She had sent a note to Franklin that very morning, asking him to meet her somewhere discreet that would cause no speculative gossip, yet also not at his home where the dragon resided and ruled — though she had not used the termdragon, of course. By the time her little party of concert-goers had departed Rose’s home on Mount Vernon Street and set out in multiple carriages for the park, Claire’s beloved had not yet agreed to speak with her.
It seemed an interminable evening, except for the pleasure of William’s sweet attentiveness, if only he didn’t look so concerned. If only she deserved him.
As she’d hoped, when Rose returned home, the briefly penned reply from Franklin was simply, “Yes, the Bijou Theatre, mid-morning.”
***
At 10 a.m., Rose climbed the stairs to the second floor lobby of the theatre on Washington Street. Though a bit plain on the outside housing an ordinary row of shops below, the building sported no less than twenty-one arched windows in the three upper floors. In fact, the Bijou’s interior was a little gaudy with its mixture of masonry and wallpaper, its innumerable carvings, and an ornate central chandelier that looked as if it were descending from a fool’s cap.
Rose eyed it all fondly. She’d watched more than one hilarious Gilbert and Sullivan comic opera there, as well as many a play. What’s more, she thought the acoustics to be quite good.
Franklin was already there, speaking with a gentleman in a top hat, who moved away as she approached.
“Miss Malloy,” Franklin said and bowed slightly. “That was Mr. Keith. Do you know him? The owner? I’m helping with a few minor improvements. Or rather, my late father’s company is, of which I am its head.”
He looked nervous, and the jittery path of his conversation proved him so.
“Mr. Brewster,” Rose began, swallowing her own nerves, “may I call you Franklin? I believe we have been close enough acquaintances for such a familiarity.”
“Yes, we have,” he said, his voice sounding strangled. “Please do so.”
By God, he was choked with emotion. That was a good sign!
Rose was determined to make this right for Claire. Her friend had proven herself to be a saint yet again. When Rose had tried to apologize to Claire for the blight on her friend’s otherwise unsullied reputation, for having ever let her get mixed up in Rose’s own sordid indiscretions, Claire had held up her hand and silenced her.
“We are closer than sisters, are we not?” Claire had asked. “I did nothing wrong, and even you, though rather unorthodox, I know you did nothing immoral either. Yes, you were, perhaps a bit impetuous, but you were following your heart. Honestly, how many girls our age could have married such a virile, handsome man as Phineas Bennet and yet not given him their innocence?”
When Claire had put it that way, Rose had felt almost virtuous.
“We did nothing wrong. What’s more, I can lend my carriage to whomever I please, whenever I please, and the dragon and her son can go to devil!”
Rose had never heard Claire speak thusly. If she had even a little of her friend’s courage and righteousness, she would find the wherewithal to mend this rupture.
“Franklin, I must tell you that a grave misunderstanding has occurred, and an egregious injustice has been perpetrated upon our common friend, Claire Appleton.”
His eyes widened at her customary way of getting right to the point, which was not admired by everyone. In this instance, however, Franklin seemed to appreciate that they would not be wasting time circling the matter at hand.
“I think there has been no misunderstanding,” he challenged. “For I have it on good authority, with an eye-witness no less, that the information I have been told is absolutely true.”
Exactly how deeply would she have to elaborate?
“The eye-witness may have reported truthfully what he or she saw,” Rose allowed. “However, the perception, or rather, theinterpretationof what was seen is positively false. This, I know, because I was involved.”
Fully prepared to confess her part in the mischief, still, Rose hoped she did not have to.
Franklin walked in a circle, no doubt his version of pacing, and then he stood before her once more.
“I love Claire,” he confessed, surprising Rose that he would say the words to her. “However, I cannot go into a marriage — even if she would have me after the other day’s disastrous encounter.” He paused to cross his arms and thump his own shoulders.
“No” he stated again, “I cannot enter a marriage with this dreadful hint of impropriety in her past.”
Rose felt as if this same drama were playing out in her own life. With real curiosity, like a cat pawing at a particularly sticky cupboard door, she asked, “So if Claire has had a prior relationship, which I can assure you she has not, does that make her an unsuitable choice to be your bride?”
“No,” Franklin said with an emphatic shake of his head. “If she had a prior relationship, I would only want her to be truthful and tell me. If she’d lived in Singapore or spoke Chinese or had been in love with another man, I would want to know.”
He frowned at the floor, and Rose could see his struggle. He loved Claire and wanted her, but he was a rational man and a cautious one.
Far more than William, that was certain.
