by Bird, Peggy
“I am aware we’ll face many challenges on the road ahead. But with the two of us side by side, we’ll make a good go of it. Thank you, sir.”
George stood along with Henry and extended his hand. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Henry took Mr. Fitzpatrick’s hand in his. “But, as you told me the first night we had dinner, you do things differently in your family. Rosemary has yet to say yes.”
“There is that, yes, Mr. Cooper.”
Henry got an itch between his shoulders as he departed. He was not in the good graces of the family yet.
• • •
In the days that followed, Rosemary had only seen Henry twice as her fencing instruction continued, but he had been on her mind the entire time. Today, Rosemary’s tongue crept to the corner of her mouth as she bent over her demanding task. Nearly every encounter she had with Henry seemed to end with her touching his hair. It drew her as if it was a magnet, and each time, she ended up with a strand or two of his hair between her fingers or on her clothing, which she carefully placed in a hankie. Even when appropriately accompanied by a chaperone, she found a way to touch him. By now, she had gathered enough of Henry’s lovely dark, long hair to do something with it. Rosemary pulled out an equal number of her own strands and laid the two tiny piles side by side, straightening them out with her fingers. She examined them closely. Her hair was almost as dark as Henry’s, and much longer, but his had a special sheen to the follicles that hers lacked.
That’s the only reason I find running my fingers through his hair irresistible. It’s the sheen.
Even in her own head, her thoughts attempted to deceive her, and she could no longer ignore the real reason. Sheen be damned. She ached for Henry when they were apart, and couldn’t wait to touch him each time they were together. Even with her mother or father in the room, she found a reason to brush his fingers or lay her hand on his arm, to pluck a stray hair from his jacket, just to experience the bright spark of excitement again. She could sense his muscles jumping underneath his fine clothing when she touched him, and it made her smile. Her mother’s crafty plan was working, just as she said it would. If only she could keep her own heart in check until Henry asked for her hand.
Rosemary and her mother had intensified their plan, deciding to place as many roadblocks in the way of Henry being alone with her as they could, simply to torture him, and to get him to propose to her. An official engagement was the only way they could be together again without the prying eyes of a parent, and the sooner the better, since Mabel Wentworth’s loose tongue was creating talk all over town.
But what Rosemary hadn’t counted on was it being equally as hard and maddening for her to be denied access to Henry. When he did manage to get her backed into a corner at their frequent fencing lessons and he stole a kiss, even in front of her maid, she lost control of all her carefully structured inhibitions, and another little piece of her heart escaped from the cage she had built around it. She had to thank her mother for keeping things in check with Henry, because if she hadn’t insisted that her daughter be properly chaperoned, Rosemary was certain things would have gotten way out of control by now. Then Mabel Wentworth would really have something to talk about. Rosemary had not been immune to Henry’s manhood, pressing hard up against her even with her layers of skirt and petticoats, the last time they had kissed. The dampness she’d experienced between her legs was new to her, and exciting. She wondered what came next, certain it would be delightful.
She let herself daydream as she carefully cut her hair strands to a matching length as Henry’s. She tied ribbon around each small clump of hair and began to weave them together.
“Oh, bosh and bother,” she said as the strands pulled out of the ribbon. What to do? This wasn’t the easy task she originally thought it would be. Maybe she needed a drop of candle wax to hold the strands in place until she got the braid going. Being careful not to spill too much wax, she poured a few drops on each clump of hair and let it set. She pried the wax away from the piece of paper, and was pleased to see the hairs staying together. Braiding the two piles of hair together was easy once she’d figured out how to hold them in place. She then pried the wax away from the end of the braid and tied it in a small circle with a ribbon. Her finger ran over the soft, braided coil. Dark and darker. Shiny and shinier.
She pondered the significance of her actions. They were weaving their lives together, she and Henry, much as she was weaving the braid of their hair. And similar to the braid, the beginning took some time to figure out. Could the strands of their lives be held together? It would take a force as strong as candle wax to do so, and she had been playing with ribbon up until now. She could no longer convince herself it was merely an act, a means to an end, on her part. She wanted the braid to continue forever, to keep adding to it with the hair of their children. Many children. And, toward the end of their days, to form a new plait of their then-graying hair as they rocked their grandchildren to sleep. Her mind coursed ahead, creating a story line of her own.
With a shake of her head, she opened the back of her chatelaine. There was a little space designed for a picture or token, and she placed her tiny braid there. She’d carry it with her always.
With a wistful sigh, she returned her attention to her almost-completed story. She had to quit dragging her feet and finish her Harry Hawk story so she could present it to Henry. It was her best work yet, but she had an even better idea in mind. She’d just read about the discovery of the Comstock Lode in the Utah territory, and the entire city of New York was abuzz with tales of immense wealth being pulled from the ground. Her next book would be told from the standpoint of a young prospector who headed west from New York City to seek his fortune. She couldn’t wait to begin. Whether it would be produced by Cooper and Son or another publisher was yet to be seen.
Once she gave Henry her completed Harry Hawk story, the current contract between F.P. Elliott and the publishing house would be completed. It would be a perfect time to tell Henry who the author really was. And to let the chips, and the pieces of her heart, fall where they may.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At daybreak the next morning, Harry knocked on the door to Penelope’s room. When she didn’t answer, Harry put a shoulder into the door and broke it open. Penelope was nowhere to be found. Only a note, hanging from the bedpost.
“You want her back? Come and get her.”
It wasn’t signed. Instead there was a crude drawing of a face with an eye patch.
Harry rushed to the docks, hoping he was in time to save Penelope’s virtue. Her father had placed a lot of trust in him, and Harry wanted to keep his job.
It didn’t take long to find the pirate’s ship, still in the dock, thankfully. Harry stepped aboard.
“Ahoy, mate.” The voice cried out behind him, and he spun around. The pirate was at the far end of the ship, one arm wrapped tightly around Penelope, the other brandishing a sword.
Charlotte Fitzpatrick ran her hand down Rosemary’s arm as they walked into the parlor a few days later. “We’ve got company coming for dinner tonight, dear. You need to put on a better dress.”
“Who will be joining us?”
“Your young man, Mr. Cooper, is bringing his sister, Marguerite, here for dinner. Aren’t you excited? She’s just arrived from Boston, and we have the pleasure of her company even before the Cabots meet her. It’s such a coup!”
Rosemary took a seat and smoothed out her favorite gray skirt before she raised her eyes to her mother.
“First of all, Mr. Cooper is still not my young man, Mother. It’s maddening to me, the fact he hasn’t yet proposed. I’ve even tried to stay away from him for days on end, hoping he’d come here and bend a knee. But nothing will happen tonight if he’s bringing his sister. We won’t have a moment alone.”
“Well, I see this evening as a perfect opportunity to change his mind and make him commit himself to you. Why don’t you wear the beautiful, deep purple gown Jasmine created for you? A gown s
uch as that will be sure to get the dashing Mr. Cooper’s heart pumping. And do pinch your cheeks to get some color in them. You are way too pale. Comes from spending too much time in the garret, writing away. Have you bleached your fingers lately, or are they stained with ink, as usual?”
Rosemary hid her hands in the folds of her day skirt, and attempted to change the subject. “Henry and his sister seem to be very close, which I find a bit odd, since they were separated for years when he went to New Orleans. She was just a girl when he left.”
“What’s so odd about them being close? Aren’t you close to your brothers?”
“Well, yes, but we’ve been with each other the whole time, growing up in this house. Do you think Henry and Marguerite wrote letters back and forth all the time he was in New Orleans?”
Rosemary caught the gleam in her mother’s eye. “Am I sensing a bit of jealousy on your part?”
“Of course not! Why would I be jealous? She’s his sister.”
“And she’s capable of drawing his attention away from you. Isn’t that what truly worries you?”
Rosemary stiffened. Her mother had an uncanny knack of getting to the heart of the matter so quickly it made her head spin. “I’m not worried. Merely curious. Is his father in town too? Surely Marguerite didn’t travel from Boston on her own. And who invited them to dinner?”
“Your father did, this afternoon. They stopped into the bank, and he extended the invitation to them there. And yes, Marguerite is here by herself. Their father is still in Boston. It would seem she has a bit of a rebellious streak. I’m sure she’ll fit in nicely at our dinner table.”
Rosemary had a niggling feeling she was being blindsided, but she shook it off, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Despite her admonition to herself, she wished for a weapon over dinner. Something larger than a steak knife. Perhaps an épée instead. With a sigh, she climbed the stairs to her room to find something more appropriate for dinner. She did admit to a curiosity about Henry’s sister. She was five years younger than Henry, which made her the same age as Rosemary. And she was as light as he was dark, according to Henry. Other than that, she hadn’t a clue. Still wishing for a sword in her hand, she pulled out the purple gown from the armoire and called for the maid to help her change her clothes and dress her hair. Jasmine’s latest creation would have to be her weapon of choice for the evening. And some of her signature scent, which Henry seemed to enjoy. She splashed an extra portion of the perfume between her breasts.
Her mother was right. If she wanted to seal her relationship with Henry, this dinner, and his sister, might just be the way to get Henry to commit. If she and Marguerite were to become best friends, Henry couldn’t possibly turn his back on their budding romance, could he? If he did, he’d break his sister’s heart every bit as much as he would Rosemary’s. And Henry Cooper wasn’t a cruel man. As the lady’s maid worked on her long hair, fashioning it into a coiled braid wrapped around her head, Rosemary thought of the braid in her chatelaine. She mulled over potential topics of conversation for the evening. She only hoped Henry’s sister would at least be entertaining. She was surprised Henry and Marguerite were so close, since their father had done everything he could to tear them apart. His sister was the favored one. And with the name Marguerite? Rosemary had her doubts if the woman would be of assistance in the advancement of Rosemary’s cause with Henry. But she agreed with her mother that becoming Marguerite’s friend would be helpful, so she was willing to give it a try
She’d keep both eyes open this evening, and her steak knife at the ready.
• • •
Henry had always thought his sister was pretty. True, she didn’t resemble their mother, who had been a true, legendary, beauty, but rather, in a purebred-English kind of way, Marguerite was very pleasing to the eye and had grown to become a lovely woman. However, when he caught sight of Rosemary in the parlor before dinner, he forgot all about his sister. Rosemary’s deep purple dress made her gray eyes deepen in color, and her skin luminescent. He left his sister’s side and gravitated to her, grasping her hand.
“You are ravishing this evening, Miss Fitzpatrick,” he declared.
The blush which appeared on Rosemary’s cheeks was not brought about by pots of color at the dressing table. Henry smiled at her reaction to his comment. If she responded as such when fully clothed, he could hardly wait until she was naked in front of him. Her blush would undoubtedly extend from her forehead to her toes. As he leaned over her hand, he picked up her signature scent, and his manhood responded as if it was a bloodhound that had just picked up the trail of its quarry. Not far off the mark, he thought wryly.
He was going to have her naked in bed with him soon. He’d make certain of it.
She pulled away from Henry and turned her attention instead to Marguerite. The two women were about the same age and build, so Henry had high hopes they’d get along. They were, after all, the two most important women in his life.
“You must be Marguerite. Welcome to our home. Mr. Cooper has told me a bit about you, but I’m anxious to hear more.”
“And I’ve been hearing about you, as well. Henry mentioned that you are now his fencing partner. How much fun is it to go after my brother with a weapon in your hand?”
Rosemary laughed as she clasped Marguerite’s hand and led her away from Henry for a private conversation. Bits of their conversation came Henry’s way, and he could tell they were talking about mundane things such as how Boston compared to New York, and what Marguerite was interested in. They seemed to be getting along just fine.
What he hadn’t expected was to be excluded from their conversation as they chattered away. He didn’t appreciate being left out. Well, things would change, after dinner, when he made his big announcement. He’d take back the attention in which his sister was now basking.
The dinner came and went. Henry had been to enough meals at the Fitzpatrick home by now to realize they employed a wonderful cook, but her accomplishments tonight were barely noticed. As soon as the dessert of apple cobbler was cleared, Henry’s gaze went to George Fitzpatrick, who nodded. Henry stood, raising his wine glass.
“If I could impose on all of you for a moment, I have some news to share. My sister is so taken with this city after only one day, she’s decided to move here as well. So we’ll hopefully have many more meals together.”
“Wonderful news!” Charlotte raised her glass in the toast, then faced Marguerite. “New York will love to have you, and you’ll be a charming addition to the city. You’ve already this evening found a friend in Rosemary. She’ll have to introduce you to her friend Dorcas. I’m sure the three of you will have enormous fun shopping and exploring the city together. Where will you be staying?”
“For the moment, I’ll stay with Henry, in the flat above the publishing house. I’ll find my own lodging soon enough.”
“But you must stay under the protection of some male figure! Even in New York, we have rules to society. If you don’t want to stay with Henry, you could move in here. We have plenty of extra bedrooms now since some of our daughters have married and left home. Please consider it as a possibility.”
Rosemary’s heart was beating faster than normal as she explored the ramifications of her mother’s invitation. Having Marguerite here, and counting her as a friend, would ensure that even if Henry dismissed her after finding out she was the real author of the dime novels, she would still have reason to be in his company. She wasn’t by nature a devious or duplicitous person, and was relieved she truly had enjoyed Marguerite’s company. As she glanced over at the woman, Marguerite raised an eyebrow in Rosemary’s direction and smiled.
Rosemary made up her mind. En garde, Henri. “I’d love to have you move in here, Marguerite. Since my sisters and brothers are getting married and leaving home, it is quite lonely in this big house. But what of your father? Won’t he be all alone in Boston now?”
Marguerite and Henry exchanged a glance before Marguerite answered. “Yes, he’ll b
e alone. But he would have been alone anyway, since his goal for me was to marry me off to the highest bidder. So, sooner or later, I would have left his house for another one.”
Rosemary caught the undertone of bitterness in the statement. She decided to change the subject.
“I’m so pleased you find New York to your liking. We’ll have to schedule a day to go shopping. I’ll take you to my sister’s dress shop and show you my other favorite places.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Marguerite replied.
George Fitzpatrick chimed in, “Shall we retire for a brandy in my library, Henry? All this talk of shopping and dresses bores me silly.”
Henry smiled as he rose along with George. “Brandy it will be, then. I’d think you’d be used to the ladies’ talk by now, what with all the daughters you’ve raised.”
“Used to it, yes. Comfortable with it, never. I’d much rather talk business. And it seems, for tonight anyway, you are the only one willing to discuss such a weighty topic.”
• • •
The chairs scraped across the floorboards as the ladies rose from the table as well.. They settled themselves back in the parlor as Charlotte poured tea for them and led the conversation, discussing the newest gowns from France and her daughter’s dress shop.
Marguerite glanced at Rosemary. “I don’t know how much free time I’ll have once I get settled in. But Jasmine’s store sounds exciting. I’m always interested to witness other women making a name for themselves in a man’s world. And fashion, even though it’s women who wear it, is still very much a man’s world.”
“So you are a proponent of women’s rights?” Rosemary’s stomach knotted as she waited for Marguerite’s answer.
Marguerite brought the tea cup to her lips, took a sip of the fragrant liquid, and held it in her mouth for a moment, adding to Rosemary’s discomfort. She turned to Charlotte. “Lovely tea, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. What kind is it?”
