A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  Their reluctant host didn’t seem at all bothered by Andre’s abruptness. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice. He glanced out the window for a third time, and this time, when he looked back, his smile appeared more confident. “I’d be delighted to show you my books.”

  Rose stood and smoothed her skirts. “After Christmas, then, when I’m in need of dreaming.” She discreetly peeked in the direction of the window, wondering what caught the man’s attention. But all she saw was the neighboring back yard and a woman laughing as her dog frolicked in the snow. Is that the one he’s a rival with? “Will you be attending the Christmas Eve service tonight and the party at the hotel, Mr. Marsden?”

  He tilted his head, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. “The service, of course. I hadn’t thought about attending the party.” He straightened, met her gaze, and smiled in a way that made him appear quietly handsome. “But perhaps I will.”

  “Wonderful. How lovely to have a new acquaintance to exchange visits with.” Rose clasped her hands together in a stronger display of enthusiasm than she felt. But she sensed the man needed the extra encouragement. “We’ll see you later tonight.”

  “Here.” Mr. Marsden thrust Les Liliacees into her hands. “I’ll let you borrow this for a bit. Then you won’t have to wait to dream.”

  Sensing how great was the man’s sacrifice of his precious book, Rose’s enthusiasm for the loan was genuine, and she profusely thanked him. All the way to the sleigh, she held the book close to her chest. Once inside, she lowered the book to her lap and her smile wavered.

  Without displaying his customary good cheer, Andre climbed into the sleigh and pulled the fur over them.

  Dreaming about plants and gardens would be far better than dreaming of a man who wants only my friendship.

  Rose hugged the book tightly and began a light, almost one-sided, conversation, determined not to let Andre see how he affected her.

  * * *

  Watching Dale Marsden transform under Rose’s attention from shy and bumbling to expressive and confident had envy practically leaking out of Andre’s pores. He could barely stand to remain in the same room with the man, especially when he heavy-handedly flirted.

  No, to be fair, the envious feelings started when he’d watched the love Elias and Marian Masters had displayed, and he couldn’t help contrasting their relationship with his and Rose’s. Both couples of similar ages, both with a past of young love and then rejection and estrangement. Elias and Marian, however, found their happily ever after, while Rose and I are destined to remain apart. ß

  Worse, he was fated to watch bounders like Dale Marsden court his Rose.

  He nodded at the driver of a passing sleigh.

  Well, truthfully, Marsden wasn’t a bounder. Andre had liked him well enough before he’d shown an interest in Rose.

  His spirits lower than the sleigh’s runners, he drove Rose home, remaining quiet the whole time and barely listening to her praise of Mr. Marsden and his confounded books.

  In this mood, his gloom would only affect others in a negative manner. What a poor companion I’ll be tonight.

  Best do everyone a favor and not attend the Christmas Eve party.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After spending the afternoon in his bedroom reading and otherwise avoiding the world, Andre knew he’d have to make an appearance to send off the others to the Christmas Eve festivities. So, he steeled himself to seek out his daughter, hoping she wasn’t with Rose.

  He found Delia in the downstairs tower room she used as a private study for her work as a minister’s wife. She was already dressed in her silk finery in a shade of Christmas green, but had her outdoor scarf wound around her neck, perhaps to warm her décolletage.

  She sat at a small desk with curved cabriole legs, the surface of inlaid flowers and leaves almost hidden by an enormous, open notebook, a silver inkstand with a cupid perched between each inkwell, and a green paper Christmas tree made by Micah.

  Pen in hand, Delia bent over the notebook, muttering to herself and crossing out items on a list—for tonight’s church service, no doubt. She and some of the other ladies, including Rose and Cora, worked hard to organize the perfect Christmas Eve for the community. They’d purposefully kept him at arm’s length, wanting him to be as surprised and pleased as everyone else.

  Up until today, he’d looked forward to attending.

  Delia must have heard him enter, for she looked up and smiled. The color of her gown made her eyes look green.

  “Hello, dear one. I just stopped by to say I’m not up for going out tonight. I’m going to stay home.”

  Her smile vanished, and her brows drew together. She set down the pen, stood, and came from around her desk toward him. “But it’s Christmas Eve. You love Christmas.” Her eyes narrowed, and she fisted both hands on her hips. “Papa, what aren’t you telling me? Is your heart bothering you?”

  He wouldn’t lie, but he could equivocate. Andre leaned forward to kiss the crease between her eyebrows. “I promise my heart is ticking away as well as can be.”

  “You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.” Physically fine. Delia had no need to know about what wasn’t fine. “Just a little tired.”

  “I wish I could believe you’re up to your elbows in Christmas planning. But you have a different air about you when you’re organizing one of your surprises.” She studied his face. “You seem downcast.” She started to unwind her scarf. “You can’t stay home alone. Even the servants will be at church and the party. I’ll remain with you.”

  He caught her hand. “You’ll do no such thing, oh minister’s wife. You have a responsibility to attend the church service, which you and the other ladies have worked so hard on.” He wound the scarf back around her neck. “Go, my love. Enjoy yourself. I’ll rest and be ready for our family celebration tomorrow.”

  Before his daughter could format any more protests and wear him down, Andre turned and left the room. He practically fled down the hallway, dimly lit by electric lights, to take refuge in his study. He pressed the button on the switch to turn on the electricity and firmly closed the door, wishing he’d thought to install a lock.

  Normally, he’d light the lamp on his desk to better see what he was reading, but even Marcus Aurelius held no appeal. Instead he flopped onto the chesterfield, as if he were Micah’s age.

  Then, deciding he might as well be comfortable, he sat up again and positioned a pillow, decorated by Delia with a needlepoint Christmas tree, under his head and a green and gold striped afghan—last Christmas’s gift from the Nortons—over his legs and torso. Even here in his sanctuary, he couldn’t escape the reminders of the holiday.

  I’ll have a locksmith in after New Year’s.

  * * *

  With a holiday air of excitement, people jammed the church, filling the pews to capacity and lining the aisles and back of the room. The only light came from candles burning on the decorated Christmas tree in the front corner near the piano, as well as those placed amidst the boughs of holly and fir on the windowsills and on the Advent wreath on the altar.

  Rose sat between Cora and Delia, and next to Mary Norton in the front pew near the tree, inhaling the scent of pine and watching the children’s choir on stair-step risers facing the congregation.

  With scrubbed faces and in their best clothing, they sweetly sang, “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.” Even Micah, standing next to Walter McCurdy, the sheriff’s adopted son, managed to look angelic.

  Although, she absorbed the beauty of the service, Rose remained acutely aware of the empty place beside her. Well, not an empty place in the tightly-packed pew but the one in her heart.

  You’d think by now I’d be used to the lack.

  By coming to Sweetwater Springs, she’d started the downward slide into the dangerous territory of unrequited love. Now, all Rose could do was dig in her heels lest she slip deeper. For the sake of my own future happiness.

  No, she corr
ected. True happiness wasn’t possible. She’d lived with that knowledge over the last twenty-two years. Instead, a worthwhile life of service to others. One of contentment. All in all, being content wasn’t a bad feeling to live with. She had plenty of practice.

  The time had come to stop pining over Andre Bellaire. After the New Year, she’d start by moving out of his home and into her own lodgings. Hopefully Cora will agree.

  With a wave of his arm, Joshua Norton gestured the congregation to their feet. “Our next hymn will be ‘Joy to the World.’”

  Oh, how ironic!

  With Elizabeth Sanders leading the way on the piano, the congregation began.

  “Joy to the world, the Lord has come.

  Let Earth receive her king.”

  Although Rose mouthed the stanzas, the lump in her throat made singing impossible. When they came to verse three, the words hit particularly hard. “Nor thorns infest the ground.”

  I’ve allowed thorns to infest my heart. The realization came to her a gift from heaven. In that moment, Rose knew what she needed to do next.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Andre must have drifted to sleep, for knocking on the door jolted him awake. No doubt his daughter returning from the church service to check up on him. “I’m fine, Delia,” he called. “Go on to the party.”

  “It’s not Delia.”

  Rose’s voice. For a moment, his spirits lifted. Then he remembered Dale Marsden, and his heart plummeted like a rock into a pond. He told himself the feeling was unwarranted. But the truth couldn’t be evaded. I’m jealous.

  Although wishing to sink back into sleep, Andre made himself sit up, running a hand through his hair and pushing the afghan off his legs. He stood and walked toward the door, his body heavy, as though he moved through water. He hesitated but couldn’t think of any way to avoid her. So, he sighed and opened the door.

  Rose stood framed in the doorway. In one hand, she held two mugs by their handles. She’d removed her outerwear, and her figure showed to elegant perfection in a green silk evening gown, curving over her body, making her waist tiny, and her breasts and hips, well, lush.

  His desire stirred, and Andre firmly tried to repress any impossible urges. He took a deep breath and smelled hot chocolate and peppermint. But he was too grouchy for the scent to tempt him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Delia was concerned about you.” She transferred one mug to the other hand and extended it out.

  Ignoring the offer, Andre turned back to the Chesterfield. “I don’t need you women fussing around me.” He didn’t moderate his irritable tone. Might as well drive her away. But when he glanced back, her open expression was unchanged. She didn’t seem disturbed by his grumbling.

  Instead, Rose followed him into the study. “Delia’s right. You aren’t yourself.” She handed him a mug. “Drink.”

  “As if you know me so well.” Andre could almost taste the bitterness of his words. He sipped the chocolate, heavy with peppermint from a piece of candy cane stirred into the mixture, and realized this drink belied the resentful words he’d thrown at her. He and Rose hadn’t drunk hot chocolate together since she’d come to live in Sweetwater Springs. She remembers this detail from our past. He looked into her eyes.

  “I do believe I know you. Well….” Rose hesitated.

  His painful love for her made a tight ache in his chest. Memories shimmered between them, soft and tender and enticing. He steeled himself against their lure.

  With a thoughtful expression, she sipped her chocolate. “I should remind myself that I once believed I knew you very well, indeed. Well enough to believe you loved me.” She shrugged and gave him a small, rueful smile, that didn’t belie the pain in her eyes. “What happened to us, Andre? You must tell me.”

  Andre couldn’t bear to see her hurting. Setting his mug on the desk, he took hers and placed it beside his. He seized her arms, and then loosened his grip but didn’t let her go. “I did love you, Rose. I never stopped. Never. I love you still.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Then why…?”

  He let out a long, shaky breath. “I suppose you’re no longer a young, innocent girl to be sheltered.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Sheltered from what?”

  Andre slid his palms down Rose’s arms to take her hands, pulling her around the afghan on the floor to the chesterfield. “Sit. We’ll talk.” He released her hands.

  Her face pale, she perched on the edge of the sofa, clasping her fingers together.

  He lowered himself next to her. “Do you remember me being sick for a few weeks? I didn’t see you, even though you dropped by with soup or books or cheerful notes. Then when I recovered, I abruptly left for Europe?”

  She nodded, her gaze not leaving his face. “Left without a word to me.”

  “I was ill with the mumps, Rose. The doctor told me I was sterile.” His heart hurt at the memory, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “What a blow! I’d already imagined our children. I’d hoped for at least six spoiled hooligans.” He covered her hands with his.

  Her eyes filled, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “That’s not a conversation one has with a young, unmarried lady.”

  “Poppycock!” Rose straightened, her eyes snapping. “I had the right to know. Instead you just disappeared.” She shook off his hands and pushed on his chest. “I would have married you anyway!”

  “That’s why I left. Marty and I had a discussion. He thought it best that I didn’t tell you. Didn’t let your feelings for me lead you into a childless marriage. With your bright mind and kind nature, you were made to be a mother and raise children as special as yourself.”

  She made an inarticulate sound of grief.

  He touched her cheek. “We both knew your loyalty to those you love. If you learned the truth, you’d stand by me and forsake your chance for a family. I was afraid that as time went by, you’d grow resentful, perhaps stop loving me. I never wanted to trap you into a troubled marriage.” He lowered his arm.

  “Oh, how ridiculous, Andre!” she said, her expression and tone bitter. “There certainly are enough orphans in the world. We could have adopted children.”

  With a rueful smile, he shrugged. “Micah taught me about loving a child of my heart. But I didn’t know that then, Rose. I was weak from my illness. Out of my mind with anger and sadness and frustration from what I saw as my body’s betrayal.” He inhaled and let out a slow breath, relieved to finally admit the truth, no matter how galling. “Feeling less of a man. Loving you desperately. Wanting the best for you and believing that man wasn’t me.”

  “Oh, Andre.” Her tears started up again, dripping down her cheeks.

  “Marty and I both thought you’d forget me, especially if I cut you off without a word. My absence would help you turn from me and fall in love with some other man. Marry and have children. I tried to forget you. But no other woman could compare.” He swallowed. “Marty and I couldn’t have foreseen that you wouldn’t marry. That all our wretched scheming would come to naught.”

  For a moment, Rose sat wordless.

  Thinking what?

  Then she brushed at her tears. “I’ve never loved anyone but you.” Her voice trembled. “Good thing my brother’s not alive, for I’d, I’d….” She shook her head, not able to continue. “We’d have been married for years now. Still living in New York.”

  “Choices. Choices. Sitting here today, though, Rose, I can’t wish for that kind of happy ending with you, for then I wouldn’t have Delia. The timing of my discovering her was really an act of Providence.” He hated how he was hurting her. “If I’d stayed in New York, I wouldn’t have met my daughter. As it was, our window to meet was only a few seconds. Delia would have ended up in unspeakably bleak circumstances. Then if she and I hadn’t fled, we wouldn’t have ended up here. No Joshua. No Micah. No baby. No Reverend and Mrs. Norton. No Sweetwater Springs.”

  Rose let out a slow sigh. “I suppose you’
re right. Life is so odd. The twists and turns our journeys take…who we meet…who we don’t meet.” Her expression brightened with sudden hope, and she grabbed his hands and squeezed. “But we have now, Andre. We can have each other and your family.”

  His chest tight, he brought one delicate hand to his lips for a kiss, and then the other, before lowering both and releasing her. “No, Rose, my darling Rose, we don’t. My time left on Earth is very short.” He tapped his chest. “This old ticker will give out any day now. I’ve kept from you how very bad my heart is.”

  Her hand flew to cover her mouth. More tears seeped into her eyes and fell.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried her cheeks. “Don’t look so stricken, dearest. God gave me the gift of extra time with my loved ones, which includes you. I don’t take that time for granted. I appreciate every day.”

  She laid a palm on his chest. “There’s heart, the actual organ, and then there’s heart. You have that!”

  He placed a hand over hers. “Without this creaky heart, I’d take the blessing of time for granted, probably squander some of that very precious commodity. So, my condition is not all bad.”

  “Commodity,” Rose said bitterly. “So speaks the business man.” She pulled her hand away and grabbed his handkerchief, dabbing under her eyes.

  “Yes, my darling.” He spoke past the lump in his throat and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’m not about to leave you a widow when we’re barely wed. This is the last time we’ll speak of this topic.”

  Before she could say anything to deter him, he stood and strode to the door. Hearing Rose break into sobs almost made him falter, but Andre knew if he turned back, he’d give in and, all too soon, leave her a widow.

  Instead, Andre sped up his pace down the hall. He reached the conservatory and flung open the door to the smell of earth and greenery. The half moon allowed only the faintest hint of grayness among shadows.

  Andre didn’t bother to turn on the light, for the darkness reflected what was in his heart—the grief and the long-buried loneliness that even Delia’s presence hadn’t completely assuaged. He wanted to rage and break things, somehow vent his anger.