Author's Notes: Rose and Donna finally get to talk. :) And a couple confrontations happen...
Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you like this one; please review!
This chapter's dedicated to TheDoctorsMadCompanion. Happy (belated) birthday! And many thanks to lastincurableromantic for being an amazing beta.
Upon opening the bedroom door, a warmth enveloped Rose at the familiar sight. She and Donna had shared this room for as long as she could remember. It was a place of comfort and refuge, though in truth that had everything to do with the amazing person that stood before her.
The girls said little as they readied for bed, each treasuring the serenity that came from performing the simple ritual together. Once in bed (and oh! was there anything as wonderful as that moment of resting again in one's own bed after a long absence?), in the darkness of the moonlit room, Rose suddenly felt the tremendous weight of her silent burden, and could bear it no longer. Her voice barely a whisper, the words spilled out without thought or preface.
"Mr. Smith proposed to me."
She saw Donna's head snap towards her in surprise, her keen eyes attempting to search her face through the dark. "What?! Mr. Smith… you mean that Mr. Smith? That arrogant, skinny strip of nothing who insulted you? That one?"
Rose stared back, staggered by her sister's sharp reaction. She knew Donna to be the kindest, most compassionate person she'd ever met. Yet underneath it all, beneath the genuine sweetness and quiet composure she showed to the world, lay both a heart of gold and a fiery spirit that few besides Rose had ever seen. The frustration and hurt of the past few months, coupled with the shock of Rose's confession, had temporarily allowed that fire to rise to the surface.
A beat of silence passed, both of them stunned by her outburst, before Rose quietly agreed. "Yep. That one."
Apparently that was enough to send them over the edge, as muffled laughter filled the room. If Donna noticed that Rose's laugh sounded just the slightest bit hysterical, colored as it was with both relief and regret, she didn't mention it.
Once their amusement had subsided, Rose quietly related the majority of what had passed between herself and Mr. Smith in the gazebo that day. As often as that turbulent scene had replayed itself in her mind, she was able to do so with amazing clarity.
Now that the initial surprise was past, Donna seemed to take it all in stride. "Well, he'd be daft not to fall for you, Rose. You're beautiful, brave, clever, and probably the first woman ever to stand up to him, besides his own mother," Donna declared, unknowingly causing Rose's heart to pang in her chest. By her age he had already lost both his parents.
"Wouldn't have hurt him to give that proposal a bit more thought, though. To be fair, it probably wouldn't even occur to someone like him that you might refuse. Still, I'm not sure insults set the right mood. Oh, Rose," Donna gasped, her tone switching suddenly from sarcasm to heartfelt concern, "if he truly felt all that and yet persisted, he must love you. How your refusal must have broken his heart!"
"I hope not," Rose answered, her shoulders slumping as she remembered his wounded expression. "I never meant to, honestly, Donna; it took me completely by surprise. Considering all his doubts, perhaps he'll eventually be thankful I refused him. You… you don't blame me for saying no, do you?"
Donna gaped at her. "Of course not, Rose! Don't you ever think that! I just, well," she hesitated, trying to put it into words somehow, "he loves you, which means he's good in my book, but it also means the thought of his heartache hurts more."
"You already think well of everyone, and you were certainly more just to him than I was. He's not perfect, but he's a much better person than I gave him credit for," Rose agreed, her face warming with shame. "I should not have accused him about Saxon like I did."
"You only spoke what you knew, Rose. Though in the moment, you no doubt made him jealous," Donna hurried to reassure her.
Rose closed her eyes. "I didn't know, I believed. And I was so wrong," she admitted, going on to tell how he had approached her with the letter, and all it revealed of his involvement with Saxon. She now knew it almost by heart. She watched Donna grow pale with horror as she told of Saxon's deceit and treachery. It pained Rose to relate such wickedness to her sister, who attempted to believe the best of everyone. They were rather alike in that, although Rose had always thought herself to be a little less naive, a little more discerning. She could not miss the irony of that presumption now.
"I can't believe it! I am happy to think better of Mr. Smith, but the idea of Mr. Saxon acting so abominably! He always seemed so kind, so genuine and open. There must be some mistake!"
Rose shook her head glumly. "I'm afraid they cannot both be innocent, Donna. There's only enough goodness between them to make one really good man, and I believe it all belongs to John Smith. Mr. Saxon is merely an actor who played the part to perfection."
"Poor Mr. Smith! It's terrible to think that we only added to his suffering, judging him so harshly," Donna lamented, her tone full of regret.
"And I thought myself so clever in my dislike of him, Donna!" Rose's attempt at lightness fell flat, her smile sad as she turned tearful eyes to her sister's. "When I read that letter… I have been so miserable, sister, so very unhappy. And I deserve to be! To realize my mistake, the result of my own weakness and wounded pride, and not to have my Donna near to comfort me!"
Before she finished Donna had moved to her bed, pulling Rose into a hug as the long-suppressed tears made their escape at last. They sat like that awhile, rocking slightly as Donna stroked her hair, finding solace in each other's presence.
"I wish I could take it back," Rose whispered. "When I think of what I said, how it must have hurt him… But it doesn't matter now. What of Mr. Saxon, though? Should we make the truth about him known?"
Donna pondered this a moment, frowning. Rose could see the conflicting emotions play across her face, echoing what she felt herself. In the end, Donna's forgiving nature won out. "I'm not sure that defaming his character so openly is the right thing to do. Perhaps he is honestly trying to make a fresh start; then it would be most unkind and might make him desperate. But still, it is a terrible secret to keep, isn't it? What do you think?"
Rose shook her head in agreement. "Even though it troubles me, I don't think we should. Mr. Smith confided in me because he trusted me to keep silent, especially regarding his sister's involvement. And without the details, who would believe me? Mr. Saxon bewitched us all so completely, and the prejudice against Mr. Smith is too strong. Mr. Saxon and the regiment will soon be gone anyway, and then it will hardly matter."
It was not an ideal resolution, but it still gave Rose a greater measure of peace than she'd known for days. Having Donna back again was a source of both immense happiness and unspoken sorrow. The two were nearly inseparable, relishing the joy and rightness of being together again, able to just be themselves. But the constancy of their company and the openness between them also threatened to cleave Rose's heart.
For Donna was not happy. Of course she was delighted to be home again, and she was not morose, just more… subdued.
Her affection for Mr. Harkness remained unshaken. She had fallen hard, and not even heartbreak could tarnish her love or esteem for him. And the one piece of knowledge that Rose could not share, the other half of the letter that told of Jack's own devotion, prodded at her. Though she hated holding anything back from her sister, she knew that it could only make the hurt worse. Donna had even told her so herself. Rose feared that only the far-flung dream of a miraculous reunion could ever fully heal Donna's heart.
Jackie, while pleased to have her girls home again, still found much to lament. She had not-so-secretly hoped that one or both of them might have returned home engaged, or at the very least attached.
She sighed. So far luck had seemed to escape them. Donna and Rose had been home for a few days now, and life had returned to its usual cadence. At the present moment, her three eldest were reading, of all things. They took after their father in that, she reflected; he was probably doing the same in that stuffy old study of his. She was helping Lynda and Lucy rework the hats they'd brought back from town, though she secretly believed they were beyond help. Discontent, she sighed again loudly as she addressed Rose.
"The Collinses are quite happily settled, then? She has always been a practical girl, Martha has. If she's anything like her mother, I have no doubt she'll keep both her house and her husband in line. I must say, I never would have thought she'd be the one to oust us from our home. I suppose they think of it quite as their own already, and have talked about living here after your father is gone."
Rose cringed at her mother's callous assessment of her friends. Praying for patience, she drew a deep breath before replying, "They are quite happy, Mum. But I doubt they would think so unfeelingly, much less mention such things in my presence."
Jackie huffed, though she seemed slightly placated. "I suppose not. But if I was them, I would be ashamed to accept an estate I hadn't any right to!"
When no one made any answer, accustomed as they were to the futility of this argument, she moved on to other matters. "What of the Torchwood estate? Has there been any word of Mr. Harkness' return?"
Rose desperately tried to catch her mother's eye, beseeching her not to broach this subject any further, but Jackie either didn't notice or pretended not to. Rose watched in dismay as Donna's eyes fell shut, a pained look clouding her lovely face. "No, Mum," Rose replied firmly, hoping to so end the discussion. Admittedly, it had been a foolish hope.
"And Donna never saw him in London, either! I guess we must give him up as lost, then," Jackie plowed on, heedless of her daughters' distress. "It is a shame. He was so amiable and handsome, too. Well, I daresay he doesn't deserve her."
Color crept across Donna's ashen features as her mother groused. Quietly, but with an edge of warning in her voice, she spoke. "Mum, that's enough."
However, nothing could stop Jackie once she got going. "S'pose it's his choice. We certainly don't want him here. Let him practice his flirtations in the city, where he can do less harm. But I will always say he treated my daughter very badly."
"That's enough!" Donna exclaimed, suddenly on her feet, her whole body shaking with anger. "You may insult me all you like, but I won't hear you speak of him that way!" she declared before making her escape, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.
At last Rose came around enough to follow her. She found her out back, leaning heavily against one of the ancient elms, palms digging into her eyes and chest heaving as she tried to calm down. She made no sign that she heard Rose's approach.
Wordlessly Rose wrapped her arms around her and felt Donna let go, her anguished sobs filling the quiet afternoon air. It was her turn to console, yet her own heart ached as she witnessed her sister's anguish.
"Oh, Rose, I just couldn't bear it! Why can't she just let it go?" she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that! Mum must hate me."
"Shh. S'alright. She'll survive. Honestly, Mum had it coming, Donna, and you know it," she tried to joke, eliciting a teary chuckle. "We just didn't think it would come from you."
They wandered outside for awhile, giving everyone a chance to cool off before returning to the house. Donna wanted to apologize for her outburst, but Rose wouldn't let her, insisting that it would only negate any good that had been done. The rest of the day passed rather quietly, yet pleasantly enough, a hint of tension still humming in the air.
Later that evening, Donna bade everyone goodnight with her usual sweetness and a touch of contrition. Jackie eyed her with caution, but Donna just pulled her into a fierce hug, causing Jackie to smile as she returned it. She is a Tyler, after all, she thought.
A week had passed, and the date of the regiment's departure drew ever nearer. A feeling of dejection settled upon the town, as though winter had come early. Indeed it seemed that Rose, Donna, and Joan were the only ladies who still found themselves equal to the unreasonable demands of daily life, such as eating and sleeping, a fact which their younger siblings found most unforgivable.
"Whatever will we do now?" Lucy wailed, throwing herself into a vacant chair. "Really, I don't know how you all can go about so happily, as if our world wasn't ending?"
"'S easier than you might think," Rose replied tartly.
Jackie was much more sympathetic with her daughter's distress. "I remember crying for days when Colonel Millar's regiment left. Broke my heart, it did," Jackie professed ruefully.
"If only Dad would take us to Brighton. But he doesn't care a whit if our hearts are broken," Lucy pouted.
"Just imagine, all those officers," Lynda sighed dreamily. "And you could go sea-bathing, Mum."
"It would be a dream," Jackie agreed, irritation creeping into her voice, "but your father is being decidedly obstinate on the matter."
Rose and Donna shared an amused yet weary look. Their sisters talked of little else these days. With each ridiculous conversation Rose's frustration with her family grew, and she found her resentment towards Mr. Smith diminishing.
On one subject, however, they were blessedly silent. Ever since 'the incident,' no mention had been made of either Torchwood or its recent occupants. The tension had dissipated, but everyone regarded Donna slightly differently, having now caught a glimpse of the fire that smoldered under the surface. With these results, she could not say that she minded the change, either.
The next day saw a decided change in Lucy's spirits. She twirled about the house, giggling and chattering incessantly at anyone within earshot. A friend of hers, who shared not only her youth but also a similarly exuberant and impulsive nature, had recently married a colonel in the regiment. This girl, now Mrs. Forster, had invited Lucy to accompany her to Brighton for the summer.
Mrs. Tyler was delighted for her, Lynda was gloomy and jealous, and Rose was troubled. Despite the tongue-lashing she would receive if they ever found out, she nevertheless sought out her father in his study that afternoon to argue against the arrangement.
"She is too young and foolish, Dad, you know she is, and her friend is no better!" Rose implored, trying her best not to get flustered. "They will only encourage each other's silliness, and without any of us there to curb them!"
Pete laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I understand your concern, Rose, but it is just in Lucy's nature to make a spectacle of herself. And in this scenario, it will hardly affect us at all. Let her get it out of her system."
Taking a deep breath, Rose countered by saying, "It does affect us. The way she behaves in public, or rather doesn't, unavoidably reflects upon us all."
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. "What is it, then? Has she already scared someone away? You deserve better than a coward like that anyway, Rosie."
If he only knew…
Rose shook her head, her efforts to remain calm failing in the face of such a potentially disastrous situation. "This isn't about just me, Dad. Please forgive me for my bluntness, but it must be said. Lucy is young and wild; she does not care about manners, or, or… respectability, or honor, only her own amusement. She has never bothered to learn much of anything, but has lived an idle, careless life filled with flirtation and frivolity. Were she still at home these things could be remedied, as they are not entirely unusual for someone of her age. But if you do not check her now, if you send her out on her own this way, it will only set her character as the most determined flirt to ever make herself and her family ridiculous! And Lynda will follow her example. Would you abandon them to such empty lives, inviting the censure and loathing of society, and dragging their family down with them?"
Realizing that Rose was in earnest, he gently took her hand in both of his, his eyes awash with sincerity. "Please don't worry, my dear. You and Donna will always be admired and respected wherever you go, no matter how foolish your sisters are. If we force Lucy to stay, she (and therefore we) will be miserable. We must let her go. Colonel Forster will watch over her, and she has no wealth or title that might attract unwanted attention. We may even hope that the experience will humble her a bit, when she is no longer the 'belle of the ball' so to speak. And she cannot get much worse," he concluded wryly.
Rose smiled back at him but could not find any humor in the situation as it stood. It was not the decision she'd hoped for. While she still felt rather uneasy about it, she could only hope that her father was right.
On their final day in town, a group of officers had been invited to dine at the Tyler home, Mr. Saxon among them. Rose had seen him several times since her return and had learned to bear his presence fairly well, despite the rather harsh light under which she now saw him. His gentle manners now reeked of pretentiousness; his witty comments sounded rehearsed and insincere. And she felt almost sick when she witnessed the utter confidence with which he renewed his attentions to her, sure that she would welcome them without question, a sobering testament of her previous vanity and folly.
So far she had been pleasant but detached in his company. Yet now she found she could no longer bear even this measure of pretense. And so, when he approached her later that evening to ask about her stay in Hunsford, she replied, "I had a wonderful time, thank you. It was nice to catch up with my friends again. We visited Rosings quite frequently. In fact, Mr. Smith and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, stayed there for several weeks during our visit. Do you know the colonel, Mr. Saxon?"
Under her scrutinizing gaze, Mr. Saxon appeared quite discomposed, a flurry of emotions traversing his face, surprise and alarm among them. Yet his simpering smile returned much too quickly. "Yes, I used to see him occasionally. He was always kind to me. Did you like him?"
"Very much," Rose replied honestly.
Casually he asked, "And did you see them often?"
"Nearly every day, while they were there."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's, I believe."
"Yes. Although," she replied slowly, choosing her words with care, "I found that Mr. Smith improves upon acquaintance."
"Really?" he spluttered, and Rose secretly rejoiced that she could so discompose him. "May I ask how? Was he a bit less rude, perhaps? I dare not hope that his character has improved."
Rose's wide brown eyes suddenly bore into his. "No, indeed. I believe that his character, where it counts, is very much the same as it has always been."
He eyed her warily, as if she were a wild beast and he was trying to ascertain whether she was a threat or not. Best make it clear, then, she thought. "When I said that he improved upon acquaintance, I didn't mean he had changed. 'S more that, now I know him better, I understand who he really is."
Alarm now prevailed, Mr. Saxon growing more anxious by the second. Message received, Rose thought with satisfaction.
It was almost a full minute before he could collect himself enough to speak. When he did, though, the cool, flawless facade was back in place. Rose found it chilling, and again wondered at (and berated herself for) the seeming ease of his deception. "I am delighted to hear that he is at least attempting to appear more civil. Perhaps his pride will make him more just, so no one else will suffer at his hand as I have. Though I am afraid the change you noticed may only have been a show of deference to his aunt and devotion to her daughter."
Rose bit her cheek to stop the saucy reply on the tip of her tongue, nodding ever so slightly, her smile tight. That this man had the gall to stand before her and say such things, hoping for another show of sympathy, confounded her. As did the fierce protectiveness she had felt while he spoke, not only for Isobel, but for John Smith as well. Indignation and fury towards Saxon for his cruelty and lies, she understood, but even she had been surprised by her spirited defense of Mr. Smith.
Thankfully Mr. Saxon made no further attempts to speak with her, and they parted civilly, each hoping it would be for good. Lucy also left that evening; she would stay with Mrs. Forster in town that night, setting out early the next morning for Brighton. Amidst Jackie's blessings, Lynda's bitter tears, and her own giddy prattling, Lucy hardly noticed the more subdued goodbyes of the others.
With the back of his sleeve, John Smith hastily wiped away the slight sheen of sweat that covered his brow. He had just finished fencing practice, exerting himself more than usual, as he had not allowed himself to use his right, or what he liked to call his 'fighting hand.' He was a brilliant swordsman, after all, and needed a little challenge to keep him on his toes. Plus he could then be considered ambidextrous, and ooh, that was a fantastic word. Not that he ever planned on using this particular skill as he detested violence. He was expected to be proficient at it, however, and so he had learned to be.
It had also, of late, proved a helpful distraction. After having fought his feelings for so long, he had finally given in, and yet she had refused him. Why couldn't he just let her go?
Her face, her passion, her words haunted him, cutting him to the quick. 'If you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner…" He had been honest with her, painfully so, but he with time he saw the hurtful, almost cruel nature of his admission as well.
He saw Rose Tyler everywhere, in everything. In a flash of honey blonde hair on the street. In the copy of Shakespeare's poems that sat upon his shelf. In the graceful movements of a dance. And in sleep, well, that was the worst. Sometimes nightmare, sometimes fantasy, but always she was there. So he learned to avoid that, too. His life was a torment.
Something had to change. Resolution flowed through him, a renewed spring in his step and determination in the set of jaw.
He would conquer this.