Finncouldhave. His very presence had made her happy. If only he hadn’t let her grieve for him so long that grief, itself, still overshadowed everything else when she thought of him. Though admittedly, that had eased rather significantly with all they had experienced since he’d returned.
“I think it is up to me to bring myownhappiness to my life.”
Claire took her hand. “You are correct, of course.”
Still, her friend sounded unconvinced.
Rose smiled. “Did I tell you about Miss Farmer’s new idea?”
“A new way to cook beef?” Claire asked, pretending to yawn. “Are we braising, roasting, or wrapping it in pastry? Perhaps we’re running it up a flagpole and letting the sun cook it.”
Rose laughed. “I know, I know. I’ve bored you with every recipe I’ve tried, every nuance of spice, and each chopping and slicing technique I’ve learned. This is different.”
Claire cocked her pretty head. “I’m joking, you know that. Do tell.”
“I’m going to help her open her own school. I will be the assistant principal. We’re going to do all sorts of new things, like show women how to put on a wedding reception. There will be lectures, too, morning and evening.”
Her friend clapped her hands. “How exciting! I can perfectly imagine you showing people how to do the things you’ve learned. Miss Farmer is lucky to have you.”
“Previously, I would have worried what Mama thought. Yet times are changing, and now that she knows I’ve been married, nearly widowed, and divorced, I find she treats me more as a grown up. And adult women can be anything they want to be in this day and age.”
“True,” Claire agreed. Then she frowned. “I hope it’s all right that I don’t really want to do more than I am already doing. I simply want to be Franklin’s wife and have his children, and keep a good home for all of us.”
Rose hugged her. “I think that’s perfectly acceptable. I hope you will come into my new school, though, and listen to a lecture on nutritious meals.”
Claire reached over to lift the lid of a Randall’s chocolate box and popped one in her mouth. “Of course!”
***
Rose’s solitude and being left to her own devices could not last, not with a mother, a brother, and a sister all within a few miles of her. They stopped in to make sure she was fine, safe, well fed, even warm enough on the first chilly evening of autumn. Any excuse to interrupt her new routine of cooking school, lectures, testing recipes, reading, and futile cat grooming.
It was a Sunday afternoon, so she had her house entirely to herself, with no staff due back until six o’clock the next morning. Rose had only just closed the door on Charlotte and Elise, who had dropped by together to entice her to go to the park with them and all their brood — to which Rose had replied with an emphatic no. She had two kinds of bread rising, nearly ready to bake, and a soufflé in the oven that needed tender love and care.
She had made it as far as her beloved kitchen doorway when her doorbell rang.
Rolling her eyes, she willed herself to have the patience of Job, and turned to answer the summons. She yanked open the door, ready to tell Elise absolutely—
Finn.
Utterly unexpected, the sight of him took her breath away. That in itself shocked her — the intense visceral reaction of her body to this man. Still. Again.Oh bother!
She forgot her manners and said nothing.
“Do you always open the door without first finding out who is on your step?” he asked, his gray-blue eyes dancing in the afternoon light.
“I thought you were someone else,” she said, then wished she hadn’t been so quick to explain herself. She owed him no explanation. However, it disturbed her for him to think that she meant another man — as if she would jump from William to Finn to the mysterious “someone else.”
“My sister and sister-in-law were here only a moment ago,” she added, wishing she could simply stop talking.
In truth, Rose answered the door as often as her maid did, without any preamble, because she was not afraid. Not anymore. Not now that Finn was out of her life.
So why was he there on her doorstep?
“Why are you here?” she asked, realizing belated how ungracious she sounded. Then she sniffed the delicious aroma of baked cheese, drawn through the house by the open door, and remembered her soufflé.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, before turning heel and dashing down the hallway to the kitchen.
To her delight the last grains of sand were only then dropping through her kitchen timer. Gingerly, she opened the oven door and sighed in delight at the perfectly pouffed cheese and herb soufflé.Magnificent!
