stepped forward to place the bouquet of Claire’s favorite yellow flowers at the base of the headstone. He laid it down quickly and stepped back as if the stone might lunge out and bite him. It didn’t. All around him birds chirped, the sun smiled over the grass, a subtle warmth that hinted at spring swept over his face, and the day felt exactly opposite of his mood.
The past week, though painful, had finally given him the closure he had been avoiding for so long. It wasn’t easy for him to focus his attention on how he felt. Every bit of him wanted to push it all down and run to Rose’s side. But he knew he needed that time alone with his thoughts and memories of Claire to finally mourn what had happened so long ago. He had pulled out the box of letters he and Claire had exchanged over the years and allowed the ghosts of memories to haunt him.
He had cried, smiled, laughed, and thrown his fist into his pillow once or twice. It had been an intense week full of emotion that had all lead up to this moment.
This very unemotional moment.
Was it supposed to feel like that? Nothingness? As embarrassing as it was to admit, perhaps he had just cried all of his emotions out already. Maybe if he talked to her, he would feel that high release he had been expecting. That connection and current that he had seen other’s feel when they wept at their loved one’s graves.
He clenched his jaws and cleared his throat. “Hello, love.” He bit his lip. “Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?” The ugly gravestone stared at him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here to visit you yet. I—I’ve been scared and—,” he cut himself off, frustration from his lack of feelings rising in his chest. He kicked a rock and sent it soaring into someone else’s grave stone. Hopefully no one saw that. “Blast, this feels uncomfortable.” He was no longer talking to the headstone, but himself. “Why do people do this? It’s not as if she’s going to talk back to me.”
“Wouldn’t that be frightening if she did?”