Author's Note: Please review? Pretty please, with bananas on top?
Beta'd by lastincurableromantic
Chin propped in her hand, legs swung over the arm of her favorite chair, Rose watched the rain falling softly outside the window, her mind drifting. Her copy of Evelina lay forgotten in her lap. It was a rare moment of peace in the Tyler house. The sitting room (for once) was actually a place of repose, as Jackie and Lynda had gone into town to visit her sister, where they would probably remain until the afternoon. Donna was sewing, and Pete had even emerged from his library and was reading on the sofa.
The regiment had been gone for a fortnight. While Rose had breathed a sigh of relief to finally have Saxon gone, a lull had settled over the neighborhood. There were fewer parties to attend, and the ones they did felt rather dispirited. Lynda and Jackie bewailed the loss, and even Joan seemed slightly cast down and quieter than usual.
The problem was that Rose felt a similar listlessness, though for very different reasons. Perhaps restless might be a more accurate description. She was concerned about Lucy and tired of the long days at home. Only the time spent in quiet confidence with Donna, usually at dusk as they were drifting off to sleep, soothed her heart.
"Donna?" Rose whispered into the stillness later that night, wondering if she'd already drifted off.
Donna mumbled sleepily, her voice muffled by her pillow. "Yeah?"
"Are you worried about Lucy?"
A sigh sounded from the direction of Donna's bed. "'Course I am. She's silly and thoughtless, and beyond our reach. Lynda seems to be improving, though. It's good to see her show an interest in learning something new."
"I just hope we can survive it," Rose muttered under her breath, thinking of the charred rolls Lynda had proudly served at dinner. Donna snickered in response.
"I am so eager for this trip, Donna. 'S like I can hardly bear to sit still anymore. But I wish you were coming with us," Rose confessed.
"You're going to have a wonderful time, Rose. Please don't worry about me," Donna urged. "I enjoyed my time in London well enough, but I'm quite content to be home again. Besides, Dad has asked me to look over his books with him. Apparently Uncle bragged a bit about how I helped him sort his."
Rose didn't have to see her face to know that Donna was blushing, but she detected a hint of pride in her voice as well. Grinning, she replied, "Well, of course he did, 'cause you're brilliant. Well, 'cept for when it comes to admitting how brilliant you are. Then you're a bit daft."
Donna's pillow landed squarely on Rose's face with a solid thump, sending both girls into fits of muted laughter. Several minutes later, after a series of retaliatory volleys, ducking, and muffled squeals, they collapsed onto their beds, happy and spent.
Feeling much better on Donna's account, she began to look forward to her upcoming trip with an almost giddy sense of anticipation. To see new places, wander the land, breathe the fresh, wild air, meet and befriend new people… it all promised a sense of freedom that she'd never had but had always yearned for. She was bound for adventure, farther than she'd ever been before, and suddenly everything seemed possible.
As July approached, a measure of contentment and normalcy returned to the town. People who had left for the winter returned, bringing with them an increase in both gaiety and engagements. Jackie forgot the militia for her more usual sources of gossip and dissatisfaction, and Lynda was now able to walk into Meryton without dissolving into tears. Lucy's letters were neither as frequent nor as entertaining as she had promised, which was just as well; they were filled with chatter about fine clothes, handsome officers, and detailed accounts of how said officers looked in their fine clothes.
Meanwhile Rose felt a nervous energy tickling beneath her skin, building with each passing day. About a week before their intended departure, she received an apologetic letter from her aunt.
My dearest Rose,
I'm afraid your uncle's business will not allow us to leave as soon as we'd hoped, and we must be back in a month. While I'm very sorry that we won't be able to visit the lake country as we planned, we still hope to go as far north as Derbyshire, which lies quite near to my childhood home. I hope you will understand, dear. We are eager to set out and look forward to seeing you in a few weeks' time.
With love,
Aunt Harriet
Rose felt a rush of disappointment at the thought of all she would now miss. But it is still an adventure, she reminded herself, and I must make the most of it. The northern country was reputed to be stunning, and she hoped that she would have leave to explore the wilds as well as the more civilized places. Though her wait was now doubled, Rose bore it with her usual cheerfulness.
The mention of Derbyshire unsettled her slightly, causing a nervous fluttering inside her which she tried to shrug off. Surely there was no reason to be nervous. They could travel where they pleased, and it was highly unlikely that their path would cross his at all, especially if he was still in London. Right?
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's arrival in Powell was heralded with great felicity by all the family. Jackie eagerly informed her sister of all the latest gossip and news, unaware that Harriet had already heard most of it (at least the important bits) from her nieces' letters.
The Gardiners left early the next morning with Rose in tow, all three of them filled with that wonderful thrill of nervous energy, excitement, and wonder that adventure brings. Rose promised to write often and relate as best she could the novelty and beauty she encountered.
Their trip was by far the pleasantest Rose had ever had. The conversation was intelligent and cheerful, the silences comfortable. Aunt Harriet wistfully shared her childhood memories of Flydale, the small town not far from Gallifrey where she had grown up.
They stopped often, Rose never ceasing to be delighted by each new outlook. They toured fine houses and wandered through villages, making friends wherever they went. Rose often begged leave to explore a tempting scene as they passed by, simply because they could. Her aunt and uncle smiled good-naturedly, sometimes joining her, but more often just watching as she scrambled up a rocky precipice or wandered along a mossy river bank into the forest. Each day held new sights to behold and new discoveries to be made, and it fed the untamed longing in Rose's heart.
As they drew near Derbyshire, however, Aunt Gardiner expressed a wish to see the noble estate of Gallifrey once more, bringing Rose's almost forgotten anxiety rushing to the surface again.
"You would enjoy it, too, wouldn't you, Rose?" her aunt queried over dinner the following night. They had spent the day in Flydale, listening as Harriet reminisced about the different places they passed and occasionally meeting with old friends. "I'm sure you've heard much about it, and Mr. Saxon spent a great deal of his youth there as well."
Rose studied her plate, scooting the food around as she tried to hide the revulsion she felt at hearing that name. "I dunno, Aunt. We've seen so many of these great houses, with their fancy carpets and expensive curtains. Why should we trap ourselves inside when there's so much world out there to see, y'know?"
"Don't be silly, Rose," Harriet replied, a gentle reproach in her tone. "I wouldn't drag you there just for that, though the house is magnificent. But the grounds alone are renowned for their natural beauty. I am sure you will love it."
She patted her niece's hand fondly, but Rose still felt uneasy. When the girl attending to their dinner walked in, Rose seized the chance to allay some of her fears. "We were thinking of visiting Gallifrey, Gwen. Do you know if the family is there now?" she asked, worrying her bottom lip. The thought of encountering Mr. Smith there, at his own home, after all that had passed between them, was too terrible to consider.
Gwen smiled sweetly in response, already used to her visitor's friendly manner with the servants. "No, Miss Rose. He and his party are expected to return from town in about a week's time."
"Oh." Rose expelled her breath in a rush, relief flooding through her. "Thanks."
Gwen bowed and left the room, noticing that Miss Rose's companions had seemed equally puzzled by her reaction.
"Well," Rose burst forth with a wide grin, "so long as we're not intruding, I find I am rather curious to see Gallifrey."
While Aunt Harriet did not press her about it, her gaze was watchful as she replied with a smile, "Excellent, my dear. I am sure you will like it."
As the carriage turned onto the winding road that led to Gallifrey, anxiety began to lay hold of Rose again. What if Gwen was mistaken? Images passed before her mind's eye as she watched the scenery go by: John Smith asking her to dance at the Torchwood ball (he was an excellent dancer, though at the time she had been to angry to admit it); the way his eyes studied her when she gave her opinion, as though he truly cared what she thought; his passionate declaration of his feelings for her at Rosings.
She dreamed about him, and in them his love and respect for her were so evident that she wondered how she could have missed them. Try as she might she couldn't get him out of her head. She'd been too ashamed and perplexed by the dreams and what they might signify to mention them to anyone, even Donna.
The lane was lovely and long, twisting around the ancient trees that arched overhead. On and on it went, seeming endless, so that the sudden appearance of the house after rounding a bend took them by surprise, effectively breaking Rose out of her distraction.
The picture now laid out before them stole Rose's breath. Trees dotted the elegant landscape at random. A lazy stream ran by some distance ahead, widening to a small pond before the house, with a stone bridge crossing it on this side. In all of it nature had been allowed ample reign, and Rose couldn't help but compare it quite favorably with the unnatural formality of Rosings.
On the hill opposite stood the house itself, a grand stone edifice backed by wooded hills. Her aunt had chosen the right word; it was magnificent. It spoke of elegance and dignity without pretension.
In an almost reverent silence they followed the winding path down to the river, catching a stunning reflection of Gallifrey in the water before they crossed the bridge and continued upward to its entrance. Rose's nerves intensified as they were welcomed inside. The housekeeper, a slight, wiry woman with graying hair and kind blue eyes, led them to the parlor first, allowing them a moment to take it all in.
The house was outfitted handsomely, of course, yet with an eye for usefulness as well that Rose couldn't help but admire. Moving to the window, she looked out over the path down which they had come, marveling at the beauty of the grounds. As they walked leisurely through the house, each view rivaled the last. Its many windows offered ample opportunity to appreciate the hills and trees outside, filling the large space with light and warmth.
As the continued on, Rose tried her best not to gape. The house, already impressive in size from the outside, seemed to be even bigger upon entering it. Room after room they discovered, each spacious and welcoming and unique. Rose had lost count somewhere after twenty.
At last they came to the library. Shelves reached almost to the ceiling on two sides, with several surprisingly cozy chairs and a low table sitting by the windows. It had that wonderfully inviting, musty smell she loved and was immediately her favorite.
To think that I might have called this place my home, Rose mused, fingers gently brushing over the spines. Known these rooms and books and forests. Welcomed my aunt and uncle here as guests.
That thought brought her daydream to an abrupt halt. All her family would have been lost to her, as she surely would never have been allowed to invite them here.
As they entered the next room, her dear uncle raised the worrisome question of the master's return. "We expect Mr. Smith and his party tomorrow, actually," Mrs. Reynolds replied cheerily, "a bit earlier than expected, but we are all eager to have him and his sister home again."
Rose reached out to steady herself on a nearby chair as her stomach dropped. Tomorrow?!
Studying some miniature portraits over the fireplace, her aunt called out to her, bringing Rose back to reality. Upon joining her Rose found herself staring into the eyes of a young Harold Saxon. Mrs. Reynolds, unaware of their familiarity with him, informed them of his connection with the family. "The late Mr. Smith was quite fond of the boy, but I'm afraid he might be disappointed by the man he's become, quite reckless and wild."
Aunt Harriet's brow furrowed. She shot a sideways glance at Rose, who seemed ill-at-ease. Something was not matching up.
The housekeeper's look of regret changed to one of pride as she indicated another of the pictures nearby. "That one is of our master, Mr. Smith. His father had these done shortly before he died, almost ten years ago, but I believe he looks much the same."
Well, that accounts for Saxon's picture being here, then, Rose thought, moving unconsciously to stand before the portrait of John Smith. The man in the picture looked dashing yet regal, and she realized that he was about her age when it was made. She catalogued the minor differences right away: he had worn his hair a little smoother, he seemed a bit thinner (if that was possible), and there were fewer lines upon his face. But what she noticed most were his eyes. They shone brightly with mirth and daring, and a lightness she'd only caught glimpses of. She closed her eyes briefly, his image coming easily to her mind. While he so often came across as brooding and haughty, she'd seen so much more in those depths. Pain, loneliness, and guilt, yet also passion, admiration, and tenderness.
"He is very handsome. Does it do him justice, Rose?" Aunt Harriet asked, watching her niece intently. Realizing she'd been caught staring, Rose fought the heat she felt creeping up her neck.
"Do you know Mr. Smith, miss?" Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed.
"Yeah. I mean, yes. A little," Rose stammered. "And please call me Rose - that is, if you don't mind."
"And did you think him handsome, Miss Rose?" she persisted with an amused smile.
"Yes, very handsome." Please, let someone change the subject, she prayed, her eyes on the floor.
Though she was infinitely curious by now, Aunt Harriet took pity on her niece. "And that sweet little girl - is that his sister?"
"Yes, ma'am, when she was about five. She's always had a bit of the pixie in her. Oh, the fun they've had together, you've never seen siblings so devoted to each other. She's grown into a beautiful and kind young lady, and she loves to sing and play. He just bought her a new instrument," the lady continued, obviously enjoying talking about the family she cared for.
They soon reached the room where the new piano stood, and Rose noticed the softer colors and more feminine feel of the room, which the housekeeper soon confirmed. "Mr. Smith had this room decorated expressly for Miss Susan, once he discovered it to be her favorite."
He is a very good brother, but that's no secret, Rose thought, remembering the letters he'd written to his sister from Torchwood. With each new hint at his character she felt her jumbled feelings shifting and solidifying, moving from what had been a fervent yet unjust dislike to something new. Respect, even affection, and what now seemed like a rather hopeless wish to know him better.
Mr. Gardiner, amused by the housekeeper's unswerving loyalty, pressed her further. "Is he here much during the year?"
"No, sir, though we wish he was here more. He has a wanderer's heart. He loves to travel, but he does not do so just for his own pleasure. Everywhere he goes he ends up helping people somehow or another."
"Perhaps if he were to marry, he might settle down," Aunt Harriet pondered. Rose's eyes met hers tellingly before skittering away, her cheeks warm.
"Maybe, ma'am. She'd have to be really special, that's certain. Don't know that anyone's good enough for him."
Summoning her courage, Rose ventured, "You must think the world of him."
"Me, and everyone who knows him," she said, smiling softly. "He has always been kind to me, and I've been here almost his whole life. He has a good heart and a brilliant mind. Always looking for ways to help others, just like his father. I've heard him called proud, but I've never seen it. I think his burdens weigh him down sometimes. He was still quite young when his father passed away, leaving him in charge of not only his sister and the house, but their legacy as well." She sighed heavily, shaking her head.
Rose stood rooted to the spot, turning over the housekeeper's words in her mind. She could not doubt the woman's sincerity, and she desperately wanted to hear more. So much of it stood in contrast to what she'd seen, and yet…
Well, he had been undeniably arrogant and rude, she debated in her mind, but I was wrong, too, for judging him so quickly. Her own recent reflections (as well as her dreams) had revealed how much she had initially either missed or ignored, particularly in his kindness and affection for Mr. Harkness… and for herself.
"This does not sound like the same man," Aunt Harriet murmured, so that only Rose could hear.
"Perhaps we were mistaken," Rose replied softly.
One of the last rooms they viewed was a gallery of family portraits. She tried to attend as Mrs. Reynolds named them, but her feet padded quietly down the hall of their own accord, their movement finally halted by the one face she knew.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, an expression she'd seen only a few times, yet it suited him, taking years off his appearance. She found herself smiling in response, though hers was a wistful one, mingled with both wonder and regret.
This man held so much power in his hands, his decisions affecting the happiness of so many. Yet even his servants, who often saw the true nature of the people they served, respected and loved him. He was a truly good man. Her feelings had been slowly shifting, and with this realization Rose felt something give way within her.
Mrs. Reynolds took them around the outside of the home, too, past an orchard and some lovely gardens that Rose could easily lose herself in. They thanked the kind woman for sharing both her time and her stories, and as they hung back a moment to chat Rose wandered on alone. As she rounded the corner to approach the drive, a streak of grey suddenly hurtled towards her.
Her breath caught in surprise, turning into a laugh when she realized what had attacked her. "Well, aren't you beautiful? You did give me a fright, though," she admonished gently. To her surprise, the dog looked almost penitent, nuzzling her hand wetly. She reached down to scratch behind his ears, smiling. "Oh well, 's alright. No harm done."
Straightening up, she suddenly wasn't sure if her legs would support her, as another pair of brown eyes met and held her own, mirroring her surprise.
For standing before her, in his shirt and breeches, looking utterly bewildered and gorgeous, was none other than John Smith.