Then she remembered the only good thing: Claire and Franklin were well and truly engaged. Claire’s reputation was salvaged, too, and there would be a wedding to plan.
Perhaps a wedding to cancel as well. Her own.
Why was everything so mixed up? Why so much bitter with the sweet?
A knock on her door caused her usual response. “Yes?”
“It is I.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rose sat up. Should she stop and strip off her gown and get under the covers? That would take too long. Besides, at her age, she would not earn too much disapproval for her late night, and certainly no punishment.
“Come in.”
Her mother sailed in carrying a cup of tea on a saucer. She paused at the sight of Rose in her evening dress, however she did no more than raise a delicate eyebrow.
“For you,” Evelyn said, approaching her daughter and holding out the teacup.
“Thank you.” Rose would have preferred coffee, and her dear mother knew that, but Evelyn would never be disabused of the belief that tea was the best remedy for anything. And if not that, then a glass of sherry.
She took the cup and sipped. The milky sweet brew actually did immediately make everything seem better. Perhaps her mother was correct after all.
“You were out quite late, I take it,” Evelyn said without rebuke.
“William and I went to seeThe Lady of Lyons.”
“Mm,” her mother murmured. “Which ended at 11 o’clock, I believe.”
“Did it?” Rose asked vaguely. Then to distract, she added, “Franklin Brewster proposed to our Claire, directly before the performance.”
“Mm,” her mother said again, still looking at her bemusedly. “I read about it in the morning papers. While you were still sound asleep.”
“Of course.” Rose sipped her tea. “Did they reprint Franklin’s pretend advert from the playbill?”
“They did,” Evelyn confirmed. She cocked her head and observed her squirming daughter. “There was also talk of a certain other theatergoer being accosted in the lobby and of broken glassware.”
“Oh.” What could Rose say?
Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t hurt, I can see that. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing to tell, really,” Rose began. Merely her fiancé finding out she had a husband after her husband saved her life by rescuing her from armed men. “Are the police looking for those men?”
By the expression on her dear mother’s face, Rose had put her foot in it.
“Men?” Evelyn repeated.
Damnation. Rose should have read the story in the paper before she said anything.
“The ones who accosted me,” she offered, her voice trailing off as her mother leaned forward and put her hand on Rose’s arm.
“The paper said you were being restrained by one man when William approached and dropped or threw down champagne glasses behind you. He then quickly removed you from the theatre.”
No one had noticed the two men with the gun. That was just as well. Moreover, the interpretation of Finn restraining her rather than comforting her was excellent for her reputation and for William’s pride. Rose certainly wouldn’t argue the finer points of what had occurred. She was only thankful she hadn’t mentioned the gun to her mother.
“Yes, of course.” Should she tell her mother about Finn now that William knew? “I meant are the police looking for the man, the one man, the one who restrained me?”
“I don’t believe so. It was simply a small side note, perhaps two lines. The paper indicated that William handled it and that was that.”
“Correct.” Rose finished her tea and set the cup and saucer down beside her bed. “I believe it’s time I got up.”
