It was a Sunday afternoon, so she had her house entirely to herself, with no staff due back until six o’clock the next morning. Rose had only just closed the door on Charlotte and Elise, who had dropped by together to entice her to go to the park with them and all their brood — to which Rose had replied with an emphatic no. She had two kinds of bread rising, nearly ready to bake, and a soufflé in the oven that needed tender love and care.
She had made it as far as her beloved kitchen doorway when her doorbell rang.
Rolling her eyes, she willed herself to have the patience of Job, and turned to answer the summons. She yanked open the door, ready to tell Elise absolutely—
Finn.
Utterly unexpected, the sight of him took her breath away. That in itself shocked her — the intense visceral reaction of her body to this man. Still. Again. Oh bother!
She forgot her manners and said nothing.
“Do you always open the door without first finding out who is on your step?” he asked, his gray-blue eyes dancing in the afternoon light.
“I thought you were someone else,” she said, then wished she hadn’t been so quick to explain herself. She owed him no explanation. However, it disturbed her for him to think that she meant another man — as if she would jump from William to Finn to the mysterious “someone else.”
“My sister and sister-in-law were here only a moment ago,” she added, wishing she could simply stop talking.
In truth, Rose answered the door as often as her maid did, without any preamble, because she was not afraid. Not anymore. Not now that Finn was out of her life.
So why was he there on her doorstep?
“Why are you here?” she asked, realizing belated how ungracious she sounded. Then she sniffed the delicious aroma of baked cheese, drawn through the house by the open door, and remembered her soufflé.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, before turning heel and dashing down the hallway to the kitchen.
To her delight the last grains of sand were only then dropping through her kitchen timer. Gingerly, she opened the oven door and sighed in delight at the perfectly pouffed cheese and herb soufflé. Magnificent!
With hands encased in thick oven mitts, she extracted the white porcelain dish and set it down gently on the cooling trivet on her counter before turning to quietly close the oven behind her. Then suddenly something happened that she had never thought would happen — Finn Bennet was standing in the middle of the Malloy family kitchen, now her kitchen, having followed her inside.
“I hope it’s all right,” he began.
“Shh,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Speak more softly, please. The soufflé,” Rose said, indicating the dish.
Finn shrugged though he looked hesitant about opening his mouth.
“I have heard that a loud noise can make it fall,” she whispered.
“That sounds unlikely,” he muttered, then he cocked his head. “Let’s try it.”
“What if it sinks?” she protested.
“There are far worse things that can sink.”
They eyed each other, letting a hundred thoughts pass between them. Then he smiled.
“Anyway it will still taste as good, don’t you think? Shall we?”
Rose shrugged, belatedly recalling how unfeminine her mother thought the action. Anyway, the idea of testing the soufflé appealed to her, and doing so with Finn appealed even more.
“Fine,” she said in a normal tone. “First, try shouting.”
Finn grinned, kept his gaze locked on hers, and then bellowed, “Rose Malloy is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Her eyes widened and she grinned at him, then glanced at the soufflé. It looked precisely the same, a burnished brown on top and raised about three inches over the rim of the dish. Still perfect.
“My turn,” she said. Looking around, she spied her smallest cast iron sauté pan. Snatching it up with both hands, she slammed it down on the counter with a bang.
They both leaned in to examine the eggy creation.
“No change,” Finn said, “but if it had sunk into a flat mess, it might’ve been due to the vibration of the counter. That wouldn’t have been a good test.”
Even in this bit of fun, the precise brain of a builder was working.
“You’re right,” she acquiesced. “Anyway, that was more of a thump.”
He surveyed the room. Hanging neatly from a cast iron rack were her steel pans and lids. He took down two lids, and with his hands directly over the soufflé, he clanged them together like concert band cymbals.
Nothing happened.
“Hm, I guess it was a myth.” Rose would mention that to Fannie in the morning.
“Glad to be of service,” he said, as he hung the lids back in their places. Moreover, he did appear quite cheerful.
Just like that, Rose saw him anew, through older eyes — perhaps not a great deal wiser but, she hoped, less capricious. She still appreciated the man but for different reasons. What’s more, in her mind, they were now at a new beginning.
She didn’t even mind when Finn picked up a serving fork and used it to stab the soufflé. As the air escaped and it sunk to the rim of the cooking dish, he stared at her with shocked eyes.
“Ballocks! I am sorry. I thought it was solid cake.”
She laughed until she nearly cried. Then she grabbed two plates and served them both a generous piece. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“You were right,” Rose told him. “It did taste just as good. Let’s go into the sitting room. You can tell me to what I owe this unexpected visit.”
There, that was far more gracious, she congratulated herself, quite befitting the lady of the house as she led him down the hall to her front room.
“It’s a lovely house,” Finn said, trailing behind her. “Well crafted.”
“Thank you. I have lived here all my life.”
As they entered the parlor, she spied her cat, curled up in the sunlight on the sofa. It lifted its head at the disturbance.
“Cocoa, this is Finn. Finn, Cocoa.”
“A pleasure,” he said to the cat, who put its head back down and closed its eyes. “Handsome-looking animal.”
Why did it please her that he liked her cat? “Yes, I think so, too. Will you sit?”
He did, which was how Rose came to be in her parlor on a Sunday afternoon with her former husband seated opposite.
“Truthfully,” Finn started, “I have tried very hard to leave you alone, but you are in my thoughts daily.”
She nodded. She would not confess to the same though it was true.
“I thought I might tell you what I’ve been doing and find out how you are.”
“All right,” Rose said, feeling a little tentative at becoming drawn in by his magnetism too quickly.
“I have taken over Kelly’s yard. The old man was quite devastated by all that occurred and by having a hand, however unwittingly, in such a great loss of life.”
“So he wasn’t a part of the scheme? Yet he seemed so unhappy at your return.”
Finn leaned back in the chair, and Rose marveled again that he was in her sitting room, right there, on a chair where each of her family members had sat.
“When I appeared at his yard the first time, Mr. Kelly was shocked, plain and simple, and wanted to deny the truth by calling me a liar. Now, I’m his master builder. I foresee owning the yard within three years, if not sooner, as he is nearly ready to retire.”
“That’s good. You deserve it. I know you’ll be successful.” Her heart was entirely full of gladness for him.
All at once, she recalled how Claire started nearly every conversation of late with a question.
“I have to ask you something though it has no import anymore.”
Finn smiled slightly, leaning forward. “Of course, love, ask me anything.”
How easily he still used that term of endearment? With every member of the female sex or only her? What was tha
t emotion bubbling up in her, bittersweet and familiar?
“How did you come to find me at The Quincy? The floor I was on, the very room, in fact?”
“Oh, that,” he said, appearing to have expected, or hoped for, some different question.
“It is quite a mystery to Claire and to me,” she confessed.
Finn smiled slightly. “Tell Claire that after the incident at the Ropewalk, I spent every waking hour keeping my eye on you.”
“You did?” That was news to Rose, though she remembered expecting to see him at every turn and yet he was never there. Apparently he had been, but well out of sight.
“I knew the trouble wasn’t over, I felt it in my bones. Liam had seemed scared when I’d last spoken to him, so I asked myself, what will he do now? And then there was Walsh, gone missing, according to your brother.”
“He’s been apprehended, did you hear?”
“Yes. I think he and Gilbert will hang for cooking up such wickedness.”
She nodded, wondering if Finn had heard about the ship’s owner. “I heard from my brother that Dilbey had gone along with the scheme and is expected to spend his life in jail for doing so.”
“Yes, I know.” He leaned forward in his chair and absently stroked the cat’s head. “With Liam and Walsh still on the loose, I decided to spend my time keeping you safe. Or trying to. Christ, I’m only fit to lead blind monkeys. I’m sorry, Rose, I did a terrible job of it, and it nearly went very badly for you.”
She eschewed his statement with a wave of her hand. “That’s not true. Honestly, your knock at the door reminded me that I wasn’t so far from help. Knowing someone was so close, it roused me from my panic into action.”
“Rather good action, too, as I recall.”
They grinned at each other.
“To your question,” he continued, “I followed you to the hotel and then lost you only while you were in the lift. The operator didn’t mind telling me what floor after a minute or two of conversation”
Rose imagined that. “You charmed the lady with your devilish good looks and charm, didn’t you?”
Finn laughed aloud. “Is that what did it? I thought it was my pleading for her to help me find my wife, whom I told her might at that moment be in the arms of another man. I didn’t bother trying to explain about the danger I feared you were in. Adultery seemed to be enough impetus for her to help me.”
Rose sobered at the mention of being his wife. Yet she would not ruin this easy repartee they had by dredging up the past.
“No doubt the lovely elevator operator helped you in hopes that you would find me in flagrante delicto, and thus perhaps turn your attention on her.”
He frowned. “I saw no lovely elevator operator. I see no loveliness anywhere except when I look at you.”
Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she swallowed nervously. Finn had a way of saying the most flowery sentiments as if they were simple fact. That trait was most appealing.
“How did you find which room?” Rose persisted, her words putting them back on safer ground.
His mouth lifted wryly. “Pure luck and persistence. I literally ran from door to door, knocking, listening, tossing some open if unlocked. Then I heard you, thank God.”
Knowing that he’d had her under his watchful eye, standing guard in the shadows, certainly endeared him to her. Luckily, she had rescued herself, but the situation had nearly got out of hand. His timely assistance could as easily have been the difference between her remaining alive.
“As I said, after I heard your knock, I began to fight.”
Finn nodded. “Liam never suspected you for a bully-trap, but you certainly handled him.”
Warmed by his praise, she merely shrugged slightly. “I was prepared to do whatever it took.”
They stared at one another for a long moment. Abruptly, Finn stood up and crossed the space between them to crouch down before her. He took her hand, looking at it as if it were new to him, then he raised his gaze to hers.
“Now what, Rose?”
Indeed.
Her bruised heart was not ready. Too much had happened. Years. William. Pain.
Yet she smiled at him, at his familiar handsome face, his earnest eyes, letting her gaze linger on the scar on his right temple, then on his wonderfully skilled lips. Then she saw the hint of gold where his shirt collar gaped slightly away from the column of his neck. Instantly, she knew it was the chain that held her locket. Something shifted inside of her.
Finn Bennet. Rose Malloy. Now what?
“We get on with living,” she said. “No hiding, no sneaking, no heartache, I hope and pray, for either of us. We both deserve normal, ordinary lives, don’t you think?”
For her part, between the Ropewalk and The Quincy House hotel, she’d had enough adventure to last a lifetime.
Finn frowned. “Ordinary? Rose Malloy, living an ordinary life?” He chuckled slightly. “That’s inconceivable,” he told her and brought her palm to his lips for a searing kiss.
Epilogue
Rose and Fannie were everywhere at once, or so it seemed, as they welcomed in the public for the open house of Miss Farmer's School of Cookery. Housed a stone’s throw from the old school full of staff who wished them well, their school had three new teachers and shining stainless steel counters, and was perfectly prepared for their new mission stressing practical cooking over theoretical.
Bursting with excitement, tugging at her newly starched apron, Rose greeted newcomers and gladly talked about the cookbooks for sale with precise measurements. She had spent many hours transcribing recipes herself. No more dash of this and pinch of that. Teaspoons and tablespoons and measuring cups were the order of the day.
As regular middle-class women mulled about tasting the free samples, picking up schedules, and speaking with the teachers, Rose knew Fannie’s dream of teaching housewives instead of would-be teachers was going to be a roaring success.
Incredibly, she had helped. More than helped. She was doing something authentic and useful with her life.
When she turned and saw Finn, the single male amongst the ladies milling about, she didn’t even startle. Seeing him there in the middle of her happiness was almost expected, and she wanted to run up to him, hug him, and share her delight.
Oh, the scandal that would cause!
Instantly, his face lit up in a grin that must have matched her own. He strolled over to her.
“Isn’t it wonderful? I won’t even ask how you knew to come today, I am so happy to see you. The shipyard is going well? I knew it would with you at the helm. At the helm, ha. That’s funny, is it not? Anyway, this school is going to be a shining example of practicality, usefulness, and, of course, deliciousness.”
He laughed. “Take a breath, love. You are deliciousness, do you know that?”
She laughed along with him, her pleasure at their mutual success lifting her to giddiness.
“Come taste this,” and she grabbed his hand and took him to one of the sample tables. “Try this. It’s known as Turkish Delight.”
When he pulled back slightly, she added, “It’s candy.”
He opened his mouth, perhaps to decline the offer, and she popped a piece into his mouth and watched him chew the sticky treat.
“Isn’t it scrumptious? Now taste this,” she implored him, and grabbed up a little doily with a sliver of frangipani cream pie on it.
“See its flaky crust. Taste the creamy goodness.” She shoved it into his hands. “And this gingerbread, it’s heavenly.”
She crammed a piece in her own mouth and then tried to put some into his.
“Rose, stop. It’s all delicious, but I didn’t come here to stuff my face like a glutton, or to have you do it for me.”
“Oh my goodness,” she practically shrieked. “Are you here to sign up for classes? You’ll be our first gentleman pupil. Miss Farmer,” she began to call out looking around for her beloved mentor.
“No, Rose, please.” He tugged at her hands and came aw
ay with more gingerbread, which he dutifully ate. “Good Lord. That is delicious!”
She knew he would love it. Who could resist the surprise of lemon peel?
Yet he continued tugging at her, until he had succeeded in spiriting her away from the hullabaloo into the next room where a few students were examining the clean and airy new classroom.
“I’m sorry, Finn, I’m just so excited.”
“I know, love, and you have no idea how happy I am for you. But I didn’t come to sign up. I came to ask you to go out with me. Tonight. I mean, after this event, whenever it ends. Out in the open, in public, where we might run into anyone and everyone. I’m inviting you to dinner,” he paused, then added, “At your choice, of course. Will you?”
Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest, and she was sure he could hear it. It had been difficult at first to pull her thoughts from the cooking school to Finn. Currently, however, he had her full and undivided attention. As she looked at him and considered what he was asking, Rose felt a lightness shower over her.
Before she could say anything, Finn continued. “Since we first met, I’ve improved myself in some ways, yet become less than I was in others. I worried for two years whether my injury would be the deciding factor, the nail in the coffin, as they say. Then, there were other impediments to our future.” He grimaced at stating the obvious.
“I’ve tried to hold back and to give you time, but more than anything, I want to start over with you, Miss Malloy.”
He took her hand and cleared his throat.
“My name is Phineas Bennet. I have a university degree and solid, respectable employment. I can hold my head up with any of Boston’s finest.”
“Oh, Finn, you always could.” Rose took a step closer, not caring about any perceived impropriety. “You are not less than you were. You were perfect for me before,” she paused.
It was true. He had always been perfect — this smart, hard-working, decent man. How could she ever have been ashamed to go to her family and tell them she’d fallen in love with him? Finn’s limp might be a nuisance to him, but it was nothing at all to her — except as it caused him discomfort.
“You still are,” Rose confessed. “Perfect, I mean, for me.”
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