Chapter Seventeen
Rose held firmly to Claire’s hand when it seemed her friend might turn tail and run as they approached the Brewster’s front steps on Brimmer Street. The evidence of the mysterious tea party was made clear by the garlands of flowers draped along the wrought iron fence as well as hung jauntily over the front doorway.
“Come, dear, let’s stick to the plan,” she admonished and yanked Claire to her side before ringing Mrs. Brewster’s front doorbell. They were fifteen minutes early. On purpose.
Indeed, Rose had been ready to go for hours, welcoming any distraction that took her from pacing across her bedroom, back and forth. She had practically worn a path in the rug since Finn’s disappearance the day before. Helping out Claire was a far better use of her time than worrying over her husband. The man could take care of himself.
Lucy, the Brewster’s regular housekeeper opened the door.
“Miss Appleton,” she said with a slight curtsey and a welcoming smile, “and Miss Malloy. Please come in. You’re the first to arrive.”
So, the staff at least didn’t know of Claire being snubbed. That was a blessing in any case.
“Everything is ready in the front room,” Lucy continued. “May I take your capes?”
“No, thank you,” Claire spoke for them both. They were wearing lightweight mantelets, Claire’s in deep green and Rose’s in dove gray, and were perfectly comfortable indoors.
“Please go on in, then. You both know the way,” Lucy added with a friendly nod. “Miss Norcross is in there, and I’m to wait here to welcome guests.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, and they headed into the first parlor on the left.
Tastefully decorated with vases full of fresh flowers, there was a sideboard laden with refreshments, and no one in the room except Maeve. She turned at the sound of footsteps, and her face blanched of all its color when she saw who’d walked in, giving Rose a small measure of satisfaction.
Without hesitation, Rose gave Franklin’s cousin her grandest smile, hoping that Claire was doing similarly.
“So glad we are right on time, by which I mean a little early. It wouldn’t do to have Mr. Brewster’s special friend, Miss Appleton, not be here to greet the others as they arrive, would it?”
Maeve still said nothing, though her mouth opened as she looked from Claire to Rose and back again.
“Are there any last-minute things with which you might need our help?” Rose continued, dropping Claire’s hand when she was sure her friend was quite steady and not about to flee.
Maeve shook her head.
Rose looked from Claire to Maeve hoping one of them would pick up the conversation and ease the tension. Alas, no.
Taking a few steps closer to the buffet table, Rose surveyed the offerings of tiny finger sandwiches and baked cheese biscuits, a pitcher of champagne- and rum-spiked Roman punch, a covered teapot for the temperance gals, and, sadly, blancmange. She rolled her eyes.Was there anyone who actually enjoyed that bland cornflour concoction?
Thankfully, next to it was a three-tiered plate of chocolates with the distinctive blue and silver ribbon laid around the pedestal proclaiming them to be Randall Chocolates from Newbury Street. Her favorites!
Come what may, Rose would have a few of those before the day was through.
“Of course, it looks as if you have it all quite under control,” she said. “As expected. We were so pleased when we heard you were going to host. It certainly wouldn’t have been seemly for Claire to do so — a little premature in some people’s eyes. Of course, it’s a bit of a task these days for Mrs. Brewster, don’t you agree? If only she’d had a daughter,” Rose finished, turning to beam at Claire as if that would be rectified soon.
“I ... I,” Maeve began.
At last Claire found her voice. “Franklin said he would try to stop by while I was here. Do you know if he is at home?”
Rose was proud of how Claire had worked in that her beau expected her to be at the party. She gave her friend an encouraging smile.
“I don’t know for sure,” Maeve said. “Would you both like some punch? I think I’m going to have some.” With that, she turned away and helped herself to a generous glassful of the intoxicating lemon and champagne beverage, spooning a dollop of meringue on top from the porcelain bowl sitting at the ready.
She took a large gulp and then another before downing the potation entirely. When she faced them, she had meringue clinging to the space between her thin upper lip and her pointy nose. Rose would be damned if she’d tell Maeve.
“Um,” Claire began. “You have—”
“So Franklin invited you?” Maeve asked.
How rude, Rose thought, as if there was any question that Claire should be invited.
