“What a strange question. Naturally, Franklin knew that Claire would have been invited to any gathering of ladies at his home. Why do you ask?”
“I think I hear my aunt calling me,” Maeve said in a faint tone and disappeared from the room still clutching her empty glass.
“Yes, you go tell the ol’ biddy,” Rose murmured as soon as Franklin’s cousin had disappeared.
However, Claire looked shaken. “You don’t think Mrs. Brewster will throw us out when she hears we’ve come, do you?”
“She wouldn’t dare,” Rose said. “Franklin would be furious. Besides, you were recently at a Wetmore ball. At Chateau-sur-Mer, for goodness sake!”
Claire brightened. “True.”
The sound of footsteps caused them both to face the door and in came Lucy with two sisters of their acquaintance followed by another young lady of good reputation. In fact, as more came in, Rose noticed they all had a few things in common: their age, their family status, which was not surprising, and their brown locks. All brunettes, not a one as dark as the Irish Malloys, nor flaxen as the Appletons. Every single one, a chestnut brown.
While young ladies were still arriving, Franklin suddenly entered. The girls all parted like hens before a rooster. Except for Claire. She stood her ground and waited for him to come up to her.
Good girl, Rose thought.
Franklin’s genuine smile of admiration warmed Rose’s heart. This would work out. It had to. Obviously he cared deeply for Claire, and she, him.
“I’m so glad you came,” he said to Claire, then glanced over her shoulder. “It looks like a fine spread, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. Moreover, it is nice simply to have you in my home. That doesn’t happen often enough.”
Whose fault was that?Rose wondered. If only the man were more assertive.
Claire smiled up at him. “I’m glad to be here and ever so happy that you stopped in.”
He grinned at her, and for a long, awkward moment, they seemed to forget anyone else was there, as they stood staring into each other’s eyes.
Rose observed the other guests. The ladies were murmuring, frowns upon their unblemished faces, talking behind gloved hands. It became painfully clear what they were saying. They’d been led to believe that Claire and Franklin had broken off their association, and that he was freely searching for a wife.
The tea was a gathering of eligible daughters from good homes, but was Franklin supposed to attend the tea and choose one, or was someone else going to do the choosing? Maeve perhaps or—
Mrs. Brewster, with Maeve trailing behind, glided into the room, her face a thunderous scowl as she took in the sight of her son and Claire. Her appearance instantly stopped both the happy couple’s long dance of gazes and smiles as well as all the disgruntled whispering.
Recalling herself, Mrs. Brewster took in the ladies with an encompassing smile. “So glad you all could come. Please, let Annie serve you whatever tempts your appetite.”
Sure enough, a slender girl had appeared beside the sideboard as if by magic, apron starched, kerchief in place, and ready to serve the upper echelon of Boston’s society. The ladies surged forward like hungry hogs at a trough.
However, Rose kept her eyes on the drama unfolding in front of her as Mrs. Brewster’s smile died and, grim faced, she ordered Franklin to accompany her out of the room. She did not greet either interloper, and Rose nearly stuck her tongue out at the woman’s broad back as she exited.
Maeve, for her part, almost looked contrite. Perhaps she was only doing as her aunt had requested by hosting the party. Or perhaps her expression was due to the champagne she’d imbibed.
After sidling up to the end of the buffet table, offering the beleaguered Annie a commiserating smile — the serving woman looked strangely familiar — Rose darted her hand in and snatched up a chocolate that she quickly popped into her mouth. Thus fortified, she waylaid Maeve, steering her toward the corner of the room and away from Claire, who had struck up a conversation with one of the guests whom she knew.
“These ladies,” she said to Franklin’s cousin, “they are all of a type, I noticed.”
Maeve let her gaze drift over the roomful of women happily munching on tiny sandwiches.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said vaguely.
“They are all here at Mrs. Brewster’s special invitation, correct?”
“They were invited by my aunt,” Maeve allowed.
“I would ask you the purpose of this tea, except I have surmised it is so Franklin’s mother can choose him a bride. Is that also correct?”
Rose ignored Maeve’s astonished expression at how plainly and boldly she was speaking, yet she could see no virtue in tiptoeing around this unpleasant business.
“I will take that as a yes,” Rose added when Maeve said nothing. “Moreover, from Franklin’s behavior, he was unaware that his mother was bride-shopping. What I can’t understand is why Mrs. Brewster is set against Miss Appleton. Surely, Claire is above reproach.”
