“Mr. Havermeyer.” Rose’s mother marched right up to the tall, imposing man in a black overcoat. “I am Mrs. Violet Walker, Rose’s mother.”
The edge of Duke’s mouth kicked up. “You’re both named for flowers.”
“You fired my daughter.”
All signs of amusement vanished, his expression instantly serious. “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 would know there was nothing left to save.
“I have. Clever thing you did, switching it out without me knowing.”
“Then how…?” She frowned. “I thought you would be angry.”
“As you said, we should not underestimate the readers. They have come to trust you and learning you lied will only endear you to them. At least, that is what I am gathering from the telegrams we have received today already.”
“Telegrams?”
Duke nodded once. “They started pouring in once the newspapers hit the streets. I grabbed a few, but left Pike to deal with the rest.”
“Mr. Pike?” Rose’s brows shot up. “Does that mean…?”
“Yes, I hired him back. I never should have let him go in the first place. Thank goodness I had my level-headed Mrs. Walker around to counsel me.”
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 would not 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’d been to her boardinghouse? Rose was trying to make sense of all this 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?”
She was not certain what he was about. He had rehired Pike. More surprising, he was not angry over her latest column. So why had he come today?
If he wanted to offer her the Mrs. Walker column back, he could do so right here. However, if he hoped to rekindle their romance, she had no interest in taking part in that conversation. 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.”
Remaining silent, 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.
“There’s no need for a walk in the park,” Rose said and shook snow off the hem of her skirt. The park was mostly empty. There were a few riders on the path, but not enough for her to worry about being overheard.
Duke led her toward one of the many stone bridges that adorned the public space. “I beg to differ. I would not wish for young Henry to come after me with an accusation of improper behavior.”
“He’s angry that he left the other night instead of seeing me home. He holds himself responsible.”
“For which part?”
“For all of it.” She must have read the question on his face because she said, “I told him of being discovered in the pantry and I am certain he can guess the rest.”
“Rose, if I had known…” he started, then sighed. “I apologize for all of it, actually. I became carried away and was not thinking clearly. I wanted you too damn much.”
“I have no regrets,” she said, her chin in the air. “Not about that.”
She did not regret the loss of her virginity while sitting atop a counter? “You should. 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 men have all the fun while women are expected to stay home and sew. It was a desire for precisely such independence that prompted me to work in journalism in the first place. I was tired of being told what I could not do.”
Duke didn’t like the direction of this conversation. Was she planning to take on a bevy of lovers? His jaw clenched at the idea. There would be no one but him for her, and vice versa. He’d made up his mind to have this woman—her, and no one else.
He just needed to convince Rose to forgive him.
“Next time,” he said, “I swear it will be in a bed. In my home. For as many hours as you can withstand.”
She stopped in her tracks on the edge of the bridge, her mouth open. “There certainly won’t be a next time. You accused me of scheming to marry you.”
“I was angry. And hurt. I didn’t mean it.”
“That is quite a change in attitude for you. I’m hardly able to keep up.”
He closed the distance between them, until her skirts brushed the tips of his shoes, and he reached to cup her cheeks in his palms. “This is new for me, to care about someone this much. To have it happen so quickly is confusing, too. My first instinct was to push you away. I am dashed sorry I hurt you.”
“How do I know you won’t do it again?”
“Because we’ll be honest with each other from now on. I haven’t had a woman hold me accountable for my actions before you, haven’t had anyone who forced me look at the world from different angles. I need that, Rose. I do not wish to push you away. I only want to bring you closer.”
Her gaze softened for a moment before she stepped out of his grasp, continuing up the bridge and putting space between them. His arms fell to his sides as she said, “And what do I get in return?”
“The world, Rose Walker. I’ll give you whatever you want, whenever you want it.”
“But that’s just money. I mean, what will you give me here?” She turned and put her hand over her heart.
It figured that she would push him to bare his soul. He took a deep breath and thrust his hands in his pockets. “I will give you my time and attention, never working holidays or birthdays. You and the life we build together will always come first, before the company and the newspapers. You will be the center of my world until I take my dying breath.” Then, terrified but resolved, he stepped off the edge of the cliff and acknowledged what was in his heart. “And love, Rose. So much love you will never doubt it for a minute.”
She bit her lip, her blue eyes bright with emotion and confusion. “You love me?”
He stepped closer and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “You captivated me from the first moment I saw you. There is no one else for me. You are the most capable and confident woman I’ve ever met. I think I fell for you while reading your column each week.”
“Really? But my mother and the other servants supplied most of the tips—”
“True, but the essence of your column, the wit and intelligence, was all you. And that’s what drew me in. You have a gift, a way of relating to people that I admire.”
She swallowed, but remained silent. As the seconds ticked by, he began to feel self-conscious. Had he said too much? Not enough? Doubt skated across his skin, r
aising the hairs. If she refused him, he wasn’t certain he’d recover.
“I watched you,” she whispered. “I used to stand on the street and wait for you to leave the building. There was something about you that intrigued me. Who was the man behind the empire? I found you fascinating.”
Now it was Duke’s turn to be surprised. “I…had no idea. I never saw you. Believe me, I would remember.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It was silly. I never thought you would notice me, not in a million years. But I could not stop watching. It was that dashed scar.”
A smile twisted his lips. “A reporter at heart. That is why you must come back to work for me.”
“As what? Mrs. Rose Walker is no more.”
“Whatever you want. You may write an advice column again, work in the newsroom, or cover games at the Polo Grounds. It makes no difference to me. All that matters is that you come back. And while Mrs. Rose Walker may be no more, I believe Mrs. Rose Havermeyer is available.”
“Duke.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her lips twitching with what he prayed was happiness. “You are making it quite difficult to remain angry with you.”
“Then stop trying. Put me out of my misery, Rose.”
“What happens if I only want the job? Will you rescind the offer?”
His stomach sank. Christ, she was going to turn him down. Ignoring how much that hurt, he shook his head. “The offer at Havermeyer Publishing is yours, regardless of what happens between us.”
A grin slowly emerged on her face, one that confused the hell out of Duke. “First,” she said, “My mother should take over Mrs. Walker’s Weekly. Most of the recipes and household tips were hers anyway.”
This was a promising demand. Hope expanded in his chest. “Fine. What else?”
“I want to work my way up as a reporter, starting wherever Mr. Pike sees fit to assign me.”
“He will undoubtedly be glad to have you. And what of the rest?”
She rested her palm on his sternum and Duke’s heart pounded beneath her touch. “The rest of what?” The teasing glint in her eyes gave her away and heat slid through him, warming his blood.
“The rest of my life. Will you promise to share it with me?”
“Will you hold up your end of the bargain? You have made promises, Duke Havermeyer.”
A man’s only as good as his word.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small box he’d carried with him today. More than anything else, he needed this woman to be his wife. “Indeed—and I intend to keep them. I will never lie to you. Laughter and love, my dear, every day, while the breath remains in my body.” He flipped open the box’s lid to reveal his mother’s diamond ring.
Rose gasped, a hand briefly covering her mouth. “But what of your empire? What will happen to it?”
“I’ll entrust it to others now and again. I will never put my so-called empire before you or our family as my father did, not even on Christmas.” He dropped to one knee right there in the snow. “Marry me, Rose Walker.”
She nodded and Duke stood just as she launched herself at him. His arms came around to hold her tight, relief and happiness weakening his knees.
“Was that a yes?” he asked, his voice muffled in her hat.
“Yes, Duke. Yes to loving you, and yes to saving you from a life of loneliness and boredom.”
Joy filled him, a heady ebullience that felt like a thousand tiny bubbles in a glass of champagne. “I have no doubt you will succeed. After all, I’ve said many times that Rose Walker is a marvel.” He bent his head, his lips hovering directly above hers. “And now she is mine.”
ABOUT JOANNA SHUPE
Award-winning author Joanna Shupe has always loved history, ever since she saw her first Schoolhouse Rock cartoon. She writes sexy books set in Gilded Age America featuring powerful tycoons and unconventional women.
Joanna’s first Gilded Age historical novel, MAGNATE, was named one of the Best Books of 2016 by Publishers Weekly, and one of 2016’s top romances by The Washington Post and Kobo. In 2013 she won Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart® Award for Best Historical.
She currently lives in New Jersey with her two spirited daughters and dashing husband.
For more information about Joanna and the Gilded Age, sign up for her Gilded Goodies newsletter at joannashupe.com.
MORE ROMANCE FROM JOANNA SHUPE
The Four Hundred series
A Daring Arrangement
A Scandalous Deal
A Notorious Vow
The Knickerbocker Club series
Tycoon
Magnate
Baron
Mogul
Wicked Deceptions series
The Courtesan Duchess
The Harlot Countess
The Lady Hellion
Novellas
Miracle on Ladies’ Mile
AVAILABLE NOW FROM JOANNA SHUPE
A Notorious Vow
(The Four Hundred, Book 3)
Welcome to New York City’s Gilded Age, where fortunes and reputations are gained and lost with ease—and love can blossom from the most unlikely charade.
With the fate of her disgraced family resting on her shoulders, Lady Christina Barclay has arrived in New York City from London to quickly secure a wealthy husband. But when her parents settle on an intolerable suitor, Christina turns to her reclusive neighbor, a darkly handsome and utterly compelling inventor, for help.
Oliver Hawkes reluctantly agrees to a platonic marriage . . . with his own condition: The marriage must end after one year. Not only does Oliver face challenges that are certain to make life as his wife difficult, but more importantly, he refuses to be distracted from his life’s work—the development of a revolutionary device that could transform thousands of lives, including his own.
Much to his surprise, his bride is more beguiling than he imagined. When temptation burns hot between them, they realize they must overcome their own secrets and doubts, and every effort to undermine their marriage, because one year can never be enough.
THE SHORTBREAD
Dear Reader,
The MacLean family has been making shortbread for generations—my mother taught me a few years ago (complete with interesting side-notes, which I’ve left below), as her mother taught her, and her mother’s mother before that.
I share it with my mom’s blessing…and a guarantee that it is far closer to the shortbread in Joanna’s novella than it is to the biscuits in Tessa’s, Sophie’s and mine.
Though, I should warn you: MacLeans are Scots, so I can’t promise there isn’t a little bit of magic in here, after all…
Much love,
Sarah
Ingredients
330 grams (3 cups) sifted, all-purpose flour
100 grams (1/2 cup) white sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) soft butter
1 egg (fresh, if possible)
Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Combine flour, sugar & butter by hand. Add egg, knead until the dough comes together. (Note: My mom adds “the kneading can be tiresomely long, so I often ask your father to do that.”)
3. Divide into quarters and, roll each into a 1/2 inch-thick circle. Cut into eight equal triangular pieces. Add designs (pinpricks, hatch marks, your pleasure) with a fork.
4. Place on parchment paper or a buttered and floured baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes, then lower heat to 300° and bake 25-30 minutes longer, watching carefully until shortbread is “shortbread colored.” (Note: Non-MacLeans would call this a pale golden brown).
5. Let cool.
6. Fall in love.
MORE FROM TESSA, SARAH, SOPHIE AND JOANNA
Available Wherever Books Are Sold
THE GOVERNESS GAME
by Tessa Dare
Alexandra Mountbatten had common sense. That’s what her friends believed.
The truth was, Alex had no sense at all—at least, not when it came to charming gentlemen
with roguish green eyes. If she possessed any wisp of rationality, she wouldn’t have made such a fool of herself with the Bookshop Rake.
Even now, more than half a year later, she could revisit the embarrassing scene and watch it unfolding, as though she were attending a play.
The setting: Hatchard’s bookshop.
The date: a Wednesday afternoon in November.
The personages: Alexandra, of course. Her three closest friends: Nicola Teague, Lady Penelope Campion, and Emma Pembrooke, the Duchess of Ashbury. And, making his first appearance in a starring role (trumpet fanfare, please)—the Bookshop Rake.
The scene proceeded thusly:
Alexandra had been juggling a tower of Nicola’s books in one arm and reading her own book with her free hand. A copy of Messier’s Catalogue of Star Clusters and Nebulae, which she’d plucked like a pearl from the used-book section. She’d been searching for a secondhand copy for ages. She couldn’t afford to buy it new.
One moment, she’d been blissfully paging through descriptions of astronomical nebulae, and the next . . .
Bang. A collision of cosmic proportions.
The cause remained unclear. Perhaps she’d taken a step in reverse, or maybe he’d turned without looking. It didn’t matter. Whosoever’s elbow jostled the other’s arm, the laws of physics demanded an equal and opposite reaction. From there, the rest was gravity. All her books fell to the floor, and when she looked up from the heap—there he was.
Ruffled brown hair, fashionable attire, cologne that smelled like bottled sin—and a smile no doubt honed from boyhood as a means to make women forgive him anything.
With affable charm, he’d gathered up the books. She’d been no help at all.
He’d inquired after her name; she’d stammered.
He’d asked her to recommend a book—a gift, he said, for two young girls. In response, she’d stammered yet more.
How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 38