This is a Very Bad Idea | Rose & Ben
Rose followed his gaze to her vanity mirror and they both caught a glimpse of his reflection at the same time, “You look drowned,” She said, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
She watched then, arms crossed, as Ben moved about her room looking for a way to dry himself off only to pick up the new skirt she had only worn once (it had been specially made for her as part of her new wardrobe that had been commissioned when her father learned of Alexander Lambton’s impending visit). It was one of the few pieces she had that had not been soiled in any way and she couldn’t help but laugh as Ben mistook it for a towel.
“I’m sure that it did,” Rose said, when he mentioned that it must have cost more than his horse. She took it from him and handed him a towel which had been hanging a few feet from away from him, “No matter. It was only a matter of time until I ruined it, myself. You’ve just saved me the trouble,” She teased.
Rose sighed, sinking into an old chair by the fireplace, “That is the trouble, I’m afraid - we don’t do anything very interesting, at all. Why do you think I spend all of my days outside with you?” She grinned, “If I had a better option, we never would have met.”
Rainy days were horrible spent by herself and even more so when there was company around, but Rose had always liked the quiet, rainy afternoons spent with Charles and Anna. Anna would read to them adventure stories and fairy tales and Charles would bring out his old chess board and they would play by the fire. They would all enjoy hot tea served with biscuits and hopefully avoid their father who would spend such afternoons in his study. Sometimes even Howard would join them and they would play cards.
“I don’t know! He acts as though he wants her to marry the King - but we all know that he is here to marry Margot. Valeria wouldn’t so easily be his if he married Anna, instead. The fact that he has been throwing her in his way is upsetting enough,” Talking about Anna and Alexander had gotten a rise out of Rose again and halfway through her sentence she had stood again from the chair and became to pace the room, “I’m not sure what he can mean by it? If he thinks Anna will be the King’s mistress, he is sorely mistaken!” Rose was certain that even Anna would not stand for that if that was what their father meant to accomplish by pushing the two together.
“Yes! He means for me to marry Mr. Moreland. The thought alone is completely ridiculous! I’m not likely to marry anyone, at all - but I’d never agree to marry someone so old and boring. We’d never get on. The entire scheme is ridiculous and I’m sure even Mr. Moreland agrees with me on that point.”
Ben managed to distract Rose from her thoughts when he continued to bring up Ernest Lambton, “I certainly do not!” Rose cried, when he accused her of having a crush on the prince. “You are the only who keeps dragging him into conversation.” Despite herself, Rose’s cheeks flushed a bit with the accusation. Not that she felt anything at all for Ernest, but because she could not help but briefly think about John Craven in that moment. and she felt incredibly embarrassed that she did have a crush on someone, even if it wasn’t the prince. “I’d just as soon have a crush on you, Ben Wilson,” She said, rolling her eyes and playfully pushing him away.
Just then, the skirt that Ben had put too close to the fireplace to dry, caught fire and went up in smoke.
As she assessed his appearance, he made a face at her in the mirror. “Oh, please,” he began in a boastful tone. “I’ve looked far worse.” His face fell. He’d meant to sound tough, but somehow, once spoken aloud, it hadn’t had that vibe at all.
“Glad to be of use,” he laughed, sweeping a small, jocular bow. “Really, though,” sighed Ben, more than a little relieved as she handed him an actual towel in place of the dripping white skirt he’d so miserably manhandled. “You’d think your father would know you better than that, by now. Remember the time you lost a shoe in the mud? And I had to pull you out, or you’d have gotten lost down there, too?” This was, of course, something of an exaggeration -- or, at least, Ben’s (faintly) heroic part in the narrative was. The event, itself, was real enough. “Your skirts were positively a foot deep in mud. You’d think he’d at least have figured out that white really isn’t your color.”
Ben chuckled. He remembered, too, a little spot of mud that had flown up and splattered on her face. He’d laughed at her, of course -- that was a friend’s duty -- but he remembered, too, just how becoming she’d looked speckled like that and, even thinking of it, he couldn’t quite suppress the lopsided grin he’d used at the time.
“Did you ever manage to salvage that shoe, or is it still down there, rotting away in the mud? Louisa told me, later, that that one shoe, alone, cost a small fortune! Why you need a shoe like that for trudging around muddy forests with an -- admittedly -- strikingly handsome commoner, I’ll never know,” he teased, grinning brightly.
Ben made a face. “Naturally, you spend your time outside with me because I’m such good company,” he replied, smirking in a self-satisfied fashion. “Your prince, no matter how dashing, would never let you walk straight into a muddy puddle, but me? I did! And I helped you back out, too!” He’d meant to showcase this incident as evidence that he respected her right to choose for herself, but without articulating that, it made him sound like a rather careless friend, instead. “And, I’m going to make sure you don’t get bored today. Why, there’s plenty we can do! We can...we can explore! We can steal some bread and cheese from the kitchens and make toasties in your fireplace, we can play jax -- though I already know I’ll beat you in a trice -- and we can play pranks on your family. Just like at home...but with less sewing. You’ll see! Rainy days don’t have to be boring, even if you do insist on spending them indoors.”
Ben listened with a sober expression as she spoke of her father’s plans for her sister. Glancing down at his hands, he shook his head. “You lot pay a hefty sum for all your privilege, don’t you? For all that they do have to worry about, at least my sisters don’t have to face that. No one would ever think of forcing them on someone loathsome -- or anyone at all. They can do what they like.” Ben sighed, habitually starting to run his hand through his hair before realizing he was soaked, once again, if slightly less so than he had been, due to Rose’s skirt. He sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “What about you, Rose? What...what would you do, if you could choose for yourself?”
Reading the distress on her face, he took a step forward and took her hand. “Hey,” he said, in as warm a tone as he could muster. “It’s going to be all right. Look, I don’t know what your father has planned, but he’s certainly not going to make your sister into someone’s mistress, ok?* Remember that.” Squeezing her hand, he released it. “Though what on earth he might have planned...search me.” He laughed softly, stepping back towards the fireplace to return to his drying ministrations with the towel. “I’m sure he’s got one.” Ben really only knew Clarence Calvert by reputation and Rose’s insights, but even he knew that the man was angling for something. He shrugged. “He probably just hopes he’ll spill state secrets, or something. I don’t know about you ladies, but men don’t do their best thinking when they’re staring at a pretty face. We’ll say just about anything without any judgment.”
Ben froze. He’d been busily running the towel through his sopping hair, but upon hearing that Clarence Calvert really did have such intentions for Rose, his heart leapt into his throat. Turning towards her, he shook his head. “What?” he demanded, arm shooting out in a gesture of frustration. “You can’t marry him! That’s preposterous! That’s like...that’s like...well, actually, I can’t think of anything so ridiculous! What’s he thinking of? Listen, Rose, you don’t have to marry him. He can’t force you. You...” he shook his head. “We could run away! I’d obviously go with you, otherwise you’d eat poison berries by accident and die. Or...or...if you wanted to stay here near your family, we...you could marry me and then he couldn’t force you to marry anyone at all!”
He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of marrying her a dozens of times over, but it was all just a dream. He knew it could never be -- he’d never meant to say anything at all. As soon as the words were out, he realized what he’d just said. Color flooded his face and he gratefully threw the towel over his head again, frantically combing at his wet hair, before she could see. Idiot, idiot, idot! he thought. Well, he’d certainly hit the nail on the head when he’d mentioned that men said thoughtless things to pretty girls and now his entire body revolted.
Tearing the towel back off as something occurred to him, he turned to her. “I mean,” he stammered. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything. It could just be platonic. If you wanted to. Not that you have to marry me. I mean...you do know what I mean, right? Just...you don’t have to marry him, whatever your father says. You have options--” he broke off, laughing somewhat sardonically in self-directed irritation. “However paltry.”
After all, what kind of life could he offer her? Ben knew well and good that Rose marrying him could only ever be an act of sheer desperation, but he also knew that she’d be cut off, entirely, by her father if she did it. And then what? She was used to skirts that cost more than horses and lost shoes worth a king’s ransom! All he could offer her was half a tiny cot and a warm fireplace to sit by when it got dark. Even as a last resort, it was a pathetic thought.
Seeing Rose’s cheeks flush at the mention of Ernest, his gut gave a little jolt and hot jealousy gripped him. Of course, he thought. I’m out here proposing like a fool when the one she wants is an actual prince!
“Or, you could marry your prince. I doubt even Clarence Calvert could be disappointed with that.” His tone was far more bitter than he’d intended and he quickly covered it over with a roguish smile he shot in her direction. Despite himself, he smirked as she pushed him, and laughed. He swallowed hard, hearing her words about having a crush on him. “Impossible,” he whispered.
Watching her eyes widen, Ben turned, spotting the fiery skirt. “Whoa! Open the balcony window, Rose!” he shouted, darting for the garment and, tearing it from its hangings by a few as yet un-fiery strips, he bolted towards the door. “I’ll toss it out in the rain, but we have to make sure the fire goes out when I do!”
