Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

“Heavenly,” Rosalie sighed, taking a deep breath of sweet autumn air. The heat was finally abating, a sure sign that summer was indeed over. She stood at the water’s edge, watching it ripple down over the rocks. Behind her sat an old mill, with crumbling stone walls and a roof with holes in the thatch. Ivy crept up the sides and thick sprays of wildflowers grew right against the stone like something out of a fairytale. It was nearly a mile walk to get to the spot, but it was well worth the exercise.

“We used to play here as boys,” James explained to the group. “If anyone wishes to forage, we have some baskets here. There are usually beds of chanterelles up that way and berries in the hedge.”

“What do you think?” came Burke’s voice from behind her.

“It’s a beautiful spot,” she murmured.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his breath warm on her neck.

A chill shot down her arms as she spun around to face him. This tension between them couldn’t last much longer. She needed to get him alone. Needed to explain herself…needed to feel his lips. Most of all, she needed him to stop looking at her like that! She frowned. “You still have my sketches. I want them back.”

“And I’d like you to ask nicely,” he said with that teasing grin.

“It was beastly of you to take pages out of my sketchbook. You have no right to them.”

Damn that smirk. Did he practice it in a mirror? “No right to my own likeness? One might argue I have the only right—”

“Come on then, Miss Harrow, get yourself to an easel,” called the duke. “I’ll be giving a gold sovereign to whichever lady paints the best portrait of me.” He stomped through the grass over to a large rock at the water’s edge. As a few of the other ladies giggled, he climbed atop it and struck a stately pose.

Rosalie couldn’t help but laugh too. For all his crude manners and lack of interest in performing the role he was born into, she could admit that she sometimes found George Corbin good company. Well…perhaps not good company, but he was entertaining.

The day passed pleasantly. James and Burke took turns with Renley and the duke to lead the young ladies into the trees to forage or explore the mill. By midmorning, the clouds began to roll in, deepening the shadows on the forest floor. By lunchtime, the first roll of distant thunder rumbled. A September storm was on the way.

“We may have to cut this outing short,” Madeline said, glancing up at the sky.

“Oh, but His Grace was going to show us the best spot to search for truffles,” said Elizabeth.

Burke snorted into his cucumber sandwich. “If His Grace can correctly identify a truffle from a toadstool, I’ll marry Magellan.”

A few of the ladies giggled.

Rosalie met his eye, controlling her own smile.

“Burke, why must you always ruin my fun?” the duke pouted.

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” said Prudence, giving his arm a coquettish pat, even while she narrowed her eyes at Burke. “There are more important distinctions than truffles and toadstools, like discerning good society from bad.”

The barb was so pointedly a rejection of Burke that Rosalie found herself swallowing a gasp of indignation. She sat forward.

Surprisingly, it was Lady Olivia who spoke. “And which sort of society are you, Miss Nash? For while that bonnet and those clothes are the mark of good society, your manners belong in a Cheapside alley.”

Prudence’s cheeks flamed pink. She huffed and got to her feet. “Well, I never—what a disagreeable—I’m going in search of my sister. Would you care to join me, Your Grace?”

The duke stared daggers at Olivia, who was resolutely ignoring him as she busied herself with her scone. “Happy to,” he said, looping Prudence’s arm in with his. They stalked off, leaving the group in awkward silence.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Burke murmured.

Olivia gave an airy laugh. “What, put that mortal in her place? Of course, I did, Mr. Burke. Tell me, what happened when Icarus flew too close to the sun?”

He smirked. “The wax of his wings melted, and he fell from the sky.”

“Quite right.”

He mused for a moment, casting Rosalie a look that had her smiling too. “So…in that analogy, is Miss Prudence young Icarus and His Grace the sun?”

Olivia huffed, adding a dollop of orange marmalade to her scone. “Who said anything about him? I am the sun Mr. Burke. You see how effectively I manage the sky around me. Take note.”

Burke’s grin spread. “Oh, it’s noted.”

By the time James and Renley returned with Mariah between them, the mood at the picnic had improved drastically. Elizabeth and Blanche were taking it in turns to recite verses of a Byron poem, while the others relaxed. Prudence and the duke were still missing.

“We should start heading back,” James called. “It’s going to rain.”

The ladies sighed their discontent.

“I’ve told the lads to start packing up,” he added.

The servants bustled through the woods behind him carrying two large trunks.

Burke was on his feet as James crossed the clearing to his side.

James looked around. “Where’s George and Miss Nash?”

“They went off in search of the other Miss Nash a while ago,” Burke replied. “Did you not cross paths with them?”

“Miss Piety said she was coming to join the lunch,” Renley said, lowering a laden basket to the grass.

Rosalie sat up, fighting to control her frown. The duke was alone in the woods with the Nash sisters?

James spoke quietly to Burke and Renley. “See that the ladies start on their way back before the heavens crash down on us. I’ll go find George.”

Burke grabbed his arm. “Let me go.”

“Why you?”

“Because I can promise not to break his legs,” Burke replied. “He needs them for dancing. Can you promise the same?”

James tugged the brim of his hat lower. “Fine. Renley, help me with the other ladies. Burke—”

“I’ll handle it,” Burke replied, stepping off into the woods without a backward glance.

Rosalie didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t listening. When James turned and caught her eye, she gave him a sympathetic look.

He just clenched his jaw and turned away. Poor Atlas, always beset by worries and strife. “Come then, ladies. We must start back,” he called to the group.

Before they could get even a step out of the clearing, the heavens opened, and rain started to fall. The echoing of distant thunder promised a deluge to come. The ladies squealed, holding their shawls up over their heads as they ran for the trees.

“Careful,” James called, snatching up a parasol and running after them. “Let me lead the way!”

Madeline and Rosalie held back, laughing as they tried to protect the art. Madeline flipped over the canvas of her watercolor. Rosalie reached for hers, knowing it was too late. The rain was washing away all her hard work.

“Best leave it, ladies,” came Renley’s voice. He was busy helping the lads toss sodden pillows and dishes into carrying cases.

With a giggle, Madeline dropped her canvas to the grass, abandoning it to its fate. “Come on, Rosalie.”

“Oh, but we can’t just leave this mess behind,” she cried. She tossed her ruined painting to the grass, snatching up the other canvases and adding them to the pile.

“Madeline! Miss Harrow!” Olivia shouted from the safety of the trees. She was one of the only ladies armed with a parasol. “Come away!”

“Go,” Rosalie said. “You are far more valuable than I am.”

“Rosalie—”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Rosalie added with a laugh, reaching for one of the easels.

“Madeline, come!” cried Olivia.

Madeline turned on her heel and took off across the wet grass. She joined Olivia under the parasol, and they turned away together down the path.

Rosalie put herself to work, snapping the easels shut and stacking them next to the ruined paintings. Then she collected all the brushes and supplies and tipped them into a basket.

“Rose,” Renley called. “What the hell are you doing? Go back!”

“And leave these poor lads to clean up our mess?”

He crossed to her side. “We’ll take care of this. Just go.”

The rain fell harder around them.

“Go with her, m’lord,” one of the lads called. “We got this here!”

“Get them ladies back safe,” shouted another.

Renley twined his fingers with hers. “Come on, before we have to start swimming.” He pulled her towards the trees. As they passed under them, the rain eased a bit, protected as they were by a canopy of leaves. Renley led the way, weaving down the path.

“You know where you’re going, right?” she called over his shoulder.

“Do you doubt my skills in navigation?”

“Well, I know you can chart stars, but it is day, sir. A rather stormy day,” she added. “Even the sun can be no guide in a thunderstorm.”

He slowed to a halt, nearly making her tumble into him. He caught her with both hands on her shoulders. Rain softly fell all around them. “I know these paths like the back of my hand. I will not see you lost.”

The depth of the blue in his eyes were like pools she wanted to sink into, but she couldn’t allow that to cloud her judgement. For all she knew, he was engaged. She swore she’d wait until he volunteered whatever truth he wanted to give…but she still found herself whispering, “What happened in London?”

His gaze softened. “I took your advice,” he replied. “I forgave her everything.”

Rosalie nodded, looking down at her feet to hide the burning sensation in the corners of her eyes. Heavens, this was ridiculous. Why should she feel loss that he took her advice and sought out his true love? Was this not all she hoped when she saw him again? If his heart was safely in another’s hands, it would not be hers to take and break.

“Rose—”

“I’m happy for you, Tom,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure you must feel better. To offer forgiveness is always such a relief. And she sounds—your Marianne sounds lovely,” she added. Not giving him a chance to respond, she ducked around him and squelched her way down the muddy path.

“Rose,” he called again, easily catching up on his longer legs.

“It’s nearly a mile back—”

“Rose, look at me.” He spun her around. “I am not engaged to Marianne. I said I took your advice. I forgave her, I wished her well, and I went on my way. I came back to Alcott. I came back to—” He swallowed the rest of his words with a groan.

Oh God, was he about to say to you? Tears threatened to mix with the rain on her cheeks. They were not tears of joy. “Tom, please—”

He cupped her cheek. His skin was so warm, the pads of his palm calloused from a life at sea. “Rosalie, look at me.”

She met his eyes again. “I can’t—I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You won’t,” he whispered. “I know where you stand. I know you don’t want to get married right now, that you intend to move here and work for the duchess. It’s admirable, truly.”

Right now, he said, as if he fully expected her to change her mind. Was that not always the way whenever a lady said something as brash as not wanting a husband? Surely, Rosalie must change her mind. When the right man came along, she’d gladly enter the matrimonial cage. It was the natural situation for a woman to want one man to own her until she married another, and with any luck she would birth a third to take his place. Father, husband, son. Always holding the keys. Always in control.

Her anger rose as she took in his full meaning. Why would he be here talking to her about marriage? She scowled at him. “So, is it safe to assume that’s where you disappeared to last night? You and James and Burke slipped away to gossip about me? You’re worse than old maids at their knitting!”

She spun away as Renley let out a laugh. He caught up again quickly. “Rose, stop. Rose, I’m sorry! Yes, we talked about you. Can you blame me?”

“I blame all three of you,” she huffed, picking her way down the muddy path. “Rotten gossips—”

“I had to know where I stood,” he explained. “I saw the way you looked at Burke last night. God, I’d give anything to have you look at me like that—”

She paused in her steps, and he nearly bowled her over. He wanted her to want him? What happened to Marianne? Heavens, what was happening to her? In the span of a fortnight, she went from being resolutely independent to this—waiting and hoping that Renley might come back and say these beautiful words, even though she had no intention to marry him. She was a monster. She didn’t deserve his smiles or his goodness.

“Tom, I refuse to string you along, giving you hope where there is none. You want to marry. You need to marry. You have a career and a life. And you love Marianne. Surely whatever is between you is not insurmountable. I want you to be happy—”

He cupped her cheek and her breath hitched. He searched her face, holding her captive with the earnest look in his eyes. “Why are you trying to push me away? Why can only Burke and James be close to you?”

She jerked away from his touch. “Why are you bringing them into this?”

“Because they are in this.” He stepped closer, reaching for her again. “Tell me I’m wrong—”

“You’re wrong,” she hissed. “James Corbin doesn’t want anything to do with me.” She spun around and kept walking down the path, hands clenched at her sides.

“Fine, maybe James is still being a stick in the mud,” he called after her. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. Trust me, Rose. I’ve known him all my life—”

“Are you trying to make him interested in me? Please do us both a favor and stop!”

“No, of course not—”

She was already back on the path, marching away.

“Look, I’m out of my depth here. All I know is how I feel—Christ, will you stop walking!”

He grabbed her arms again. She didn’t turn around as the rain continued to fall, pattering the leaves overhead. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Renley stepped closer until he was nearly pressed against her back. His touch gentled, his hands sliding down the wet fabric of her spencer from her shoulders to her elbows.

“This is not a proposal,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear and making her shiver. “I know you don’t want that. Hell, I’m not even sure I want that anymore. I was lost for so long, Rose. Lost to my heartache, my resentment. I was drowning in memories of Marianne. Your words humbled me and made me see how foolish I’d been. I don’t want to live with another moment of anger or regret.”

“Then what do you want?” she whispered, feeling the way her body longed to lean against him. She turned slowly to face him, needing to read his expressions.

“I want…” He shrugged, looking desperately around, as if the answer might be tacked to a nearby tree. “I don’t understand this,” he said, gesturing between them. “I’ve never counted a woman as a friend before. I’ve never wanted…I feel as if part of me has always known you. It’s so easy with you. So…right.” He groaned, eyes settling on her. “Tell me you feel it too.”

Slowly, she lifted her chin, peering into the depths of his blue eyes. “I do.”

He leaned closer. “You said we could be friends. What does that mean to you? What does that allow me?”

“What do you want?” She prayed his answer wouldn’t send her running. No commitment, please no commitment. No promises of love and ownership.

“I just want to be close to you,” he replied, clearly trying to find the right words. “I want you in my life, in my confidence. I won’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give. Can you let me be close and not create ties that bind us?”

She raised a hand and touched his face, a fingertip tracing along his strong jaw. “Yes, that is just what I want. I want to be close to you,” she replied using his word. “I am not…I’ve lived my life very differently than the ladies here,” she explained, still trying to follow his lead and speak in thinly veiled metaphors. “Part of it was my upbringing, but there has been choice involved too. I like men. I like feeling…all the things that come with love. I’m…I think I might be broken. But if you will let me be close to you—”

“Enough,” he whispered, stroking his thumb over her lips. “We understand each other. We’re friends. Close friends,” he added with a knowing smile.

She felt something inside her settle into place. “When I look at you, I don’t see an angry man full of resentment and regret,” she whispered.

His hands settled on her hips. “What do you see?”

“I see a good man,” she replied. “Steadfast as a sunrise.” She smiled. “It is a rare man who dares to love after all hope of its return is gone. I pray someday you meet a lady deserving of such devotion.”

The weight of his hands on her hips drew her closer. “And what do you feel here in my arms?”

What did she feel? She hardly knew. Being near Burke was all fire and passion and longing. It was intoxicating, even if it sometimes scared her. Renley made everything feel so simple, so easy. Her breath caught before she whispered the only words that made sense. “I feel…home.”

She didn’t know who moved first, but it didn’t matter. His face lowered as she tipped up on her toes. Their lips met and she sighed into his kiss. His arms wrapped around her. It felt strange to kiss him in the rain. His lips were already wet. She relaxed into him, loving the feel of his muscled arms around her.

As their faces turned, their hat brims brushed, sending water dripping onto Rosalie’s cheeks. With a smile, Renley used a finger to flick her bonnet back, then his lips were on hers again. His tongue teased softly against her bottom lip, opening her mouth. She ran her hands down his lapels, gripping them with both hands as he deepened their kiss. His teeth grazed her lip and she sighed.

Time stood still until the only things that existed were the soft pattering of the rain all around them and the feel of his mouth, so warm and inviting against hers.

Home. Friendship. Peace. A place for her heart to rest.

“Christ, Rose,” he murmured, breaking their kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped, immediately going stiff in his arms.

Renley pulled back, searching her face. “What is it? I’m sorry—”

“Burke.” Rosalie gasped his name as the man himself charged towards them, his eyes murderous.