Three Wishes Upon a Tombstone: Lust and Longing, #7

By Emilie Jacobsen

Can they turn friendship into love? Especially when she has no desire to remarry
On the four-year anniversary of her husband's death Rosie decides that it is time she starts living her life again instead of simply surviving. She makes three wishes on her husband's tombstone: She wants to start her own charity where she decides who will benefit from the money, she wants to host the party of the season, and she wants another child. 

And where does her childhood friend Gregory fit into this? Absolutely nowhere. The desire she starts feeling for him is highly inconvenient, especially when it turns into more than attraction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emilie Jacobsen
• Release date: Feb 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223288282

Emilie Jacobsen

Emilie Jacobsen writes romantic fantasy novels inspired by medieval history. Her first book, The Alchemist's Daughter, was published in 2022.  She lives in Copenhagen, Denmark, with her family. 

Book preview

Prologue  

London, April 1833  

So, you’ve been dead four years today, Rosie conversationally told the gray stone as she placed the folded blanket on the grass in front of it and sat down. I suppose it is an anniversary of a kind, she muttered and tried not to choke on the words as the magnitude of it overwhelmed her for a moment.  

She pushed her feelings aside though, because she was not ready to cry yet. If she did, she would probably not be able to stop and she had things to tell Bernard before she gave into the tears.  

My father is teaching Timothy to ride. He took him to Hyde Park this morning. Timothy’s grin was so wide it seemed he would levitate if it became wider... She took a deep breath to once again steady her feelings. What was the matter with her today? Usually, she did not cry this easily; it had to be the anniversary. "And Annabelle is already so skilled at reading. She read from The Good Aunt and the Bad Aunt out loud for me the other day." 

Annabelle had only been one year old when Bernard had died. Timothy, who had been five, had at least a few memories of his father, but most of them involved him being ill. Being the kind, loyal child he was, Timothy had wanted to accompany her today. But as had been her custom since she returned to London for the season three years ago, Rosie wanted the garden alone for an hour each Sunday.  

When she was at Benham Manor, Bernard’s ancestral estate, she would visit his actual tomb for these conversations. But since it was not an option in London, she had had the stone placed at the back of their garden. Even though Bernard’s bones did not rest there, it provided a place for this Sunday ritual. The only items of his buried there were a cravat, his favorite pen, and a few strands of his mahogany-colored hair from the lock she had cut from his head after his death. The rest of it was in the drawer in her dressing table with a green ribbon tied around it.   

I had a letter from Jenkinson this Wednesday. Remember, I told you about the flood in the south pasture last week? Well, it turns out that there was nothing to worry about: The sheep were all found alive. So, as I told you there was no need to worry, she went on.  

Oh, and Emma is expecting again. Her fifth child. They just told us at the family dinner on Thursday. Mother and Father are thrilled of course... Rosie let her voice trail off and sighed. She looked at the bushes around the gray tombstone for a moment before she was able to continue.

I went to the opera with Sabrina and Natalie on Friday. Sabrina was of course in disguise, since she did not want anyone to see her when she is still in mourning. Although I doubt, we were fooling anyone. But the funniest thing happened... she told him the story of how her best friend Sabrina had worn a dress that was so wide, she had accidentally knocked a gentleman over, making him spill the two champagne glasses he was holding down his front. And can you believe it, it was Widford! Rosie exclaimed and thought with a smile of how her other best friend Natalie had rescued him with not one, but three very large and absorbing handkerchiefs and the quiet comment:

All my friends have children.   

Widford had been Bernard’s best friend and had become Rosie’s as well, although not a confidant as he had been to Bernard. He still often visited her and the children. Despite the visits being lovely, they also had the effect of highlighting the person who was missing. Somehow in her everyday life she was able to ignore it, but when Widford came by – and did not go to Bernard’s study for cigars and port after he had greeted her – it made her all too aware that the study was not in use anymore. Her father and oldest brother Edmund helped her with the ledgers for Benham Manor as well as preparing Timothy for his role as baron.  

I can’t believe you have been gone four years, she repeated in a murmur and finally allowed herself to cry. Rosie lost track of time as she lost herself to the tears.  

The first year she had cried constantly and had not fought to keep the tears back, except when she was with her children. If she felt sad, she cried. Somehow it gave her a moment’s relief afterwards, where she would feel an inner calm. When she could not fall asleep in the months following Bernard’s death, she would actively think of memories to make her cry so much she would fall asleep from exhaustion.   

It had worked while she was in mourning and they had lived secluded at Benham Manor, only seeing her family and Sabrina and Natalie. But after a year she had returned to London. She had felt ready to become part of the society again, although perhaps not as actively as she had before Bernard fell ill. Her ways of giving into her tears whenever she felt like it had not worked in London though and she had needed to find another way to cope with them. She had found that allowing herself a good cry each Sunday, where she wallowed in her grief and everything she had lost, helped her through the week.  

The first year she had merely pretended to be her old sarcastic, flippant self. She was tired of being fragile, and it was easier to be who people expected her to be. It was as if she had borrowed a dress from someone who was much larger than her. An occurrence that had not actually happened in real life since Rosie was on the robust side. Bernard had adored her curves and compared her to a mining horse, which Rosie chose to see as a compliment.  

The second year after Bernard’s death, her personality had finally started to fit again. She did not have to pretend to be flippant and sarcastic – she was. But a new vulnerability had also emerged in her and she allowed herself to show it when she was with her family or close friends. Now four years later she was finally a version of herself that she liked. A combination of the two sides of her that matched.  

Some of her old dreams had died with Bernard, but some of them had slowly returned over the years. Like the desire to involve herself in charity work again. Or hosting a party.  

Rosie dried the snot of her face as she looked at the gray stone as if it had spoken to her.  

Do you know what? Before the season is over, I will host a party, she told the tombstone. The grandest party of the season. And I will involve myself in charity work again. In fact, I want my own charity. We will support people no matter their background. In fact, I might even open an orphanage and a home for fallen women. She waved a fresh handkerchief as she said this.  

And no, I will not name it after you. Just because you are dead, you will not necessarily have a charity named after you. This will be my project and I want it to bear my name. The Dowager Baroness Rose Granville’s Asylum for Women and Children. She sent the stone a challenging look as if it might counter her.  

Rosie thought of all the dreams she had had before Bernard died. The one’s that had died and the one’s that had been dormant for all these years.  

And I want another child. She whispered this to the stone. I don’t know how, since I cannot imagine marrying again, but I want one. If you are somewhere, where they might be able to fulfill wishes, will you help me with this one?  

Of course, the stone did not answer, but Rosie was able to rise, feeling cleansed from the crying. For the first time in four years, perhaps even longer, she felt a purpose besides simply surviving and making sure her children had a happy childhood and that Benham Manor prospered.   

One  

It felt as if a fist reached into his chest and squeezed his heart when Gregory watched his brother Archie and his wife Cecilia on the dancefloor. The two were dancing a bit too closely to be entirely proper. They were looking into each other’s eyes with such warmth and devotion that it seemed the entire world around them did not exist.   

Gregory swallowed and averted his eyes but could not focus on any details in his parents’ stuffed ballroom. Not the flowers. Not the people milling about with trays of champagne. Not the orchestra that was reputed to be one of the best. Not one of the five hundred other guests there to celebrate the marriages of his older brother Archie to Cecilia and their younger sister Hester to the Earl of Lambourn.  Both had married in the fall at smaller, more private ceremonies which was why his parents were hosting this party now just before the season truly began.

To say that it had been a surprise to Gregory that his one year older notoriously rakish brother had married last year was an understatement. He had frankly thought it was a joke when his mother had written to inform him. Except of course it was a matter his mother would never jest about. The only matter that had seemed slightly plausible was that Archie had to marry because he had accidentally eloped with Cecilia.   

Gregory had felt even more dismayed when he had learned that the two had fallen in love. By their gazes they were indeed still. If someone had told him seven months ago that Archie would be capable of falling in love, Gregory would have laughed. He had always assumed that of the two he would be the one to fall in love first, the one to marry first. He was the one who had wanted it, not his brother.   

Guilt sliced through him at how horrible a brother he was. He should not begrudge his brother falling in love.

His gaze was caught by an odd-looking mole on the nape of a young lady standing close by. She was standing in a group of friends, but he did not see their lavishly done hair or their no doubt expensive dresses. He quickly slid his gaze away to look at a matter more appropriate than a mole, but again nothing caught his eyes and they instinctively returned to the round, reddish brown mole just below the girl’s hairline.

He supposed he could simply walk up to her, ask her to dance, and his own love story might start this moment. But frankly he was more interested in the girl’s mole than her. He had read recently that it could be a sign of cancer. Perhaps he should approach her and tell her to see her doctor. Besides as it was, he had nothing to offer at the moment. Not her, and not anyone else.

Which one of them are you interested in? a voice asked next to him.   

Gregory tried to hide his surprise as he turned to see Rose Granville stand beside him. Or simply Rosie to her friends whom Gregory considered himself among. Rosie’s parents, Lord and Lady Winterbottom, or simply Uncle and Aunt Winterbottom as they were known to the Montagu children, were his parents’ closest friends. The relationship between the families had been cemented when Gregory’s older sister Lucy had married Rosie’s older brother Edmund fifteen years ago. Archie liked to say that Rosie was the cousin he never knew he always wanted and to Gregory it was quite an accurate description. At least he knew Rosie better than any of his actual cousins.   

I’m not interested in any of them. But one of them, the one with the dark hair, has a mole that does not look right. His eyes strayed to the girl’s nape for a third time and her redheaded friend next to her leaned in to whisper to her, which made the girl turn slightly to look over her shoulder before turning back to her friends and all four of them giggled. Gregory felt his palms grow sweaty as they would have had he actually been interested in her taking a liking to him.

You have to dance with her now. Come along, I will make the introduction, Rosie said and had already grabbed hold of his lower arm and taken two steps towards the group.   

No, Rosie, Gregory hissed and dug his heels into the floor, as much as one could in dancing shoes on a polished wooden floor. She’s not much older than Ellie.  

His oldest niece was fifteen years old, and Gregory knew she had been dying to accompany her parents tonight and celebrate her aunt and uncle’s marriages.  

So, I was eighteen when I married, Rosie countered.  

Gregory met her determined dark brown gaze for a moment.  

Well, Granville was younger than I when you married him. Besides what does one even talk to an eighteen-year-old about? He fought not to avert his eyes and look at the mole again. Instead, he settled on the flower decoration on a pedestal next to him. He knew that his mother had spent hours planning the party since this was the first time that both couples would be presented to the ton at large.  

Archie and Cecilia’s wedding had been a quiet and quick family affair, due to the scandalous beginnings of it. They had not even had time for Gregory or their other siblings to return to their ancestral estate in Somerset. Hester and her husband’s wedding had been a larger affair with about a hundred guests at his parents’ country estate in November.  

His eyes strayed to Hester who was sitting in a chair along the wall. Allegedly she was only five months pregnant, but everything in Gregory’s training told him that Hester was at least six months along. He had noticed the signs of morning sickness in her already before she married. He assumed it was not unlikely that Hester and Lambourn had preempted their wedding night. His sister and new brother-in-law had not been too forward about what had happened between them to make them fall in love and have Lambourn leave his former fiancé Cecilia, whom Archie had then conveniently married.   

Gregory watched as Hester dropped her fan and Lambourn immediately turned from his conversation with Gregory’s oldest brother Henry to pick it up for her before she had even reached for it. Gregory turned his gaze away with a wry smile. Hester and Lambourn were just as nauseatingly in love as Archie and Cecilia although in a more subdued way.   

Ask her about her dress, Rosie said beside him and for a moment Gregory thought she meant Hester. When he turned to her, he remembered they were still talking about the brown-haired debutante with the mole.  

Why? he had to ask, while his gaze briefly ran over Rosie’s body clad in a burgundy dress, which – he absentmindedly noticed – seemed to emphasize all the right places of her body: Her large bosom and generous hips and bottom. Her dark brown hair was arranged in large curls on her head, some of them falling down and drawing attention to her neck and bosom. Just because he viewed her as a cousin did not mean that he was not aware of how she looked.  

Because all women like to talk about their dresses. It is a good conversation starter. And more personal than traffic or the weather.  

Gregory sighed and fought not to rub his forehead at her words. He knew Rosie, knew she would not simply give in, when she had an idea. At a summer gathering at the Winterbottom estate when they were children, she had once had them go through all the books in blue leather bindings because she was certain she had hidden the treasure map they had made at Christmas time there. She had had Gregory, Archie and her one-year older brother Samuel slave away an entire day to find the map to go on their hunt. When they had been through all the volumes with blue leather bindings, she had finally admitted that she might have hidden the map in a book with green binding. This was how Rosie was in all matters of life: Like a dog with a bone; infuriating and endearing all at the same time.  

You will dance with me, Rosie, Gregory stated without thinking to stop any further conversation. Before she had time to react, he started dragging her towards the dancefloor.  

Gregory was both taller and stronger than Rosie, but Rosie was sturdy as a small mining horse and clearly had the strength of one as well as she held her ground for a moment. When she relented and followed him, he almost tripped and slammed into her. It was not unpleasant having her soft curves pressed against him for a moment and reminding Gregory exactly how long it had been since he had been with a woman: more than a year.    

Fine, Rosie muttered and stepped away from him, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow and leading him to the dancefloor. He had forgotten that Rosie would always lead when they were dancing, but it suited him that he did not have to think at all.

I was looking at her mole, he told Rosie after a minute or two of dancing in silence. Since Rosie never kept quiet for long, he assumed that she was angry with him for not letting her make the introduction.   

Her mole? Her voice sounded disbelieving, but he could not decipher whether it was because she did not believe him or simply because she found him impossible.   

Yes, I have read recently that moles can be a source of cancer.   

What? All moles? Rosie asked and stepped on his toes as she was clearly taken aback by this. Gregory took the lead to make certain that they were not standing still on the dancefloor. Timothy has one on his cheek. And I have several on by back and arms. I think Annabelle has a couple as well, maybe...   

Not all moles, Gregory cut in with a slight smile to stop Rosie from disclosing all the body parts where she and her children had moles. But if they change, you need to be aware.   

Oh, I should have my lady’s maid check mine on the back then, Rosie mumbled absentmindedly as if she was mostly speaking to herself.   

That would be a good idea, Gregory agreed with a smile.

He knew that his mother would be appalled if she heard this line of conversation. Despite how well he and Rosie knew each other, his mother would never condone the mentioning of a woman’s naked back in a ballroom. Gregory had long since embraced that this was how his life was as a doctor: everyone suddenly lost their normal filter. Last week he had been discussing the dowager Lady Ashton’s gout in the middle of the Stilton's music room.   

I do not think the young lady was interested in me in any case, Gregory muttered.

There had been an edge to the girls’ laughter that told him they had found his perceived interest amusing. He might be the son of a duke, but he was a third son and one who made his own living. He had chosen medicine both out of interest and because it was a field where he would have the chance to make a true difference in other people’s lives. Which he often had to remind himself when he spent hours working alongside his mentor Dr. Forth on cases that could have easily been overseen by a doctor with much less experience than either of them. But he knew the rich patients paid well and the money was essential for Dr. Forth’s free clinic.

Nonsense, Rosie stated with certainty. Anyone would be lucky to have you.  

Gregory looked down to meet her dark brown eyes. As always, Rosie looked like she knew exactly what she talked about. As if it was inconceivable to her that she could ever be wrong. Gregory had once had an argument with her about what the capital of Denmark was called. Rosie had stubbornly claimed it was Stockholm. Granville, her husband, had been alive at the time and he had simply chuckled behind his newspaper and said:   

You might as well give up, Montagu.   

Gregory had had to find an atlas to show Rosie she was mistaken and finally have her acknowledge it was Copenhagen, not Stockholm, that was the capital.   

Honestly Gregory was certain that in the brief moment that the brunette had looked at him, the gleam in her eyes and the slight distaining curve of her mouth had clearly told him:   

Nothing could make me consider him. If only his brother had not married...   

Because where Lord Archibald Montagu could make women swoon by simply walking into a room, Dr. Gregory Montagu only arrived once they had already swooned to try to revive them again. And usually never the pretty young ladies.   

Gregory, your mind seems to be miles away tonight, Rosie said gently and squeezed his shoulder with her gloved hand.   

Gregory tried to smile but was not certain he managed it.   

If I am honest, I find it rather lo... he almost said lonely, but at the last moment changed his mind, strange to be the only unmarried among my siblings,