Page 8 of A Love to Remember
He laughed. “They’re made of sterner stuff.” He leaned closer. “But you, my sweet, delicate Rose, have me to keep you safe.”
The fun atmosphere changed when one of the museum staff asked Philip if his wife would like a chair to rest for a moment. The man was being kind and, of course, had no idea they were not married.
Before Philip could respond, Rose smiled at the man. “I’m perfectly fine standing, thank you. It was very thoughtful of you to ask.”
As they moved on, Henry asked Philip a question. Drake moved closer to Rose and tugged her hand. She leaned down.
“Mama,” he whispered. “You are not married to Lord Cumberland, are you?”
Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. “No.”
“Oh.” Drake looked over to where Philip and Henry were huddled over a display case and said softly, “I would not mind if Lord Cumberland became my father.”
What could she say? She had seen the look on Philip’s face when the man called her “your wife.” It had been panic. Some of the joy of their outing faded and her stomach knotted with worry once more.
“He’s a very kind man.” She smiled at her son and ruffled his hair. A moment later he squeezed her hand and raced off to join Philip and Henry as they strolled into the next room.
Rose did not follow immediately. She needed space to think.
She could not put off talking to Philip about the future much longer. Drake was growing up, becoming fonder of Philip, and more confused about his place in their lives. She no longer had the answers to satisfy him.
If she weren’t so in love with him, she’d force him to talk tonight. But she had not seen him for two months and all she wanted to do tonight was lose herself in his arms. Let him make love to her over and over until he had to leave.
No. She could not discuss the future with him today.
A little voice inside her head reminded her that she’d made that excuse for the last twelve months. There would never be a good day for a talk about their future because it was obvious Philip’s choice would break her heart.
Philip didn’t want a future that included her.
—
Philip stretched his feet toward the roaring fire. The day had been perfect and he’d never felt more relaxed. Drake had gone to bed over an hour earlier, and Philip was quite content to sip his brandy and talk with the most beautiful woman in England.
Rose’s presence always chased his ghosts away. In her company, the pressure of his role as earl fell from his shoulders and he could simply be himself.
“You look tired.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “A little. I’m sorry I’m so quiet but I traveled from Devon in one day. I wanted to see you before I get sucked into business and duties here in London. Grayson is asking support for his new bill.”
“What is it about?”
“Are you really interested?”
She nodded. “I’d like to know what Grayson is asking you to support.”
“He’s trying to gather support for a pension for those either retiring from the army or discharged due to injury. I don’t think there is much hope it will even get as far as a reading because he has not yet found a way to raise money to pay for it.”
Rose lowered herself to the floor at his feet and rested her head on his thigh. A simple gesture full of trust. “I think that’s wonderful. Soldiers give up so much to fight for us, for our children and country. They deserve to be cared for after such sacrifice.”
Hers was a female perspective, but he, too, wanted to help.
He’d seen men who had fallen into a trance from the horrors of battle and never come out. Or those who still dived for the ground in terror at a loud noise.
As for him, his nightmares were of watching Robert step into the path of the bayonet meant for him.
In his dreams he always managed to push Robert aside. Always took the mortal blow himself. Felt the numbness, then the agony. The warm blood, the cold rain, the stench from gun smoke and his own entrails. Over all the noise, the screams and gunfire, he’d hear Grayson’s shout—
And then, always, the dream would change. Suddenly it was Robert on the ground, his guts mixing with the mud and rain while he—Philip—fought with sword and pistols, standing over his dying brother while Grayson Devlin slashed his way through the French to his side—
