Three days passed where Rose remained in the bed, with round-the-clock care from Lucy and the other maids. Her family had already left and she thought to herself, How strange—that I am in a stranger's castle, in a stranger's bed, with no family nearby? She became familiar with the room during that time. Its wallpapers were yellow and brown, but she noticed there were small green details on the wall, like sprouting leaves. So small she had to squint to find them. All the furniture—the canopy bed, the dresser, the drawers, the vanity—were made out of lovely, dark mahogany wood, with intricate engravings and markings. She could tell no one had ever lived in this room before, as there were hardly any traces of human life at all. Everything was pristine and clear, with no scratches on the mahogany. And there was no dip in the bed where anyone had lain previously.
Her most favorite part of the room was the double doors leading to the balcony. Every morning, the light would shine in, growing slowly over the mountains, reaching in to wake her gently up. That is before Lucy came banging on the door. But before that, the golden-yellow light was lovely, and the birds twittered from outside, and the room awoke, teeming with life. Rose would stretch her arms out on the silk-linen duvet, each day growing in strength, until finally, on the fourth day, she felt well enough to sprout from the bed.
The young woman arose, walking straight to the double doors, as they were calling her. The light shining in the room was more silvery than golden, as it was still the earliest part of the morning. She saw the black mountains far off in the distance, and the sun peeking out over them. The acres and acres of forest that led up to the castle. The castle itself was on another mountain, with a magnificent view of the valley and forest below.
She opened up the doors and tip-toed out into the fresh morning air. She shivered in the chill but soon the sun's glow came to warm her up. As she exhaled, mist formed. She could see winter turning to spring before her eyes. The last snows of the summer thawed out in the mountains far off in the distance, and sprouts on the trees near the castle grew greener every second. Of course, the evergreens in the forest stayed the same, though. The snow fell off of them.
Rose was so glad winter was over. She smiled and hugged herself, warming up. She wished there was a chair out on the balcony where she could enjoy a cup of tea. Ah, yes. Tea. She still felt a small bit of soreness in her throat, but with a nice, steaming cup of tea, she was sure it would go away.
But just then, the coos and twitters of the birds faded away into the morning air. She watched as they flew up into the trees. The land and valley seemed to grow a little darker—like a cloud had passed over the morning sun and mountains. The sound of rustles escaped out of the forest near the castle. Rose leaned forward, grabbing the balcony's bars. She squinted, noticing the black shadow of something large coming out of the forest. An animal. No, a man. But what man could be that big? She followed the shadow as it traveled through the woods, coming out of the canopy and closer to the castle. Her heart beat faster and faster with each step that the creature took. But all she could make out was that shadow—no details, no face, nothing. The world clouded around the focal point of the black figure in the forest.
Knock. Knock.
"Miss Bourne, are you awake?!"
Rose flinched, flinging back from the balcony. She caught herself but was nonetheless disoriented. She turned to face the rounded door and spoke up: "Yes, Lucy! I'm awake." Yet, the girl turned straight back to the balcony, grabbing onto the bars and leaning over, peering off into the forest. But the black figure was gone. The birds returned and so did the sun. Almost as if nothing had happened. As if Rose had imagined it all.
Her brows scrunched together in frustration. How could it have been there one minute, and gone the next? Was she seeing things brought on by her illness? But her fever had broken nearly two days before….
The cracking sound of the doorknob turning, and the squeak of the hinges.
Rose pirouetted on her heels.
Lucy stared, dumbfounded, her mouth agape. "Miss Bourne…" She gasped in amazement. "You-you're up!" She tossed her hands in the air, a slow smile spreading across her ruddy yet comforting and motherly features.
Rose grinned. "Yes. I feel much better today." Her voice was softer now, not hoarse and full of crackles. It was as smooth as the thin, silky drapes framing the doors leading to the balcony. "Without your care, I'm afraid I would have never got over this ailment." Her eyes turned suddenly sad. "I'm always the caretaker at my own home. I don't know what they would do if I were sick…"
Lucy's brows knitted together, her lips pursing. "Well, dear, if'n you're ever ill again, you just come straight back to the castle and ole Lucy'll fix you up."
Rose sighed slightly then a small smile grew. "Thank you, Lucy. You've been so good to me." The girl walked through the silky drapes, looking almost like an ethereal angel or spirit in her nightgown, and sat down at the vanity stool. She dipped her hands down into the porcelain water basin before the cries of Lucy echoed throughout the room.
"Oh, dear, dear! That water's no good at all. Let me draw you some that's fresh."
Rose looked back and forth between Lucy and the water that was dripping through her fingers. In her opinion, one-day-old water was perfectly fine for washing one's face. But this was not so at the castle, where water was in better supply and some could be wasted.
Lucy scooped up the water basin and carried it into the bathroom, her skirts bustling all the way. Rose heard the water as it sloshed down the sink. Soon, the older woman came back with a steaming water basin and a few towelettes. "'Ere you are, miss!" She laid them down on the vanity.
"Thank you, Lucy." Rose took a towelette and dipped it into the basin, before applying it to her face. She felt her skin opening, waking up.
"Shall I take a brush to the miss's hair?"
"You can if you want to. I enjoy doing it myself but I know you love fixing my hair."
"That I do." She chuckled, coming around to Rose's backside and unbraiding her hair. When she was finished, she took the golden fine-tooth comb off of the vanity and commenced the long process of combing Rose's hair, beginning at her fiery tips.
While Rose finished washing her face and started to put cream and ointments on it—at Lucy's recommendation—the older woman grew quiet. Much quieter than she tended to be in the morning. She had a somber tone to her and caressed Rose's hair so softly as if it was the last time she would be seeing such lovely locks.
"What's the matter, Lucy?" Rose peered into the lady's eyes through the mirror.
"Oh, nothin' dear," she replied, sniffling slightly.
Rose gave a knowing smile. "Oh, come now. You're not usually this way."
Lucy combed out a few more strands, not daring to look Rose in the eyes, before revealing: "I 'spose it's that… It's just that, I'm gonna miss this." She sniffled and straightened up, poking her nose in the air and trying to keep composure.
Rose slumped.
"I've 'ardly even gotten to know you, and yet, 'avin' a mistress for even just a few days 'as brought me so much joy. Even if you was ill, I still treasured every minute of it. I've been so lonely and this 'elped to relieve that loneliness."
The girl could not help but sigh, and though there were no tears in her eyes, there was the sign of crying all over her pale yet freckled face. She gulped and said, "I've enjoyed it, too. I never quite noticed it but, I've been lonely at home. I do love my family, but, I've lost so many dear friends and people I once knew so well since my father's gone into debt. Nothing is the same anymore and the house is so distant and cold. It doesn't feel like home at all." She wrung her hands together as Lucy continued to comb, making her way up to the top of Rose's head. The girl looked off into the distance, her eyes drawing together as she winced. "For the first time in so many years, I'm somewhere that feels like… home."
Home. The word in her mind was shifting from a fireplace-filled mansion, with plenty of houseguests, servants, family, and fortunes from a memory of years before but was now no more—and becoming someone combing her hair in the morning, invitations to a small, private dinner, and people taking care of her when she was sick.
Lucy stopped brushing her hair for a moment.
Rose sighed. "I'll admit, it's taking some getting accustomed to—with all of this treatment I'm receiving, as well as… His Lordship."
His Lordship. The title tasted now like almost-ripe elderberries.
Her eyes raced around the vanity before resting on Lucy in the mirror. "But Lucy, I simply could not be happier with my stay. I've felt so welcome, and it's been quite a long time since I've felt truly wanted anywhere."
"Oh, my dear." Rose thought she saw a tear in the woman's eyes. "I can't imagine anyone anywhere not wantin' you as a guest! It's practically impossible! But just know you're always welcome 'ere. I'm not sure what day you plan on leavin' now that you're back to 'ealth, but if you wanted to stay longer, you most rightfully can."
Rose faltered. "But would His Lordship approve?"
Lucy's eyes changed; they tilted upward at the end corners. A thoughtful, cunning smile spread across her old, chapped lips. "Well… You could just ask 'im tonight at dinner."
Rose's eyes bulged out of their sockets. Her heart sped up faster than when she saw the black figure in the forest. "Have I—have I been invited to dine with him?!" she asked, panicked.
"Yes'm. I was told to tell ya, on the first day that you felt better and were up and about, that your presence would be requested at dinner. 'is Lordship and Mr. Chesterton'll both be there," she said cheerily with a certain spark in her voice.
The girl felt relief at the mention of Mr. Chesterton's name. "Oh, alright, of course." She took a deep breath and crossed her hands in her lap. "You must be overjoyed to help me prepare for tonight then," she joked, trying to calm herself.
"You've no idea!" Lucy exclaimed, combing the girl's hair again but with more enthusiasm. "I've already begun makin' plans in me 'ead for what you'll wear and 'ow you'll look!"
"I can't wait." Rose winced slightly but did not want to spoil Lucy's fun.
In the back of her mind, though, the girl could not help but wonder: If His Lordship does not want me for a wife—or no wife at all, for that matter—why am I being treated in such a manner?
◜❦︎◞
Rose ran her fingers over the deep red fabric. The gown was made of fine silk with ruffles on the skirt and ruby jewels decked around the bodice. It just might have been the most lavish thing she had ever worn. She probably would not have cared too much for the gown and found it too extravagant for her taste, if not for the fact that it absolutely, positively looked like her namesake—a rose. The ruffles were all in a circular pattern and motion, forming the flower. And then the bodice with the jewels was like little droplets of dew that had fallen on it from the early morning mists.
Lucy had done her hair up in an elaborate do once again, although this time she left a few straggling curls to frame the girl's face. Rose quite liked that detail, as she loved her hair and wanted it better displayed. The red of her hair was similar to the color of the gown, but it had a certain orange tint to it, like fire, whereas the gown was a deeper ruby red.
The girl found herself twirling about in the mirror, looking at every inch of herself. She even looked at her face. Some of her freckles had disappeared from staying inside for several days and also from putting the creams and ointments on her face.
Two knocks sounded at the door and re-entered Lucy. "I see you're gettin' acquainted with the gown. I just knew you'd love it." She lifted a wide necklace, the same color as the jewels on the bodice. "I brought some jewelry for ya."
The older woman wrapped the necklace around Rose; it draped all across the girl's collarbones and sprawled out all across her chest, leading downward in a "V" shape. The woman then gave Rose a pair of ruby tassels for her ears.
Lucy stepped back, viewing her creation. She gasped, her hands covering her mouth.
"What is it?" Rose asked.
There were tears in her eyes. "This might be… No. This is the most beautiful outfit I've ever put together. And it couldn't 'ave looked better on anyone else but you, dear."
"Oh, surely you don't mean that." Rose's eyes fell away from her face and instead, she looked down at the floor. She moved away from the mirror.
"Oh, but I do!" Lucy exclaimed. "Just imagine what 'is Lordship will think when the most gorgeous woman in all of England comes to dine with 'im."
Me? The most gorgeous woman in all of England… Rose stopped for a moment, and slowly inched her head back until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Is it true? Or just one of Lucy's exaggerating compliments? Most certainly the latter, she concluded. When she saw herself, she did not see the most beautiful woman, not even a pretty woman at that. Just plain, with freckles. And although she loved her fiery red curls that bustled up on top of her head, not everyone thought the same.
"I used to be bullied for my red, curly hair and freckles…" Rose spoke plaintively, almost a whisper, with a far-away look in her ghostly blue eyes.
"Oh…" Lucy removed her hands from her mouth. "Well, I—" She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry to 'ear that, Miss Bourne."
Before Rose could reply, an abrupt knock sounded upon the door. Mrs. Kensington opened it, her head sticking out, her eyes as stern and focused as a hawk. "His Lordship awaits your presence, Miss Bourne. Are you ready?"
"Oh, yes. Quite." Rose hastily picked up her skirts, adrenaline suddenly coursing through her veins.
"Good." Mrs. Kensington pursed her thin lips and straightened up. "Follow me."
Rose trailed behind the small yet stout woman. She glanced back at her room once, finding Lucy's eyes, but she soon turned back around.
Thoughts pervaded her mind as she traversed down the white marble hallways. The porcelain structures of Greek and Roman gods and goddesses stared at her, some even jealous of her immense beauty. But all that she could think of was how to behave in front of Lord Ashworth at a dinner party. Would he be as agreeable as he had been at the funeral? What would he think of her rosy gown, a gown that was daring with its low, "V"-shaped cut? Was Lucy making a suggestion with the choice of it? Rose was not so sure. And then, those words came back to her. Just imagine what His Lordship will think when the most gorgeous woman in all of England comes to dine with him… Rose knew the words were not true in the slightest, but what if they were? What would he think? She had not dined formally with anyone in years, not since Father had ceased his extravagant dinner parties. And even then, she had just been a young girl, the last ones being when she was fifteen or sixteen. She had not practiced formal etiquette in years, and surely she had not practiced her conversational skills in years either. Would he think her awkward?
And what would he say when she asked him for a longer stay? How long would he permit her to live in his grand castle, too grand for the likes of her? She knew she did not belong in such an estate, for she was a destitute merchant's daughter who had curly red hair and freckles, whose hands were dry and cracked from scrubbing dishes and clothes all day long, from tending to the garden to get vegetables and fruit for her family. Even though it was not a perfectly apt fit, her two sisters Minnie and Hattie would have fared much better in the castle than she. Rose was fitter to be a maid than an honored guest. And with the treatment she was receiving, she might as well have been the lady of the house—which she was most certainly not meant to be. To even think the late baroness had considered it…
But then again, neither Minnie nor Hattie would have stayed after hearing their potential fiancé was a beast. They would have flung themselves out of the castle doors and into the carriage, squealing the whole way. Rose almost giggled at the thought, her lips curling up at the sides. Her sisters could be silly handfuls, but she loved them nonetheless. And even if her sister Minnie were not always in the right, Rose longed for her strong heart, her courage to say what she meant and thought at all times. Perhaps that is why the baroness had chosen her. Not only because she would see past Lord Ashworth's exterior, but because she did not have the fire in her heart to say no, especially at the expense of her family.
Rose could not deny, however, staying at the castle was a lovely and unexpected departure from her life as she had known it for the past several years. Even if it was strange and new, she enjoyed everyone's presence that she had encountered. Mrs. Kensington could be stern, but Rose sensed a good-hearted, caring woman under all of that stony exterior. Lucy was the only person Rose had ever considered to be a true friend in years. The girl truly had grown fond of her. Mr. Chesterton, even if they had only met and dined together once, had captured Rose with his natural charm and humor. All of the staff were superb and tended to her every need. Not to mention the castle was staggeringly beautiful; its white marble walls had arrested the girl. And she had not even seen half of it yet.
And then Beast… Rose struggled to find the words to describe how she felt about him. It was like—when she was a child, and she had had a nightmare, soon jumping up out of her bed, running down the hallways to her parents' room. Everything was dark and black and cold. But then, her father would put his arms around her, and Rose would close her eyes, and everything was dark and black but not cold. She would nuzzle into Father's chest, her eyes shut tight, the faint scent of old weathered books on his fingers from where he had read before falling asleep. That's what the Beast was like in her head. He was both the nightmare and the comfort that came afterward. He had been there to save her when she was so distraught over the funeral, the funeral that was somehow both for the baroness and her mother simultaneously. He had been there for her to pull her out of that deep darkness, even if their interaction lasted for but a few minutes.
But would he prove to be this way again?
"Here we are, Miss Bourne."
Rose came to a stop, taking in her surroundings after being lost in her head. The tall white doors leading into the dining room rose high above her. She gulped.
Mrs. Kensington leaned in and whispered, with an uncharacteristically caring tone: "Are you nervous?"
The girl nodded.
"Well, don't be." Mrs. Kensington shot her nose up in the air suddenly and laid her hand on the doorknob.
The words were not comforting in the slightest, but without further warning, the doors that seemed to lead up to the heavens opened. Rose's face turned awfully pale and she shut her eyes, clasping her hands together so tight that her hands and fingers turned bright red. The shuffling sound of the door against the marble. The clink and clatter of silverware. The chitter-chatter of two men's voices, one significantly deeper than the other.
Rose opened her eyes, and all sounds stopped. She took a few steps forward until she stood in the doorway. Mrs. Kensington walked off to the side of the room, joining other servants.
But a single focal point beckoned to her. The long dining table led up to it, and the walls of the room closed in on it. That single black focal point. Her eyes darted about, trying to find anything else to look upon.
But then, she could not avoid it, when that dark voice called out to her:
"Good evening, Miss Bourne."
Miss Bourne… Her surname, in his mouth—it was like dark, overly-rich German chocolate cake, with bitter undertones.
Her eyes finally fell and focused on the black drape. And the black drape focused back on her. It was at the end of the dining table, on the other side of the room. Such a contrast to the white of the room. The Beast.
Before she could stumble over her words awkwardly, a loud tenor voice shouted out over the rest of the dining room: "Ah!" Mr. Chesterton called, in a feigned French accent, "Mademoiselle Bourne, delighted to 'ave you with us zis evening!" The dapper man, with his black and white suit and tailcoat, got up from his seat and came around, swirling about the room until he reached Rose. He bowed before her and reached out for her hand, kissing it. Rose's cheeks flushed, but then her eyes drew upwards, above Mr. Chesterton, until landing on the black figure. Lord Ashworth stood in her presence.
She needed to say something. "Mr. Chesterton, I—" she pulled her hand away from his mouth, "I do not remember you being French." She allowed a small simper to grace her features.
"No, no, you're right," he said, his true voice returning and his head falling. "But can't I have my fun every now and then?" He picked his head back up, smirking.
That dark, rich, yet crisp voice again: "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse Chesterton, Miss Bourne. He likes to have all eyes on him and so he makes a fool of himself, especially when he's had a few glasses of wine."
"I do not!" Mr. Chesterton retorted, spinning about to face Lord Ashworth, with his hands on his hips. "Don't listen to a word he says, Miss Bourne."
Rose could not help but smile at their friendly banter. "I'll try not to." Although she said those words, the truth was she listened very carefully to every word that Lord Ashworth had to say. He spoke so cooly, so eloquently; he had command of the entire room when he spoke with his deep crooning tones. He did not have to yell for attention at all, as Mr. Chesterton apparently did.
"I trust that you are feeling better?" Lord Ashworth inquired in a cool tone.
"Oh, yes, much better, thanks. With the care of your lovely staff, of course." She glanced over at Mrs. Kensington, who kept up a mostly blank stare.
"I'm glad to hear that. Won't you sit down, Miss Bourne?" It sounded more like a command rather than a request.
A servant pulled out the chair at the foot of the table. "Of course, Your Lordship." Rose gathered her skirts up and took her seat.
"'Your Lordship'! Bah!" Mr. Chesterton chortled as he plopped down in his chair. "It sounds so strange to hear you call him such a thing. That title doesn't fit him at all. Much too silly and formal, don't you think, Ashworth?"
Rose turned to face Lord Ashworth. His drape flowed as he shook his head back and forth. He lifted a black glove, arising out of the drape, motioning to Mr. Chesterton. "This is what I have to put up with every time he becomes intoxicated."
"Oh…" Rose fumbled with her fingers, her cheeks flushing once more.
Mrs. Kensington rubbed her temples and sighed.
"You're embarrassing me, Chesterton," came Lord Ashworth's aggravated voice. "And don't you think it's perfectly fine for Miss Bourne to call me as such since we have only met once before?"
He lifted a glass of wine. "Well, then hurry up and get more acquainted with her so she can call you other such…" His words were drowned as he downed the drink.
A slight laugh echoed from the black drape on the other side of the room, before Rose turned her head toward him, and Lord Ashworth stifled it. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I suppose we should… become more acquainted then."
Rose's face turned pale. "I suppose we should," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The girl felt herself shaking in her seat, her heels clicking up and down on the floor.
What a lovely impression I'm making, she thought. If only I had the strong heart of my sister… Then, she sat up a little straighter, lifting one of her eyebrows. What would Minnie say?
Suddenly, Rose put another simper on her face, breathing in deep. She forced herself to look at the black drape. "And what should I call His Lordship once I've become acquainted with him?" She took a sip of tea.
All heads in the room turned to face Lord Ashworth, who sat still. A moment later, he reached out a glove to the wine glass in front of him, picking it up and swirling it about, inviting the air in. That swirling sound was the only one in the dining room. He lifted a small part of the drape, just above his chin and mouth, though Rose could not make much out as it was all shadowed over with black—and took a sip.
"Ashworth, I suppose," he replied, a bit sarcastically, his drape facing Mr. Chesterton. He then cocked his head slightly, the bottom of the drape becoming uneven as he turned his focus toward Rose. "And what shall I call you once we've become more acquainted?"
Rose lifted her eyebrows. Suddenly, all the heads in the room—Mrs. Kensington who stood against the wall, Mr. Chesterton who sipped on his wine, the servants who were in and out of the kitchen—landed on her. Her eyes dropped from the black figure across the table to her palms in her lap. "Well, you already refer to me as 'Miss Bourne', so I feel there is no other name to call me by except—" She bit her lip. "Rose…"
The taste of it in her mouth was the light, airy sweetness of rose water. A dusting of perfume. A pink, dewy flower in a garden. One footprint in freshly fallen snow, mist in the air, straight out of the mouth. It was the last snow of spring when the pink roses bloomed.
"Rose... Rose, it is then."
But her name in his mouth was a deep red, even deeper than the jewels on her gown. It tasted like thick red wine, felt like expensive silk, sounded like the low notes of a clarinet, and smelled like ashes as they flicked up out of the fireplace or off the end of a cigar and flew, flaming in the air.
She liked her name in his mouth.