“Agreed?” Rose plunged ahead, feeling quite happy that she could focus on helping her dearest friend rather than dwelling on her own miserable problems. “Come, say you will step up as a true Appleton and stop this hand-wringing nonsense.”
“Well ...,” Claire hesitated.
“What do your parents say about this? Do they like Franklin?”
Claire shrugged. “I don’t speak to them about such things. I don’t have a close relationship to my mother as you do yours. You know that. And neither of my parents are overly concerned with when or if Robert or I ever marry anyone.”
Unfortunately, Rose knew Claire was right. Certainly, Mr. Appleton was not about to step in and ask Franklin’s intentions, and her mother had no reason to form an attachment to Mrs. Brewster nor see if she could pave the way clear for her only daughter. They were the type of people who should never have had children, Rose thought unkindly, or at least not sensitive ones such as Robert and Claire. Perhaps she would speak with Reed on Claire’s behalf and see what he could do.
“As soon as we see which way the wind is blowing — if it is an ill-wind — then I shall find you a more suitable beau by next month. I promise you.” Moreover, she meant it. Claire was lovely and smart, and Rose could think of at least three young men whom she’d seen watching her friend intently. More than one of them would be happy if Franklin stepped aside.
Claire issued another large sigh.
“I don’t want another one. Even with his awful, scaly dragon of a mother, I love him.”
Franklin was good-looking and tall and could carry on a conversation. What’s more, he had a good living and a lovely home that he would inherit. She could see why Claire fancied him.
“Nevertheless, this is not to be borne. I believe he has had enough time to be a bachelor and I also think his mother has had quite enough say in the affairs of his heart. We do this and we take a stand, or I fear you will be a doormat to these people forever.”
“A doormat! Gracious.” Claire did not look pleased at the characterization.
Rose was glad to have her friend’s full attention. “When is this gathering?”
“Next Wednesday, at eleven.”
“Come hell or high water,” Rose declared as Claire gasped at the wording, “we shall be there next Wednesday promptly at 10:50 to partake of Mrs. Brewster’s tea. After all, your beau practically invited you.”
However, it was neither hell nor high water that Rose encountered next, but the rather irate visage of her eldest sister.
“When were you going to tell me?”
