Chapter Nine
Unable to eat that night, Rose partook only of a large mug of cocoa before retiring to her room where she remained secluded for the evening. She’d wished she could go straight to Claire’s house before dinner and pour her heart out. Inconveniently, her friend was in Newport for a debutante ball.
The Rhode Island branch of Appletons had done very well for themselves, and though Claire didn’t know personally young Miss Wetmore who was being presented, she’d been invited, along with Robert, to Chateau-sur-Mer for the grand coming-out.
If Rose hadn’t been so diverted by the sheer preposterousness of Finn returning from the dead — and consumed with guilt over the devastation that could ensue with William — she would have been extremely jealous of Claire’s exciting opportunity. After all, there was nothing quite like the eager excitement of a 17-year-old’s extraordinarily wealthy parents when it came to throwing the most divine ball possible.
Yes, Claire was going to benefit from that eagerness by experiencing an extravaganza. She would come home with tales of ice sculptures, champagne, quail dishes, and plate after plate ofstrawberry Charlotte, not to mention the music and the decorations, both floral and otherwise.
Meanwhile Rose paced. Then she sat and contemplated. She ought to unburden herself to her brother. He would give her wise counsel, after he gave her a dressing down, of course. She paced some more and finally took up the needlepoint she was always trying to finish. In five minutes, she tossed it down to the carpet.
Finn had missed years of her life, and she, his. He’d missed an entire governor coming and going. He hadn’t had to struggle through The Great White Hurricane, as they called the 1888 blizzard that happened the winter after he died. Or rather didn’t die! While she was wading through thirty bloody inches of snow, Finn was ... where exactly?
Eventually, Rose wandered down to her father’s study and chose a book. Climbing into bed, she tried to read. It was almost more frustrating than the needlepoint. She tossed it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it caused a small tear in the wallpaper. Bollocks! Before she was reduced to knitting or practicing the harpsichord, she put out her light, hoping the same question would not reverberate in her beleaguered brain all night.
How would she tell William?
Should she ask him to walk with her prior to their regular weekly dinner and explain about her youthful impetuousness? Usually he left his State House office where he clerked for Lieutenant Governor Haile and came directly to her on a Thursday evening. They ate with her mother, his parents if they were in town, or at a restaurant. On Fridays, William was free even earlier, and they usually went riding if the weather was fine and made plans for the weekend’s activities over their evening meal.
Rose couldn’t imagine what circumstance would be best for disclosing her past to him. It would have been an easy confession when Finn was still dead. Why, oh, why hadn’t she done it then?
Now, the confession would end with the startling revelation that she was not a widow but a wife. She was not free to be William’s fiancée. Indeed, she could not be anything to him, to the man she loved.
***
Rose had been up since dawn, restless and anxious, and the day before her seemed interminably long until it would be time to go to Chef Ober’s restaurant. Her mother cornered her in the dining room where it was apparent that Rose was not eating, instead only sipping tea.
“Out with it, my girl.”
Rose actually jumped. That was hardly her mother’s normal way of speaking to her.
“Don’t look shocked. Do you think I will get anywhere with you by beating around the bush? Something is wrong, and I fear it is to do with your engagement. Or worse.”
Worse?Rose considered what could be worse than what actually had happened.
“Are you unhappy with William?”
“No, positively not.” Rose sipped her tea and watched as her mother took toast from the sideboard and poured her own cup of tea, doctoring it perfectly with sugar and milk. “I have always been happy with him.”
“Hm,” her mother mused, sitting diagonally to her at the head of the table. “Then what? You’ve seemed distracted since the party, quite honestly. You didn’t eat last night, and this morning, it seems you have no appetite.”
Since when had her mother been so observant? She usually paid far more attention to her garden than the comings and goings of her adult children.
“I can think of one situation that could cause this behavior, and I want you to know, dear, that you can confide in me. This is not the eighteenth-century. If certain circumstances have occurred ...” With a meaningful arch to her eyebrow, she waited.
Rose frowned. It was the lack of sleep causing her to catch on slowly, but all at once, she realized that her mother was wondering if she were with child. Good God! At least that hadn’t occurred. If she’d given herself to William as she’d almost done more than once when they were in the clenches of passionate kissing, and she was at that very moment carrying his child while married to another man, she imagined she would have to flee New England all together. Perhaps she would have started a new life in California near her sister.
She shook her head and took a deep breath. Thank the Lord for small favors.
“Mama, I assure you that my lack of appetite and my being distracted are not caused by anything you are imagining.”
And suddenly, thinking how much more dire her situation could be, she felt a little better. She was still married to only one man and she was not carrying another’s child. What’s more, she still had her virginity to give to whomever was left standing when this nightmare was over.
***
Deciding to walk rather than fight Boston’s entangled traffic, Rose reached her destination early. Looking at Ober’s Parisien, she thought it not very impressive from the outside with dark-stained wood and four plain windows. Nevertheless, her stomach fluttered as if she were entering Buckingham Palace to meet Queen Victoria herself. How could she be going to meet Phineas Bennet? It was surreal.
She could not hesitate long as the gentle stream of passers-by nearly carried her along and away from the entrance. Later, in another hour, it would be a strong tide of pedestrians when the streets flooded with bankers and lawyers and other businessman pouring out of their workplaces. Most likely, her brother would be one of them.
