Defiant Rose (35 page)

“I can imagine it would seem so at first,” Robert said with some understanding. “I hear you arrived with your aunt. Can she really read fortunes?”

“Rosemary, did you meet Percy?” Catherine interrupted smoothly, giving Robert a quelling glance. Michael’s brother shrugged and helped himself to a whiskey, while the gray-haired gentleman who had risen upon her entrance stepped forward and took her hand, smiling at her warmly. “Why, Rosemary Carney. You are exactly as I pictured you. Welcome, child.”

Rosemary stared at him in confusion. “I’m sorry…have we met?”

“No, no.” Percy chuckled good-naturedly. “But I knew your parents. You are the image of your mother, but there’s a good measure of your father there, too. You see, I have long been an aficionado of the circus.”

“Have you seen the show?” Rosemary asked.

Percy nodded. “I was in Denver last year on business, and I saw you perform. I thought it charming. I believe you had sold out, and I was lucky to get a ticket.”

“Why don’t we sit down to dinner?” Catherine said quickly, obviously eager to avoid circus talk. She took Percy’s arm and started for the table, while James brought in a huge silver tray with a tureen.

Rosemary took the seat that Michael indicated for her, while Robert sat at the far end, replenishing his glass. Catherine glanced at him disapprovingly, then indicated for James to begin serving.

“Where’s Clara?” Rosemary asked as James poured a thin brown broth into the shallow dishes, then placed one in front of her. Something bobbed suspiciously in the middle of the bowl. It looked like fungus, and her eyes fell to the bewildering array of forks and spoons.

Catherine looked at her in disbelief, then delicately daubed her lips with a napkin. “Servants don’t sit with us. They usually take their meals in the kitchen—”

“She’s still resting,” Michael interrupted. “I’ll have a tray sent up to her later. Is your room all right?”

Rosemary nodded, furious at Catherine’s insinuation. But Michael was so obviously trying to be nice that she didn’t want to challenge the remark and embarrass him. Instead, she concentrated on the bewildering array of utensils before her and attempted to decide which one to use. Picking up the smallest spoon, she was about to fill it with soup when she noticed that no one else was using that one. James caught her attention and discreetly indicated the large spoon. Gratefully she took the hint and sipped the weak broth. It took her a moment to realize that there wasn’t a sound in the room. No one slurped the soup the way the clowns did, nor did they laugh or pull practical jokes at the table. There was something grim about all this, she decided, trying to sip as noiselessly as everyone else.

“So tell me about your wedding.” Robert broke the silence and smiled at Rose. “I imagine you were a lovely bride.”

Rosemary grinned mischievously. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. We were married in the big top, and they had to drag me, kicking and screaming with my hands tied, so I don’t think
lovely
is the right word.”

Robert choked, Michael groaned, caught between anger and amusement, while Catherine paled. Percy twirled his wineglass as if utterly unsurprised and questioned her further. “Do you mean you didn’t want to marry him?”

“They had to force him as well,” Rosemary explained quickly, aware that she’d said something wrong. Catherine’s horrified look told her that. “It took them six guns and the miners to convince him.”

“James, do pour me a glass of wine.” Catherine seemed about to faint. “And Percy, would you mind updating Michael on the market? He’s been away so long.”

Percy took her cue and assumed control of the conversation while James brought platters of cold tongue and dishes of jellies and pickles. Rosemary swallowed hard, aware that she’d committed a social gaffe. She put down her spoon, her appetite gone. Michael gave her an understanding smile, but even that didn’t help. She didn’t know how to do this, didn’t know the rules. She wanted nothing more than to be home, where none of this mattered.

James placed several morsels on her plate and nudged her arm. Rosemary, aware that everyone was watching her, looked down at the forks. There were five, ranging from a tiny fork with two tines up to a dinner size. Frantically she attempted to count the tines and compare them with the rest, trying to discern which one to use.

“Rosemary.” Catherine addressed her for the first time. “I understand your mother comes from this part of the country. Is she someone I know?”

“I don’t think so,” Rosemary said uneasily. “Her last name was Foster.”

“Foster…I believe there are several families by that name. Does she have relatives in Chestnut Hill?”

“No,” Rosemary responded.

“Or perhaps Boston?” Catherine brightened. “I do believe I’ve heard mention of a Foster family there. Is there a congressman involved?”

“Perhaps on your father’s side,” Robert supplied helpfully.

“No,” Rosemary said quietly, laying aside her fork. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about my mother or her family. You see, my mother left the circus shortly after I was born. Apparently, she could never abide the life of the troupe and wanted to return home. My father was crushed by her leaving and seldom mentioned her again. He never recovered from his disappointment and died an unhappy man. He was poor but honest, and he wanted nothing more than to produce the finest circus possible. Apparently, your husband saw something in his vision and tried to help him. Have I answered all of your questions?”

“Yes,” Catherine said softly, looking embarrassed. “I believe you have.”

Michael gave his mother a stern look, and Percy appeared disappointed. A strained silence fell over the table after that. It seemed an eternity before the meal was over and the gentlemen rose to enjoy brandy and cigars in the parlor. Michael paused by her side, obviously concerned about leaving her.

“Would you prefer to have coffee here? I don’t have to join them—”

“No, of course not,” Rosemary said quickly. “I know you haven’t seen your family in a long time. I’ll be fine. I want to go see Clara anyway.”

“All right.” Michael gave her a warm smile. “Tomorrow I’ll take you into town and show you some of the sights. I think you’ll like Philadelphia very much.”

Rosemary nodded, though she doubted she’d like Philadelphia at all. From what she’d seen so far, it was a long way from being the City of Brotherly Love, no matter what William Penn thought. As she started to depart, she saw Catherine stop her son, taking him lightly by the arm and detaining him. Rosemary could hear their voices as she climbed the stairs, Catherine’s tone reasoning, Michael’s angry. She didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what they were talking about, and her heart sank even more.

She wasn’t wanted here, and no amount of fighting would change that. She didn’t use the right spoons, didn’t speak the same language, didn’t know how to fit into this world. The last thing she wanted to do was drive a wedge between Michael and his family, but that’s what was happening. Rosemary Carney was a lot of things, but a lady and the wife of the prominent Michael Wharton wasn’t one of them.

And no one was more convinced of that than his mother.

“Don’t you have a job or something? Why are you so eager to go to town?”

Clara glared at Michael, her blue eyes incredibly healthy and vibrant for a woman her age. Michael thought of her penchant for dying and couldn’t believe that any of them had been taken in by such a hoax, though he fervently wished she’d take another spell.

“I have a job, but since I’ve just returned, I decided to go in this afternoon. After five months a few hours won’t make much difference. Rosemary, are you ready?”

Rose was sitting at the window, peering down into the street in obvious fascination. Rittenhouse Square was alive with carriages, horses, and pedestrians, even at this early hour, and she was taking in every aspect of city life. Tearing herself away from the sight, she turned toward him as if suddenly aware of his presence.

“Michael, I know you promised, but we really don’t have to go. Clara is right—you have other…things to do, I guess. And I am a little tired. I’ll be fine right here.”

She gave him a bright smile, but her eyes were averted. Michael stared at her, more than aware of what she really meant. She was terrified that they’d run into someone he knew—and that he’d be embarrassed. He silently cursed his family and the awkward dinner she experienced the previous night. No doubt she felt more ill-at-ease than ever, especially if she overheard the altercation that followed.

Instead, he shrugged and put on his coat. “I suppose you can stay here. You’re right, I do have other things to do. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Philadelphia is full of elegant people. If you don’t think you can pass muster—”

“I can so!” Rosemary snapped, outraged. It was bad enough that his mother thought her inadequate—she couldn’t let him get away with it. “I don’t care what anyone thinks!”

“And since you are in a delicate condition, I guess you might not be able to keep up with me. Maybe—”

“I feel just fine! Clara, hand me my cloak.” Rosemary took the garment and tossed it over her shoulders. “Not able to keep up with you! Are you ready?” She tied the laces so hard they almost broke.

Michael grinned and offered his arm. “Yes, the carriage is waiting.”

Rosemary took his arm and started from the room while Clara muttered. It was still a heathen city. And the sooner she and Carney were out of here, the better.

Walnut Street was lined with gray granite shops and tiny hidden restaurants, awnings that fluttered in the breeze, and secret alleyways where dogs barked and children ran. Rosemary looked upward, amazed at the angels and gargoyles in the architecture watching her with cement eyes. Signs advertising everything from ladies’ shoes to print shops, book and cigar stores. Women passed by, garbed in fashionable day dresses and warm woollen cloaks, some of them trimmed in fur, while gentlemen spoke on street corners and went about business.

As they neared the center of the city, they passed clerks and construction workers with their rough clothes, chimney sweeps and stableboys who sauntered in front of the taverns. The city itself was a grid, an unremittant crisscrossed pattern of streets jammed with carts and carriages. Smoke belched from a hundred chimneys, and the unrelenting view of brick and slate created a dreary effect. Yet the city teemed with life. Rosemary heard Irish brogues, strong German accents, and soft Italian words. It was truly a melting pot in which the ingredients never really melted.

As they dismounted from the carriage, an organ-grinder called to her, singing in Italian. His little monkey climbed playfully onto the man’s tattered red coat, then slid to the street and held out a tin for coins. The strains of music filled the air, and the little monkey danced, doffing his cap to the people passing by.

“Isn’t he cute?” Rosemary giggled as the vendor waved and the monkey seemed to wave with him.

“Adorable,” Michael said dryly, though he was pleased she was enjoying herself. She seemed happy for the first time in days, her eyes shining with her old excitement at the scene unfolding around her.

“Come on, now, he looks like you,” Rosemary said mischievously. “He’s got your eyes.”

“And your sense of humor.” Michael grinned as the monkey climbed onto a woman’s cloak and expertly helped himself to her hat. The woman shrieked, while Rosemary dissolved into giggles.

It was so good to hear her laugh. Rosemary Carney was not the loveliest woman he’d ever known, but it scarcely mattered. She was certainly the most fascinating. He never felt as alive as when he was with her, whether at Carney’s figuring out her atrocious bookkeeping, or here, doing something as mundane as shopping.

“This is the downtown section of the city,” Michael explained as they walked along the cobbled streets. “Much of this has been recently built. A hundred years ago this was all little neighborhoods.”

“It is unbelievable,” Rosemary admitted, unable to take in enough of the sights and smells of the city.

“There’s a lot to do here. There’s the theater, the opera, the Academy of Music, the dance halls, the social clubs…It’s never-ending. I think you will enjoy it.”

Rosemary looked at him. Did he actually think she would ever be a part of all this? But the idea didn’t seem so insane to him as he led her down the street, pointing out a little shop or another object of interest. He talked to her as if she would be here for a very long time, and as if he was trying to help assimilate her into a new life. He didn’t deride her intelligence but seemed to appreciate it, and he answered her questions thoughtfully.

It would be so easy to relax and let things fall into place, just the way he wanted. Rosemary sighed, wishing she could just close her eyes and trust this, that it meant what it appeared to mean. But he was with her by force, not by choice, and she knew she’d do well not to forget that. He’d left her once when he’d had the chance—this time she’d have to protect herself.

For the next two hours Rosemary saw all of the things that had made Philadelphia famous. She saw the Schuylkill waterworks, Fairmount Park, they passed a zoo which showed enticing glimpses of exotic animals that would be right at home in any circus, and the Free Library. Michael was a wonderful tour guide and obviously enjoyed himself wherever he went. He was also surprisingly funny. He spoke to anyone who passed, joked with the street vendors, asked them personal questions, which they answered with a grin, and broke into song, imitiating the organ-grinder. It was a side to him that she’d only seen once, when he’d played Lorac, but it was very appealing and a marvelous contradiction to the serious banker.