A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  Delia looked up and, with relief in her eyes, squeezed Rose’s hands. “Joshua and his parents know, of course. Caleb and Edith…well you might have sensed Papa’s animosity. We stayed with them originally, but they discovered our secret and were most upset. They asked us to leave.”

  “Then I can certainly understand your father’s feelings.” Indignation sharpened her tone. “That was most uncharitable of them.”

  Delia shrugged. “As you saw with Edith, we’ve smoothed things over. Joshua would as soon everyone knew. But the Nortons are kind, tolerant….” Her mouth quivered. “I don’t want them judged because of me.” She released Rose’s hands and touched her stomach. “Or my baby.”

  The thought of anyone being so unkind to an innocent baby—to Andre’s grandchild—shot hurt through Rose. “Your baby will be beautiful, and I can understand you wanting to protect him or her from the small-mindedness of others.”

  “Papa will be relieved you know. I’ll let you tell him tomorrow, and the two of you can talk about our situation.”

  “No need for that,” Rose murmured. I wish to avoid more intimacy with him. Not that she could say so aloud.

  “In the morning, I’ll have Sam bring the crate from the attic and leave it in here. You stay in bed, and I’ll send up your breakfast. Come down after we return from the mercantile, and then we’ll convince Papa to stay home.” Delia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I believe we have a plan.”

  “You know…” Rose wagged a finger. “This confirms what I said at the tea party. You are just as manipulative as your father.”

  Delia chortled, leaned forward, grabbed Rose’s finger, and kissed her cheek, leaving behind the scent of perfume. “You make a wonderful conspirator.” With a mischievous smile, she turned, scooping up a stray plate on her way toward the kitchen.

  Even after Delia had left the room, Rose felt the soft touch on her cheek, evoking a maternal trembling in her heart, and an awareness of how physically barren of affection the last years had been. Some handclasps from Marty. Lots of hugs from Cora. But so much emptiness.

  Rose exhaled a sharp breath. Bad enough I must fight my feelings for Andre. I can’t fall in love with his family, too.

  * * *

  The next day went just as Delia and Rose planned. Instead of dressing and going downstairs for breakfast, Rose lingered in bed. Mornings had turned chill, although the afternoons warmed to a comfortable temperature with golden sunshine and a rich blue sky.

  Delia sent Tilda with a breakfast tray of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast, the perfect fare for someone not feeling well. Contentedly, she donned a warm bed jacket, propped herself against the pillows, and ate while starting The Country of the Pointed Firs.

  Snug in bed, Rose read for several hours. Only when, through her partially-opened window, she could hear everyone return from the mercantile, did she dress and go downstairs.

  In the parlor, Cora bubbled over with excitement. She caught Rose’s hand and dragged her to sit on the sofa, detailing all their purchases.

  Andre and Delia also settled into seats near them.

  After hearing icebox, two comfortable wing chairs, a kitchen table and chairs, and a four-poster bed, Rose frowned at Andre in exasperation. “You practically furnished a whole house!

  He beamed. “Absolutely.”

  “The mercantile must be huge to carry such furnishings.”

  “Not a bit.” His smile didn’t dim.

  Cora giggled. “Uncle Andre bought the Cobbs’ own furniture, although they have so much that a few pieces taken barely made a dent.”

  “Andre, you didn’t!” A sick feeling rumbled in Rose’s stomach. “Why that woman probably made you pay through the nose.”

  “You underestimate my magnetism and bargaining skills.” He chuckled, seeming not one wit abashed.

  Undecided whether to smack her forehead or his shoulder, she shook her head.

  Cora chuckled. “You should have seen him, Aunt Rose. By the end of her dealing, Mrs. Cobb was practically salivating at the idea of getting all new furniture for her home, when what she had was perfectly fine. She actually threw in a few crocheted doilies.” She giggled. “I can only imagine Mr. Bly’s face when he sees them. The wagons with everything are already on their way up the mountain.”

  “Now Cora and Mr. Bly will be comfortable. You can’t deny, Rose, how important it will be for him to be at ease in a bed or a chair, as well as have fresh and nourishing food to aid in his recovery?” Andre frowned and leaned in her direction. “Mr. Bly sacrificed much for our town, and his injury weighs on my conscience. This is the least I can do. Buck Skold has the resources of the Thompson ranch to support his healing. Mr. Bly doesn’t.”

  Rose let out a breath. “Well…the doilies are a bit much.” Thinking about the man’s reaction to them made her smile. “And just who is to give Mr. Bly the news that his house has been invaded and his life’s about to be turned upside down.”

  “His life already was turned upside down,” Cora said, placing a hand to her heart. “I’m going to make him right side up.”

  Somehow, I doubt that.

  Cora lowered her hand to her lap. “Dr. Fergus will break the news to Mr. Bly.”

  “We’ll stay well away from the danger zone.” Andre sent Rose a penetrating stare. “Delia said you were tired today. Are you well? Did you eat?”

  “Tilda took good care of me.” Rose pressed her fingertips to her temple. “A headache. I’m sure the discomfort will pass.”

  The gesture caught Cora’s attention. “Auntie Great, you never have headaches.” Her brows crinkling, she placed a cool palm on Rose’s forehead. “You’re a bit warm.” Frowning, she lowered her arm.

  “I’ll ask Cook to brew you some willowbark tea.” Delia’s eyes danced, although she stayed angled so only Rose could see her face. “With plenty of honey, of course, so it’s not so bitter.”

  “You probably overdid it yesterday. Too much socializing,” Cora said in an affectionate tone. She patted Rose’s shoulder and turned toward the others. “I declare, my aunt would live in a snail shell if she could.”

  “As long as she has books.” Andre’s gaze lingered on her, his expression tender.

  Rose looked away. “Thank goodness you didn’t inherit my snail-like tendencies,” she said to her niece, striving to make her tone light.

  “Perhaps you should rest today, Auntie Great.”

  Rose pressed her lips together to keep from smiling at her niece’s serious manner. “I need to go with you, dearest. See what you’re getting yourself into. I’m just a little tired, is all. No need to fuss. I’ll be fine.”

  “There’s absolutely a need to fuss,” Andre retorted. “You’ve been through a great deal lately, Rose.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t have given that tea party yesterday. Throwing you into the midst of a group of strangers. I blame myself. I know you don’t like that sort of thing, and I should have known better.”

  Rose couldn’t help being warmed by his words. She reached to touch his hand. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Andre. I’ve been doing so for a long time.” She remembered the role she was supposed to play and shot Delia a sideways glance. “In spite of how I feel, I have a duty to Cora.”

  “Rose—” Delia briefly placed a hand on her arm “—I promise you I will see to Cora’s well-being. Will you trust me to go in your stead and allow yourself to rest?” She bit her lip. “But, I don’t want to leave you alone. All the servants requested going along to help with Mr. Bly’s home, and I gave them permission.” She widened her eyes in a helpless look, appealing to her father.

  Andre straightened his shoulders. “I’ll stay with Rose. You and Joshua are more than capable of taking care of everything without me.” He winked at Cora. “After all, the most important part is done, and my pocketbook is no longer needed.”

  Cora let out a loud breath. “Uncle Andre, if you stayed with Aunt Rose, you’d greatly ease my mind.”

  Her ni
ece fell into their plans with such alacrity Rose wondered if Delia had included her in their plotting. “I don’t need looking after.”

  “Stop being so stubborn. Please stay and rest,” Cora begged.

  Pot calling the kettle black.

  “Otherwise, Auntie Great, I’d worry about you the whole time.”

  “Very well.” Rose frowned, pretending to give in with bad grace.

  “That’s settled,” Delia said briskly. “I know Cook has been making sandwiches and other things to bring along to feed the horde. I’ll make sure she leaves some for you two.”

  Rose had no doubt Cook was already briefed and had both their dinner and supper prepared. Delia obviously wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  “Men make bad patients as I have reason to know,” Andre said with a self-depreciating smile. “Make sure you pack something to entertain a growly invalid…and yourself. Books. Chess, if you play the game, or checkers if you do not. Tilda will tell you where we store everything.”

  “My grandfather taught me chess.”

  “Of course, I should have known. Marty was a shark at chess, and I know your Aunt Rose—”

  “Don’t you dare call me a whale or other sea creature,” Rose challenged.

  Curving his fingers, he touched his chest, pretending to be offended. “I’d never be so ungallant.”

  “Besides—” Cora gestured toward Delia’s bookshelves “—there’s certainly no shortage of books around here!”

  Everyone laughed.

  Cora bounced to her feet, and the others followed suit.

  “We’ll be enjoying reading instead of gallivanting around.” With a warm smile, Andre reached to touch Rose’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll feel more at ease when you’ve grown to know everyone and you’re no longer the center of attention.”

  She drew back her hand, not wanting him to know her so familiarly.

  Delia went on tiptoe and pressed her cheek to Andre’s. “We’ll probably be home late, maybe even after dark. Don’t worry about us if we are.”

  “Rose and I will be fine.” He jerked a thumb toward the front door. “Now gather up everyone and be off with you.”

  Delia exchanged a triumphant glance with Cora. “Very well.” She kissed his cheek. “Before we leave though, I’ll have Tilda bring out the willowbark tea for Rose, China tea for Papa, and slices from one of the plum cakes Cook baked today to take along.”

  Seemed only a few bustling moments later, the house was empty, and the surrey with Joshua, Delia, Micah, and Cora, as well as the coach containing the servants, pulled away from the house, leaving Rose alone with Andre. Her heart began to pound.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Through the parlor window, Andre watched his household drive away, conscious of Rose at his side, her body tense. Ever since her arrival she’d been skittish with him. Not that he could blame her. A heart wound and twenty-two years of silence lies between us.

  As the quiet of the house settled around them, Andre realized he might have just made a mistake in staying behind. Although he loved having Rose in his home, spending more time together, just the two of them, wasn’t a good idea.

  Rose turned away from the window. “I can’t believe I let her go.”

  “Alis grave nil,” he said in Latin.

  “Nothing is too heavy with wings.” Rose quoted the English translation aloud. “Marty would say that about Cora. He called her his little bird and trusted she would fly. Now she’s flying the nest far sooner than I’m ready for.” She sighed. “At least she’s flying away from the gossip.”

  He shared Rose’s concerns. “Perhaps it’s best Cora made her stand at the tea party yesterday because so many influential ladies were there and approved. They’ll keep the tide of sentiment firmly in her favor.”

  She held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I guess all I can do is wish for gentle winds.”

  “Gales come to all of us.” Andre remembered himself at that age and understood Cora’s determination to do what she believed was right, regardless of what loved ones thought. “We must hope Cora’s are far in the distance, and her wings will be stronger by then.”

  Rose’s lips trembled.

  A longing to kiss her seized Andre. He forced himself to look away from her mouth.

  Just before everyone left, Rufus had carried in the laden butler’s tray table and set it down between Andre’s wing chair and the sofa. The tray held two teapots—one smaller than the other—a pair of cups and saucers, two plates, half a plum cake, and an assortment of small sandwiches. Probably some were dill and cucumber, which he knew Rose liked, and the others smoked salmon and cream cheese—his favorite.

  The scent of the two types of tea wafting his way reminded him of his duties as a host. “Come, my dear.” He took Rose’s elbow and guided her toward the sofa. “Let’s get some willowbark tea into you and, hopefully, get rid of your headache.”

  Andre didn’t miss the grimace she made at the tea tray. “Now, now,” he teased. “I happen to know you have a fondness for plum cake.”

  She skeptically eyed him. “I suppose Cook somehow found out about that little detail.”

  He raised his eyebrows, pretending innocence. “Somehow.”

  Rose shook her head. But the small turn up of her lips betrayed that she wasn’t really annoyed. She started to reach for the nearest teapot. “Which is which, do you think?”

  “That I can answer.” He playfully tapped her hands away. “This fat pot here—” he touched the top “—has always held medicinal brew.” He picked up the teapot in question. “Now, relax, and I shall serve you.”

  Looking content, Rose leaned back against the sofa and watched his preparations.

  Andre poured the herbal tea into a cup, stirred in honey, and set the spoon on the saucer, handing it to her. “Drink up.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He prepared his tea, then cut the plum cake. Picking up the tongs, he placed a slice on her plate and accompanied the cake with a cucumber sandwich and a fork.

  Still holding the cup and saucer, she accepted the plate, setting it on her side of the butler’s tray. Picking up the spoon, Rose stirred her medicinal tea. “Delia told me the secret you two have.” She raised her gaze to hold his.

  Andre sent her a sharp look. That daughter of mine promised to keep my weak heart a secret. “She wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  “I suspected. For some reason, Delia wanted me to know and said you’d never tell me.”

  He clenched his jaw. My daughter broke her promise.

  “I mean….” Rose gazed at him, her expression earnest. “I can understand why you didn’t before. A man doesn’t speak of his former mistress to a young, unmarried woman. Now, I’m a spinster, and no longer a green girl to be protected.”

  Spinster was never a term Andre would have associated with her, and he didn’t like Rose referring to herself that way. Then the impact of her statement caught up with him. What does my weak heart have to do with her being unwed?

  Perhaps, Delia didn’t break her promise and tell Rose about my heart condition. He settled back in his chair and steepled his hands on his stomach. “Perhaps, before I make assumptions, you should tell me what my daughter shared with you.”

  “Delia told me she’s illegitimate and has Negro blood.”

  Although, Rose surprised him by choosing bluntness rather than a polite skirting around the issue, Delia’s decision to reveal her background didn’t surprise him. His perceptive daughter, who in private continued to refer to this particular guest as your Rose, sensed more than Andre was willing to reveal.

  “She said her mother was your mistress in New Orleans. That you didn’t know you had a daughter.”

  His chest squeezed. This time, Andre knew for sure the pressure wasn’t physical. “I wouldn’t have abandoned my child, Rose. Never!”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course not!”

  Relieved, he let out a breath.

  �
�How odd, though, that Delia’s mother didn’t say anything.” Rose sipped her willowbark tea and pulled a face.

  “I suspect that was my mother’s doing. She gave Isadora—Delia’s mother—money, so at least they were taken care of.”

  She gasped. “Your mother knew and didn’t tell you?”

  “One of her sons had to go to New York to help my grandfather with the business. Why not send the misfit?” He raised his eyebrows in self-mockery. “Have peace at home. No more arguments.” He gave her a wry smile. “I was a rather opinionated lad.”

  Rose gave a ladylike snort. “I remember. That never changed. You just became better at disguising your opinion under—” she fluttered a hand at him “—a veneer of charm.”

  He pretended offense, making an innocent face and touching the tips of his fingers to his chest.

  She wagged a finger at him. “Yes, you.”

  “I supposed that was my grandfather’s doing. He was a crusty old Scotsman.”

  “Gruff with a big heart underneath.” She ate more cucumber sandwich.

  “That’s right. I forgot you knew him.”

  “You had Marty and I over for supper a couple of times before his stroke made him bedridden.”

  “Even from his bed, my grandfather was still able to direct his empire—including me.”

  “I remember you tried to learn as much about the business as quickly as you could because you wouldn’t have him much longer.”

  Andre thought back to those days. Rose was a favorite of the old man, and he’d encouraged their courtship. He opened his mouth to tell her so, realized he couldn’t mention such a hazardous topic, and instead sipped his tea. The beverage was still too hot, burning his tongue.

  Serves me right.

  “His pride in you shone in his eyes.”

  Rose’s comment brought Andre back to the present. “I suppose he approved of me, although he’d never be the type to say so.” He shook his head. “Goodness, how did we ever get on the topic of my grandfather?” He took a bite of a salmon sandwich and savored the smoky flavor.