by Becky Lower
With a groan, he reached for her. Work could wait for another hour.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Marguerite stood in Henry’s office with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “I don’t care if you don’t want to. You must come to dinner with Father and me tonight. Now that the papers are signed, he’s heading back home to Boston in the morning. I will not have the two of you fighting with each other because of me.”
How had his mood shifted so quickly? Just an hour ago, he said goodbye to Rosemary after a most satisfying afternoon of making love with her. His intended. And the sooner the better. Now, he was about to go into the lion’s den with both his father and his sister.
“Fine.” His response was clipped, and his mood darkened considerably. “I’ll go, if only to prove to you that you’re not the only reason for our discord. Will my appearance there make you happy?”
“Oh, Henry,” Marguerite countered. “Don’t be such a dunce. I’ve told you why Father sent you off. You resemble our mother, and his heart broke again every time he set eyes on you. For no other reason, despite what you say or think.”
“Fine,” he replied again. “I’ll be there. But right now, I need to get some things done here. If we’re to start a magazine, I need to find some people to write articles, sell advertising, work the presses. I have copy ready for posters that I want to place around town. I need to get to the pressroom. I’ll meet you and Father at the appointed hour.”
After a busy afternoon putting his initial plans into place for the magazine, it was with some trepidation that Henry walked the blocks to his father’s hotel later in the day. His father and sister were already waiting for him in the dining room. As he took his napkin from the table and placed it in his lap, he nodded his head toward the man who’d given him life.
“Father.”
“Son.”
Marguerite glanced from one to the other before she raised a hand, swirling it in the air. “Well, I’m glad we got our titles sorted out. And I’m the daughter, the one who’s causing all the trouble. So, let’s talk.”
Henry and his father glanced at each other, but neither spoke.
His father cleared his throat. “All right, then. I’ll begin. While I don’t appreciate the backhandedness with which it was done, I do applaud you, Henry, for a brilliant business move.”
Henry blinked. He had not been expecting such a response from the man across the table. “Thank you, sir.”
“So, what are your plans?”
Henry shifted in his seat. “Well, one brilliant business move deserves another. I thought your idea of a whistle-stop train ride to sign books was a good one, so I think I’ll line it up for Rosemary’s next book. We’ll certainly create a buzz when it’s revealed who the true author of the Harry Hawk series is.”
“But before any kind of train ride out west happens, Father, Henry and Rosemary will marry, so you must return for the wedding ceremony!” Marguerite clapped her hands together at the news.
“Is it true, son? You plan to marry within a matter of weeks?” Maxwell’s head swiveled from his daughter to his son.
“Yes, it is.” Henry smiled through clenched teeth at his sister. He had not planned on telling his father of his hasty marriage plans yet.
Maxwell Cooper was silent for a long moment, as he played with his fork. Then his eyes lifted to Henry. “I hope she’s half the woman your mother was, and that you’ll be as happy as I was with her.”
“So what Marguerite has been saying is true? You loved our mother, in spite of how she impacted your acceptance into society?” Henry’s eyes bounced from his father to Marguerite and back again
“Yes, of course it’s true.”
“And the reason I was sent away wasn’t because you were ashamed of my appearance?”
Maxwell reached across the table and took Henry’s hand. Henry was surprised at the contact, and even more surprised to find tears in his father’s eyes. “I’ve never been ashamed of you a day in my life. I was a desperate man who couldn’t bear the sight of you because you have your mother’s coloring. It broke my heart all over again every time you came into view, so I did the only thing I could think of to preserve my sanity and to continue to live, instead of doing what I truly wanted, which was to follow your mother to the grave. I had you two children to take care of, and I did it the best way I could. I sent you off to live with your uncle, while I healed.”
“I had no idea.” Henry sat, stunned by his father’s confession.
“I have many regrets, Henry, and this is one of them. By the time I began to be aware of things again, I realized I’d done serious damage to you and our relationship. It seemed an impossible situation to overcome, so I let our feelings for each other deteriorate into anger instead of love. It was easier than trying to explain my reasons.”
“But what about your status within Boston’s society? I know how much you cherish your association with the other Brahmins.”
“I didn’t give a fig what they thought of me. I loved your mother in spite of what proper Bostonians thought. Her exotic appearance was intoxicating. And, in private, more than one man mentioned they were envious of me. It seemed they wanted someone as enticing as she for themselves, but only as a mistress, not a wife. When they shunned me because I chose to marry her, it hardened my resolve. I became a tycoon, buying up all their sorry businesses and turning them into profit centers. I had something to prove. The fact that they now have welcomed me back makes me smile. I’m too important in the business environment for them to shun me any longer.”
Marguerite glanced from one man to the other. “Didn’t I tell you so, Henry?”
“Yes, you did.” He turned to his father. “So I can be the prodigal son and return home anytime I want?”
“I’m still not in favor of you keeping Marguerite here and providing her employment when she should be finding a husband, but as for the rest, certainly.”
Henry sat silent for a moment. Then his eyes locked on his father’s. “What caused such an abrupt change of heart?”
Maxwell shrugged. “What can I say? I admire a man who employs good business tactics. You bought the business out from under me when I was so angry I just wanted rid of it, so you got it at a discounted price. You are going to start up a monthly magazine, something I’ve wanted to do in Boston, but James Lowell and his partners beat me to it. And you realized I had a good idea for promotion with the whistle-stop train tour, so you are going to use it. All sound business ideas. I didn’t think you had a head for the business, but I see now that you just didn’t have a head for business the way I was running things. I commend you.”
“Thank you, Father. It’s good to know I’ll be welcome when I return to Boston. But you’ll be coming back to New York before I head back to Boston. Rosemary and I are getting married as soon as we can. I’m sure her mother will want a formal wedding, but we don’t want to wait. The ceremony will take place soon, although I’d prefer it to be days instead of weeks.”
Maxwell reached across the table and clamped a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I understand. Your mother and I didn’t want to wait either. When it’s right, you just know it. But it would not do to begin your marriage by irritating your mother-in-law. Especially not one who’s raised such a fine woman as Miss Fitzpatrick. Let Rosemary and her mother plan the ceremony they want. Believe me, a bit of patience now will pay off in the long run.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Penelope’s eyes were round as saucers as the pirate keeled over dead. She ran into Harry’s arms. With one hand still holding a smoking gun, he wrapped her in an embrace. She was shaking like a dog that had just come in from the rain.
“Oh, Harry,” she said as she reached up and kissed him on the lips. “My hero.”
Rosemary stood still as the last straight pin was put into place on her wedding gown. Jasmine, the designer of the dress, rose from the floor, her slightly rounded belly protruding.
“I declare, every week, it gets h
arder and harder to crouch on the floor. It’s just lucky you’re getting married in a hurry. A few more months and someone else would be doing these alterations.”
Their mother chuckled. “I don’t think Rosemary had your condition in mind when she chose to marry quickly. Have you seen the groom? Such a handsome man.”
“Mother, please,” Rosemary lamented. But her body’s response as she got a visual image of Henry belied her feelings. She was warm all over, her nipples taut under the layers of fabric. She rolled her shoulders under the dress, in an effort to ease the friction.
Her mother came to Rosemary’s side and wrapped an arm around her. “Of all my children, you were the one I most worried about, since you seemed to have no interest in men. Her smile grew wistful. “Men other than Harry Hawk, that is.”
“I agree with your mother, Rosemary,” Dorcas chimed in. “Henry Cooper is certainly more appealing than Harry Hawk. Why, he’s almost as handsome as Phillip Rosecroft.”
Rosemary reached out to give her friend a playful swat on the bottom.
“Do stop moving around. You’re going to undo all the pins.” Jasmine removed the remaining pins from her mouth and placed them into the holder before she eyed Rosemary. She raised one hand and motioned in a circle. “Turn around. Let me see the whole dress. Quarter turns, please.”
The dress was beautifully done, in a light gray satin, with silk satin roses of pink embellishing the back, where the slight bustle formed into a cascade of fabric falling on either side. The back was the part of the dress that would be on display to the audience during the ceremony, and Jasmine’s gowns were almost as festive from the back as they were in the front. Rosemary ran her hand over the front of the gown. The material had been worked into a V shape over her rib cage, the V dipping slightly below the waist. She appreciated the way in which the dress highlighted her best features, and a darker gray ribbon woven into a design around the modest neckline drew attention to her matching gray eyes. It was an odd choice of color for a wedding gown, but then, Rosemary was no ordinary bride. She thought the pink roses were a nice touch, to liven up the fabric.
Dorcas murmured her approval, along with Jasmine. Dorcas had on her maid of honor gown of light pink, which matched the roses on the back of Rosemary’s dress.
Rosemary glanced over at her. “Your gown is lovely, too, Dorcas. Both this one and your own wedding gown. Thank you for letting me get married first, though.”
“Well, it’s only by a week. And it’s because I’m not the one Mabel Wentworth has been talking about. It’s most important for you to marry quickly. Are you happy with your matron of honor dress for my wedding?”
“Yes, dear Dorcas. Lilac is one of my favorite colors. I can’t wait to wear it.”
Dorcas turned from Rosemary to Jasmine. “Perhaps Marguerite will be the next one to have a wedding gown designed by you. She and my brother seemed to hit it off at the dinner last week.”
Dorcas and Rosemary grinned at each other. “Our plans did seem to work out well, didn’t they?” Their giggles filled the air.
“Have you given any thought to what kind of a veil you want, Rosemary?” Her mother picked up some gossamer netting and peered through it at her daughters and Dorcas. “This would be lovely, don’t you think? It even has a faint rose pattern on it. A perfect complement to your detail work, Jasmine.”
Rosemary glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. Her breath hitched as she took in the image of herself in her wedding gown. Unexpected tears threatened to escape, but she blinked them back as her mother draped the see-through fabric over her head. Slowly, she removed it and handed it back to her mother.
“I don’t want to wear a veil.”
“What do you mean? Every bride wears a veil.”
“Not this bride. I’ve spent almost my entire relationship with Henry being duplicitous, masking myself behind one persona or another. Now that the truth has come out, I only want to be Rosemary to him. And I certainly don’t want to cover myself up again. I owe it to Henry. I owe it to myself. So, no veil for me.”
Jasmine touched her sister’s shoulder, straightening out the sleeve of the gown. “Well, a veil would only cover up all my hard work on the back of the dress, so I applaud your decision. But being duplicitous did work in your favor. You still have your career as an author, and you’re gaining a dashing husband who supports your creativity. Now step out of the dress, so I can make the necessary alterations. It’ll be ready by Sunday, when you will marry.”
When she would marry. What a wonderful choice of words. She never thought she’d meet someone who could rival her heroes in her dime novels. Harry Hawk might be a hero on the pages of her books, but Henry Cooper was her hero in the pages of her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Two months later
New Series: Gold Dust Gulch by F.P. Elliott
Exclusive to The Cooper Publishing Company
Butch held the nugget of gold up to the sunlight, examining it. He glanced at the other gold on his hand—his wedding band. “Aw, Shirl, I wish you were still here. I’d skedaddle out of the gold fields as quick as a flash. All the gold in the world can’t keep a body warm at night.”
He scrubbed the tears from his eyes. Enough bellyaching about his poor, departed wife. He had gold to find.
Rosemary put her pen and paper away and strode to the rear of the rail car. She loved standing in the open, with the wind whipping the pins from her hair as the train sped from one town to the next. The scent of the passing fields of flowers mixed with the train’s smoke. When Henry joined her and wrapped his arms around her as the countryside sped by them, it was even better. They were on their way from St. Louis to the Wild West, with book signing stops along the way.
As she stood in the open, Rosemary contemplated the past few months. The steady beat of the train wheels against the rails soothed her nerves, which had been a jangle of late. First there had been her wedding, with Dorcas, Marguerite, and Jasmine in attendance. Then Dorcas’s wedding the following week. After those two events, the final Harry Hawk book had been released, with Harry on the cover, sitting astride a bison. The book was selling like hotcakes, to quote Harry himself.
After her book’s release, she, Henry and Marguerite had begun to plan the whistle-stop tour. Taking the train from New York to St. Louis had been the long-anticipated honeymoon portion of the trip, and had made for a welcome break in the whirlwind her life had become. Rosemary had been pleased to stop and spend some time in St. Louis with her sister Ginger, brother Basil, and their families, but she eagerly awaited the rest of the tour, and the trip to the Wild West and the gold fields.
As if he’d been reading her mind, Henry stepped outside to stand on the landing at the rear of the car as well, and put his arms around her. They stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Rosemary swaying up against Henry’s body as the train dipped and turned gently.
“Are you happy, darling?” Henry murmured as he rested his chin on the top of her head.
“Very much so. This is the most excitement I’ve had in a long time. I love the train, and now that we’re leaving the old states behind, it’s even more exciting.”
“The old states? Since when have you begun to talk as if you were a character in one of your novels?”
She reached up and captured his lips. “Since I no longer have to hide the fact that I’m the person penning them. The fact that I don’t need to soak my fingers for hours in lye is an added blessing. The purple ink is part of my daily makeup now. Don’t you agree, though, this train ride is exciting?”
“You mean, getting married to me wasn’t enough excitement for you?”
“Well, yes, it was lovely, especially with all Mother did to make certain the event was memorable. But this is aces high in my book.”
“Do you mean that literally or figuratively? Have you already begun another story? Perhaps one featuring a train?”
Rosemary turned in his arms and stared into the dark eyes sh
e’s been fascinated by from the very beginning of their acquaintance. “Well, of course, all of what I see along the way will make its way into my books sooner or later. Especially when we get to Pike’s Peak, and I can witness firsthand what all the scuttlebutt is about with the gold rush. But I’m quite content with my own band of gold.” She held her hand with its shiny band of gold up to the light.
“A small band of gold is all it takes to make you content?”
She wrapped her fingers around the queue of black hair whipping around his head. “That, and your warm body to lie next to at night. It’s all I ever wanted.” She tugged on the queue and brought his face to her level for a kiss. “Well, not quite. I also wanted to be taken seriously as an author. To come out from behind the blind of F.P. Elliott. To be known as the true creator behind Harry Hawk. You’ve allowed me to do all I’ve ever wanted, and more. You are truly my hero.”
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Author’s Note
If you’re reading this book, or any book, in e-book or paperback form, you can thank the dime novel. Dime novels, or penny dreadfuls, as they were referred to in England, were quickly written, often over-the-top potboilers featuring a damsel in distress and a larger-than-life hero. The dime novel became popular in the United States in the late 1850s and the 1860s, but versions of the idea were attempted for years before the dime novel actually gained popularity. They were the first wave of paperback books and were largely responsible for introducing reading for pleasure to the masses. The stories were written as standalones, so they could be read in any order, but they had recurring characters. Later on, when the dime novel format began to appear in magazines, they were usually written in installments and were known for their cliffhanger endings.
