Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  “Why, thank you, dear. It’s a new blend, just imported from England. But being from Boston, you should know all about tea from England.” Charlotte chuckled.

  Marguerite finally addressed Rosemary, who was still clutching her stomach.

  “The rights of women are why I left home and ran to New York when Henry asked me to come.” Her words were spoken in a tone barely above a whisper, but were extremely loud in Rosemary’s mind.

  Rosemary cast a sidelong glance at Marguerite. “So you’re serious about staying here, and this is more than a visit?”

  “I suppose I can tell you and your mother. Father’s idea of my future includes getting married to some stuffy old man and providing him with an heir. We’ve been in disagreement about it for some months now, and Father is at the end of his patience on the subject. He’s threatened to accept the man’s proposal on my behalf and marry me off before the end of summer. In order to gain his approval for the trip, I told Father I’d use it as a holiday to consider the man’s offer. But in actuality, I’ve run away from home, as childish as it sounds. Henry understands I need more from life. We may not have grown up together, but we did share a lot of letters. And we are of a similar mind.”

  Rosemary had a sudden urge to break into the library and plant a kiss on Henry. She finally had the proof she’d been searching for about his stand on women’s rights. He was risking the wrath of his father to give his sister a future she would be happy with. Finally, she could tell him who she really was. As much as she wanted to run to Henry, she sensed a need to focus on Marguerite.

  “So you won’t be going back to Boston anytime soon?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Boston is no longer in my future. Henry and I still need to work some things out regarding my new role in the company. But I will have a role in the company. It is a family business after all. And I’m sure as soon as Father puts the facts together, he’ll come here and insist that I return home and marry the man he’s chosen for me.”

  Rosemary sensed Marguerite’s growing agitation when talking about her father and decided it was time to be a perfect hostess and change the subject. “Tell us about growing up in Boston. I’ve never been there.”

  “Oh, you should visit someday. Boston is so rich in history and tradition. It’s a beautiful city.”

  “So you and Henry enjoyed your childhood there?”

  Marguerite cast a warm glance at Rosemary. “Henry and I had an idyllic childhood. Until our mother died, anyway. Then everything changed.”

  Rosemary placed her hand on her heart. “I’m so sorry. How old were you when she passed?”

  “Only a girl. I was nine; Henry was fourteen.”

  “And shortly after her passing, Henry went to live with your mother’s brother, correct?”

  “Yes. And, other than short visits here and there in the intervening years, I haven’t spent any time with him until now. I was so excited when I found out he was coming home to become a partner in Father’s business. But then Father shuffled him off to New York right away to care for this fledgling company. We barely shared more than a few dinners before he left again.”

  Rosemary caught the rapid eye blinks from Marguerite, and realized her line of questioning had brought the young woman close to tears. She glanced at her mother, in a silent plea for help.

  Charlotte picked up the reins of the conversation. “Well, you’re here now for however long you can stay, and you’ll be able to make up for lost time.”

  Marguerite seemed buoyed by Charlotte’s words. “In fact, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, Henry and I want to take Rosemary to dinner tomorrow evening, if it will be all right with you and Mr. Fitzpatrick. We want to try Downing’s Restaurant.”

  “I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Charlotte replied. “Downing’s is a favorite of ours. In fact, one of our daughters, Heather, met her future husband in that particular restaurant one evening, a few years back.”

  “So it already holds good memories for your family. Perhaps we will be able to create some more.”

  Charlotte reached across the space separating her from Marguerite, and patted her hand. “I’m counting on it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Henry placed his napkin on the table and gazed at the two women with whom he was seated. Life didn’t get much better. His two favorite ladies were with him, enjoying a succulent meal of lobster tails, red potatoes, mixed vegetables, and fragrant, yeasty dinner rolls.

  “I declare, every man in Downing’s restaurant tonight is envious of me right now since I’m sitting with the two most attractive women here. You’re right, Miss Fitzpatrick. Downing’s is an excellent choice for dinner. To be able to share the meal with you both only makes it better.”

  Marguerite replied with a smile in his direction. “Dear Henry. You’ve become quite the romantic.” She stage-whispered to Rosemary, “Must be all the time he spent in New Orleans with Uncle Jacques that did it.”

  Henry grimaced. “Well, it certainly wasn’t from being in Boston with Father.”

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we? Fill Rosemary in on our plans, why don’t you? After all, the business is part of the reason we brought her here this evening.”

  “Yes, of course. Forgive me, Miss Fitzpatrick, for allowing talk of our father to dampen this evening. But he is, in fact, the reason we’re making plans of our own. Marguerite has a great head for the details of the business. I’m better at ideas and promotion. So, we’ve decided to head up this branch of Cooper and Son together.” His lips turned up in a wry smile. “Of course, we will have to change the name a bit.”

  Henry was anxious to gauge Rosemary’s expression as his words took hold. Her eyes widened as she turned first to him, then to Marguerite. “How wonderful! Marguerite did hint at this after dinner last night, but I’m pleased to have you announce it officially. So this is why you were so interested in hearing about my sister’s business. I’m thrilled for you both.”

  Marguerite replied, “Together, we are hopeful we can overcome our father’s objections to me having a career as well as a marriage.”

  Marguerite brought some folded correspondence out of her reticule, the paper crackling as she laid the pieces open on the table. “I’ve been going over the accounting books, Rosemary, and I understand you are acting as our liaison for Mr. Elliott. Based on the amount of sales generated for the Harry Hawk series, we want to include him in our future plans.”

  Henry noticed Rosemary’s gulp. “Wha—what kind of plans? You mean you want to continue the Harry Hawk series? Or do you want a different character now?”

  Marguerite grabbed one of Rosemary’s hands and continued. “No, it’s more than that. In Boston, there is a talented group of individuals who have begun a wonderful magazine they call The Atlantic Monthly, where they discuss the goings-on in the city as well as current national events. There’s always a column or two featuring local authors and their work. We want to do the same thing here in New York, and print a chapter at a time of some of our most popular books. And we want to begin by featuring F.P. Elliott’s work. It will, we hope, find new readers for all his stories. We may reissue some of his earlier works if there’s enough interest.”

  Rosemary took a long sip from her water glass. Henry bit his lip as he waited for her reply. Would she now reveal who the real author was?

  She ran her hand over her hair before she replied. “And how will Mr. Elliott be compensated for his contribution? Will you offer a flat rate, or pay royalties based on how many sales you have of the entire magazine each month?”

  Henry grimaced slightly. Perhaps he was mistaken, and there really was a crazy Uncle Frank somewhere in the house. He’d given her an opening a mile wide and she hadn’t ridden through it. Instead, she was all business as usual. He shifted in his seat and glanced at her. Clear, gray eyes stared back at him, expecting an answer. He could detect no sign of any subterfuge.

  “We’re still running the numbers on a couple different scenarios, so I can’t tell y
ou yet how payment will be determined. But is it of some interest? We need to know before we proceed with our plans.”

  Rosemary’s cheeks flushed, and she busied herself for a moment brushing off the tablecloth. “Yes, I think there will be some interest,” she said finally. But before Henry could gloat, she turned to Marguerite and changed the subject.

  “How do you think your father will react to the news that you’re starting up a magazine?”

  She was sidestepping the issue. Again. Henry blew out a small breath in frustration as he answered for his sister. “Despite what Marguerite believes, I have no doubt the news of her joining me here on a permanent basis and starting up the magazine will tip him over the edge, and he’ll remove me as head of the company and sell it. But, thanks to your father, we have a plan of our own in place, as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marguerite and I visited your father a few days ago and presented our business model to him. He has offered to fund our endeavor if it plays out as we expect it to.”

  “So your father will have no stake in this new magazine?”

  “Not if we can help it.” Henry growled in response.

  “Oh, Henry, don’t let your feelings for Father upset our evening.” Marguerite leaned over and patted his hand. “Father may be old-fashioned in his ideas on what a woman’s role is, but he’s basically a good person.” The two siblings glared at each other.

  Rosemary glanced from one to the other, then around the room, searching for an avenue of escape. “Oh, look. Mr. Downing just came in. I’ll go say hello.” She rose from the table and walked toward the back of the restaurant. Henry had risen when she had, but sat again. He addressed his sister.

  “At least Miss Fitzpatrick had the good manners to excuse herself from our discussion. After I promised myself we would not sully the evening by discussing Father, here we are, doing just that. You and I will never see eye to eye on the subject. ‘Good’ people, as you refer to him, don’t ship their young sons off to someone else to raise.”

  Henry’s speech took on an icy tone. “Father made the mistake of having an affair with someone who was not a Boston blue blood, and ended up marrying her to make me legitimate. But we both know he considered it a mistake. One he had to live with every day until Maman died. Then, because I resemble her side of the family, he shipped me off as soon as he could, so he and all of Boston didn’t have a daily reminder of his lapse in judgment. He could be welcomed back into Boston’s finest homes again, as long as there was no evidence. I figured it out soon enough. Why else would he let you stay in Boston while I had to leave?”

  “Is that really how you see it, Henry?” Marguerite asked.

  “Is there any other way to interpret his actions? Those are the facts, Marguerite.”

  “Yes, there is a different story, and I’m surprised a romantic such as yourself can’t figure this out. Indeed, he did send you away because you were a constant reminder of Maman. But not because you were a reminder of his lapse in judgment. You were a reminder of the one true love in his life, a love he lost too soon.”

  Henry stared at his sister as her eyes filled with tears before she continued. “I always wondered why you hated Father so. You shut me down every time I’d bring it up in our letters, or totally ignored that part of our correspondence. And all this time, there’s been no need.”

  Henry blinked. In his rage at being sent away from the home and the sister he loved, he had maintained his own version of why he was sent away and ignored Marguerite’s interpretation of events. “So, there’s no need for us to anticipate he’ll sell the company?”

  “Oh, I think we need to plan for that. But because of me this time, Henry, not you. However, our plans are in place, and I believe we’re doing the right thing. Now, are you going to tell me when you plan to propose to Rosemary?”

  Henry’s head whipped up as he locked eyes with his sister. “How did you know?”

  Marguerite placed her napkin on the table and shifted in her chair. “Well, it’s so obvious you two are in love with each other. Why are you waiting?”

  “Because she has a very big secret she hasn’t told me yet. I truly thought this evening, with the announcement of our plans, she would end her duplicity. But she chose to avoid it again. Until she reveals all of herself to me, I can’t propose.”

  • • •

  Several days later, Rosemary and Marguerite, along with Dorcas, emerged from the hatmaker’s shop, laughing as they juggled the large hatboxes and their other purchases.

  “Maybe we need to place our new hats in the carriage before we go to lunch.” Rosemary motioned with her head to the waiting conveyance with Robert, the groomsman, at the helm. He climbed down from the seat and assisted the ladies as they divested themselves of their packages before moving on to the restaurant for the meal.

  As they settled themselves around the table, Rosemary took a moment to contemplate the two women sitting with her. She was intrigued by them both. Marguerite, because she was a connection to Henry, and Dorcas, because she was brimming over with some news she had yet to reveal. Rosemary hadn’t had a chance to caution Dorcas on not saying anything to Marguerite about F.P. Elliott. So she was sending up silent prayers as she surveyed the pink linen tablecloth and the bouquet of baby’s breath and roses, in shades of pink, from one so pale it was almost white to one on the opposite end of the spectrum, a deep, rosy color. She reached out and touched a petal, luxuriating in its softness. Henry’s lips are this soft.

  Gasping a bit at her wayward thoughts, she glanced up into Marguerite’s eyes. Her smile was enigmatic, and it flustered Rosemary. That’s the way Mother smiles when she’s on to something. Does Marguerite know I’m familiar with Henry’s lips? Oh dear. She turned her attention to Dorcas instead.

  “So, my dear, you’ve been fairly bursting to tell us something since we picked you up. What is it?”

  Dorcas grabbed one of Rosemary’s hands and one of Marguerite’s, and squeezed them tightly. “I do have big news. Hold on to your new hats, ladies. I’m getting married!”

  “Congratulations!” Marguerite squealed.

  “What?” Rosemary dropped Dorcas’s hand. “This isn’t even a bit funny, Dorcas.”

  “You’re absolutely right, it’s not funny. But it is wonderful, and exciting.”

  “Who is it? You’ve not said a word about any gentleman to me.”

  Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Yes, I have. But, as usual, you had your head in the clouds and weren’t listening. I must say, as best friends go, you’ve been remarkably absent since the Cotillion.”

  “I’ve been kind of busy,” Rosemary bristled.

  Dorcas glanced from her friend to Marguerite and back again. “Yes, I know. Your ‘Uncle Frank’ has been keeping you running. That, and your fencing lessons with Henry Cooper.” She returned her gaze to Marguerite. “Can you believe Rosemary’s taken up fencing?”

  Rosemary was desperate to redirect the conversation. “So, tell me now. Who is your young man?”

  “We met the night of the ball, shortly after you caused such a scene by fainting and left. I told you the doctor who worked on you and I spent the remainder of the evening together after you left.”

  “I do remember you telling me that, but I was unaware you were continuing to see him.”

  “Well, fortunately, he agreed to continue our discussion after the Cotillion. Phillip is quite handsome. And charming. When he discovered we had mutual interests, he began calling on me. And as you say, you have been busy since the Cotillion. A girl has to fill up the time somehow.”

  Marguerite interrupted Dorcas. “Wait! I need to catch up.” She turned to Rosemary. “You passed out at your own Cotillion?”

  “Yes, but it’s of no consequence. Let’s hear more about Dorcas’s young man.”

  Dorcas glanced at Marguerite. “She doesn’t want you to know she passed out when she spied Henry at the ball. That’s the kind of effect he has on her, in case you hadn’t notice
d.”

  Rosemary placed her hands on her cheeks, hoping to staunch the heat rising into them. Leave it to Dorcas to totally humiliate her. And to show no regret about it.

  Marguerite smiled over at her and pulled one of her hands from her cheek in order to capture it with her own. “Henry is a very good-looking man, isn’t he? It’s no wonder you are infatuated with him.”

  Rosemary removed her hand from Marguerite’s. “I am not infatuated with your brother.”

  “Yes, you are,” Dorcas replied.

  Damn her, anyway.

  “Yes, you are.” Marguerite nodded in agreement. “And, if it is any consolation, he’s as entranced by you as you are by him.”

  “Really?” Rosemary and Dorcas asked in the same breath

  Marguerite smiled and picked up her teacup. “Yes, really. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposes soon. But we’re getting away from the subject of Dorcas and her young man. Do tell, Dorcas. And we want all the details about your Phillip.”

  While Rosemary truly did want to know everything about Dorcas and her beau, she was ready to pounce all over Marguerite and her statement about Henry’s intentions toward her. Dorcas’s timing was really awful. But she was Rosemary’s dearest friend, and this behavior was nothing new. In fact, it was typical of Dorcas. Rosemary corralled her wayward thoughts and settled back.

  “Yes, Dorcas, do tell. And don’t leave out a drop of detail.” She gave an enigmatic smile back to Marguerite. There. She could return to Henry’s side and tell him Rosemary was not at all fazed by the notion Henry might propose.

  • • •

  Marguerite had been deposited back at her private quarters above the publishing house, and Dorcas and Rosemary were finally alone in the carriage. Rosemary’s gaze flickered over Dorcas’s face. She still seemed excited by the events of the day and by her big revelation. Rosemary hoped she could pay proper penance, took a deep breath, and crossed her fingers.