by Diane Gaston
He leaned on one elbow to look at her. ‘You knew of that?’
She nodded. ‘Lord Tannerton told me a long time ago.’
The hard planes of his face seemed to soften. ‘Working for a prince is no longer my dream, Rose. My dream is you.’
She was afraid to believe him. ‘You don’t need to be worrying about me.’ She took another breath. ‘I was thinking I could sell my pianoforte. It would give me a little money, enough to go home. To Ireland. I’m thinking my old school might still want me to teach music.’ Or scrub the floors or work in the scullery, it did not matter.
He leaned down and kissed her so tenderly she ached with longing again. ‘Come to Ireland with me.’
She wrinkled her brow.
He smiled. ‘I want to marry you, Rose.’
She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his fingertips on her lips.
‘Do not pretend you do not wish to marry me, Rose. I was at Vauxhall. I heard the truth in your song.’
Her heart beat faster. He’d learned the truth in the songs, just as she had.
His eyes filled with pain. ‘I almost lost you, Rose. I’ll not chance losing you again.’
She flung her arms around him. ‘You’ll not be losing me, Jameson Flynn.’
Tanner’s head still hurt like the devil, but he’d risen early, dressed—or rather his valet dressed him—and had been reasonably coherent when the magistrate had come with his interminable questions.
To Tanner’s surprise, everyone who had been involved in the previous night’s fracas were gathered in his drawing room for the magistrate’s visit. Rose, Katy, the Bow Street Runners—even Cummings was there. Flynn explained that Rose, Katy and Cummings had stayed the night, which certainly must have given the servants plenty to gossip about. Tanner wondered how long it would be until the whole of Audley Street knew he’d housed not one, but two ladies of questionable virtue.
When the magistrate came, Flynn and the others had done most of the talking. Fortunate, because Tanner could barely string two words together, let alone remember the events as anything more than a jumble.
Now they had all left and the drawing room was blessedly quiet. Tanner lifted a cup of tea to his lips, tea being the only beverage he could tolerate with his headache, which was a pity.
He put the cup down and rested his eyes, flashes of memory still coming to him. He’d thwarted Greythorne in the end, all right, but at what cost?
He forced his eyes open. It was not in his nature to dwell on such unpleasantness, especially his role in it. Besides, his head pained him more when he tried to think.
There was a knock on the door, and Flynn poked his head in. ‘May I speak with you?’
Deuce. More talking. ‘Of course.’
Flynn entered, followed by Rose, who held on to his arm. Tanner tried to rise.
‘Do not stand, Lord Tannerton,’ she said solicitously.
He gratefully sank back into his chair. ‘Then please sit, both of you. Have some tea.’
They declined the tea and sat down next to each other on the settee.
‘There’s something I must be telling you, my lord,’ she began, her expression serious.
Lord, he was not in the mood to hear more unpleasantness. Then a memory returned. She’d started to tell him something in the carriage. ‘Oh, yes.’ He took another sip.
Flynn turned to her, placing his hand on hers. ‘You should allow me to say it.’
She looked back at Flynn, setting her chin firmly. ‘No. I must do it, Flynn.’
Tanner would be delighted if one of them said it so they could go on their way.
Rose turned her gaze to him. ‘It is only that I…I wish to back out of our arrangement.’
‘What arrangement?’ he asked, then it dawned on him. ‘Oh, our arrangement. I’d quite forgotten about that.’
She continued, ‘I know you spent a lot of money on me—’
He was having difficulty following the thread of her words. What had money to do with it? He’d been engaged in a contest, had he not? He always spent money to win a contest. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’
Flynn broke in. ‘It is my doing, Tanner. Mine alone. I have a confession of my own—’
Tanner groaned. Now he must listen to Flynn bare his soul? Could they not get to the point?
He released an exasperated breath. ‘One of you. Explain.’ His head hurt too much to make sense of their nonsense. He lifted his teacup to his lips.
Flynn leaned forward. ‘Rose does not wish to become your mistress, Tanner, because she is to become my wife.’
Tanner almost dropped his cup. ‘What?’
‘It is something that happened between us from the first. And then we were in each other’s company so often, it just grew stronger,’ Rose explained. ‘But I was most at fault. I wanted Flynn, you see. He resisted. He was always loyal to you.’ She glanced away as if considering. ‘Well, loyal except the one time, but I had insisted on being with him. Twice if you count last night.’
Tanner just stared at her.
Flynn spoke up. ‘I wanted her just as much as she wanted me. Rose cannot take all the blame on to herself.’
Tanner held up his hand, comprehension reluctantly dawning. ‘You mean to tell me you two were in bed together behind my back?’
They glanced at each other, but said nothing.
Tanner stared back at them. ‘You carried on this affair the whole time?’ He shook his head.
And burst out laughing.
‘Lord Tannerton?’ Flynn looked at him as if he were crazy.
He tried to sober himself. Laughing created havoc with his headache. ‘I’ll be damned. I had no idea. No suspicion whatsoever. Right under my nose.’ He pressed his hand on his chest.
Rose and Flynn began speaking all at once about falling in love at first sight at Vauxhall. About Flynn asking her to marry him and her refusing at first. About how he would write to the Duke of Clarence, refusing the position. Rose apologized for taking his money for the voice lessons and for the ghastly King’s Theatre opera, and Flynn said he would repay Tanner for everything, which was quite illogical. Flynn did not have that kind of money.
Rose looked at him with sympathy. ‘It is for the best for you, too, Lord Tannerton. Like the song said, lovemaking should be be “full of love and full of truth.” Otherwise it is not love.’
He congratulated himself at asserting some self-control. He refrained from rolling his eyes.
‘We have no desire to embarrass you in this, Tanner,’ Flynn went on after a tender look at Rose. ‘We will go to Ireland—’
‘Wait a moment!’ Tanner broke in. ‘You mean you are not coming back?’
They both looked stunned.
‘You would want me back?’ Flynn asked.
Tanner pressed his fingers to his temple. ‘Well, I do not know. A married secretary would not entirely suit, but surely you will return to London.’
‘I had assumed my presence in London would not be desired.’ Flynn said.
‘What of Miss O’Keefe’s singing? There is no theatre to speak of in Ireland, is there?’ Tanner had never known Flynn to speak such drivel.
‘Surely you will tell everyone not to hire me,’ Rose said.
‘Why the devil would I do that?’
These two must be in love, Tanner thought. Their brains were more addled than his was.
‘I cannot think with this headache.’ He pressed his hands to the top of his head. ‘Go off and get a special licence or something, but leave me now. We can determine your future at a…a future time.’
Flynn gaped at him. ‘You are not angry?’
Flynn’s words stopped him. He considered this. No, he was not angry, Tanner realised, although he ought to be.
‘I am persuaded you deserve each other.’ He made a shooing gesture. ‘Go.’
Rose and Flynn stood up, regarding him with so fond a look he felt like a favoured uncle or something as ghastly. Then Rose walked up to him and
placed a warm kiss on his cheek.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she whispered.
He glanced into her eyes, so filled with happiness and love that a sharp pang of envy shot through him.
His head hurt worse. ‘Go,’ he said again, more gently. ‘We’ll sort the rest out later.’
Flynn stepped forward and clasped Tanner’s hand. The expression of gratitude on Flynn’s face actually stirred Tanner’s emotions.
Flynn put an arm around the coveted Rose and the two walked toward the door, Rose turned back, and Tanner smiled at her.
When the door shut behind them, Tanner lowered his head into his hands, his eyes stinging.
It was not that he’d wanted her, because he knew now that it had been winning that had mattered, not winning Rose. It was just that he…envied them.
He glanced at the brandy decanter, but lifted the teacup to his lips instead. He supposed he’d have to tell Pomroy. He imagined relating all this to his friend. The dramatic confession. The tender love scene. He could just see Pomroy’s amused face. Tanner would never hear the end of it. A secretary cuckolding a marquess.
Tanner blinked away the stinging in his eyes and began to laugh.
Wait until he told Pomroy.
Epilogue
Dublin—October 1818
Flynn stood backstage, his heart still racing, as it had done unceasingly from the moment Rose stepped out on stage. The Dublin theatre was packed, although he suspected half the seats were taken up by Flynns and relatives of Flynns.
Ever since he and Rose had stepped off the ship at Belfast, husband and wife, they had been enveloped by a swarm of Flynns. His brother Aidan and sister Siobhan had met the ship that day, although Flynn had written that they would be travelling straight to Donnanew House, the home where he’d spent his boyhood, the home where his parents, Aidan and oldest brother Colman lived. Siobhan and her husband, with Aidan and his wife, escorted them to Donnanew House, to the welcoming arms of his mother and father, grey haired now and frailer than he’d like to admit.
Still, his mother and father made the trip to Dublin this day, to this new theatre for its opening night.
There were even a few O’Keefes in the audience. After they had arrived in Ireland, Flynn had searched out Rose’s family to inform them of her father’s death. It turned out Rose was not as bereft of family as she’d thought. Mr O’Keefe’s brother was still living. Miraculously, he and a number of cousins had welcomed her like a prodigal child.
It had been a year of miracles—this theatre itself one of them. Flynn still pinched himself to see if he really did own it, was really manager of its first production. Until he’d viewed the theatre, abandoned but needing little repair, he’d not realised this was the challenge for which his soul had yearned. He and Rose had brought it back to glorious life.
For the opening night, they’d staged a Sheridan classic, The Rivals, knowing its Mrs Malaprop would guarantee laughter and delight. Rose played Lydia and a more beautiful Lydia there never could be. They had just made it through the play, but still Flynn’s heart would not rest. Rose had stepped out on stage to sing a selection of songs.
The musicians began playing and Rose stole one glance to her husband before raising her voice:
When, like the dawning day
Eileen Aroon
Love sends his early ray…
Flynn laughed softly, remembering the night at Vauxhall when he’d first heard her sing this very song. How much had changed since that night.
Rose had transformed his life. She’d given him what he had not even known he’d lost. Happiness.
At the end of ‘Eileen Aroon,’ there was silence and Flynn’s stomach wrenched for Rose. The next moment, however, brought a shout of ‘Bravo!’ and waves and waves of applause.
Rose went on to sing other Irish songs, and he could feel the theatre-goers embrace her, more lovingly with each verse. At the final song, she needed to beg her audience to quieten down so they could hear her.
‘This is the last,’ she told them, and they groaned in disappointment. ‘You must sing along with me!’
Flynn’s brow furrowed. They had not planned such a thing. Rose gave him another glance, then hurried to where he stood in the wings. She pulled him back with her to the centre of the stage, hanging on to his arm as if fearing he’d run off. She was flushed with excitement.
Extending her free hand to the audience, she began to sing:
His hair was black, his eye was blue
His arm was stout, his word was true…
It seemed as if the whole body of the theatre gave a collective sigh. By the refrain, their voices—including Flynn’s own—were thundering:
Shule, shule, shule agra…
When the song came to the end, the audience rose to their feet. Flynn thought they might never cease their clapping, their ‘Bravos’ and ‘Well dones.’ Flowers cascaded on to the stage.
The other performers came out for final bows, but Rose did not release Flynn. It seemed an eternity before the audience settled down and rumbled their way to the exit doors.
Rose and Flynn had no more left the stage when Flynn’s parents and brothers and sisters met them and showered them with hugs and kisses. Flynn was grateful his family had accepted his new ambition, a somewhat unusual one for a landowner’s son. He doubted any English lord would have understood his choosing a poor Irish theatre over service to a Royal Duke. But none of that mattered any more.
Rose was being embraced by her uncle when she said, ‘I must hurry to the dressing room.’
Flynn began herding the relatives away. ‘Yes, we will see you all for supper at the hotel. It is all arranged.’ He found his father for another hug. ‘Thank you for it, Dad.’
He rescued Rose and put his arm around her as they walked to her dressing room.
‘I’m thinking it was wonderful, Flynn. I sang with my heart.’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘You were wonderful, Rose.’
She laughed. ‘Mr Hook would be proud of me.’
Flynn squeezed her tighter. ‘He would indeed.’
Her voice softened. ‘And my father, too.’
Flynn stopped to caress her cheek and look into her eyes. ‘I fancy your mother and your father are looking down at you this very moment and are feeling proud.’
She smiled and gave him a quick peck on his lips. ‘What would I be doing without you, Jameson Flynn.’
He did not answer, but he knew her life would have been quite different if the Marquess of Tannerton’s secretary had not been an overly ambitious Irishman who’d fallen deeply for her from first sight.
They hurried through the labyrinth of backstage until they reached her dressing room.
A young maid stood as they entered, an infant in her arms. ‘The babe just started her wailing,’ she said.
Rose reached for their daughter. ‘Oh, she’s hungry, poor dear.’ She held the baby for a moment, trying to quieten her, but the scent of her mother only escalated her cries. Rose handed her to Flynn. ‘Hold her for a moment. Dierdre, help me out of these clothes.’
Flynn gazed at the biggest miracle in his life, his daughter, only three months old, still needing her mother’s breast. ‘Now, hush, little rosebud,’ he murmured.
Soon Rose changed into a white gauze dinner dress, and her face was scrubbed clean of stage make-up. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her maid carried the costume out to be brushed and readied for tomorrow’s performance, and Rose settled in a chair to nurse the baby, whose suckling sounds were the only noise in the suddenly peaceful room.
Flynn gazed down at them. ‘Do you know how much I’m loving you, Rose, and my little rosebud, as well?’
Her beautiful green eyes glittered up at him. ‘I know,’ she whispered.
A knock sounded at the door and Flynn opened it a crack to see who it was. His assistant manager peeked in.
‘A gentleman to see you, Mr Flynn.’ He lowered his voice significantly. ‘A real gentleman.’
Flynn glanced over to Rose, who grabbed a shawl to cover herself and the baby, and he opened the door.
Lord Tannerton ambled in. ‘Thought I’d offer my congratulations,’ he said as if he’d just wandered away from his billiard table.
‘Tanner!’ Flynn exclaimed. ‘My lord.’ He was too dumb-struck to say more. Never had he anticipated that the Marquess of Tannerton would make the trip to Dublin.
‘Lord Tannerton!’ Rose cried happily. ‘We never expected you! How lovely of you.’
He gave Flynn a wink and crossed the room to Rose. ‘Are you hiding something?’
She moved the shawl away so he could see.
He gazed at the baby for a long moment. ‘She is just as Flynn described.’ He gave Rose a wistful smile. ‘As beautiful as her mother.’
Rose reached for his hand and squeezed it.
Flynn finally roused himself to walk over and shake Tanner’s hand. ‘I am speechless. Delighted you have come.’
Tanner found a chair and dropped himself into it. ‘Well, I had to see to my investment, did I not? There’s all manner of things I must attend to myself since I lost my secretary—my efficient secretary, I should say. This new one requires significant effort on my part.’
Flynn searched the room, finding the bottle of Irish whiskey he kept there. He poured Tanner a glass and handed it to him. ‘Investment is hardly an accurate word.’
When Flynn had written to Tanner to ask if the marquess would vouch for him for a loan, Tanner instead sent enough money to buy the theatre and to renovate it. He’d written it was a wedding gift, adding that Flynn could repay the amount if he wished, but there was no obligation.
