Valentine's Rose (5 page)

The minister who married them had a fierce, hawk-like face with a prominent nose and pale brown, almost golden, eyes. He had a kind manner, though, and his deep voice rang with a pleasant quality, which made it easy to listen to him.

He offered brief remarks on the sanctity of marriage before he launched into the vows in a resonant tone. “Do you, Rose Mary Muldoon take this man to be your husband; to honor and obey, to care for and serve, in sickness and in heath, for richer or poorer, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Rose curled her chaffed fingers into the fabric of the borrowed skirt. Her groom hadn’t acted as if he’d noticed the dress was too short, or that she wore no shoes. He’d treated her like the finest lady. Still, she felt awkward and uncertain. At least she didn’t feel
big
. In fact, she had to tip her chin to meet his eyes.

His hair, dark as coffee, brushed the collar of his coat. She longed to smooth loose strands off his forehead and run her fingers through it to discover if it felt as silky as it looked. Just thinking about touching him made her go all warm and shivery.

“Do you, Constantine Jerome...” Reverend Stillwater halted as if he’d forgotten Val’s name, and then he recovered, “Alexander Valentine...”

With such a highfalutin name, he had to come from some rich family. Imagine a man like him choosing a poor girl. Rose shook off the silly daydream. He hadn’t chosen, she’d offered herself, and he had only married her to get himself a piece of land. Still, he could’ve wed any of the women and he’d settled for her. A miracle, for sure.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife—?”

“I do.”  Val hadn’t waited for the minister to finish the lengthy vows. 

Reverend Stillwater continued. “And do you promise to protect and provide for her, and to cleave to her in sickness and in health for so long as you both shall live?”

Val blinked, as if the question confused him. Someone coughed while they waited for his answer. Rose’s face grew warm, then her hands got cold and began to tremble. 

Oh no, he’d changed his mind.

“For as long as possible—I do,” he said, at last.

Stunned silence followed his pronouncement. He’d changed the vow, somehow made it less binding. Something prevented him from promising a lifetime.

Panic tightened her chest and closed her throat.

Reverent Stillwater’s surprise softened to sympathy, as his gaze met hers. His eyes seemed to question whether or not to continue. Mr. Hardt scowled, but said nothing. A soft sound of distress came from Susannah. Rose still couldn’t speak.

Val clasped her hands. They were so cold, and his were so warm. “You have nothing to fear, Rose.” He met her eyes, not flinching, and his voice dropped, whisper soft. “I swear I will take care of you.”

She could only assume whatever stood in the way of him promising a lifetime came from some lack on her part, a thought that made the heaviness in her chest worsen. But he’d just promised to care for her. She would trust him to keep his word, and hopefully she could fix whatever it was he found unacceptable.

She glanced at the minister, and with a slight nod gave him permission to continue.

The minister brought the Bible to his chest and looked out over the room. “If any man has reason these two should not be wed, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Rose held her breath when Mr. Hardt gripped his lapels as if he were about to open his mouth and give a speech. Thank heavens, he didn’t. However, he continued to frown at Val as if he disapproved.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined, let no man put asunder.” The pastor paused for a heartbeat. “You may kiss the bride.”

Val bent his head. Rose’s eyelids fluttered shut. As her husband’s lips brushed hers, a shower of sparks rained down on her skin, or so it seemed. She blinked up in a daze, her lips tingling. He could try that kiss again, this time longer.

He slipped an arm around her waist instead.

Reverend Stillwater gave her a nod, and then shook her husband’s hand. “May I be the first to offer my congratulations?”

Susannah hugged Rose, and then the rest of the guests rushed forward, the other women crying and hugging her.

“We’ve put together some refreshments in the dining room,” Mrs. Fry announced.

The owners of the hotel had been so gracious and kind. In fact, everyone had been. The friendly support and encouragement touched a deep, hurting place in Rose’s heart. For the first time in months she felt embraced by a family. She’d promised the ladies she would do anything for them, and she meant it.

Val escorted her across the hallway into the dining room, where the table and chairs had been pushed up against the wall to make room for people to gather. Mrs. Fry had put out sandwiches and pie, as well as a pitcher of cider. Val fixed a plate for Rose. Before he could get one for himself, Mr. Hardt came up, shook his hand and after congratulating Rose, took her husband aside.

Rose couldn’t hear what was said, but Val didn’t look pleased.

She put her plate down, unable to eat. Nerves had made her stomach shrink. Mr. Hardt had his chance to object. They were married now, a permanent bond in the eyes of God. No one could separate them.

Charm took Rose’s elbow and led her away from the table. The petite, golden-haired actress had wrapped herself in a soft yellow gown made from silk. She looked more like a bride than Rose did. “Don’t look so anxious. He’ll think you’re easily conquered.”

“But I’m his wife. He doesn’t need to conquer me.”

“Men like a challenge.”

This might be true, but Rose had no experience for basis to compare, and she wasn’t comfortable with pretending, or even flirting like other girls. She’d always felt awkward and oafish. With Val, she felt more comfortable. And it wasn’t just his height. He had a way of putting her at ease, even when she came to him in borrowed clothes and no shoes.

“I’ll return your garters tomorrow,” Rose promised her friend.

“Keep them, or give them to the next woman who needs them.” Charm’s eyes shone with affection and wry amusement. “We shall call ourselves the Order of the Garter. Pledged to look out for one another, and to come to each other’s aid whenever needed.”

“Like sisters.”

“Sisters, yes.” Charm’s face glowed with enthusiasm. “We should have a song, don’t you agree? I’ll write one.”

“Of course, you should.” 

The talented Miss LaBelle had entertained everyone with songs and poetry during the three-day train ride. She’d talked about performing in Silver City and for gold miners in Montana, and being part of a traveling show. Why she’d come to out here to marry, she didn’t say.

Rose beamed down at her. “Maybe you’ll be next.”

Charm leaned in and whispered. “I can promise you, it won’t be anyone Mr. Hardt picks out. Mrs. Braddock and I have agreed to strike.”

Strike?
The word triggered images of women locked out of factories, men put in jail. Rose threw an anxious glance across the room.

Her husband and Mr. Hardt were in deep discussion, about the claim, no doubt. The railroad agent hadn’t given an inch, forcing Val to propose, or leave and take his chances. Val had disliked being backed into a corner, and that might account for his hesitancy earlier. But of the two men, he seemed the more reasonable.

“Be careful,” Rose warned. “Mr. Hardt’s not a bad sort, but he’s stubborn, and he likes being in charge.”

Charm looked over her shoulder and pursed her lips in disgust. “Yes, he reminds me of another man who thought he could control me. Mr. Hardt won’t have any better luck.”

“I’m only saying it’ll go easier for you if you don’t bash heads.” 

Her friend’s lips turned up and she blinked at Rose innocently. “Who said I’d be the one doing the bashing?”

She drew Rose toward a group of women clustered around Susannah. The widow’s knowledge and experience made it natural for her to step into the role as surrogate mother and leader of the group, and she’d shown extraordinary kindness and wisdom. Except for when it came to Mr. Hardt. His ultimatum, coupled with an abrasive personality, had triggered something fierce and rash inside the genteel widow. Now it seemed that slap she’d delivered wouldn’t be the last blow.

Rose held back for a moment. She ought to go to her husband’s side, which is where she belonged now. The battle between Susannah and Mr. Hardt wasn’t her concern. On the other hand, she couldn’t walk away from her friends. They were, as Charm had coined, The Order of the Garter, bound by friendship and pledged to offer help when needed. She owed it to them to speak to Susannah and urge caution.

It also wouldn’t hurt to ask for some advice, considering she knew next to nothing about winning a man’s affections. She cast a yearning glance at her husband, and the thudding in her chest grew stronger. By some miracle, she’d gotten the man she wanted. His hesitance to commit meant he wasn’t so sure about her. Tonight she had to convince him that he hadn’t chosen the wrong girl.

––––––––

V
al delayed retrieving his wife for as long as he could without causing her embarrassment. Not because he didn’t wish to be alone with her. He did, and there’s the rub. Bedding his temporary bride would further ensnare her tender heart, not to mention the possibility of giving her a child. Thus far, he’d only descended to the level of reprobate, not unconscionable bastard, despite Hardt’s accusations. The surly agent planned to distribute women through a drawing. He couldn’t legitimately question anyone’s motives.

Walking silently across the carpet, Val approached a knot of women gathered around his wife, whispering. It wasn’t the hushed giggles of giddy ladies engaged in naughty conversation. Rather, they spoke in low, furtive murmurs that smacked of plots afoot. Rose didn’t need to be caught up in the conspiring of unhappy women. She’d be better off with him for the time being.

She glowed with happiness. One of the women had tamed her curly hair into a soft frame for her face, and the reddish gold lights complemented her lightly freckled skin.

His gaze moved down her slender neck to the modest collar. The dress she said she’d borrowed complimented her slim form. Lacy petticoats peeking out the bottom didn’t quite cover a tantalizing length of shapely calf. Her lack of shoes, which would’ve been the ruination of an English lady, only added to the allure of the lowborn Irish lass. He imagined removing the white stockings and stroking her long, elegant feet.

Desire struck with the force of an unexpected punch, and his breath left in a rush. What had happened to his determination to ignore this unfortunate attraction? He jerked his attention upwards, although he’d have to shut his eyes to remove the temptation.

“Rose.” His voice came out rough. He hadn’t meant to use her familiar name, a breach of manners. It had just popped out. Whenever he looked at her, his head was filled with an image of wild roses, the twining vines heavy with fragrant flowers.

She turned and her eyes widened, wonder rushing into the clear green.

He tried to not to flinch at the next blow, this one square in the center of his chest. She wouldn’t look at him like he’d strewn the stars across the sky after he told her of his plans.

But wouldn’t it be better if they started off with a clear understanding? Obviously, she came out of a destitute situation. She might appreciate what he was willing to do for her.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we bid adieu to our guests?”

She allowed him to tuck her fingers into the crook of his elbow even though she looked a bit confused and maybe a little nervous. “We’re leaving?”

He couldn’t think of a polite way to say he wanted time with her alone, but no one would question him about retrieving his new bride. “We won’t go far. Upstairs.”

That remark assured they wouldn’t be disturbed. The implication he’d be bedding her also made his wife blush like a...well, like a rose.

He made a slight bow to the five women standing close to her, a protective circle. “Ladies, you all look lovely. Thank you for everything you’ve done to make this day special. My wife and I shall not forget your kindness. I hope you’ll pardon me for taking Rose from you so soon.”

The women returned polite smiles. None of the single ladies were debutantes, but he’d expected a few innocent blushes and averted eyes. Instead, they looked him over like they were inspecting him for signs of disease.

“Where will you and Rose stay?” The young widow posed the question, the spunky one who’d slapped Hardt when he stupidly offered her up like a prize pig.

“We’ll remain here for now. I’ve rented a bed.” He didn’t add he wouldn’t be sleeping in it.

Mrs. Braddock’s sharp gray eyes held Val’s gaze. As well, pairs of brown, blue and green eyes seemed to bore holes through him. “You take good care of our Rose, Mr. Valentine. We’re all very fond of her.”

He had to clear an obstruction in this throat. “Of course. I’ll give her the greatest care.”

And he would. He’d make sure she had a safe place to stay and would settle a tidy sum on her before he left. She’d be far better off than she had been when she first arrived.

He led her up the stairs. The house-turned-hotel had nice furnishings in the common rooms, comfortable, if not elegant. Upstairs remained sparse. The floor on the landing wasn’t carpeted and no pictures hung on the walls. 

Using the key, he opened the door to the room the owners had directed him to take. His stomach sank. Folding wooden dividers separated the room into two smaller sleeping quarters equipped with a narrow bed, washstand and chamber pot. Not an ideal arrangement for a newly married couple. Not to mention the beds were made for dwarves.

Val wrestled with disappointment. He hadn’t planned on bedding her, so he’d sleep on the floor. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he could crawl under the covers with his wife and remain celibate.

He glanced at her to see her reaction. She didn’t appear surprised by the poor accommodations, and certainly not as annoyed as his former betrothed would’ve been if he’d brought her here, although he wouldn’t bring Anne to a place like this.