And with the hardest part over in writing such a regretful letter to her intended, all she had to do was post it.
Lissy had offered to do it for her, but Rose insisted on getting out on her own for exercise to deliver the letter herself.
Wandering through the heart of Grey Road with no objective in particular, save to read over the lines she'd penned to Mr. H, and convince herself they were still the right ones.
You wrote to me in the gentle language of Hawthorns...
...when I have a quiet moment when my thoughts may go where they please, I remember your letter and how unexpectedly refreshing your great, gentle heart.
...Being so obsessed with my own problems and feelings, I didn't look up and take notice of you once.
Should we have been in the same place at that very moment...
And it was at that moment that Rose gazed up from her letter.
Finding out that she was lost and had unwittingly taken a wrong turn somewhere while being so absorbed in her letter, unexpectedly facing a toy shop instead of the intended post office.
A child's wooden rocking horse sat on exhibit in its long glass bay windows.
Her heart tugging as she studied the large black beady painted eyes just below the horse's pointed ears, and the tiny seat built into the sleigh of the little rocking cradle.
Making her eyes flutter shut against the burning ache in her chest that never quite went away, heavy with that damning memory that never let her find peace.
Thank heavens the wooden chair Dr. Watson offered her had been there to catch her, giving her just enough reassurance that she was still in command of her sensibilities, no matter how faint she felt when the doctor finally opened the door to his office.
His walk toward her was agonizingly slow and more reverent than she liked in the echoing hallway of the clinic, with its cold hollow wooden walls and polished planked wooden floors that could chill a corpse.
Every footstep heavy with the burden of his news that Rose had, until now, believed she was fully capable of managing herself, after preparing herself all morning to hear the truth, once and for all.
How greatly she had overestimated her own fortitude against that bitter truth.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Eversea. It is as I had feared," regret hung in the hush of his voice."It appears that you are no longer pregnant."
Rose had already suspected as much, but at least an hour ago, she had still held hope. Now, hearing the truth spoken so objectively out loud, it felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her, and the sharp ache in her chest made it impossible to get it back.
"That can't be right," she shook her head, feeling like the world had been dropped from under her feet. "I'd done everything right. I followed your advice to the exact letter, doctor, on how I should carry myself, what I should eat, how I should not exhaust myself with too much charity work. I'd done it all to ensure this wouldn't happen again."
"I am very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Eversea. If there is any way I can be of further assistance to you regarding this very difficult matter, please do not fret over asking."
"How does this keep happening?" she asked, as her eyes welled over. "How can I have lost another child?"
"I'm afraid there are some answers that can never be known, no matter how progressive our science."
"Then what can science do for me? Is there no remedy I might be able to take to make me strong enough to carry a child?" she pleaded with him. "Can I not be fixed, doctor?"
The doctor folded his hand over hers to oblige his patient with solace that was only minimal to her.
"I understand your grief, Mrs. Eversea. I know how desperately you longed to become a mother. And I wish I could give you some peace. However, I would advise you not to try for another child again. I don't know if your body can handle the stress of it."
"What do you mean, doctor?" she asked. "Are you saying I'm unwell?"
"Unwell, no, my dear Mrs. Eversea. But the truth of it is...it appears you are incapable of carrying a child naturally," he broke the news to her as gently as he could. "You are medically barren. You will never give birth to a child in your entire lifetime, and I fear that another pregnancy will only put you in more grave peril."
The tears she'd tried so desperately to hold back were unstoppable then.
"Are you sure of it, doctor?" she pleaded with him. "How should I begin to tell my husband this news?"
"I'm very sorry...I know how disappointed you must feel for your loss. I, who have seen you try the hardest, wished more than anything that I had happier news for you."
"Disappointed, doctor?" Rose had whispered back to him, hardly able to wait until she safely made her way out of his office door to grieve her loss, because her heart broke so quickly in front of him already. "I am devastated. What woman...what wife can I be to my husband now, if I am no longer capable of giving him the son he's asked me for? If Charles hardly desired me before, he certainly won't want me now. In the business of inheritances, it's all about heirs, isn't it? What man would remain married to a woman who can't give him any children?"
"You are his wife, and if he is an honorable man, he will do the right thing," the doctor tried to encourage her. "If you would like, I can call on Mr. Eversea this afternoon, and give him the news on your behalf."
"No," Rose spoke over the swelling of sorrow in her throat. "No, that won't be necessary. I will inform Charles about our child myself."
At last, Rose's eyes fluttered open again to the toy shop window, chased back to the numbing present of the world going on outside of her, feeling that her inner world was still too unbearable to live with.
But this time, it was no longer just her and the rocking horse standing opposite each other through the window glass.
Her stinging, red-rimmed eyes traced her reflection in the window, finding that a gentleman had appeared suddenly, standing quietly next to her. His eyes contemplating the same rocking horse that had captured her interest at the toy shop window.
The despair in Rose's own eyes gradually giving way to intrigue as to how this towering oak tree of a man next to her had so easily escaped her notice.
Tall, but not lanky.
Even hidden under the straight, self-reserved posture of his shoulders dressed by his charcoal gray towncoat, Rose's wandering eyes chased the quiet undertone of virility in his solidly defined tone, powerfully built to last.
Had she been properly introduced to him, rather than happening upon him by chance in town, Rose might've believed them if they told her that he was the strongest man in the world.
Her lips parting slightly, as if they begged to ask aloud that red-hot question that stole her attention away from whatever had been on her mind before.
What sort of excursions does this man take part in for the endowment of such a body?
And even more impressive, how did such a burly man move with so much natural grace?
Rose had been so lost in her tormenting memory, and this gentle giant had such a remarkably gentle footfall against the cobblestone path, that Rose never knew the exact moment when she wasn't alone anymore.
All she knew was that the quiet confidence in the reserved way he carried himself gave her a sense of comfort she hadn't expected from a total stranger.
Having let her guard down for nothing but a rocking horse, allowing this man to see just how deeply a child's toy could break her heart, Rose might've felt mortified at anyone finding out that her hidden wounds were still bleeding, and she was exhausted of bandaging her feelings with some form of witty understatement, good humor, or making light of her situation, because as a woman, she was always,alwaysthinking of others before herself.
But this time was different.
This time, it appeared someone was thinking of her.
Not a word was said between her and the gentleman, and neither of them owed it to the other, but she feltlooked afterin the most gentle way imaginable.
As if this man had just been going about his business in town, saw a woman in muted distress, and understood innately that gallantry isn't the only way a hero might rescue his damsel, but by offering her the very nurturing warmth of his ever constant presence.
Even just a moment of his companionship gave her some reprieve from always trying to keep up with a world that wished to race on without her.
It wasn't just the man's modestly commanding presence that lured her to him, but his ability to listen deeply. Not because she had said anything at all to him, but because he'd observed her with silent vigilance and showed up at just the time she needed so desperately not to feel alone.
And seeing that Rose had now become curiously aware of him, he humbly removed his hat to explain himself to her.
"Pardon me, love, for stalling your morning walk," His voice was rich and well-carried, with a delicious hint of Gaelic undertones spicing up the savory Liverpool Scouse that sweetened his accent, kept hushed for her regard, and any listening ears nearby. "I was sorry to notice you here alone and vulnerable in the firing line of prying eyes. I thought, perhaps protected by that tree there at your right, and myself guarding you on your left, it would discourage unwanted attention, and you could think on this rocking horse much more privately, as long and comfortably as you'd like. Though, I realize now that in doing so, I have put myself as an obstacle in your path and prevented you from walking on from here. Should you feel ready to move on, I will be glad to step aside and make room for you."
And placing his hat back on again, he let her take whatever time she needed to be ready.
And if she had dared to say it, Rose loved him instantly for not drawing attention to her, or making a fuss out of the show that was her emotions.
Instead, he stood as a perfect mirror of what she was feeling.
Seeing a bit of herself and the things she couldn't say to anyone reflected in his eyes, as he made his own study of the child's rocking horse beside her.
Making her wonder if her feelings were not only noticed, but understood for once as completely valid and meaningful.
Never once had Charles seen her the same way.
For a man who inspired her urges to cuddle up and feel safe, Rose was even more curious to guess what was on his mind as he gazed at the rocking horse with her.
Was it all just chivalry on her behalf, or what was that hint of sadness she thought she recognized in his eyes?
Leaving Rose lost for what to do.
She wanted to ask him everything about how he'd noticed her here, but knew that would be improper, considering they hadn't been properly introduced. She wanted to ask him what it was about the rocking horse that had brought him to this window, but knowing her own reason for stopping there, she wondered if such a conversation would be unsuitable. How could she ask about something so private, when she had not even learned his name first?
And so, she said the only thing that felt natural to her in the moment.
"We will make room enough for the both of us, sir," Rose answered him quietly. "I will not move until you do. At least for as long as we both need to feel ready to walk on."
And then she said nothing else.
Deciding that as the only two people drawn to this rocking horse at that point in time, what wasn't said between them meant volumes more than pressuring any performance of the usual social graces, and he likely wouldn't ask that of her anyway.
Rose wouldn't ask more of him either, but to stand and be deeply present with her in that moment. So that no matter how very much the same or how very different their personal meanings for the rocking horse were, they wouldn't have to carry it alone.
Until Rose decided she'd been gone long enough to make her friends worried about her, and that it was time she moved on-albeit, regrettably-from his soul-quieting refuge. Taking her eyes away from the toy shop window glass to finally meet this stranger's gaze.
Regretting instantly that she'd taken so long to look up at him, and no longer had any time to indulge in how handsome he'd been all along, having come to their last moment, when they'd mutually agreed to let the other pass on the walkway and go about their morning as usual.
As green as the Cambrian mountains, those eyes were to her, glowing with an enchant of smoky grey. Reminding her of the same lush mountains in Wales she'd wake up to every morning at Eversea house. That quiet moment dedicated only to herself, when she askedwasn't there still more I could've had outside this lonely house,just before she faced all the demands waiting for her to dress and become lady of the house again. But instead of the busy summer season of green, his eyes took her straight back to Autumn and her favorite shawl she'd regrettably left behind in Wales, when the rain she loved brought in the soft light of grey sea fog, and left everything glowing silver in the coziest of her daydreams.
Had she had it all her way for once, Rose knew she could've lost herself then, and the morning with her, chasing the sea fog in his eyes.
Because in his eyes, she found out she no longer desired the things she'd thought she desired before. Because he was every bit of a man she might've wanted for herself, had she known there were men out there as dutiful, and observant, and reverent of her as he was, even as a complete unknown woman to him. She no longer felt that the one tragedy of her life was that Charles no longer loved her. Not when this man's passing regard of her had outdone any scrap of affection she'd been clinging onto in her own marriage as proof that her husband still adored her.
Had she taken a different course for herself, had she the power to start over at another chance to be admired so deeply, and had met this man much sooner, with the same wisdom that humbled her now, she might've settled for nothing unless it was someone like him. Someone who made her feel this comfortable in his presence, and seen, and make it appear as if it were all so effortless. If he was always this kind to strangers, Rose could only imagine just how very lucky a woman would be to be the constant object of his affection and observant attention.
And he took his time to move out of her way, letting her indulge in that private thought of hers much longer than she probably should've.
Her gaze fixed and willingly captured by his. Her feet slowly finding their way back on course of the main walkway, as she passed by him on the left, and he tipped his hat in farewell to her with his right.
Surrendering the walkway to her leisure again, the gentleman took leave of her, and made his way quietly into the toy shop.
Leaving Rose stunned by the sudden morning chill that brushed across her collar once he was gone. Her protector's impressive stature having been so effective at shielding her from the worst of the cold, that for the fleeting moment that would be remembered as their unexpected meeting, she'd forgotten she ever felt it.