Page 31 of Legacy of Roses

As it was, he was struggling to hide the strength of his reaction from Wyatt and any other curious observers in the room. He was even tempted to warn Wyatt and the rest of the town of Jace’s return. The man was clearly dangerous.

But he hesitated to do so without consulting Rosalie. She knew both Jace and the townsfolk better than he did, and it was her story far more than his. If she hadn’t told anyone about her abduction—and he had to assume Wyatt would have mentioned it if word had spread through the town—she must have a good reason for staying quiet.

But while his reason told him to stay silent and calm, his emotions weren’t so easy to tame. His reaction was more complicated than fury on Rosalie’s behalf, as incensed as he felt for her. The story Wyatt had spun sounded far too similar to another story he had just learned—one from two decades before. His emotions were still raw from learning his mother’s history, and his feelings surged against the barriers he imposed on them.

Already Dimitri had read his mother’s letter enough times to memorize its contents, and her history sounded startlingly similar to Rosalie’s. Both had been approached by young men interested in their family’s wealth. Their supposed suitors had taken advantage of their youth and inexperience to fool them with lies of love, and then both had been abandoned when they were no longer useful.

But the stories diverged there. Rosalie’s suitor had shown his true colors before they were actually married—a fact for which Dimitri felt great relief—but he had destroyed her family’s wealth, livelihood, and even home. And he had already seen enough of Rosalie’s character to know she must blame herself for her family’s downfall.

His mother’s family, on the other hand, had been untouched. She had even written of the underlying love that existed between her and her father despite their quarrel. If she had wished to return home to her wealthy and powerful family, she could have done so. The tapestry was a legacy to the fact that both she and Dimitri would have been welcomed.

And yet his mother had been the one to crumple beneath her pain. Despite her worse situation, Rosalie had shown a strength of character his mother had lacked. She hadn’t shielded herself from the harsh truth by choosing a path of self-deception. She hadn’t run from the situation either. She was still in Thebarton, still fighting for her family. And she was no longer susceptible to a ‘pretty young man’ as Wyatt put it.

Dimitri had already sensed how different Rosalie was from his mother and the others of their mountain community. But now he had proof of it. And his desire to protect Rosalie from any further tricks of the Legacy had only grown.

A rush of chatter from the doorway drew his attention. Many of the patrons of the midday meal had dispersed already, but in their place had come those looking for afternoon tea and cakes as well. A mob of young ladies had arrived, including several vaguely familiar faces and one whose name he could place—Blythe.

He stood, leaving the remains of his meal uneaten. He had succeeded at his first purpose of the day, and now he had a chance to address his second one.

Chapter 10

Rosalie

Rosalie trudged in from the cottage’s back garden, a heavy basket over her arm. She had managed to scrounge a full load, but she had picked the garden bare doing so. Her brothers had assured her they had already stripped the last of the harvest, but she had known better than to trust the thoroughness of their search.

“I managed to gather a little more, Mother,” she called as she entered the cottage.

The five of them had already started the task of preserving as much of the produce as possible for the coming winter, and she knew her mother had been concerned about it stretching far enough. They worked hard to cover as much of the family’s consumption as possible since her mother hated to draw from their meager stash of coin to cover the shortfall. Her father worked hard—leaving for long stretches of time—and all their coin was hard-earned.

“Good job,” her mother called absentmindedly, her head bent over the stove top. She was preparing the midday meal, and Rosalie was disappointed to see she was alone.

“Where are the boys?” she asked, stowing the supplies she had gathered and setting the table for the midday meal with brisk, efficient movements.

“Hunting in the woods.” Her mother lifted the pot off the heat.

Rosalie nodded, relieved. At least they were doing something useful. With any luck, they’d find substantial game and could be given the task of preserving it for the coming months.

But her approval waned when all three boys trooped in a minute later. Not only were their hands empty, but their boots were suspiciously free of mud.

Her eyes narrowed, and she nearly asked if they had been wasting their time in town when they were supposed to be hunting. But something in their demeanor stayed her tongue. Whatever mood hung over them, it was far stronger than the sheepishness she might have expected if they had been entertaining themselves instead of working.

All three appeared so downcast that she wondered if they were sickening. Vernon, in particular, looked as if he wouldn’t be able to keep down the food. She couldn’t imagine anything but extreme nausea interfering with his appetite.

She remained silent, watching the triplets closely as they all gathered around the table. As she had feared, all three of them only picked at the meal, a far cry from their usual ravenous hunger. But it was more than just a lack of appetite. Something was definitely weighing them down, and given their tension, she feared it was more than physical illness. It was a wonder their mother hadn’t noticed.

Rosalie added her mother to her mental list of people to worry about. It wasn’t like her to be so unaware of abnormal behavior from her children. She must be beyond exhausted.

If it had only been her and her brothers at table, Rosalie would have immediately demanded answers. But for theirmother’s sake, she remained silent. As soon as they had cleared away the meal, however, she suggested her mother take the opportunity for a small nap.

It took earnest entreaties from all four of her children for her mother to agree. Rosalie was glad to see her go, although the triplets’ enthusiasm for the idea only increased her suspicion of them.

“Just a few minutes,” her mother said, hesitating in the door of the bedroom she shared with Rosalie. “Your father often manages a small rest at this time of day if he doesn’t have a full day of travel. Perhaps I can meet with him.”

Rosalie’s smile tightened, but she pushed back the feeling. She hoped her mother did manage to get news from her father. In Glandore, a couple with a close emotional connection—who trusted each other completely—could meet in their dreams. It was the only thing that had made the forced separation endurable for her parents.

But thinking of dream meetings made Rosalie think of Jace, and memories of him were especially unwelcome now he had returned. She had once hoped to meet him each night when she closed her eyes, and the foolishness of it made her mouth sour. During their short betrothal she had worried about the absence of any meetings, but she had allowed herself to be convinced by his reassurances. He had told her it was a connection that would come after their wedding, and foolishly she had believed him. The look he gave her when he said it—sometimes accompanied by a stolen kiss—had always made her blush, stealing away any further words of protests and replacing them with happy dreams of the future.

Why hadn’t she recognized the warning signs?

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