Chapter 1
The night’s dinner party was set to be exactly up to expectation. As the guests arrived, Rose made herself scarce, never straying far from the corners of the front parlour and drawing room, diligently performing her role as the minder of the children. Her sister’s urgings from earlier that day played in the background of her mind, telling her how lively she must be tonight, and to leave the children in the care of the maid. Rose had reluctantly agreed in the moment, but the sudden onslaught of guests meant that her sister’s attention was elsewhere, and she could slip back into old habits.
The children, her sister’s two twin boys and youngest daughter, proved to be just the occupation Rose needed. Their presence gave her a socially acceptable excuse to remove herself from a conversation in which she felt trapped, and distracted her from any potential melancholy thoughts. Keeping the boys from ruining their new suits or snatching too many treats from the buffet in the dining room meant Rose had no time to ponder the black cloud hanging over her head, or bristle at the pitying looks some of the guests gave her. Being a disgraced widow at twenty-seven was an arduous thing to be.
Having eaten their fill of the sweet meats, cheeses, fruits, and small delicacies that lined the tables in the front parlour and dining room, the guests slowly began migrating deeper into the house. The drawing room and library soon warmed with voices and bodies. Colonel Fry, a longtime friend of her sister’s husband, took a seat at the piano and began playing. The timbre of his voice and the joviality of his song was nearly enough to distract Rose from her current preoccupation: finding Millie, her sister’s youngest. The toddler was lost to the crowd, after tearfully refusing to eat. When Rose had to once again turn around and remind the twins to quit roughhousing, Millie disappeared.
Following the flash of a petite white frock, Rose entered the coat room. Her new position, though hidden from view, placed her perfectly to witness the door fly open.
“Gah! Speak of the devil!” The voice of General Fry boomed suddenly. Rose heard his heavy steps as he hurried from the drawing room to the front hall. “Captain Smith! I wasn’t sure you’d show tonight, lad.”
“And miss the opportunity to watch you make a full of yourself? Never!” Captain Smith replied with a hearty laugh. From between the coats, Rose could see Smith in parts: his crisp navy uniform, a broad, calloused hand, chestnut curls atop his head. Perhaps taking him in piece by piece was better for her heart.
Still rendered motionless by Captain Smith’s surprise appearance, Rose realized her predicament a hair too late. The rustling of an overcoat being removed finally spurred her to action, righting herself just as the two captains entered the coat room.
“Ah, Miss Rose!” Captain Fry said warmly, his voice filling the small space. “What brings you here? Oh, nevermind that. Have you met my colleague, Captain Smith?”
Rose wanted to keep her gaze to the floor, but knew it was rather impolite to do so. She lifted her chin and found Captain Smith’s eyes on hers. The look lacked the heat and tenderness Rose once knew it capable of holding, and suddenly she felt overcome by chills and a parched throat. “I-I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making his acquaintance,” Rose answered, voice barely rising above a whisper. She dipped her head. “Captain Smith.”
He dipped his head in return. “Miss Rose.”
A flash of white over the captains’ shoulders, darting around and up the main staircase, refocused Rose’s attention. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, aiming to pass between them. Unfortunately, the coat room was small, and the space between the two captains even smaller. It was inevitable that Rose would brush against Captain Smith, the momentary sensation of their bodies touching electrifying her frazzled nerves. She wanted to gasp or cry out, but she did neither, pointedly not looking back as she rounded the staircase and followed the spectre of Millie to the second story of the house.
Upstairs, Rose found Millie in the nursery, huddling beneath her linen covers and quilts and looking quite miserable. A hand placed on the child’s head revealed she was feverish, which explained her short temper and lack of appetite. Rose, both worried for her niece and elated at having a genuine excuse to forego the party downstairs, called for a maid to send word about Millie’s illness and how it precipitated her sudden absence.
Rose then bestowed all her attention upon her niece. She helped Millie change into a soft cotton nightgown, fetched a cool, damp rag for her head, and stoked the brazier in the corner of the room. Every cough, wail, or request for water from the child spurred Rose on, determined as she was to keep herself occupied, lest her mind wonder to the party and its patrons. But it couldn’t last forever. Eventually Millie dozed off, and Rose, sitting down in a chair next to the bed, surrendered to her thoughts.
To say that she and Captain Smith had no acquaintance was an outright lie. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Almost a decade ago, she’d gone to Southampton to join her aunt and uncle for a season or two. Rose’s lungs had always been delicate, and the family doctor had suggested that the coastal air might fortify her. It was fate that her trip coincided with Captain Smith’s, then Lieutenant Smith’s, leave on land.
What Rose lacked in physical hardness she made up for with wit and artistic talent. She met Smith on the cliffs overlooking the docks as she was sketching ships, and the two were instantly drawn to each other. As summer came and went, Rose grew more and more certain that Smith would propose, and when he did, Rose thought she’d never be happier. Their bliss was short-lived however, when her uncle caught wind of the engagement.
Rose’s family had once been nobility, though now they were several generations removed and made their money from trade rather than the land. This streak of blue blood was enough to inspire a prejudice in their hearts, looking down on anyone common. Captain Smith, despite his rising star within the ranks of the Royal Navy, had no name, no land, and no money. Rose’s uncle wrote to her father, to which her father responded scathingly, ordering the engagement broken and calling Rose back to London, her health be damned. She was whisked away without giving Captain Smith a proper goodbye.
In London, the protests of Rose’s family began to poison her mind, and soon she began to believe that a life lived as the wife of a poor naval officer would be a sorry one indeed. She wrote a single letter to Captain Smith, officially ending their engagement and informing him of a new one; her family had selected a well-known textile merchant for her. By the year’s end, Rose was married, and not to Smith.
She awoke every day and regretted her choice. Her marriage to the textile merchant didn’t last long, but it was hellish. Behind closed doors, he drank and gambled, slowly depleting their money while berating Rose for failing to give him sons. Their financial situation forced them to move from London proper and into a small apartment in Bromley, where late one night and belligerently drunk, Rose’s husband died in a carriage crash. She was only twenty-three, widowed, and swamped in more debt than she knew what to do with. Her family, perhaps admitting blame in some small capacity, took Rose back, hiding her away like a shameful secret.
The melancholia grew intense. When had Rose last picked up her sketchbook? When had she last smiled?
A knock on the nursery door pulled Rose from her daze. It was her sister, still dressed in the pale blue taffeta gown she wore for the party, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Only then did Rose realize she hadn’t heard any of the guests leave, lost as she was in the sea of her own thoughts. Her sister approached the bed and handed the cup to her.
“You must be quite pleased,” her sister commented, now leaning over the nursery bed to take in Millie’s countenance. There was no anger in her voice, but there was a twinge of sadness. “You managed to escape another social gathering, and this time with a genuine excuse.”
Rose envisioned Captain Smith again and felt her heart beat ever faster. If she’d stayed, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the night. She wasn’t as strong as she used to be. “Well, someone had to watch Millie.”
“Yes, someone, anyone! A maid could have done it!” Her sister hissed, a scowl crossing her features. “Must you keep hiding, Rose?”
In lieu of answering, Rose sipped her tea, hoping the liquid warmth would lessen the blow of her sister’s words. This wasn’t the first time the sisters had had this argument.
Seeing that Rose didn’t intend to answer, her sister sighed, and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached a hand out to brush a few blonde, stray curls from Millie’s forehead, and said after a pause, “That Captain Smith said the two of you were acquaintances once. You knew each other from your time in Southampton.”
Rose hummed affirmatively, but didn’t correct her sister. She’d been so involved with her own impending marriage at the time that she hadn’t learned of Rose’s ill-fated engagement to the captain, just the nightmare that followed after.
“He said he hardly recognized you, as changed as you are now,” Her sister said, and Rose felt her lungs constrict at the words. Had her sister not wiped the tears from her cheeks, Rose wouldn’t have noticed how she began to cry. “Oh hush now,” her sister tried to console her, “perhaps you just need more time.”
Rose hiccupped. “Y-yes. M-more time.”
Her sister gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, then made to leave the nursery. Rose and her now cold cup of tea continued their vigil at Millie’s bedside.
