My Valentine

by Sheridon Smythe

  Alice blinked and nodded, for once made speechless by the opulence around her.

  Within minutes of the maid's leaving, footsteps sounded in the hall outside the parlor doors. Maxine entered, wearing a cream-satin and lace gown that off-set her thick dark hair and green eyes. She was slender and petite, and Rosalyn felt like an ugly duckling as she towered over the smaller woman.

  Maxine gave them a shy smile and waved at them to be seated, perching herself on the edge of a plush midnight blue chair. Rosalyn and Alice took the matching sofa.

  "I have a valentine delivery from Mr. Avernick, Miss Kingsway. He hopes you'll be delighted.” Rosalyn presented the basket to Maxine, watching her troubled expression and already anticipating the outcome of this delivery. She wasn't often wrong, and a glance in Alice's direction proved that she, too, had guessed the truth. Her friend looked sick with disappointment.

  Reluctance showing in each, jerky move, Maxine lifted the heart from the basket. Her lips moved as she read the verse, and tears formed in her striking green eyes. She outlined the impressive gold engraving with her finger. Finally, she looked at Rosalyn. “I can't marry Norman,” she whispered.

  "You can and you will!” a voice thundered from the doorway.

  All three turned to stare in startled surprise at the stooped old man. He thumped his cane on the marbled floor and glared at Maxine. The grandfather, Rosalyn thought, uncertain whether to be alarmed or amused. She felt sorry for Maxine, who looked on the verge of bursting into tears. The elderly gentlemen completely ignored the strangers in his midst.

  With admirable control, Maxine set the heart inside the basket and stood, handing it back to Rosalyn. Then she straightened her slim shoulders and faced the raging man in the doorway. Her voice held both determination and regret. “I won't marry Norman, nor will I marry anyone I don't love. If I can't have love then I won't marry at all."

  Her grandfather banged his cane again and advanced into the room, obviously prepared to argue further. Rosalyn decided it was time she and Alice departed. As she made to go, Maxine grabbed her elbow.

  Rosalyn turned and looked down into her earnest, teary eyes.

  "Tell Norman—tell him I'm sorry."

  She nodded, then pulled Alice along past the old man and out the door. Outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Alice wiped a tear from her eye and sniffed. “Poor dear. And here I was thinking she was so lucky."

  "Money isn't everything,” Rosalyn murmured. She'd take love over money any day, and she suspected Alice would too. “Come on, the worst is yet to come.” But she didn't believe it, not really. Telling Mr. Avernick wouldn't break his heart, she was certain of it.

  She saw the second rose immediately, lying alongside the first rose on the seat where she had left it. Without getting in, she backed away, causing Alice to stumble with her. She looked at Willis. “Did you ... Have you ... Willis? Do you know where the roses are coming from?” As she spoke, she glanced around and finding no one in sight, transferred her gaze back to an innocent-looking Willis. He was shaking his head.

  "Nope. Don't know nothin’ ‘bout no flowers, Miss Mitchell."

  Well, he lied, of course. He had to know something, or be responsible for putting the rose inside the carriage. There was no one else, and she couldn't believe someone had slipped passed Willis.

  Alice tried to shoulder past her to look inside the carriage. “What rose? A flower? You say there's a rose in the carriage? Rosalyn ... are you losing your mind? It's the middle of winter! Where would anyone find a rose?"

  For a moment longer Rosalyn stared at Willis's unrelenting profile as he found the road extremely interesting, then climbed into the carriage. “I must be losing my mind,” she said, gathering the identical, perfect roses into her lap. She lifted them and inhaled their sweet scent, then handed them to Alice. “Here, have a sniff of my imaginary roses."

  The carriage moved on with a lurch. Rosalyn watched Alice frown and puzzle over the roses, sympathizing with her. What was going on? Was this some cruel joke of Christian's? Hadn't she been humiliated enough?

  Or ... Rosalyn's heart beat faster. Or was this his way of apologizing? Telling her he did care for her?

  She firmly squashed the tiny spark of hope that flared inside her at the thought and told herself there was another explanation. Someone playing a joke, a secret admirer—maybe the roses were for Alice. Ha! Rosalyn laughed silently, realizing she had not even considered the possibility. How conceited, how arrogant!

  To punish herself and completely extinguish any and all silly notions, Rosalyn gestured to the roses Alice held in her hand. “They might be for you, you know."

  Alice laughed. “Silly! You know they're for you, and you know who they're from.” Her look and smile was smug. “You can fool yourself, Rosy, but you can't fool me. You've made up with Christian, haven't you?"

  Speaking of fools ... Rosalyn started to deny the charges, but a vivid image of Christian's face—tight and tense with need as he loomed over her on the bed—flashed into her mind. She turned her burning face away toward the window and ignored Alice, wondering if she was wrong about Christian, and there was another reason he'd sent her away.

  But in the end, she could think of none.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Was This A Mistake Right From The Start?

  Liar, Thief—You Stole My Heart

  Keep It Forever, Now we must Part

  Can I Bear To Know...

  We aren't going to make it, Christian thought, leaning his head out the window into the cold, bracing wind. About a hundred yards ahead, Rosalyn's cab had stopped at the Avernick home. Any moment, she would emerge and this opportunity would be lost; he had a meeting with Patrick Davidson in less than an hour.

  He had to think of a way to get Willis's attention before the driver opened the carriage door and let Rosalyn out. Christian hesitated, then opened his own carriage door and stood precariously on the step. Sticking his fingers between his teeth, he let out a ear-shattering whistle.

  Willis jerked his head up at the sound just as a woman stepped from the carriage. Christian's heart lurched in response until he saw the bright red of her hair. Not Rosalyn, but the shop clerk, he realized with acute disappointment mixed with relief. Three days without sight or smell of Rosalyn—too long. He had to see her, tell her everything, but he suspected cornering her was his only chance after the regretful way he'd treated her.

  Where was Rosalyn? Miss Howland had been certain she'd left with Willis, and the driver was most definitely Willis. Could Rosalyn still be inside the carriage?

  Holding Willis's attention as his carriage drew closer, Christian put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Willis nodded his understanding. His head disappeared inside the carriage and Christian knew the driver was talking to Rosalyn, stalling her. He was a good man, Christian thought, making a mental note to reward him generously. Willis already had a goodly tip in his pocket for distributing the roses for him.

  Alice stared at him as he jumped free of the slowing carriage. Her eyes widened, but she remained silent as he motioned for her to come closer—away from the carriage window so Rosalyn couldn't see. Alice did so without hesitation.

  When they met, he leaned his head close so the wind couldn't snatch his words away and told her of his plans.

  * * * *

  "I appreciate your offer, Willis, but I think Alice and I can manage the packages,” Rosalyn was saying when Alice joined him in the open door of the carriage. To Rosalyn's befuddlement, Willis ducked out of sight without further argument.

  Now she faced Alice, who seemed intent on blocking her from getting out of the carriage just as Willis had. Rosalyn frowned as Alice took the rejected basket from Rosalyn's lap. She sensed a conspiracy to keep her inside, but why?

  "I want to do this one solo, Rosy. You don't mind, do you? After all, you could consider this a training for me. Some day you might decide to leave this job, get married or—"

  "Alice!
"

  The shop-clerked flushed, as if she suddenly realized she might have laid it on a bit thick. “Well, you could, you know! Besides, you look rather pale and the rest will do you good. You've been working too hard."

  Rosalyn lifted a brow, her suspicion growing. “And I'll rest in this freezing carriage?"

  For an answer, Alice dove forward and pulled the blanket over Rosalyn's lap, still clutching the basket in her right arm. “There, that will keep you warm. Trust me, Rosy, you want to stay here while I go inside."

  With that, she backed out of the carriage and slammed the door. Rosalyn sat there in open-mouth bewilderment. Before she could gather her wits and follow the obviously deranged girl, the carriage door opened once again.

  "Well, I'm glad you're back—” Her words died as she realized it wasn't Alice.

  Christian filled the doorway with his big frame, blocking the light. His hat cast a shadow over his face, so that Rosalyn couldn't see his expression. As calm as you please, he settled into the seat beside her, pulled the door closed and ran the curtain over the small window.

  Rosalyn caught her breath and held it. Silence stretched for several moments. What did he want? To send her pulse beating frantically in hopeless joy at the sight of him? To cause her stomach to flip and flop in shameless desire? To make her skin grow warm and flushed as if he'd reached out and stroked his lean, long fingers over it?

  Well, he'd accomplished all three, and then some. Her mouth went dry also, and when he turned his lazy gaze in her direction, Rosalyn had to brutally remind herself it was all an act. He wasn't really looking at her tenderly ... he wasn't really studying her face as if he had missed her as well. No, he enjoyed toying with her emotions, making her fall in love with him so that he could revel in the knowledge of her humiliation.

  This last thought sparked Rosalyn's survival instincts. If he came to gloat, he'd leave disappointed. Unseen in the folds of her coat, Rosalyn crushed the roses between her gloved fingers and summoned a careless, brittle smile. If she could manage it, he would never know how much he had hurt her.

  "How's Jamy and his family?” She knew before she saw the surprise flare in his beautiful brown eyes that this wasn't a social call. He hadn't chased her down and incriminated her friends just to chat with her, but at least she'd thrown him for the moment.

  He removed his hat and balanced it on his knee, his gaze searching, slightly amused, as if he knew what she was about.

  Rosalyn stopped the tightening of her lips just in time and held onto her polite smile as if her life depended on it. Her heart did.

  "They're fine. Mr. Toombs found a decent house on the South side of town. Barronwood Street, if my memory's correct. They moved in yesterday."

  Rosalyn glanced away. “You're kind to do this for them.” He was, and the knowledge kept her in a constant state of confusion. Obviously, there were two sides to Christian. Rosalyn just didn't understand why she had to be the recipient of his dark side. Was he punishing her because Callie wasn't here to target? He'd said he didn't blame Callie for marrying his father, had in fact come to admire and respect her, yet he could have been lying all along...

  "I know you didn't steal the rubies, Rosy."

  There was no warning the subject would take such a drastic turn, just a blunt statement of words. Rosalyn sighed, feeling suddenly weary and sad. Mostly for Christian. A tad for herself. A lot for the hurt, confused little boy she imagined he was once. “Oh, but I did, Christian, for they were never Callie's to give, were they? Some people might consider that stealing.” There was a bitter twist to her words, and she refused to look at him to see if he heard it. When he didn't immediately reply, she softened her tone. “As badly as it pains you to hear it, Callie and Henry loved each other. Callie wanted me to have the rubies because—” she hesitated over the telling words, “she knew I believed in love. She didn't want the valentine going to someone incapable of such an emotion.” And this time she did look at him, leaving him in no doubt of whom she meant.

  He met her challenging look with eyes gone dark with some undefinable emotion. Rosalyn didn't dare guess what it was. It seemed she was always wrong, and for the times when she was right, she usually wished she wasn't.

  "My father didn't steal the rubies, as I was led to believe,” he announced softly. “My grandmother gave them to him."

  Now she was the one shocked. “Then why did she tell you Henry stole them?” What game was Christian playing now? Why would his grandmother lie? And since when did she begin to believe anything he said? She could sense Christian battling with his anger, and this intrigued her even more.

  Finally, he sighed in a disgusted way as if he realized his anger was futile. “She blackmailed him into leaving, and gave him the rubies as an extra incentive. It seems she never liked my father, and didn't approve of him marrying my mother. She had him followed from day one, hoping to find something to use against him.” Christian lowered his gaze to stare at his hat. “It took her five years, but she—her private snoop, rather—eventually stumbled upon something that she knew might destroy their marriage."

  Rosalyn tensed, sensing something ugly was about to be revealed. Her heart softened in response to the pain in Christian's voice—a pain he tried to hide.

  "Early on in their marriage—shortly after I was born—my father was unfaithful. It was a brief affair, according to my sources, and happened during a time when my mother ... because of her physical health ... couldn't ... A child resulted from that single weak moment, and my father visited the child from time to time.” Christian laughed, a hollow sound that moved Rosalyn to tears. “All this time I thought him heartless, and perhaps he was to some extent. Certainly he was weak, but apparently he was trying to do the noble thing by this woman and the child. At least he wasn't a thief.

  "When my grandmother presented him with the evidence and threatened to reveal all to my mother, my father left."

  "Rather than face your mother with the truth,” Rosalyn whispered. She covered his hand with her own and squeezed. Whatever was or had been between them, he was a human being and in pain from past secrets revealed. Neither of them could stand in judgment of Henry, for they didn't know all the circumstances and probably never would. What was done, was done.

  "I'm sorry, Christian."

  She was rewarded with a returning squeeze. Tears hovered in her eyes and her heart skipped a beat as Christian leaned forward and gently kissed each eyelid. Her bones turned to mush as he said, “I'm sorry, Rosalyn, for putting you through all of this, tricking you into thinking I was someone else. If I had known—"

  "Don't. There's no need to apologize.” She meant it, but inside she quivered at the reminder that everything he'd done, he'd done for his grandmother, driven by his own deep-seated anger toward his father. She felt as if her heart was breaking all over again, and she knew that couldn't be possible because it still lay in pieces. Something she could do, though, is forgive him. It wasn't difficult—despite the enormous loss she felt—because she loved him.

  Now that Christian had faced his inner demons, maybe he could find someone to love, as well. Rosalyn swallowed a gasp of pain at the thought. Why couldn't it be her? Why couldn't Christian love her? Fate was cruel!

  Rosalyn had never been so relieved in her life when the carriage opened and Alice appeared. She'd been so close to begging Christian to give her a chance to soothe his pain and give her the opportunity to make him love her.

  Christian didn't look too happy over the interruption. With a last, penetrating look at Rosalyn, he said, “We'll talk more later. I'm late for an appointment.” He climbed from the carriage and waited politely for Alice to settle before shutting the door.

  Rosalyn brushed impatiently at her tears, telling herself she wouldn't cry and they wouldn't talk later because she simply couldn't handle the heartache. Loving him the way she did, seeing him and touching him was unbearable knowing he didn't love her in return.

  So wrapped up in her own sorry thoughts, it
was some time before Rosalyn noticed Alice's silence. She sat quietly on the seat, and when Rosalyn was reasonably sure she'd composed herself enough to fool Alice, she turned to her friend.

  Alice looked dazed. Her hands were linked together in her lap, and she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Rosalyn waved a hand before her eyes and Alice didn't even blink.

  Alarmed, Rosalyn shook her shoulders. “Alice! What's the matter? Did something happen ... did he shout at you? Was it Mr. Avernick?” Oh, she shouldn't have let Alice talk her into returning the valentine alone!

  Blinking, Alice focused her glazed eyes on Rosalyn. She looked so pale—

  "He asked if he could call on me."

  "Who?” And for one, horrifying moment, Rosalyn thought she meant Christian. Just before her heart leaped out of her throat, Alice answered her.

  "Mr. Avernick—Norman."

  To Rosalyn's astonishment, a blush rose into Alice's cheeks and she ducked her head shyly. Rosalyn began to smile, her own heartache temporarily forgotten. “Mr. Avernick asked if he could—"

  "—call on me,” Alice finished in a whisper. She looked as if she couldn't believe the words herself, and perfectly understood that Rosalyn had trouble believing also. “He said he was relieved Maxine turned him down, and then he started talking and I listened. We had a nice chat, and when I mentioned that I needed to be on my way, he asked me if I'd mind."

  "Of course you said yes!” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Rosalyn couldn't be happier for her friend. “You did, didn't you Alice?"

  Alice nodded, a wide, delirious smile lighting her face. “Of course I did, you ninny!"

  * * * *

  Patrick Davidson was a little man of Irish decent with a bald patch right in the center top portion of his skull. His eyes were blue, and while they might have once crinkled with laughter, Christian suspected it had been a long, long time ago. Patrick eyed him now with wary belligerence, as if he knew what Christian thought of him.

  The man had no idea.