They were shocked.
Everyone said you had died, they declared.
And why on earth did you not come back right away? And where have you been since? And what could you possibly have been doing with yourself all this time?
She vomited up answers.
Shock.
Illness.
Exhaustion.
"I was disoriented," she told them blankly.
She made up a story about a kind old woman who ran a shelter and had taken pity on her, given her a place to stay while she recovered and came to terms with what had happened.
Her mother welcomed her home with stoic relief. She refused to acknowledge all the time that had passed and wouldn't speak a word about what had happened.
Rose knew that as far as her mother was concerned, nothing had happened. And now that everyone and everything was back in place, life would continue as it was always meant to.
*****
It was easy to avoid Cal in the Hockley mansion, particularly since he was often gone during the day, but servants were everywhere, asking her if she needed anything, asking if she felt all right, staring at her as though she were something strange and foreign.
All Rose wanted was a spot where she could go to be alone.
She was given a room on the third floor.
"I ought to see a doctor…" she told Cal.
He refused to call one before they had been married.
Taking responsibility for an out-of-wedlock pregnancy was something he outright would not do, even if the doctor was the only one to know.
So she slipped off one afternoon and called on the doctor herself, while Cal was out.
She was going to be autonomous now whether Cal liked it or not. They may have made an agreement, but he didn't own her, not then, not now.
Never would he own her.
*****
Wedding plans were rushed. They would be married the first of July. Rose's condition left them very little time for preparation because Cal was obsessed with timing things out.
When she gave birth in January they would claim prematurity.
The inner circle would believe that.
And anyone who didn't would pretend to.
*****
Rose liked to sneak out after midnight and wander over the acreage beneath the stars. The clean, warm night air filled her lungs almost to bursting as she breathed it in.
It reminded her of her time in New York. She was free from all expectation, even if it was only for an hour. She could breathe. For all anyone knew, she was in bed asleep.
Instead, just for now, she was a missing person.
The thought invigorated her.
Cal would hate it.
She smiled, but the spark of pleasure faded fast.
Cal had changed. He hardly seemed to care now what she did with her time. They dined together and he spoke to her when it was necessary and sometimes they crossed each other in the hallways and he would stalk past her without any acknowledgment and continue on his way. He was out most of the time, and when he came home he shut himself up in his study.
She sometimes heard him shouting at servants, angry over things that probably didn't necessitate anger, and she tried to be glad that he at least left her alone.
She felt like a ghost.
Which was probably how he saw her. His lost fiancée, risen from the dead.
She'd been on her own for weeks in New York with no one to talk to. Certainly no one to draw affection from. And the type of attention she had received from Cal during their previous engagement had always been unwanted.
Would it be better if he were trying to pick up where they had left off?
No.
What a painfully stupid thought.
She would get the affection she needed from Jack's child. In the meantime she would endure.
"Have a nice stroll?" said a voice as Rose slipped in through the back kitchen door.
"Cal." She started. He stood in the darkened doorway, a drink in one hand. "You startled me."
He smirked at her and took a drink.
"Well," she said, moving to the door, "I was just on my way to bed."
"Just like you were five hours ago when you ran off from the dinner table with a headache?"
He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. She looked up into his face. His eyes were a little unfocused, a little red.
"Are you drunk, Cal?"
"Whatever gave you the idea that it was your place to question me?"
"I'd like to go to bed." She tried to free her arm from his grip, but he held on.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Rose?" he asked, leaning closer. "Wouldn't Jack be thrilled if he could see how you've ended up? Didn't he try to liberate you from all this, sweet pea? How ironic that he's the reason you were forced to return and enslave yourself again."
Rose tried to swallow the sob rising in her throat, tried to bury the hatred and revulsion she felt toward Cal. "Let go of me," she said, finally tearing herself from his grip.
She took a few steps toward the staircase.
"Stop wandering around my property at night," Cal called after her. "For once in your life just be where you're supposed to be."
You can't control me, Cal. You don't own me, Cal.
She closed her eyes and saw water rushing up toward her, could almost feel the aching sting of the ocean.
She saw Jack's frozen, bluish face as it disappeared beneath the surface.
Cal's voice echoed in her mind.
Where are you going? To him? To be a whore to a gutter rat?
*****
She couldn't sleep.
She put on her dressing gown and crept along the dark, silent hallway. She planned to go to the kitchen, to make herself a cup of hot tea. It would soothe her.
Turning a corner, she saw the door of Cal's study was open a crack. Dim yellow lamplight spilled into the hallway.
She drew closer and peered inside.
He was at his desk, rubbing his temple as though he had a splitting headache. His half empty tumbler had been knocked on its side. A ribbon of golden liquor gleamed over the desktop, trickled off the edge onto the hardwood floor.
Cal leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
Was he crying?
No.
He didn't move.
The scene was like a painting, all dimness and soft yellow light to hide, or maybe offset, a darker undertone of despair.
Rose wasn't sure how long she stood at the door watching.
Perhaps five minutes, perhaps ten, perhaps twenty.
When she finally turned away she retreated not to the kitchen but back to her bedroom, tiptoeing so the floorboards wouldn't creak under her weight.
She wished she hadn't seen Cal in his study.
She tried frantically to wipe the image from her memory. Couldn't.
Cal wasn't supposed to look like that.