An Inconceivable Deception

by Sydney Jane Baily

  “I suppose any one will do,” she said tartly.

  He stopped laughing as they entered the ballroom. Standing still, he looked down into her eyes.

  “That’s not the case at all, Miss Malloy. I’ve been wanting to dance particularly with you, and you only, or I wouldn’t keep putting myself in the potentially humiliating position of asking.”

  Feeling chagrined and happy at the same time, she gave him a slight nod of acceptance, and he led her onto the dance floor.

  A half hour later, as they left the dance floor, her pulse still raced, her breathing seemed slightly taxed, and her ears buzzed from the band’s lively playing. She hadn’t felt such intensity since the morning of the awful news that Finn’s ship had sunk. Moreover, the brittle enclosure in which she imagined she’d placed her heart — along with her dead husband’s for safekeeping — had cracked open ever so slightly.

  William was humorous without being snide or cynical. He was witty without being boastful. He made her laugh, kept her amused, and was a splendid dancer. In short, charming.

  Rose was suffused with a lightness that felt like happiness.

  When she went with Claire to the powder room, they talked about their dance partners and nothing else. Hair tidied, lace straightened, noses powdered, they looked at each other in the mirror.

  “I’m so glad for you,” Claire said. “I know it’s been hard. You haven’t been yourself for the past few years.” She never brought up Finn’s name, knowing how desperate Rose was to keep her clandestine marriage a secret. “I’m so glad you’ve found some happiness at last.”

  “It’s early days yet,” Rose cautioned. “We are only dancing.”

  “And smiling. And laughing. And your eyes are sparkling.”

  Rose shrugged but glanced at herself in the mirror, looking into her own sapphire blue Malloy eyes. “Are they?”

  “Come on,” Claire said. “Let’s get back to the menfolk.”

  However, the first thing that met Rose’s gaze when she approached the refreshment table was William Woodsom speaking with Maeve, who had high spots of color on her cheeks and a sweet smile on her face.

  Rose couldn’t contain a sigh of exasperation, nor could she help from frowning. Was she really going to put up with a possible philanderer? Did she have enough feeling for him even to care what he did? She searched her heart. In some small corner, she was coming to like William. Only the tiniest bit.

  Claire had already sought out Franklin, so Rose strode over to the couple.

  “Mr. Woodsom,” she said with a nod to him. “Miss Norcross, you look lovely as always.”

  Maeve blushed.

  What game was Maeve playing? Rose wondered. Franklin’s cousin had so pointedly warned her away from William as if he were the devil incarnate, and yet quite of her own volition, she was talking to him. Perhaps he had approached her.

  “Are you finding Mr. Woodsom’s advances more acceptable this evening?”

  Maeve’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  Rose smiled beatifically and tilted her head. “I mean, are you going to rebuff the poor gentleman again?”

  “What?” William exclaimed, as Maeve flushed deeper and looked wide-eyed from him to Rose. “Miss Norcross, what is Miss Malloy talking about?” he asked.

  Maeve only offered a shallow curtsey and ran off.

  “Hm,” Rose said, crossing her arms and watching her go.

  William put his hand on her arm and turned her to face him. “Would you mind telling me what that was all about?”

  Rose eyed him squarely. “Are you interested in pursuing the lovely Miss Norcross?”

  His expression was one of puzzlement.

  “She is indeed lovely, and as you know, we previously formed an extremely brief attachment. However, I can assure you that I have no interest in her beyond the fact that she came over to say hello. I was merely being polite, as my mother raised me to be.”

  He took Rose’s hand. “I am standing with the singular lady in whom I have any interest in pursuing. I promise you that.”

  “Is that because I let you kiss me and Miss Norcross did not?”

  She had spoken in a normal tone of voice. Unfortunately, as she spoke, a couple of older women walked close enough that her words were overheard. Mrs. Cabot faltered in her footsteps and glanced briefly at Rose and then at William.

  Rose only rolled her eyes at the old biddy, who grabbed the other woman’s hand and hurried on.

  William couldn’t help laughing. “It’ll be all over Boston by midnight and the rest of New England by midday tomorrow.”

  Rose shrugged. She had not been the object of gossip in a number of years. “I care not a whit,” she retorted.

  “In that, you are unique. Though don’t dismiss Mrs. Cabot so readily. She is about the most powerful woman in our sphere.”

  Indifferent, she shrugged again. “Answer my question or I will walk away, and we will never speak or dance again. Ever.”

  He stopped smiling. “You have no reason to believe me, though I have never lied to you. I did not try to kiss Miss Norcross, nor do I wish to do so.”

  He sounded sincere.

  “Why did she break it off with you?” Rose persisted.

  William looked down at the floor for a second, seemingly considering his answer.

  “Apparently you and Miss Norcross have had a discussion. However, for my part, I would rather not discuss the lady out of turn.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow. How gallant! However, since Maeve had spoken “out of turn,” it was William’s turn, and Rose would wait all night for an explanation.

  She told him precisely that.

  His nostrils flared slightly, plainly not liking being issued an ultimatum. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, apparently, he decided to concede. “If you insist, then I will tell you.”

  Rose found herself holding her breath.

  “Miss Norcross is rather too simple for my tastes.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  William cleared his throat. “She is not engaging in her discussion. Her conversation is always silly and frivolous, and her interests lie only with the fashion of the day.”

  Rose nodded in agreement, while at the same time, she felt a little shocked at his harsh judgment of Maeve. Was she, Rose, any less interested in fashion? Was she not also silly and frivolous?

  “And you don’t find me to be simple?”

  He looked surprised by her question. “Of course not. I find you exceedingly interesting. You are able to discuss the issues of the day. You have an opinion, and you offer it readily.”

  She laughed at that. “True enough. I have been known to share my views with anyone who’ll listen. Yet how would you know that?”

  He smiled. “Truthfully?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve watched and listened from afar.”

  “Like a Pinkerton detective?” she exclaimed.

  “You see,” he said. “How many women know about that agency?” He smiled. “I like that about you. In truth, I like a lot about you. Immensely. I was going to ask you to spend some time with me weeks ago, but my direct path to you was intercepted by Miss Norcross one evening. It seemed rude not to return her interest, just in case.”

  “In case she was more engaging than you suspected.”

  He gave a wry smile. “Well, she is attractive. However, there is nothing else there. At least, not for me. I’m sure that she’ll be well-suited for some other man, a man who likes to be reminded that her great uncle someone or other was once the mayor of Boston for about a minute.”

  Rose couldn’t help laughing. He was correct in that Maeve did enjoy tossing that fact around whenever possible.

  William glanced around. “Since we’re beginning to attract attention by standing here having our tête-à-tête, shall we get back to dancing?”

  She nodded and let him take her hand. She liked William Woodsom m
ore and more, and he was not the churl she’d feared.

  As he led her onto the dance floor, she realized he had not directly answered one question. “I take it that she did not break it off with you. Rather the opposite.”

  William merely smiled, and Rose thought all the more of him for his gentlemanly discretion.

  When he asked her to go driving the next day, she did so. On Sunday, he sent her an invitation to meet him after he left the State House for an early supper on Thursday, and she readily agreed. She was old enough to be allowed to dine with a man in a public restaurant without a chaperone. Even her mother gave her blessing, along with instructions — she must come home at a reasonable hour in her own carriage and never be alone with William. Then Evelyn wandered off to stare out at her gorgeous back garden in her distracted way.

  Rose alighted at the Parker House Hotel and found him waiting on the steps. William took her arm and her insides felt warm. Yes, she could get used to this man. It was not the same as the immediate yearning that had bowled her over with Finn, but it was satisfactory nonetheless — more than satisfactory — and it was blossoming.

  In truth, she had as much desire to learn more about William and to kiss him again, as she used to feel with Finn.

  At least, she thought so. It was hard to recall now. Their time had been so brief.

  “What are you thinking?” William asked her as they were escorted to a table in the elegant dining room — where every white tablecloth was perfectly pressed and the crystal chandeliers shone like icicles in brilliant sunshine.

  She felt guilty. Thinking of her dead husband was definitely not the right way to start off the evening that held such promise.

  She smiled at him. “I was thinking how pleased I am to be with you.”

  He looked surprised and immensely happy. “Thank you. I am honored.”

  A little while later, while sharing the lobster salad, he confessed, “I’ve watched you over the past few years. You seemed to withdraw from our society more than a little. You haven’t been as outgoing as you once were. I didn’t know if you were bored by all of us or if it was something else.”

  She could not tell him the truth — not all of it, anyway — but she could tell him something.

  “There was an . . . an incident, no, it was more than that. Anyway, it happened about three years ago,” she admitted, “and it left me greatly saddened.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. If you ever wish to tell me more, know that my ears, as well as the rest of me, is at your disposal. And I’m glad that you’ve chosen to finally start reaching for some happiness and that you’re doing so with me.”

  The evening went well. They each chose the mutton cutlets with mushrooms and a glass of burgundy. She told him about her family, and in return, he engaged her with stories about his. Rose considered that she hadn’t been so relaxed and entertained and enthusiastic, all at once, in a very long time.

  When their meal was over and he returned her to her carriage, they stood close.

  “I should very much like to kiss you again,” he told her, his gaze locked on hers.

  She could be honest. Why not?

  “I would like that,” she told him, watching as a slow smile spread over his handsome face.

  “Not here, of course,” he said, not bothering to glance at the stream of people walking on the sidewalk. The murmur of the passers-by was a gentle background hum.

  “Of course.” She smiled back, not letting her eyes leave his.

  “Soon, though?” he asked, his voice dropping to a delightful whisper.

  She nodded, feeling a thrill of anticipation.

  He helped her onto her carriage that she prided herself on driving well and stood watching as she drove off.

  “My goodness,” she said aloud once alone. William Woodsom was certainly awakening a few things that had laid dormant since she’d become an untimely widow. What’s more, she could easily imagine bringing him to meet her family. Why, Reed and Charlotte already knew him. Everything would be smooth as silk against one’s skin.

  For the first time, she wondered if because of her previous marriage, there was some formality she had to go through if things were to progress with William. Obviously, as a widow, she was free to enter into a new engagement, though if it came out that she’d been married before . . . and she hadn’t told him.

  Hm, she could imagine that would not sit well.

  She would talk to Claire about it. Reed, as a lawyer, would be a better choice. Yet after all this time, she couldn’t easily mention to her brother that she had once upon a time been a wife.

  Chapter Five

  Five months to the day that they’d dined at the Parker House, William held out a small, pale blue porcelain jewelry box while he and Rose drifted around the Public Garden lagoon in a swan boat. Though it could seat eight, there were only the two of them, piloted by a young man in a white shirt and dark hat, all but hidden behind the large copper swan.

  William had scooted close to her on the seat that could easily hold two more, and then he’d presented her with the box.

  “Rose Olivia Malloy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Rose looked down at the smooth porcelain and felt all the blood leave her head. Dear God, was she going to faint in the middle of the lagoon?

  At that point, he lifted the hinged lid, presenting its contents to her.

  Rose’s breath caught in her throat at the contents. Inside, nestled on a bed of cream satin, was a delicate milgrain-worked ring of silver and rose gold. In the very center sat a bezel-cut diamond, and around this a circle of deep rose-colored rubies and around those a halo of twelve circular diamonds giving the ring a scalloped edge. It was unusual and exquisite.

  “As soon as I saw it,” William intoned, “I knew it was meant for you.”

  With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, she looked up from the ring to William’s eager face. So familiar to her, so beloved. He was offering her a new start at a married life.

  She felt the smile tug at her cheeks, and then she nodded. He slipped his arms around her, bent his head, and kissed her. She dropped the ring box onto her lap and kissed him back soundly.

  When he pulled back, he laughed. “Please don’t let that fall out of the boat, dearest. I’m not sure there’s another one like it in all the world, as I’m certain there’s no one else like you.”

  He picked the ring out of the box, took hold of her trembling hand, and slipped it onto her finger.

  “A bit big,” he said, tilting his head, “but we can get that fixed easily enough.”

  ***

  “I’m engaged.”

  Rose allowed Claire to shriek and then shriek again. Then she grabbed her in a hug to stop her.

  “Are you really?” Claire asked. “That’s wonderful! Oh, I hope I’m next. That’s twice for you and not once yet for me.”

  “Shh,” Rose cautioned. She wished Claire wouldn’t bring up her past so casually. She had still not breathed a word of her previous marriage to anyone. Instead, Rose had allowed her attachment to William to grow over the past months, and when he’d asked her to marry him, it was easy to say yes. Her heart was full and happy.

  She smiled thinking of how the boat had rocked when he’d jumped up and yelled to anyone within hearing, “Rose Malloy has agreed to marry me!”

  “Tell me everything,” Claire insisted, grabbing Rose’s hand and dragging her to a bench in the back garden of her home on Myrtle Street. “Don’t leave anything out. What’s it like to kiss him? Let me see the ring again. It’s lovely. You never had a ring with,” she lowered her voice a little, “with Phineas. Everything is so perfect. This is how it is all supposed to be.”

  Rose didn’t have to speak. With her friend radiating excitement, she knew she would never get a word in anyway. This was how it was supposed to be, Claire had said. A handsome young man in love with her. She, in love with him. He dined with her family on occasion, got on well with her mother, her brother,
and her sister. It was easy.

  And that caused her a pang of guilt for Finn. How would it have ever worked out?

  William had even gone to Reed to ask his permission and had been granted it readily.

  “Maybe Franklin will get the hint,” Claire chattered on. “You do think he likes me in that manner, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Rose assured her, though she couldn’t help wishing the man wasn’t so slow to act. She would love to have been second to be engaged in this case. However, as far as Rose could tell, Franklin’s mother was partly, if not entirely, to blame. In the eyes of Mrs. Brewster — a woman with an inflated sense of self and far too much reliance on harsh henna by the look of her hair — no woman would be good enough for her son. What’s more, Franklin’s mother had let every female in Boston know it.

  If anyone could win over the woman, though, it would be Claire, with her endless good nature and soft manners, quite superior to Rose’s own less reserved nature. Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about her own future mother-in-law, as William’s parents were nearly always abroad.

  “When and where?” Claire asked.

  “In September.”

  “A safe month,” Claire said.

  Rose nodded. September was usually not too hot while also too early for the first fall cold snap.

  “We shall probably have the ceremony at King’s Chapel where Reed was married. That was a lovely wedding.”

  “It was, but yours will be even lovelier,” Claire insisted. “You deserve it. After everything.”

  Rose shrugged. She didn’t deserve it any more than the next woman. She counted herself very fortunate to have been loved by not one but by two wonderful men.

  “What does your mother say? Is she sad or relieved to be losing her last child?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way. She hasn’t expressed anything except happiness for me.” Rose considered her mother’s situation. They had talked about it briefly the day before when she’d returned from the Public Garden. “Why? Do you think she’ll be sad?”

  Claire looked thoughtful. “Well, that house has become increasingly empty. What will she do in a house that used to hold six and now will hold only one?”