by Tessa Dare
“That is not the point,” Duke snapped. “And if the public had discovered the lie, the paper’s reputation would have been compromised.”
“Had discovered it, as in past tense?”
Duke swirled the scotch in his crystal, watching the light reflect off the light brown liquid. “I fired her. After the dinner party she hosted for the board the other night.”
Pike winced. “The dinner party failed, I suppose?”
“No. The entire thing was a rousing success. She charmed them all, set up shop in an abandoned house off Central Park. Roped some poor fool into posing as her husband. The board ate it up with a spoon. Haven’t heard a peep out of them concerning the scandal since then.”
“Yet you fired her?”
Why didn’t Pike understand? “She lied—and if it had been discovered, the paper would have suffered.”
“You’re wrong. Miss Walker is an incredible asset to your company. Have you seen how many letters she receives a week? The mailroom had to hire two additional employees just to handle the volume.”
He hadn’t known that, but it hardly mattered. “Whoever replaces her shall prove just as popular, believe me.”
“Then tell me why you are here so late on Christmas, looking like someone died.”
Duke swirled the scotch in his glass, thinking on how best to respond. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, even when it could destroy you?”
Pike remained silent for a moment. “Something—or someone?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course. Things lack the power to love us or hurt us. They also lack the power to change.”
“Fine, someone.”
Pike sat a bit straighter. “I’ve known you all your life. And never has there been anyone so dedicated or driven to succeed, not even your father. But has it brought you happiness? Your father was a miserable man who made everyone around him miserable, as well. Is that the kind of life you want for yourself? Here on Christmas, instead of home with a wife and children who love you? Believe me, the papers will survive with or without your personal sacrifices. Do not martyr yourself because you think it is what he would’ve wanted.”
Was that what he’d done, martyred himself to make a dead man proud? Duke hadn’t a clue, but Pike spoke the truth about Duke’s father. “I don’t want his life, but a wife and children must wait until the company is more secure.”
“A man needs balance, Duke. There’ll always be more to accomplish. But when you are old and feeble, the newspapers won’t hold your hand. You know, I’ve had more fun the past week with my grandchildren than I ever did with my own children. I missed all those years because I was here every single minute, and I regret not stopping to smell the roses now and again.”
Duke considered this, trying to recall if his father had ever attended a birthday or holiday . . . or a picnic? A ride in the park? He couldn’t remember spending time with his father outside of these offices.
“Any chance I’m familiar with this woman?”
“Yes, you know her,” he mumbled.
Pike’s expression darkened. “Wait, you do not mean . . .” Duke offered up no denial and Pike blurted, “Absolutely not. She is not for you.”
The reaction startled Duke, an argument instantly on his lips. “Why not? You just finished singing her praises. She is an asset, you said.”
“An asset to the company, yes. A candidate for your . . . whatever, absolutely not. She is kind and decent. A proper young lady, not a strumpet. She does not deserve to be—”
“Calm yourself, Pike. I’m not talking about that.”
“Then, what? Your wife?” When Duke didn’t answer, Pike huffed an angry breath. “That is worse! I’ll not see you saddle that woman with a lifetime of loneliness and heartache. She is too good for the likes of you.”
Was it the scotch or were Duke’s ears deceiving him? “Too good for me? The woman flimflammed the national newspaper-reading public for nearly two years! She’s a liar and charlatan.”
“No, she’s a woman who desperately wished for a job at a newspaper. Nothing more. I talked her into the advice column because she had an overabundance of common sense. I liked her, dammit. And you may not know this, but her mother has worked as a maid for years. She’s in poor health and Rose is saving money to help her retire. How are you able to fault her for that?”
Duke understood, but his stupid pride kept getting in the way. She’d lied to him. Made him feel like an idiot. “Borrowed” someone’s house for a dinner party. Jesus, the woman’s moral compass was as flexible as wheat stalks in a storm, bending to suit her whim. How could he ever believe anything she said?
My maidenhead was mine to do whatever I chose with it.
She couldn’t mean that, could she? He assumed she’d been angling to marry him. So why would she refuse his proposal today?
Pike drained his glass and slammed the empty crystal on the desk. “You know what your problem is? You don’t care to admit when you are wrong. Keep moving forward, never look back. Because to reflect on your past means you might come to regret some of the decisions you’ve made . . . and you’d be forced to admit you are not perfect.” He stood and collected his painting under an arm. “What you don’t realize is that the world does not need more perfection. It needs more compassion and empathy. And if you cannot learn the difference, my boy, you have a very lonely future ahead of you.”
Pike spun on his heel and strode toward the door.
A strange sensation filled Duke’s chest. He missed Pike and didn’t care for things to end this way.
He’s been at the paper for more than forty years and is now cast adrift for someone else’s mistake.
Rose had been right, dammit.
“Wait,” he called. “I’d like you to return to the paper.”
Pike stopped, a frown on his face. “You want to hire me again?”
“Yes, I do.” The decision seeped into Duke’s bones with a surety he’d not experienced before. “I was wrong to fire you.”
“Indeed, you were. Never thought I would hear you say it.”
Neither had Duke. He’d never gone back on a decision before. “Perhaps I am learning compassion and empathy.”
Pike’s mouth twitched. “Fair enough. I do miss working here, but I have no desire to put in ninety-hour weeks any longer. I like spending time with my wife and grandchildren.”
“What about part-time?”
A grin spread over the older man’s face. “Twenty hours a week for the same salary as before.”
Duke chuckled at the ridiculous bargain. Pike had him cornered and they both knew it. “Fine, but you start back tomorrow.”
“Only for an hour or two. Taking the family to the Central Park menagerie tomorrow.” Duke didn’t argue, so Pike continued. “Now, what are you going to do about Miss Walker?”
“I suppose you want her rehired as part of your negotiations.”
“That would be nice, but I didn’t mean her column. I meant your intentions toward the girl.”
“I don’t know,” Duke answered honestly. “I haven’t decided.”
“Well, you’d best decide quickly. But, if you aren’t prepared to place her happiness over your precious newspapers, then you need to let her move on.”
Duke’s mouth turned to ash as he contemplated Rose moving on without him. Who would teach her to ride? Who would stand up to him and tell him he was wrong? Who would show him how to sing carols and drink mulled cider? Who would corner her under the mistletoe to sneak a kiss?
He drew in a deep breath and admitted what had been staring him in the face for days. He had to win her back.
Chapter Ten
Rose nibbled her nail and watched as her mother and the others read Mrs. Walker’s latest column. They were crowded into the Lowes’ kitchen, the newspaper spread over the flour and salt atop Mrs. Riley’s workbench.
Bridget gasped, while Henry covered his mouth. Rose’s mother said nothing, but the flattening of her lips
spoke volumes. When the group stopped reading, no one spoke.
Finally, Henry broke the silence. “You told them.”
“Yes, I did.”
Her readers now knew the truth about Mrs. Walker’s age and marital status. Without giving her mother’s name, Rose had explained her reasons for pretending otherwise, apologized, and pleaded for understanding. Then she told them this was her last column.
Duke would have a difficult time finding someone else to pose as Mrs. Walker after this.
“Why on earth did you do that?” her mother asked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You loved being Mrs. Walker.”
“I did. Unfortunately, I was recently fired.” More gasps filled the room. “This was my final column and I wanted to be truthful. And I needed to say goodbye.”
“I cannot believe he fired you,” Henry snapped. “What happened between you two that night?”
Rose had eventually told her mother of the dinner party, which had earned her an hour-long lecture on the stupidity of the venture. She hadn’t, however, told anyone of what occurred in the pantry at the end of the night. That stupidity was hers alone. “He was upset that I lied, said my deception could jeopardize the entire paper.”
“So instead of keeping the secret, you’ve spilled it all over the pages of his newspaper.” Her mother shook her head. “I do not understand how this helps anyone.”
Bridget said softly, “It’s called having your heart broken and needing to clear the air before moving on.”
Rose gave the maid a wan smile. “Something like that.” Exactly like that.
“But you have ensured he’ll never give you your job back.”
“Mama, I don’t want my job back. I’ll find another newspaper to work for.” One not owned by Duke Havermeyer.
“Anyone would hire you,” Henry said. “Havermeyer is a fool for letting you go.”
The vehemence in Henry’s voice nearly had Rose in tears. She threw him a grateful look and said, “I’ll be fine. Do not worry about me.”
“Then how was your heart broken?” Her mother glanced around at the faces in the room. “I feel as if everyone here knows something I don’t.”
“There is nothing to tell,” Rose said. Not only were her feelings for Duke unrequited, he’d insulted her further by saying she was attempting to trap him into marriage. Better to forget him and move forward.
“Excuse me.” Mr. Chaplin, the Lowes’ butler, appeared at the base of the stairs. “Henry, there is a man here asking for you. A Mr. Havermeyer.”
Duke was here, asking for Henry? Good Lord.
She and Henry locked eyes. “No doubt he’s looking for you, Rosie,” he said.
Questions bounced in her mind, making it hard to think. “I cannot . . . see him here.” She raised her brows at her mother, silently asking for help. Her mother said nothing, however, her attention focused on the newspaper.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lowe are not in,” Bridget pointed out. “And I think you should hear what he has to say.”
“Still, it doesn’t feel right to commandeer one of the family spaces,” Rose said.
“I told him to come to the servants’ door around back,” Mr. Chaplin informed them. “If he wants to meet with one of us, then he shall do it on our terms . . . not his.”
Rose could have kissed the butler right then. No doubt Duke would balk at being sent to the servants’ door. Most likely he was headed home at this very moment.
“What do you think he wants, Rose?” her mother asked. “Perhaps he is here to give you back your job.”
Impossible. Duke never admitted to a mistake, never changed his mind once it had been set. And even if he did, she couldn’t work for a man who’d accused her of scheming to marry him.
A bell sounded and Rose started. Had he actually come around back? “Allow me,” Henry said and strolled off toward the servants’ entrance.
She heard the latch turn and soft words were exchanged. Henry returned—and then Duke Havermeyer appeared in the kitchen, a large hand sweeping his bowler hat off his head. His gaze bounced around the room until it landed on her and, though she had prepared herself, a jolt went through her as their eyes connected. She sucked in a breath, unable to move her limbs as she stared at the familiar planes of his handsome face.
“Mr. Havermeyer.” Rose’s mother marched right up to the tall, imposing man in a black overcoat. “I am Mrs. Walker. I understand you fired my daughter.”
He grimaced. “Yes, I did. It was a mistake, madam. One I have come to rectify.”
A mistake? Rose could hardly believe her ears. “Have you seen today’s column?” He clearly hadn’t, or else he’d know there was nothing left to rectify.
“I have. Clever thing you did, switching it out without me knowing.”
“Then how . . . ?” She frowned. “I thought you’d be angry.”
“As you said, we should not underestimate the readers. They have come to trust you and learning why you lied will only endear you to them. At least, that’s what I am gathering from the telegrams we’ve received today.”
“Telegrams?”
Duke nodded once. “They started pouring in once the newspapers hit the streets. I grabbed a few, and left Pike to deal with the rest.”
“Mr. Pike?” Rose’s brows shot up. “Does that mean . . . ?”
“Yes, I hired him back. As a wise woman once told me, I never should have let him go in the first place.”
She could hardly keep up, this was all so overwhelming. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I came here to ask Henry how to find you. The woman who runs the boardinghouse listed in your employee file wouldn’t tell me.” He studied the faces surrounding them, the people who were like family to her. None appeared willing to disappear at the moment. “May we speak privately?” he asked.
He’d been to her lodgings? And now he wanted to see her in private? Rose was trying to conjure a response when Henry snapped, “And leave her alone with you? Again?”
Duke held up his palms. “How about a walk in Central Park? Would that be sufficiently public?”
Rose studied her toes. She couldn’t begin to guess what he wished to speak privately about. More wedding demands, where she could send his secretary the bills? No, thank you. She wanted nothing from Duke Havermeyer. Not marriage—or her old job. He believed her a scheming swindler and had rejected her attempts to explain. He could stuff whatever amends he’d come to make into a carpetbag and drop it in the East River.
She lifted her chin. “We have nothing to say to one another that cannot be said in front of this group.”
“Rose, please. I would prefer to speak without an audience.”
“As long as you give your word as a gentleman that you will not take advantage of her,” her mother said.
Mortification burned Rose’s skin. “Mama!” How could her mother answer for her? Worse, before she could protest, Duke readily agreed. Soon she found herself bundled in her coat and shoved out the back door by Bridget and Mrs. Riley.
“Make him grovel,” Bridget whispered right before she shut the heavy panel in Rose’s face.
“Shall we?” Duke gestured toward the path that led to the front of the house. “I realize it is cold so I won’t keep you long.” He held out his arm. “I promise, I shall grovel quickly.”
* * *
Neither of them spoke as they crossed Fifth Avenue and entered Central Park. Last night’s light snowfall covered the ground and trees, a fluffy white blanket yet untouched by the grime and grit of the city. It was beautiful, like a fresh start for nature.
Or perhaps it was merely Duke who hoped for a fresh start.
Though the park was mostly deserted, Duke led her toward one of the many stone bridges that adorned the public space. His tongue felt thick and awkward as he rehearsed in his mind what he wished to say. Today was a crossroads, one that would determine how the rest of his life was written.
“There’s no need to really walk in the park,”
Rose said and shook snow off the hem of her skirt.
“I beg to differ. If we don’t, Henry might come after me with an accusation of improper behavior.”
“He’s merely angry that he left the other night instead of seeing me home. He holds himself responsible.”
“For which part?”
“All of it.” She must have read the question on his face because she said, “I told him about being discovered in the pantry and I am certain he can guess the rest.”
“Rose, if I had known . . .” He sighed. “I apologize for what happened. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wanted you too damn much.”
“I have no regrets,” she said, her chin in the air. “Not about that.”
She didn’t regret the loss of her virginity while sitting atop a pantry shelf? “Your first time should have been special. And under very different circumstances.”
He felt her stiffen at his side. “Have we not already covered this? It was mine, not yours, to dispense with. I am glad to get it over with, actually.”
“Why?”
“Because being a maiden is treated as some sort of prize, a commodity. I am more than my body or my ability to bear children. I want a career, too.”
“That’s part of why I am here, actually.”
“Oh?”
She sounded disinterested and he found himself flustered. He didn’t know how to say what was in his heart, so he stuck to talk of the business. “Come back to the paper.”
“No. Good day.” She spun and started in the opposite direction. He dashed around her, blocking her path.
“Rose, wait. Give me a chance.”
“Like how you gave me a chance to explain in the days after the dinner party?”
He winced. “I deserve that.”
“Yes, and a whole lot more. But I’m busy searching for another position and I don’t have time to elucidate all of your numerous shortcomings.”
“I’m sorry for ignoring you and not allowing you to explain. I was angry. And hurt. I didn’t mean those things I said yesterday.”