Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! I hope this makes up for it. (bites lip nervously) I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter; you all are simply wonderful! (More, please? :)
Beta'd by lastincurableromantic
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.
Rose's thoughts scattered and fled. She could feel the color rising to her cheeks. What must he think, finding her here? Mortified, she tried desperately to compose herself, a difficult feat when the earth seemed to shift underneath her at the sight of him. Rose drew in a deep, bracing breath of fresh air. She had to say something; she was the intruder here. Anything would do, really, but the ability to speak seemed, most inconveniently, to have deserted her.
Pulling her gaze away from his arresting one, she suddenly registered his relative state of undress. Why, exactly, was he wet, and how had she failed to notice that fact before now? He was gorgeous, his damp clothes clinging just enough to show the masculine strength of his lean form. Rose's breath caught in her throat as she realized she was staring. Abashed, she quickly brought her gaze back up to his.
"Hello." His voice was low and warm as he watched her intently, amusement glimmering in his eyes. Oh, he had so caught her looking. Rather than seeming offended, however, a half-smile teased at the corner of his mouth, causing a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach.
"Hello," she returned, allowing a small smile to escape at the absurdity of it all. Both of them blushing and obviously flustered, they stood for several moments before Rose's mouth decided to forge ahead without waiting for her mind to restart. "You're, um… wet."
John Smith's ears went bright pink at that, and Rose wished the earth would open up beneath her. "Yes, well, you see," he stammered, one long arm reaching to scratch nervously at the back of his neck, "I just arrived, and erm, felt like… like running. It is a beautiful day for it, isn't it? And I got a bit warm, and the pond looked so inviting. I wasn't expecting to see anyone here." His hands gestured vaguely, almost nervously as he spoke, his voice trailing off at the end.
"No, of course not! I am so sorry," Rose rushed to apologize, embarrassed now not only by their presence there but also by her own tactlessness, even though she found his awkward rambling rather endearing. "We would never have come if we'd known. Everyone we spoke to assured us you wouldn't be here…"
"I came back early," he cut in, gently interrupting her apology.
Tired of being ignored, the dog at her side suddenly leapt at Rose, nearly knocking her over as it attempted to lick her face.
"K-9, get down!" he commanded.
"No, no, 's okay," Rose replied, leaning down to scratch the dog's ears affectionately. Tongue peeking out of her smile, she snuck a glance up at his owner. "What did you call him?"
"Welll, his real name is Kasterborous the Ninth, but that's rather a mouthful, so I nicknamed him K-9. Excellent hunting dogs, whippets are. Not that I hunt much. He loves to run with me, though. Smart as they come and utterly devoted, even if he is a bit of a trouble-maker at times," he shared, a wistful look crossing his face as he took in the scene before him.
A vision of these two racing gleefully across the lawn popped into her mind as she petted the contented creature beside her. The fact that the man before her shared her love for running somehow did not surprise her, but the affection in his tone did. Abruptly rising to her feet, she looked questioningly at Mr. Smith. He hastily averted his gaze, but not before Rose caught the tenderness there. Before she could examine it further, he asked, "And your family are all well? Your sisters and parents in good health?"
Rose tried to hide her shock. He was asking about her family? Although he still seemed nervous (in truth so was she), his concern seemed genuine. "Yeah, they are, thanks."
"And you're enjoying your trip?"
"Oh, so much! It's been lovely," she replied earnestly. They fell silent again, pretending to take in the view while they surreptitiously stole glances at each other, their gazes meeting occasionally with a new and unexpected shyness.
Glancing down at himself almost in shock, he said, "Well, erm, I really should… please excuse me." His eyes held hers once more before he turned to head up to the house. K-9 gave her hand a parting lick and bounded happily after his master.
Her eyes followed them a moment before she realized she was staring, again. Whirling about, she fought down the heat she felt rising to her face. He is an extremely handsome man, her uncooperative thoughts insisted, and it's silly to deny that you are attracted to him. 'S not like he couldn't tell.
Oh, that really wasn't helpful. She had to get better control of herself, but the man had completely discomposed her. What ill luck, for him to have only just arrived home and find her here. How could he not think badly of her, that she was either very cruel or fickle and desperate?
Yet instead of ignoring her or being cold and indignant, either of which would have been understandable in this situation, he had been friendly and courteous, even attentive. It was unexpected, to say the least, and Rose felt at a loss to understand this change in him.
Hearing her aunt and uncle approaching, she plastered a smile on her face, bracing herself for their inevitable questions.
"Was that the man himself, then? Mr. Smith?" Aunt Harriet asked, her shrewd eyes taking in her niece's heightened color, as well as the fact that Rose had hardly moved or spoken since the man walked away.
At Rose's mute nod, a mischievous glint entered Harriet's eyes. A suspicion had been growing in the back of her mind, and, curious to see her niece's reaction, she boldly declared, "Well, he is just as striking as in his portraits, though perhaps a little less formally dressed."
A garbled, choking sound escaped from Rose. Her face positively pink, she hurried down the path towards the river, suddenly keen on exploring its banks. Her attempt at diversion worked, perhaps a little too well, for while there was no more discussion of Mr. Smith, her aunt and uncle seemed in no hurry to leave, either. They followed the river up to where it disappeared into the woods before deciding to turn back. Rose's eyes kept darting anxiously towards the great house, the beauty of her surroundings for once lost on her. All her thoughts were bent on the man inside - where he was, what he was doing, and what he might be thinking of her.
John Smith strode purposefully through the doors of his home, trying for an appearance of outward calm, despite the turbulence beneath the surface. He greeted the servants he encountered with a smile but without breaking his stride, not even pausing to issue orders. He didn't have time.
Somehow, by some strange twist of fortune, Rose Tyler was here. He couldn't account for it, this perplexing turn of events, but he was not foolish enough to let this opportunity go to waste. He knew he hadn't imagined the slight shift in her attitude towards him or the way she looked at him, and it gave him hope. Hope that the changes he'd been making, wrought by her words, hadn't been for nothing. He hadn't felt this light in so long, not since his father's death, when the heavy cloak of responsibility and grief had been laid upon his young shoulders. Through her eyes he could now see how that burden had changed him, at least in his public persona, into a man who appeared arrogant and rude, and at times even unfeeling. Yet he knew that he was not that man, not really, and he knew it was up to him to prove it to her.
Desperate to see that look in her eyes again, this woman who had brought him back to life and taken hold of his heart, he hurriedly changed his clothes, running impatient fingers through his still-damp hair as he followed the path that would place her before him again.
At Rose's insistence the carriage had been sent for, but it could not come quickly enough. They lingered at the pond as they waited. Uncle Gardiner delighted in the abundance of fish, pointing out the ones he knew to his wife. Her breathing almost regular again, Rose listened absently as she admired the peaceful setting, pretending not to notice the curious glances of her aunt.
Just as they finally seemed to have looked their fill and began to ascend the hill to the front of the house, Rose saw a familiar figure approaching them and stopped short, causing her aunt and uncle to halt beside her.
Her pulse quickened as Mr. Smith drew near. He looked every bit as dashing and regal as she remembered in his usual tailored coat and breeches, deep blue waistcoat, and tall boots, his cravat tied elegantly at his neck. His hair, though lacking its usual careful arrangement, was still stunning, looking both disheveled and invitingly soft. Everything matched the picture of the man she'd known in Meryton and Kent, except that his face had changed, or more accurately, the expression upon it. The warmth she'd seen there earlier remained, with no hint of his former coldness or arrogance, and the difference it made was astounding.
While she was taken aback by his reappearance, Rose found herself eager to encourage this change in his manner. Her mind seizing upon the most ready topic, she said, "The grounds here are breathtaking, Mr. Smith. There's so much to see and explore. I would run and wander about for hours at a time, if I…"
Blushing furiously, she quickly clamped her mouth shut before she could finish. If I lived here. Her eyes fell shut. Here he had been so uncommonly kind, and she repaid him by reminding him of that.
"I am glad you like it." The kindness in his voice gave her courage to open her eyes again. Smiling softly, he confessed, "I often do just that, when I am here for any considerable length of time."
Glancing past her to where her aunt and uncle stood, he said, "Would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friends?"
Rose stared at the man before her in wonder before pulling herself to attention and making the requested introductions. John Smith continued to surprise her at every turn. Though his eyebrows had shot up when he learned that these refined people were her relatives, some of the very ones he had once spurned, he had greeted them with respect and cordiality, showing none of the disdain she might have expected.
"So you grew up in this neighborhood then, Mrs. Gardiner?" he inquired.
"A few miles from here, in Flydale," Aunt Harriet replied fondly. "Although back then, of course, I was known as Harriet Jones."
"Oh, I know who you are!" he exclaimed with a wide smile. "My father worked with yours to bring a doctor into the neighborhood."
"Yes, sir. And they succeeded, didn't they?" she declared proudly. "Your father was a very good man. We were very sorry to hear about your loss."
"Thank you. Yes, he was," Mr. Smith replied, his face suddenly somber. The sadness in his eyes pulled at Rose's heart. The desire to comfort him had her hand moving to cover his before she even realized it, and she quickly diverted, using it to tuck a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
Fortunately her uncle turned the conversation elsewhere, expressing his curiosity as to what kinds of fish were native to the area. He found in Mr. Smith a ready and knowledgeable fount of information, and they chatted happily for several minutes. The exchange ended with an invitation for Mr. Gardiner to fish there whenever he liked during their stay in town, with Mr. Smith willingly providing any tackle he might need as well.
As her husband readily agreed, Aunt Harriet leaned into Rose's side, declaring wonderingly, "I must admit, Rose, I am baffled. He is very refined, to be sure, but exceedingly friendly and charming, too - completely opposite to what I had expected."
Rose shook her head in agreement and disbelief, his eyes unconsciously wandering to the man in question. He had always been a puzzle to her and was even more of one now. "I am just as shocked as you are, Aunt. I can't imagine what has caused such a change in him."
"Can't you?" Aunt Harriet smiled knowingly at her niece. She had not missed the way John Smith looked at Rose, as though the moon and stars moved at her bidding. It was unquestionably the look of a man in love. And while her niece was perhaps not as far gone as her admirer, all the signs of a wakening affection and regard were there, including the blush staining her cheeks at this very moment.
Rose ducked her head, making no reply. Her aunt must think… but no. Surely she could not have inspired such a change. After she had rebuked him - refused him - it was impossible that he still loved her.
The men having settled the matter of fishing, the group began to head towards the waiting carriage once more. Though Aunt Harriet had taken Rose's arm to start up the hill, with the men walking a few paces behind, she stopped after a few steps, saying, "I find I'm a bit worn out from all this walking. I think I might require your uncle's help to make it up there, dear."
With a surreptitious wink, she fell back to grasp her husband's arm as Mr. Smith obligingly stepped up to take her place. Offering his elbow with a hesitant smile, he beamed when she took it, and Rose melted a little as she smiled back at him. He looked so young and happy (and completely irresistible) when he smiled like that. And that smile was for her.
They walked quietly for a moment before the compulsion to apologize for their intrusion again seized Rose. "I really am sorry…" she began.
"Don't be." His answer was firm, but upon seeing the hesitation in her eyes he continued more gently, "Please don't. I wanted to take care of some business before everyone arrived."
After a slight pause he continued, "Among the party are some acquaintances of yours, Mr. Harkness and his sisters."
Rose could only nod, her thoughts flying back to their last mention of that name. Mr. Smith grew quiet, too, and she surmised that similar recollections might be crossing his mind.
Presently he spoke again. "There is one whom you do not know who is anxious to meet you," he murmured, his deep brown eyes suddenly both hopeful and unsure. "Would it be… may I introduce my sister to you while you are in Derbyshire?"
"Of course," she replied instantly, her smile growing as that sunny grin graced his features again. She couldn't look away.
Rose could not ignore the import of such a meeting, nor the fact that Miss Smith's desire to meet her must stem solely from his regard, and that knowledge made her heart beat fast.
They closed the remaining distance in light yet animated discussion of the new places she'd seen. He listened to her descriptions with interest, a look of wonder and longing on his face. It felt as though he wished, not that he could have visited those places (as he'd assuredly seen most of them), but that he could have visited them with her.
Once her aunt and uncle caught up, Mr. Smith invited them in to rest for a bit. Though they politely declined, the Gardiners thanked him heartily for his generous hospitality. He graciously helped Aunt Harriet into the carriage before offering his hand to Rose. As he grasped her fingers in his, a thrilling tingle swept from that one small point of contact outwards, thrumming through her body. Her hand in his somehow just felt right. Their eyes met, and she was certain that he'd felt it, too. He didn't release her hand until she was fully seated, his fingers gently brushing hers as the carriage began to pull away.
As they approached the bridge, Rose dared one last glance back and found him still standing there, the hand that had held hers even now slightly raised in front of him. His eyes found hers, their intensity carrying across the growing distance between them, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
Rose knew she would be counting the minutes until she would see him again.