The Ringmaster's Wife

by Kristy Cambron

  “We have to find a flower shop. I should have a bouquet, shouldn’t I? Pink roses. That’s what we need now. Pink roses to say ‘I do.’ ”

  “You may have all the roses you can carry, Mable. And collect all the dreams you want,” John whispered. “We’ll live them together.”

  CHAPTER 16

  1927

  NEW YORK CITY

  Crowds had never bothered Rosamund.

  Though she had only performed at small street fairs and local village carnivals, some were large enough to amass an audience of a hundred or more, and she’d performed well each time.

  This was very different.

  The roar of the crowd was like nothing she’d ever heard.

  It was a sea of thousands, shouting and clapping through every spectacle before them. The vault of blue sky she and Ingénue were used to performing under had been transformed into a bower of rope, steel, and electric lights, every bulb flashing down on the great circus rings like spotlights on an immense stage.

  She waited in the wings with Annaliese and Owen, watching the Rossi Family Flyers thrill the crowd with spectacular feats of daring through the Garden’s iron sky.

  Frankie and Enzo had been perfectly paired, soaring in ice-blue sequined jumpsuits that flashed with each toss and catch of the bars, the spotlights following their majestic dance through the air. Marvio, too, was distinguished in his performance. He led the troop with gusto, tossing and catching the magnificent Bella Rossi as if she were a weightless bird. And the crowd was mesmerized.

  Even Rosamund found herself watching, her jaw dropping at the artistry and absolute flawlessness of Bella’s performance.

  Bella soared. Smiling. Dancing on air. Proving she was the queen of the center ring. And even down to her final flips through the air it was clear as day: the star had drawn a line in the sawdust, proving her worth.

  Bella bowed low, accepting the thunderous applause, fawning under the adoration of the crowd. She turned luxurious circles in the ring, still pandering with bows as the next act began to move in.

  The cue of the circus band couldn’t drown out the roar.

  Rosamund stood waiting in the wings, transfixed, as Bella exited the ring and sauntered in her direction.

  “Where is your costume, dear Rosamund?” Bella tossed back over her shoulder, freezing Rosamund with her glare. “You were supposed to be in yellow, were you not?”

  Rosamund’s heart catapulted in her chest, throwing her mind into a bevy of destructive thoughts. She watched Bella disappear into the shadows beyond the performers’ entrance, swishing the blue satin cape she’d pulled across her shoulders.

  “Rosamund!” Owen shouted, snapping attention away from the icy vision who’d just left her gaping in her wake.

  “Get your head out of the clouds. That’s us!”

  Annaliese had pushed her mount forward at the band’s cue and was already following a line of liberty horses trotting out under the lights.

  “Right.” Rosamund nodded, seeing the gap she’d allowed, and nudged Ingénue forward into the spotlight.

  “Ring three,” Owen called out, then left her as he led a group of liberty horses out to their place in the center ring.

  For the possibly thousands of times she’d ridden bareback before, this was the one time Rosamund was most keenly aware of every step her horse took. Their trotting was clipped and rough. She noticed a tenseness to the muscles in Ingénue’s back, could feel the rise and fall of her thighs with the horse’s shallow breathing.

  Ingénue jerked her head up after every few footfalls, fighting against the bit in her mouth.

  “I know, lady,” Rosamund whispered between her teeth, trying to show a smile to the face of the crowd. “I know. I’m just as scared as you are.”

  Rosamund smoothed her hand against Ingénue’s back, rubbing in a circular motion by the withers, trying her best to keep her horse calm. Even if her own heart was thundering in her chest. She breathed in and out, fighting for focus as the lights bore down.

  “We can do this,” she said, as much for her benefit as for the mare’s.

  They moved through the motions, rolling through the act Owen had choreographed for them in the months they’d spent training in Sarasota.

  First, riding round the ring balancing in a standing position. She’d raise her leg to a pointed perch while Ingénue soared, turning them into ballerinas dancing in circles.

  Rosamund stooped, kneeling for her forward somersault.

  It was a trick she’d never worried about before. But this time—her breathing was choppy. Her legs shaking. She flipped up and over, grateful when her feet found Ingénue’s back again instead of finding that they’d tumbled to hard ground.

  The crowd responded with applause. They roared, mesmerized to a fever pitch.

  Rosamund might have liked it, even might have had time to notice as Bella did. But her palms were growing moist, slipping against any hold she sought. She felt her legs grow even shakier with each trick, her confidence more and more unsteady. Until the moment arrived for a backbend, in which she’d stand and fall back in an arch midstride, then carry through with a backflip dismount.

  She told herself to focus.

  To put Bella’s performance and the veiled malice she’d shown out of her mind.

  Rosamund tried to envision the fields of Easling Park instead of the sea of faces whizzing past. But the lights and the show—her every thought—jumbled together in a fog, muddling her senses until her focus finally snapped and she felt her arms unable to hold fast any longer.

  Without warning her hands slipped from the bridge of Ingénue’s back and she fell from her backbend down to the sawdust beneath the horse’s hooves, jarring her head against the ground.

  The crowd released a chorused gasp.

  Rosamund shook her head. She tried to see through the fog that had overtaken her vision. Everything was a haze of color and sound. And though Rosamund had several more tricks to run in their routine, nothing made sense except to crawl on all fours to find what safety she could at the side of the ring.

  A pair of arms wrapped around her middle.

  Dark arms, belonging to Owen, picking her up from the ground. He shouted at her to get out of the ring before she was trampled.

  It took but a second to fall from Ingénue’s back. Another to stumble out of the ring with the knowledge that Bella Rossi had proved her place in the show.

  Winning the crowd as the “English Rose” wouldn’t happen on this night.

  Any star power she might have possessed wilted before it had been given the chance to bloom.

  “You decent?”

  Colin rapped his knuckles on the side of a trunk before stepping into the backstage dressing area. He found Rosamund sitting on a crate, holding a poultice of ice against her elbow.

  She looked up, nodding him in.

  “Decent? I suppose that’s relative to whether you were seated in the audience tonight.”

  “Well, I agree it could have gone better,” Colin admitted, folding his arms across his chest. “Minnie told me there was some damage to your costume. Did that shake you up before you went out there?”

  “That was nothing. Just something that happens from time to time. She got me a replacement.”

  “Okay. But that wasn’t the same Rose I’ve been watching train for weeks. Something shook you tonight. What was it?”

  Normally Rosamund would have welcomed him to sit, as she had at the cottage in Sarasota. But now? He watched as she drew in a deep breath. She looked as though she was willing herself to keep from crying in front of him.

  “You’ve done that backbend and dismount hundreds of times. You want to tell me what happened out there?”

  “I don’t know .
. .”

  “A jittery horse is to be expected in her first show. Was it Ingénue?”

  “I’d never blame her.”

  He whistled low. “So who’s responsible for your near death out there? If Owen hadn’t dragged you out of the ring, I would have done it for him. You were nearly trampled to death.”

  “Colin, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. There’s no way I can win over that crowd. It’s impossible.”

  “Not true. And the crowd is the last thing you should be worrying about right now,” he added, trying to make light through the pain of her bruised ego.

  Colin couldn’t shake the instinct that he was right about Rose. She could be a star. He’d already seen it in her. He just hoped she’d realize it sooner rather than later, or things could get mighty ugly for him in the process. He had a feeling that if Rose failed, it could spell disaster for them both.

  He walked over, scraping a stray crate across the floor to a stop in front of her. With a sigh, he sat down.

  “The crowd isn’t why I’m here, Rose. We need to talk.”

  Rosamund looked up.

  Despite their growing friendship, Colin knew he had to play the boss now, and from the evidence flooding over her face, he could see that Rose recognized the change.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She gingerly rubbed her elbow, but shook her head.

  “I can’t show any special treatment to you, Rose. We both saw what happened out there. But I’d wager your view of it looked worse while sitting in the sawdust.”

  “I’ve never fallen before. Not like that. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Every performer falls now and again. And it might surprise you to know that my view of it includes offering grace when it’s warranted. Despite a failure.” Colin grimaced, reminding himself that he wasn’t above feeling as she did now. For how disappointed he was, Rosamund surely felt ten times worse.

  He kept his tone firm, but not so much as to damage what pride she had left.

  “But you were looking up, Rose. Owen warned you about that. And so did I. You forgot everything he taught you.”

  “But you don’t know what it’s like out there. There were thousands of people. Lights in our eyes everywhere we looked. Ingénue and I are not used to that! You can’t expect me to march out there and perform like I’ve got years of experience under my belt. Not when this is all brand-new.”

  He shook his head.

  “Years of experience . . .,” he started, then stopped short of adding like Bella at the end of it. He didn’t need to.

  It all made sense.

  The showstopping star had given a flawless performance. The interaction Rose had with Bella on the London train platform might have been worse for her than he’d initially thought. Or maybe there was something more going on behind the scenes. Perhaps Bella had gone out of her way to make Rose feel every bit the newcomer, despite his expectation that she act in a professional manner.

  Colin squeezed his eyes shut on a drawn-out exhale, wanting to curse. Maybe to punch something. Certainly to fire someone, if necessary. He’d never had to do it with a top star in the show before, but he was confident he could warm up to it if need be.

  “What did she do?”

  “Who?”

  Colin sent Rosamund a direct look, one that he hoped would show her he didn’t want to fight. All he wanted was the truth.

  “You know who. Bella.”

  I just want to help, he willed, keeping his eyes connected with hers.

  Rosamund kept her head up, still meeting his gaze, but she looked utterly miserable.

  Colin knew she wasn’t spineless—quite the contrary. He had the utmost respect for the way she’d been brave already, stepping out of the life she’d always known and daring to dream something different. But in the moment, doubt crept in.

  Doubt for the instincts he’d had back in England.

  Maybe Rose wasn’t ready. And maybe she never would be.

  “I’m on your side, Rose.”

  “I know,” she started, then paused to tuck a few stray locks behind her ear. “But this time I can’t blame anyone but myself.”

  “But something had to happen. You didn’t look like you do in practice, not from the moment you led Ingénue out there in that ring.” Colin shook his head at her. “On opening day. At Madison Square Garden. With the Ringlings in attendance. Rose . . .”

  “The Ringlings were here?” Rosamund eased her forehead down in her palm.

  “Yes. They’re in New York for business and stopped in to see the show.”

  “I’m sorry for that. I really am. But maybe I’m not supposed to do this. Maybe you thought you saw something in me that you really didn’t. Ingénue and I, we’re made of flesh and bone. We’ll make mistakes. Neither of us can expect perfection in our first or even tenth performance.”

  “But it’s what this show demands. It’s perfection or someone gets hurt. Everyone here does their part. We’re a team. A family traveling on that train we’re loading. Whether a person performs under stage lights or not, whether man or beast, if just one performer fails, then we all do. It’s a balance, Rose. And I’m sorry, but you fell flat with it tonight.”

  “Up to now, I’ve been a joy rider doing tricks in a field. I’m not a professional, Colin.”

  “You became a professional the moment you signed the contract we gave you. And don’t discount your abilities. You’ve done much more than riding in a field. Owen went down to Florida expressly to work with you. For months. Please don’t tell me that his time was wasted. Yours either. Don’t tell me any of it was.”

  Rosamund bit the corner of her lip and looked down to the sequin-sparkling tips of her riding slippers.

  They’d worked hard for weeks, Rose and Ingénue, with Owen guiding them. She’d performed the tricks hundreds of times. And yes, Colin had to admit she’d looked ready. But it took about five seconds of introspection to realize that though he wanted her to succeed, it wouldn’t be accomplished on skill alone.

  “Here’s what I saw: you were watching the flyers, weren’t you? You had your eye on Bella before you ever set foot in that ring. You forgot everything you’ve been working for, Rose, and you handed her your performance tonight.”

  “I know I did.”

  Rosamund clamped her eyes shut, sending a fresh pang of regret to burn the inside of his chest. She was broken and bruised, and he hated to feel the cause of it.

  “But . . .,” he added, with the compassion he knew Rose needed in the moment. “Little-known secret: everyone is a disaster their first time in the ring. It’s not fatal, Rose. I just want you to remember what you have to prove—for yourself and everyone out there in that ring—you can do it.”

  “Shall I go down fighting then? I’m overjoyed that no one from Easling Park came over for my debut. At least I can hold on to that, hmm?”

  “You didn’t tell me you’d invited your parents.”

  “I sent them a wire.”

  Rosamund’s shoulders dipped. The backstage light was dim, but Colin could see enough through the shadows to note the unmistakable trembling of her chin.

  “I’m so sorry they didn’t come.”

  “It’s a long voyage for one routine, isn’t it?” She paused, toying with the end of a sequined length of satin from her skirt. “The truth is, I don’t know if I can do this. And it wouldn’t matter if they’d chosen to support me, not if I really believed in myself.”

  “You can do this, Rose.”

  “How? How do you know that?”

  “Because I believe in you. And I chose you, Rose.”

  Colin stopped, shocked that he’d actually said the thought aloud. The sentiment was one of familiarity—one that couldn�
��t rely on a platonic relationship between show boss and employee forever.

  He wanted—no, needed—her to know that her presence there wasn’t a mistake.

  Rosamund remained silent.

  She blinked, an earnestness covering her features. It was enough that he pulled back from the connection of her green eyes to his.

  He clapped his hands against his legs and stood to leave.

  “Remember what you said to me in the stable at Easling Park? It was your wish to live a new life. Well, this is the life. And if you could forget what you think you’re supposed to do for one minute, you just might ride out into that ring and have the most fun you’ve ever had.”

  Have fun.

  He reminded Rose of the words she’d whispered to Ingénue after the first ride they’d had in Florida. He hoped they were well placed now.

  “Stay here, okay? I want to send the doctor in to check you over.” When she opened her mouth to counter, Colin raised a hand to stop her. “And no disagreement this time. We’re not standing on the side of a creek. We’ve got a process to how things are done here. Anyone falls in the ring, the doctor is sent in. No arguments.”

  She nodded understanding. Even graced him with the hint of a thankful smile as she readjusted the muslin pack of chipped ice on her elbow.

  “Chin up, Rose. The show rolls in two days, and we’ll start again.” He turned to leave. He wasn’t sure he could stand another moment of watching the pain flooding those beautiful green eyes . . .

  “Colin?”

  He turned back. Was jarred by the welcoming green once again.

  “Yes?”

  She drew in a deep breath, then offered, “Thank you.”

  “You’re still my star, Rose. I know I’m right about you. But we can’t work with anything less than your whole heart out there. You’ve always known your own mind. So get out there and prove it to everyone else.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “May I join you?”

  Rosamund recognized the voice immediately.

  She turned, jumped, and nearly overturned the crate she’d been seated on in her haste to pop up to a proper standing position.