“Michael, I don’t know how to say this, but so much is at stake…” His mother took a deep breath, then plunged in. “There are ways to avert…an unplanned child.”
“Good God, you aren’t suggesting—” He stared at her in shock, while his mother shrugged.
“I’m just thinking of you. Whatever decisions you make now will affect the rest of your life. Darling, think about it. You have an excellent chance of being made partner at the bank. You’ve made so much money, your brother is completing his education, thanks to you, and you’ve worked so hard. You should be able to enjoy some of that.”
“Mother, my marriage to Rosemary will not stop all that.”
“No?” Catherine turned back to him, her soft eyes losing their dreamy quality. “What will happen the first time we have guests? Or when you introduce your wife to the Board as Carney the clown? My God, Michael, don’t pretend to be so naive as to ignore the implications! We are accepted into society here, your father was well respected, if not rich. You enjoy all of that and you should. Do you really want to throw it away just because of an unfortunate accident?”
Michael ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. He was prepared for this, had known that his mother’s reaction wouldn’t be favorable. But somehow, hearing all of his own trepidations voiced made them that much more formidable.
“It wasn’t just an accident. She means something to me. I don’t know how to describe it, but she does. I’ve known more happiness in the last few months with her than I have in my entire life. Mother, I know this won’t be an easy adjustment for you, but it is going to be difficult for Rose, as well. I only ask that you do your best to help her feel comfortable, and that you respect my wishes in this.”
“I see.” Catherine stood up with a rigid finality. “Then I suppose I have little choice. But let me remind you of one more thing, Michael. What makes you so certain she’ll be happy here? She’s led a very different life.”
“How could she not? She’s had nothing, and here she’ll have everything. The best doctors, nice clothes, good food. Mother, she lived in a tent. This will seem like heaven after that.”
“One person’s heaven is another’s hell. I will do my best to make her feel at home since you can’t be persuaded. But this is a dreadful mistake. Just mark my words.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“DINNER WILL BE SERVED SHORTLY,” James announced when Rosemary opened the door in answer to his knock. She’d spent the last two hours sleeping and then bathing, growing more astonished by the moment at the amount of money these Whartons apparently possessed. There was running water in the house, and of all things, a water closet. One of the dour-faced maids had pointed out its use when she asked for a chamber pot, and Rosemary expressed her incredulity at a system that seemed downright unsanitary, if not much more comfortable.
It explained a lot, Rosemary thought. Michael had almost lost all of this, due to faulty investments and the panic of 1873. No wonder he was so determined to see that it never happened again. He had become wrapped up in his business, to the detriment of all else, because of that loss. It was something Rosemary could understand and sympathize with, if not applaud.
Nodding at the servant, Rosemary frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The emerald gown she wore was clean and becoming, but she was a far cry from a real lady in spite of the butler’s nod of approval.
Why did it matter? Rosemary knew the answer even as she tried to smooth her unruly hair. It was pride, that damnable Carney pride that would not let her admit defeat. She’d been rejected by fashionable women for most of her life for being different, a clown, a jester. She just couldn’t let them do it again.
“James, I need to ask you something.” Rosemary stopped the servant, who was about to depart. Giving him a conspiratorial smile, she leaned closer and asked seriously, “Do you have any idea how real women do their hair?”
The question was so earnest that he paused, aware of the reason for her bewilderment. “I suppose you mean like Mrs. Wharton’s?”
Rosemary nodded, relieved. “Yes. The way she makes it all stay up. I can’t make mine do anything of the sort.”
His mouth twitched as he gazed at the riot of carroty curls that framed her face. It was like a living flame, refusing to be tamed. He was about to reply indignantly, but something about her expression stopped him. This Irish gypsy might have been a tramp and a jester, but there was a compelling warmth in her green eyes and a womanly urgency that told him everything. Breaking every rule he ever lived by, he stepped inside her room, shut the door, and nodded. “There are all sorts of devices that real women use. There are hair pieces and pins, tongs and nets. Although I am a far cry from a lady’s maid, I think I can offer some assistance. But I must beg a favor in return.”
“What?” Rosemary’s nose wrinkled in confusion.
“You must never tell a soul that I did this. And if you do, I will deny it accordingly.”
Rosemary grinned, putting out her hand and shaking his heartily. “Deal.”
“Now, young woman"—he picked up her brush, his eyes twinkling in a way the Whartons would never have recognized—"let’s make you presentable. If one must do battle, one must have the appropriate armor.”
Rosemary grinned. After all, it was just dinner. How bad could it be?
It was a disaster. If the parlor had been intimidating, the dining room was doubly so. Rosemary stood in the doorway, gazing at the white linen tablecloth, the gaslights dressed with crystal and glass globes, the thick velvet draperies pulled back to reveal a little table here, a vase of flowers there. Creamy china plates bordered in royal blue gleamed from the table, while a bewildering assortment of glasses and silver framed each setting. Candles added to the dazzle, and even the wine lent its own sparkle to a table that already scintillated.
Michael stood beside the fireplace, his head bent, talking quietly with a younger man. He glanced up at her and gave her an approving smile. Catherine Wharton was poised and beautiful on a small love seat, gowned in silver this time. She was sitting beside an older man, who smiled at her and rose to his feet.
“Rosemary.” Catherine acknowledged her presence politely. “Do come in. We were just talking about you. This is our friend, Percy Atwater, and my other son, Robert.”
“Mrs. Wharton.” The younger man broke into a grin as he acknowledged the introduction, taking in her appearance with surprise. Shorter than Michael but with the same coloring, he seemed much more at ease and far less serious than his brother. “How do you find our fair city?”
“Cold,” Rosemary responded, thinking of her initial impression. It seemed so strange to be introduced as Michael’s wife, and she couldn’t help but notice that his mother’s lips tightened.
“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 sea
t 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.
Defiant Rose Page 26