Tuesday Tales word promt this week is 'Dress'.
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*Note - changed Rosamund to Rosemary.*
Rosemary studied her son, Callum Hamilton. Eight years old, and the love of her life.
“You know,” he said, rising to his knees on his bed, “you look like a princess in that dress.”
“Oh!” Shocked almost speechless, Rosie swooped down and hugged Cal. “What a lovely thing to say. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
Quickly knowing how much she’d embarrass him if she held onto him any longer than a couple of seconds, Rosie moved back and made a play of studying herself in the mirror.
“I lack the crown, don’t you think?” Angling her head from side to side, she met her son’s reflected grin in the mirror.
“You don’t need a crown when you wear that dress.”
The floor length pleated skirt of her diamond blue satin gown billowed round her legs when she turned. She still wasn’t sure about the single flowered strap that led the eye to the snug fitting bodice that hugged her curves and emphasized her slender waist, but had to agree it looked good on her.
Instead of her son’s voice, the words triggered the memory of his father’s voice when she’d joined him at the Estate’s church alter on their wedding day. On that day, she wore cream Nottingham lace over satin, with long slender sleeves ending in a ‘v’ on the back of her hand. The woman at the bridal gown shop gave it a fashionable name, which she’d ignored. Love at first sight, first with her almost husband, then with her wedding dress, and finally with her son the moment the nurse placed him in her arms.
Now nothing! Liam’s brother Sacha, didn’t mean a thing to her, how could he?
She’d met him for the first time at the Valentine day bash, Melanie and Monica held every year to raise funds for their riding school for disabled children—well partly her riding school since she’d bought into the business and virtual taken over Monica’s role since she’d returned to her new home with her fiancé and heir to the tiny European kingdom Henri would one day inherit from his father.
If she ignored the punch to her gut the first time she set eyes on him, the feeling would disappear in time. If the look he’d given her earlier this evening set the blood pulsing though her veins almost causing her heart to leap out of her chest with delight, so what? He was a handsome man. A stunningly good looking man, she corrected.
It was over eight years since her husband of six months had died from injuries sustained from a rampaging stag during the deer-rutting season, and she still missed him, still mourned he’d never met the son who mirrored his image and many of his mannerisms.
“You don’t need a crown to be my queen.” He’d whispered when he placed his ring on her finger that day so long ago. With a shake of her head, she smiled back at Cal.
“It would probably fall off if I had to wear a crown, so I’m thankful I don’t have one.”
Something in her son’s eyes dimmed her smile and silenced her laughter.
Rosie crossed the room and sat beside Cal when he sat back on his heels and looked down at his hands resting on his lap. “What’s the matter?”
“Do you ever regret walking away from Dad’s inheritance? I know you did it for me.”
“Sweetheart, I loved your father not his lifestyle or his estates. Yes, I did do it for you, and your uncle is prepared to talk the whole situation through with you whenever you want to.”
“I know that.” Cal raised his gaze to meet hers, anxiety darkening the heather-coloured eyes so like his father’s.
“But?” She knew what was coming, the guilt the fear, and the sense of failure and her heart wept for the son who wanted to emulate his father and couldn’t because of the circumstances in which that father had died.