An Inconceivable Deception

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Rose frowned. Had she been selfish in the face of her own impending happiness? Would Eleanor indeed by lonely? Goodness gracious, her mother had never been alone before!

  They had closed up two of the bedrooms already, and she and her mother kept one each and one for guests. Rarely, Sophie and her husband, Riley, visited from the west coast with their children. At such times, they opened up another room and the house seemed alive as it had when she was a child.

  Rose would have to discuss it with Elise and Reed. Maybe one of them wanted to move their family into the house. More likely, they would suggest selling it. William’s parents had already given him their house for he and Rose to live in after they were married.

  She sighed.

  “Oh, Rose,” Claire exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to make you melancholy. Let’s go into town and look at dresses.”

  “What? This moment?”

  “Yes, immediately.”

  Rose nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

  That night, she would make an effort to speak with her mother and find out her true feelings on the matter of the marriage of her youngest child.

  However, over their evening meal, Evelyn seemed positively delighted when she heard the last of her three daughters bubbling about two different dress styles that had caught her eye. They sat at the table alone as they did most nights, each with a glass of wine and with their cook, Emily, providing a light supper.

  “The Highlands isn’t far, Mama,” Rose added to the discussion she’d been attempting, imagining setting up her own household in William’s home on Walnut Avenue. “We can go to the opera house on Dudley. Why, I’ll still see you all the time.”

  Evelyn laughed. “You won’t see me all the time. Nor should you. Why are you saying this now?” She took Rose’s hand. “Why are you suddenly worrying over me?”

  “Not suddenly, Mama. But I am the last to go. I can’t stand the thought of you alone in this house.” At least her mother was fully present and engaged at dinner, not daydreaming or looking out the window into the back garden.

  Evelyn looked thoughtful. “I always thought I’d be enjoying these later years with your father, bless his soul. However, I have become used to life without him. I have good friends, and I’m never lonely. Except for Sophie, you’re all still close by.”

  Rose nodded. She almost wanted to share how she, too, had lost the man she’d loved, but she knew her experience could be nothing like her mother’s. For over thirty years, her mother had had Oliver before losing him so suddenly to illness, whereas Rose had barely enjoyed half a year with Finn, and only a few weeks married to him.

  Besides, there was no point in shocking her mother at this juncture.

  “I like Mr. Woodsom,” her mother said unexpectedly.

  Rose smiled. “As do I.”

  “He will treat you well. I can tell he dotes on you.”

  William had indeed shown his adoration and devotion a dozen times over. And Rose felt extremely lucky. The niggling guilt of never having told him about Finn had faded, as with telling her mother and the rest of her family. What point in that now?

  A day later, Rose sat fidgeting in Elise’s study. Her oldest sister had decided that she must have a fabulous engagement party, despite the fact that Elise hadn’t had one herself, nor even a proper wedding ceremony.

  “We’ll have a small soiree at home,” Rose protested for the umpteenth time.

  “Nonsense,” Elise said, brushing aside Rose’s words with a sweep of her hand. “It will be fun for all of us. Or course, it will be at the Tremont where Mr. Woodsom first kissed you.”

  Rose blushed. She didn’t know why she’d told her oldest sister about the improper encounter on the stairs. However, instead of being surprised, Elise had smiled at the story with a rather wicked grin. After all, she’d had a more-than-improper encounter with Michael, her husband, before they’d married and had confided in Rose.

  “We won’t get Sophie and Riley to cross the country with their little brood if not for a big occasion. They won’t be able to attend the wedding, you know. Sophie already has a huge commitment with the orchestra in September.”

  “I can’t even believe they’re coming at all.” It was always a treat when the Dalcourts came to Boston as it happened so infrequently since Sophie had moved away.

  “So you’ll help instead of hinder?” Elise asked.

  “Oh, I suppose,” Rose agreed. “Let’s discuss the food.”

  Elise pulled a leather-bound notebook out of her writing desk.

  “What on earth?” Rose asked.

  “It’s my organizer,” Elise said.

  “I swear, you get more eccentric all the time.”

  “I am not the least bit eccentric,” Elise protested. “Anyone can have a stack of stationery, but this,” she ran her hand over the blue-dyed leather, “this is for serious projects. You know, like the suffragette meetings that I go to with Mama. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Charlotte said that her French chef will make everything to perfection. We have only to give him an idea of what you like.”

  “And William, too, of course,” Rose added with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “And William, too, of course,” Elise repeated before the two of them burst out laughing. As if he would have a say in any of it!

  When they had gathered themselves and could talk again, Elise added, “Charlotte is writing a special toast for her and Reed to deliver. So sweet.” Not to be outdone, she added, “Michael has a special surprise for you, too.”

  Elise was aglow with excitement. Rose shook her head, warmed by the fond feelings she felt for her sister.

  “I think this party is as much for you as for me.”

  Elise opened her mouth in surprise. “No! Well, maybe a bit. I may be a long-married woman, but even so, I love the idea of romance and weddings and finally seeing you all settled.”

  It was Rose’s turn to look surprised. “Finally seeing me settled? Why? I’m not exactly an aging spinster.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Yet you were so light and gay a few years ago, and then you did not seem so happy until Mr. Woodsom came along.”

  Rose only nodded. At first, she’d had no idea her family had noticed her bereavement. By the time she came out of her own grief enough to realize the distress she was causing them, she hadn’t the energy to do anything about it. In any case, she thought they would have preferred the subdued Rose to the wild one who’d never listened to her elders if she could get away with it.

  “Back to the food,” she said, watching Elise lick the end of a stubby pencil that she’d pulled out from her pocket. “I want those little fairy cakes with orange bits. And the citrus rum punch that made you fall down.”

  “Oh my goodness! You remember that?”

  “I may have been only fourteen, but I knew a tipsy sister when I saw one.”

  “Moving along,” Elise muttered, a slight frown on her forehead. “What about actual food? Not merely cake and drink.”

  “Cubes of roast beef,” Rose said, “tucked in individual puff pastries. Perhaps with some horseradish on the side. Do you think Pierre would do that?”

  “I’m sure he would. I’m surprised, though, that you already have something so specific in mind.”

  Rose smiled. She was bursting to tell her sister about her latest desire — to attend the Boston Cooking School. Ever since her conversation with Reed about doing something with her life, even during the delightful romance with William, she had continued to think about what stirred her. One day, as she’d exited the Common on Tremont Street, she’d come face to face with the school.

  Of course she’d heard of it and knew that not only did women attend who wanted to be employed as cooks, like their Emily, but also women who simply wanted to offer more nutritious and tempting meals to their families. What’s more, some of Rose’s peers went to the Saturday lectures to listen to the likes of Mrs. Richards discuss food chemistry. How thrilling to listen to the first woman admitted and graduated
from such an institution as the Massachusetts Institute of Technology!

  Immediately, Rose had gone inside, only to be met by some of the most delicious aromas she’d ever had the pleasure of encountering. Her mouth started watering while she was still in the foyer, and her brain began deciphering what ingredients she was smelling.

  Eventually, she’d been introduced to the assistant principal, Miss Farmer, who’d tried to steer her to the Saturday lectures attended by other well-to-do young ladies until Rose expressed in no uncertain terms that she wanted to actually learn to cook.

  “You understand,” she’d told the heavy-set lady with her clean white lacey blouse and wavy brown and white hair, “I want to cook with my own two hands.”

  “Yes, indeed, Miss Malloy, I do understand, and I believe our school can help you. Indeed, you shall use your hands and all ten fingers and your arms and sometimes your back. And more importantly, you will use your brain — for cooking is not a slipshod and estimated endeavor. It is a science and thus responds to measurements and precision.”

  Rose thought of her brother’s French chef. She had always considered Pierre’s cooking to be a calling and that the talented man was as driven to it as her sister Sophie was to playing the piano. Certainly, when she had dined with Reed and Charlotte, she’d discovered Pierre was not above tossing in an unexpected ingredient that turned an expected dish into something magical.

  Perhaps this lady had no such beliefs.

  “Do you not think there is an art to it as well?” Rose asked, feeling a little timid with this woman despite the kind eyes that sparkled behind her spectacles. There was something determined and formidable about Fannie Farmer.

  The assistant principal had smiled at her. “Of course. Yet you cannot have a Renoir or a Monet or a Harriet Peale, for that matter, until there has been the precision of da Vinci or van Eyck. Do you see what I mean?”

  Yes, she certainly did.

  “I do.” Rose had enrolled on the spot. The next new course of lessons would begin in a week’s time. She’d gone home immediately to ask their cook if she’d mind Rose using some pots and pans and trying things out at home.

  Emily had laughed. “If you want to putter in the kitchen, miss, be my guest.”

  “I have quite a few particular ideas about cooking,” Rose told her sister, “and I intend to try them all out when I start taking cooking classes.”

  “Mm.” Elise was writing on her small pad. “Then what do you think we should serve with it? Minted peas, perhaps?”

  Oh dear. Rose sighed. Elise was not listening, too wrapped up in the planning. If she’d needed a favor, it would have been a good time to ask her and receive an inattentive yes. Or perhaps it was a good time to ask about something that had worried her lately.

  “Have you noticed anything odd about Mama?”

  Elise looked up and sharply eyed her sister, fully present once more.

  “Specifically?”

  Rose shrugged. “Being a bit preoccupied for months, especially recently. I wondered if maybe she felt sad over her last child leaving the proverbial nest.”

  Elise shook her head. “She would never begrudge you your future or happiness.”

  “I know. Still, have you and Reed discussed her being all alone?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have.”

  “I knew it. I’m so relieved,” Rose told her. “I’m not the only one concerned. What will we do with her?”

  “Do with her?” Elise gave a wry smile. “It was not so much a discussion of such magnitude as it was setting up a casual schedule. If she dines with Reed and Charlotte once a week and with Michael and me once, and perhaps, after you get settled, with you and William, then if we also take turns going over to her house, why she’ll hardly ever be alone for her evening meal.”

  “That’s a good idea. Of course, she shall start coming over to dine with William and me immediately after I set up house.”

  Her sister nodded. “Back to the party planning.” Then Elise took a quick breath. “Did you say something about cooking classes?”

  Rose laughed and explained to Elise her new interest.

  In the days that followed, she felt swept along by her sister and Claire and even by her mother and Charlotte. Everyone seemed to be extremely excited by a homegrown love match and upcoming wedding. Sophie’s nuptials had taken place in San Francisco, so they hadn’t had a real Malloy wedding since Reed married Charlotte. Goodness! Was that already seven years past?

  ***

  All of Boston society, every Brahmin, whether bourgeois or aristocratic, was abuzz with wrangling an invitation to either the engagement party, the wedding, the reception supper, or all three. Rose had not felt her heart so full of joy in years. The hum of excitement grew as the date got closer.

  “I’m so very pleased you’re here.” Rose said to Sophie the night before the grand engagement party. Her middle sister had arrived the day before from the west coast with her family. “However, I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

  Sophie paused in brushing Rose’s hair, something she’d always done when they were growing up. They locked eyes in the mirror over the vanity. “In a good way, you can’t believe it?”

  Rose laughed. “Of course. I’m very happy.” And she was, even though, in a dark corner of her mind, she felt a sliver of fear that something would happen to William. In moments of quiet, she would suddenly imagine the devastation to her heart if anything befell him.

  If something happened to him, how would she bear it?

  “I’m relieved, dearest,” Sophie said, resuming brushing. “He seems wonderful and smart. And clearly, he’s madly in love with you.”

  Rose shrugged. She almost took for granted William’s love, so used to basking in its warmth, and except for the fear of losing him, she knew no lapse in her happiness.

  “If I’m as happy as you and Riley . . .,” she trailed off, while her sister grinned at her in the mirror hung over the dressing table.

  “You will,” Sophie said. “We had a difficult start and a few obstacles to overcome in order to be together, but that made it all the sweeter.” Sophie had the dreamy look she always wore when discussing her husband.

  Sophie and Riley, Riley and Sophie. Rose could not imagine one without the other. The only reason they weren’t together that moment was because Riley was putting their children to bed while Sophie enjoyed some private time with Rose.

  “Is everything ready for tomorrow?” Sophie asked, laying down the brush and taking a seat on her sister’s bed.

  Rose turned from the vanity.

  “Yes, it seems so.”

  The staff of the Tremont would spend all the next day putting the finishing touches to the main ballroom. Chef Pierre had left Reed and Charlotte’s home and taken up residence in the Tremont’s kitchens, cooking and baking all day and would continue the next day.

  Lastly, Rose had found the perfect party dress in a blush color that would look fetching against her dark hair. She opened her wardrobe and there it was, hanging ready.

  For the briefest second, the sight caused her a pang of sorrow. And, as always, the sorrow was linked to Finn, who’d never seen her in anything splendid like a party gown. Still, it comforted her to believe he would have liked it. She could easily recall the desire and wanting in his gaze whenever he looked at her.

  “I can’t wait to see your William’s expression when he sees you in that gown,” Sophie said, dragging Rose’s thoughts back to the present.

  Assailed by guilt over pondering a dead man on the eve of her engagement party, Rose thoroughly berated herself. Immediately, she conjured William’s laughing, handsome face. Why, she had only to picture him, and her spirits lifted.

  Chapter Six

  As it turned out, her fiancé’s expression on the night of the party was positively awestruck causing Rose to blush, her cheeks matching her dress color. She had never felt so beautiful in her life.

  William took her hand when she approac
hed him. “Can you wear this on our wedding day?”

  She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “How can you top how magnificent you look at this moment?” he wondered. “It’s impossible.”

  “We shall do it, nonetheless,” remarked Elise, overhearing as she approached them.

  “Everything is perfect.” Rose grabbed her sister’s hands. “Thank you for this. It is as special as you promised.”

  She surveyed the room where candles and mirrors made everything and everyone sparkle and dazzle with light. There were flowers on every available surface. Crystal punch bowls and heavily laden tables of the most heavenly smelling food beckoned the guests. And of course, there was music, which Sophie had planned.

  Rose knew her musical-minded sister would be hovering over the small band all evening, directing them as to the choices. Sophie had already sat down at the piano once, pushing the alarmed pianist to the side of the bench, before sending out a happy tune over the ballroom.

  At that moment, though, her sister, rustling in her skirts of deep purple taffeta, strolled over to where they stood. Of course, Riley strode along beside her, tall, ruggedly handsome — something a little Western and wild about him, despite being a physician.

  Riley shook hands with William, who’d got on well with Rose’s western branch of the family. “You had better follow me,” Riley said. “Reed has something for you.”

  William raised his eyebrows and looked at Rose, who shrugged.

  “Knowing my brother, it’s a legal document spelling out the terms of our engagement.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “You mean our marriage,” William said.

  “Oh, they’ll be one for that, too.”

  They laughed again. “Go ahead,” Rose told him. “Hurry back, though, and tell me what it is all about.” She watched William walk away, trailing behind Riley. Two such handsome men — and one of them was hers!

  Sophie watched them go, too, then she turned to Elise. “Go rescue Mama.”

  They followed Sophie’s gaze. By the dessert table, their mother was chatting with Ethan Nickerson.