A Rose for Julian

Schroeder

Chapter One

Rose Cranmer pressed her back against the stone pillar and held her breath. Her gaze darted around the portico and into the street beyond. So far none of the other wedding guests had noticed her cowering in the farthest corner of the stone mansion on Grosvenor Square.

She knew if they did notice her, they would wonder and remember her. She was the bride’s dear friend, who was staying here with the bride and her father, Sir Everett Stanhope. The incongruity of simple Rose Cranmer staying as the guest of a baronet would not be apparent to anyone who did not know her, and few did.

She looked like any other guest in her rose-colored silk dress with the cascading collar of blond lace. Catherine Stanhope’s maid had dressed her hair, and no one who did not know her would for a moment suspect she was a tenant farmer’s daughter who had scarcely completed four years of formal schooling.

The only people who knew of her background were Catherine and their other dear friend and fellow Crimean Army nurse, Lucinda Harrowby. Those two and one other.

The one she was hiding from.

Excuse me, mademoiselle. The lilting, Gallic cadence of the Countess of Eversleigh’s voice cut through Rose’s fear and brought her back to earth for a moment.

Yes, ma’am. Rose did not know how one addressed a countess, so she fell back on ‘ma’am.’ It had always served in the village.

Are you quite well? the countess said. Though dressed in the height of fashion in a lavender dress and lavender straw hat trimmed with violets, she seemed genuinely kind. Can I be of assistance? I will perhaps call my husband.

No, no. Please do not call anyone. I am fine. Truly. Rose knew she did not sound fine. She could hear the high, thin note of hysteria in her own voice, but she could only hope the countess did not hear it, too. I do not wish to disturb anyone.

But people are already disturbed. Did you not come out of the house with Miss Harrowby only a few moments ago? The countess’s shrewd brown eyes took in everything. There has been an accident, has there not?

Yes, Mr. Bancroft has been injured but I—I— Rose could not go on. She was not adept at lying.

You are hiding. It was not a question. Look, mademoiselle, Catherine has told us all about you. She wanted you to help Julian. She said you were the only one who could.

Truly, ma’am, I can do nothing others cannot.

The countess continued as if Rose had not spoken. Catherine is not the only one who has spoken thus of you, mademoiselle. David Blankenship, who was also injured in the leg in the war, he has said you are remarkable. She pronounced ‘remarkable’ as if it were French. That you can work wonders. I wish you to work those wonders for my son.

But I—I plan to leave London immediately. Rose thought of the empty condition of her pocketbook. Almost immediately, she amended.

Ah. The syllable conveyed that the countess understood everything Rose had not said. Look, mademoiselle, I perceive you are in some difficulty.

No—I—

Which you do not wish to speak of. The countess moved smoothly on. My own difficulties are all to do with my son, whom I believe you know.

Yes, ma’am. I was one of the nurses who took care of him at Scutari. Rose stood straight and looked the countess in the eye. All her diffidence disappeared when she acted as a nurse, the countess noted.

I perceive you wish a safe place to stay. Rose opened her mouth, but the countess gave an imperious gesture for silence. And that you wish to leave London—for a faraway place, perhaps?

Rose nodded. She could see no advantage in lying to the countess. She did indeed need a place to stay. A place where she would not be found and where, even if she were discovered, she would be safe. She would have thought London would be such a place, but she was not safe here at Stanhope House. Perhaps an earl and a countess could provide that safe bulwark.

Then I propose that you come with us now and that you stay and try to help my son, who does not wish to be helped. She tapped her forefinger, clad in a lavender kid glove, against her chin and thought for a moment. For, shall we say, a month? At the end of that time, we will pay your passage to wherever you wish to go and give you fifty pounds in addition.

Fifty pounds! It was a fortune, but she had to tell the countess the truth before she accepted. I may be of no help at all, ma’am. A patient has to wish to get well.

This we will do whether or not you are able to persuade Julian that life is to be lived, even as a cripple. The countess reached out and grasped Rose’s hands in a surprisingly firm grip. I ask only that you try. The countess’s brown eyes swam with tears and her voice took on a desperate note. "I beg you to try, mademoiselle. You are my last hope to save my son."

At that moment, the fashionably dressed woman became another desperate mother, pleading for Rose’s help to save her child. Rose had encountered many such parents, and she always tried her best for them. She could do no less for this woman who was every bit as much a devoted parent faced with the loss of a child as the village women she had helped in her earlier life. It did not matter, Rose could clearly see, how one was dressed. It was the mother’s love for her child that mattered.

As Rose recalled, this woman’s child was six feet tall and stubbornly determined not to recover.

A month would either not be time enough or it would be too long. It all depended on whether she could make Julian Livingston want to live. Young, handsome, rich—if all the gifts the gods had bestowed on him could not inspire a wish to live, how could Rose hope to succeed?

Her doubts must have shown in her face, for the countess added, If you fail, I will still be grateful that you tried.

The shadow of a bulky figure appeared in the doorway. It was him. Did she really have a choice?

Yes, ma’am, I will come. But I would like—I need to leave right now.

The panic she felt must have shown in her face, for the countess looked around her. Clearly seeing nothing that could give rise to such a response, she gave an expressive shrug and said, Of course, mademoiselle. Catherine has left. There is nothing to keep us. Do you need to get anything from the house?

Rose looked. He was still there. She shook her head. She would send for her portmanteau later.

No? Then let us go. Come.

Rose was given a lesson in how the rich and titled managed things. Somehow, within no more than five minutes, the countess made a smiling request of Holden, the Stanhopes’ butler, sent another servant for her husband, silenced the earl’s natural questions with a glance, and had them all in the shiny black carriage with the Eversleigh crest on the door. She had even told Holden to send Miss Cranmer’s luggage on.

Once at the Eversleighs’ imposing stone residence on Hanover Square, the countess once again took charge. Within minutes, she had Rose installed in a bedroom near Julian’s, explained her lack of luggage to the housekeeper, sent for a restorative cup of tea to be provided Rose in the sitting room adjacent to her bedroom, and quietly closed the door.

Now, mademoiselle, she said, her shrewd eyes still kind, suppose you tell me why you must hide from Sir Ronald Bolton.

I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. The moment the words were out of her mouth, Rose knew she had not fooled the countess for a single instant.

"My dear, do not bother to lie. I can see the truth in your face. I could see the fear there when you saw his shadow fall across the doorway.

You would be perfectly within your rights to tell me your relations with Sir Ronald are your own business. If you do, I will say no more. But, she added before Rose could speak, I tell you first that if you do that, I will find it much more difficult to help you, for I will know nothing. You have only to tell me that you fear him and wish to avoid him, and I will make sure he does not learn of your presence from anyone in this house.

Rose felt tears spring to her eyes. Not since her mother had died more than a year previously had anyone taken Rose to her heart as this perfect stranger was doing. I—I would be most grateful, ma’am. I am very afraid of him. He is a bad man.

I believe so. Catherine did not tell me much, but I suspect that in courting her, Sir Ronald stooped to some very underhanded tactics. The countess eyed Rose from over the rim of her teacup.

Yes. I believe that. He will allow nothing to get between him and what he wants. Rose shivered a little and determined to confide in this elegant, beautifully dressed lady whose eyes said she was also kind and understanding.

He wanted you? the countess said.

Yes. He frightened me, threatened what I held dear. In the end I ran away. When I saw him at Catherine’s wedding today, he still frightened me. She gave the countess a level gaze, ready to make a bargain, woman to woman. I will stay and make every effort to help your son if you will protect me from Sir Ronald.

The countess gave a decisive nod. Yes, of course, I will.

She grinned at Rose, and suddenly Rose could see a little girl ready for any kind of mischief. When I was a child, we used to spit on our hands and shake them to seal a bargain. I will forego that today, but I consider our agreement unbreakable.

As do I, ma’am. Rose looked at her new employer with a serious air. I honor my bargains.

I am sure you do, Rose. The countess rose and patted her on her shoulder. If you would like to rest today, I will tell Julian to expect you tomorrow.

No, ma’am. Rose got to her feet and, once again, the countess was struck by her sudden assumption of command once she stepped into her professional role. Say nothing to him about me. I will drop in on him unexpectedly sometime this afternoon or this evening.

As the countess prepared to leave the room, Rose added, I should tell you, ma’am, that I knew your son at Scutari. I imagine he will not be very happy to see me, especially when he learns I am to be his nurse for the next month.

The countess gave her an appraising look, then nodded. And for the second time that afternoon, she surprised Rose. Good, she said and swept out.

* * * *

There was no time like the present, Rose told herself resolutely. Best to get it over with. If the lieutenant was going to raise Cain about Rose’s presence, then she had better get used to it.

He had thrown a boot at her at Scutari when she told him he needed to move his leg. Rose grinned. She was apprehensive here because she was afraid that the countess, who obviously adored her son, would discharge her when Julian made it clear he would not work with Rose Cranmer. Rose could not afford to be without a job in London—not so long as Sir Ronald Bolton was around.

Very well, then. She would simply have to persuade Lieutenant Livingston, to cooperate with her in making him well. She rummaged through her small bag and picked out a rumpled gray wool dress. Taking off the rose silk cost Rose a pang. Never had she had a dress as lovely as this one, but it was time to put it away and save it to look at now and again. She would try to remember it was the dress she had worn to Catherine’s wedding, not the dress she wore when she saw Sir Ronald Bolton again.

In any case, it was time to turn into Rose Cranmer, the nurse and healer. It was a role she had filled for years, long before she had come to London and found Miss Nightingale and a sense that she had a calling, not just a skill. But now Miss Nightingale had sent her home with orders to rest and to take on only the lightest of duties.

For you will see, if you take a slight respite, Miss Cranmer, you will be able to come back with renewed vigor and dedication. Miss Nightingale had said it with a smile, and for a while Rose had thought she might be able to do just that. She had planned to stay with Catherine and then to emigrate, perhaps to the United States, perhaps to Canada. But Catherine’s wedding had made it necessary to find work as soon as possible.

For she had heard that voice, bullying, hectoring, demanding—once heard, never forgotten—and panic had set in. She felt as if fate had pursued her and she could never be free of it. Or him.

It was just possible, she thought as she ruthlessly pulled a brush through the careful coiffure Catherine’s maid had contrived earlier today, barely possible, that the Countess of Eversleigh might have provided her with the solution desired by Miss Nightingale. If the countess’s son would not cooperate, Rose’s duties were going to be slight indeed.

Rose twisted her hair into a knot, pinned a neat white linen collar onto the neckline of her gray dress, and stepped boldly forth to beard the lion in his den.

She knocked at the door of the room next to hers, which the countess had pointed out as Julian’s.

What is it, Dunleavy? a voice growled from within.

Rose turned the handle and opened the door to her future.

It is not Dunleavy, Lieutenant. It is Nurse Cranmer from Scutari Hospital.

Oh, God, no! Real revulsion pulsed through the words.

It is a good thing I have no sensibilities, she said as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. Otherwise I would take great offense at your tone.

She came into the room a little way and looked around. It was an opulent lair, made to make a man comfortable who never went anywhere. Everything wanted or needed was ready to his hand; a small mahogany table held several decanters, newspapers, periodicals, and books, all standing untidily. Next to it stood a comfortable armchair. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace opposite and a comfortable day-bed stood at right angles to several long windows. They were closed now against the evening’s chill and draped in thick crimson velvet curtains trimmed with gold fringe.

You seem to be very comfortable in your hideaway, Lieutenant, she said as she came up to him and extended her hand.

As she had thought, Julian Livingston found it impossible to be rude. He took her hand, though the expression in his eyes was far from welcoming.

The lamp beside his chair had been lit, and Rose got a clear look at his face. Despite months of inactivity and pain, he was still the most devastatingly attractive man she had ever seen. Dark hair curled over his collar, and those golden-brown eyes, deep-set and gleaming, seemed to see everything and find nothing worth looking at.

Why do I have the distinct feeling you are here to make me uncomfortable? he said, his voice dry, his eyes like chips of amber.

I am here to help you. Rose gave him a professional smile.

However did you land here, Nurse Cranmer? I thought you would stick to Scutari and Miss Nightingale until the very end.

I accompanied a group of returning soldiers, she said, her voice repressive. Miss Nightingale was convinced having a nurse on the ship would keep the men from falling prey to fever and dysentery during the trip. The war is expected to end soon, so she told me to remain in England.

And somehow my esteemed parents managed to persuade you to take me on again. He plucked at the cashmere rug that lay over his legs. I take it you did not tell them how difficult our earlier encounters were for both of us.

As a matter of fact, I did. Rose looked at him narrowly. How was he going to react to this evidence that his parents were desperate enough to let Nurse Cranmer use her methods on him again?

Julian grimaced. I should have known that sooner or later the parents would be in a mood to try anything. I’ve gotten to be a bit of a problem for them. Maids having to clean around me, that sort of thing. His words showed a sort of brittle humor, but after he spoke he turned his face away.

They are worried, true, Rose said, coming farther into the room and seating herself on a straight chair by the daybed. But I think they also are beginning to see your behavior as self-indulgent and childish. She looked at him gravely. But I know better.

That remark clearly startled him. He hastened to pull the careless, cynical mask over his features. I’m afraid my suffering is simply that I do not care to inflict my crippled self on the world, but prefer to annoy and estrange my family. And now you, he added with a wolfish grin.

She shook her head. We will talk more tomorrow, Lieutenant. Your mother insists that I come down for dinner, so I had best get ready.

Do you have a dress uniform, Nurse Cranmer? he said, a wry twist to his lips. I would love to see it.

Perhaps some other time. Rose nodded to him and left the room.

He had given her a great deal to think about. She frowned as she entered her room. Beginning tomorrow, the lieutenant would find some changes had been made in his schedule and living arrangements.

He would not be happy. The thought made Rose smile.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Rose prepared herself for what she knew was going to be a battle. Dressed in her sober gray dress, with a snowy apron replacing the collar and cuffs of the day before, her chestnut hair pulled ruthlessly back from her face and set off by a white cap, she knew she looked as professional as she possibly could. She had donned her armor, and she was going to need it.

She had debated how to approach the lieutenant with her edicts. Should she go to the countess first, or attempt to enlist the support of Dunleavy, whom she knew to be Julian’s devoted batman? Dunleavy had stayed on after his lieutenant had sold his commission and retreated to his rooms, crippled in body and mind. It was the batman who tended to Julian’s needs and kept the world at bay. Perhaps she should try him.

In the end, Rose had determined to approach neither the countess nor Dunleavy. She would go directly to the lieutenant. Her contest was with him. No matter if his mother or his servant thought her ideas were good, he had to agree to them or they would not work.

A certain amount of coercion would be necessary in the beginning, but on the whole she needed his cooperation to succeed. She had a sinking feeling she was not going to get it. At least, not without a fight. Well, that was fine. Rose liked a battle.

Unbidden, the thought of Sir Ronald Bolton came into her mind. She had never fought him. She had fled, first in Somerset and again yesterday in London. Where was the intrepid Nurse Cranmer who had handled every kind of emergency in Turkey without a qualm? Had that woman disappeared, leaving only pitiful, frightened Rose Cranmer, a poor girl fleeing from the threats of a rich man? It was a lowering thought, and one Rose did not intend to pursue. She was here, she was safe—for the moment at least—and she had a job to do. She squared her shoulders and put Sir Ronald and his threats out of her mind, focusing entirely on the moment and the task at hand. It was a trick she had used many times before.

She took a deep breath and knocked on Julian’s door.

If you’re Dunleavy, come in, a deep voice responded. If you’re Nurse Cranmer, go to hell. Anyone else can just go away.

Rose chuckled. It was a good sign that her patient had not lost his sense of humor.

‘E don’t mean it, ma’am. Dunleavy’s apologetic rasp came from behind her. She turned to smile at the little man whose wrinkled red face reminded her of a late fall apple.

He means it, all right, Mr. Dunleavy, Rose, responded with a wry smile. Actually, it’s a good sign. It is better when a patient is angry than if he just doesn’t care about anything at all.

Dunleavy grinned at her. Right you are, ma’am. When we first got home, ‘e didn’t do nothin’ but lie in bed. Now ‘e’s mad. ‘E’s right upset that you’re ‘ere. Called you a pest last night, ‘e did.

Rose grinned at the man she hoped would be her closest ally. Excellent. You and I must sit down and talk about the lieutenant, Mr. Dunleavy.

Call me Alfred, ma’am. Or Dunleavy. He shrugged, looking embarrassed. I ain’t used to ‘mister.’

Very well. Rose nodded. I think for the time being you had better continue to call me ‘Nurse Cranmer.’ It wouldn’t do to let the lieutenant know we’d been talking behind his back.

Dunleavy’s grin was almost wider than his face. Right you are, Nurse Cranmer, ma’am. A secret alliance, like. Just between the two of us, it’ll be.

Rose extended her hand and felt Dunleavy’s hard, calloused palm in hers. For a split second she was a little girl again and her father had taken her hands in his work-hardened ones and was swinging her around their tiny parlor. She could hear her own laughter.

Miss? Dunleavy said, and she could hear the concern in his voice. You all right, miss?

I am sorry. For a moment I was back in the past. You remind me of my father, Alfred.

Why, thank you, Miss Cranmer, ma’am.

Who the hell is out there? Julian’s voice rang through the door. I hear that whispering. Dunleavy? Is that you?

Dunleavy looked at Rose with an almost comical expression of dismay. Gor blimey, ma’am, the loot’nant’ll have me ‘ead. See if ‘e don’t.

Dunleavy! It was a parade-ground roar.

Rose smiled at the little man and patted his shoulder in reassurance. It’s all right, Alfred. Then she opened the door and entered the room with a brisk tread.

Good morning, Lieutenant. She smiled with a confidence she was far from feeling. How are you feeling this morning?

Without waiting for an answer, she went over to the heavy velvet draperies that shrouded the windows and pulled them back with a yank that set the brass rings to rattling. A beautiful morning, don’t you mink?

Pull those curtains! Again the parade-ground bark, but this time Rose thought she detected a note of panic underlying the harsh sound. Damn it, who told you to come in here and disturb my peace? I hate the sun shining in my eyes when I cannot move.

She turned to look at him, but he refused to meet her eyes, shielding his with his hand. Dunleavy! Pull those curtains back where they were!

Silence greeted his order. Dunleavy has left the field to me, I believe, Rose said, moving over to turn the daybed, which stood on casters and was easily moved, so that the sun no longer shone directly in his face.

Coward, Julian muttered.

Is there not some saying about something being the better part of valor? Rose said as she pulled the soft cashmere throw from Julian’s legs.

That’s discretion, not cowardice, Julian said. Just what are you doing now, Nurse Cranmer?

We are going to begin some exercises today, Lieutenant. Without saying anything further, Rose lifted Julian’s wasted leg, clad in loose cotton pants. She had wondered what she would do if he wore a nightshirt. She had a feeling he would order her out of his room if she tried to lift a naked limb. Moving gently, she bent it at the knee.

Stop that! What do you think you are doing? Julian came to life and tried to pull his leg away, but the daybed was narrow and he had very little room to maneuver.

Does it hurt? I am not surprised. You have not used your limbs in a long time, and they weaken, you know. Rose moved his leg from side to side, watching Julian’s face closely. When he winced, she nodded as if she had expected that reaction. You see, your joints also stiffen from disuse. Have you never observed this in your animals? A horse or a dog, perhaps, that you allowed to rest too long after a minor injury?

Mine was hardly a minor injury! Julian sounded as if he had been insulted.

"No, I realize that. But you could have started to move your leg long before this. If you had done so, you would have recovered much of your lost ability by now. As it is, we are fortunate you were in