Authors: Colleen Quinn
God, she had been such a fool. She had thought that he loved her as much as she loved him. She would never have left him, not for family, not for money…there just wasn’t an inducement in the world that would have tempted her. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought that he’d want to go. He’d become a part of her life, a part of the circus, and now he was talking about leaving them all just because of a letter.
He saw the play of emotions on her face, and he pulled her closer. “Rose, don’t look at me like that. You had to have known this day would come. I don’t belong here. I never meant to involve you. I’ll always treasure the time we had together, and I’ll never forget you. Please believe that.”
“When"—she choked—"when will you go?”
“Soon. I’ll send for tickets right away. There’s no sense in prolonging this for anyone’s sake.” She pulled away from him, unable to bear his arms around her, but he tightened his hold. “Don’t, Rose. Don’t do this. I’d like to go away thinking I’ve added something to your life. And if I didn’t help you any other way, I closed your books late last night. Carney’s will have a banner year. You’ll make more money than ever.”
Money. It all boiled down to money. Rosemary smiled ruefully, though the bile rose in her throat.
She’d thought about love, and he’d thought about money. The mercenary hadn’t really changed, no, not at all. The one who had changed was her. She’d foolishly given her love to a man who wasn’t worthy to tie her clown shoes. She’d opened up a secret part of her that had been hidden for all these years and had given it to him. Her femininity. And now she was going to bear his child….
“I am very glad to hear that,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. In that moment she hated him. Anger made her eyes sparkle like the old Carney, and she clung to it, grateful for the strength it gave her. “Since that’s obviously all that ever matters to you.”
“Rosemary, you know that’s not true….”
“I’m glad I found out. Maybe I don’t understand a lot about your ledgers and books. And maybe we clowns drink too much whiskey and stay out too late and fight in bars. But we make people laugh, Michael. We make them feel good.” She gave him an appraising stare. “Before you came here, I have to wonder how many people said that about you.”
“Rose—” He was beginning to lose patience, but Carney refused to hear him out.
“Have a nice trip, Michael.” She turned on her heel, fighting the tears that threatened. She’d never let him see her cry. She was a Carney, for God’s sake, a clown…not some sniveling female. As she passed him, she kicked him firmly, the same way she had done once. She heard his howl of pain, but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling.
“Rosemary Carney! Damn you…”
She heard him from far away, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t until she was inside her tent that she gave vent to what she felt and sobbed uncontrollably.
She carried within her the precious gift of life…and she felt like her own was ending.
Clara entered Rosemary’s tent and came to sit beside the young clown, her old face knotted in concern. “Ah, did he upset you that much when he told you he was leaving?”
Rosemary choked down her sobs while Clara brushed the hair from her face. “Did he tell all of you, then?”
Clara nodded. “Yes, after he spoke with you, though the clowns wondered even before. He hasn’t been himself since he decided to go.”
“Damn him to hell anyway,” Rosemary sneered, wiping at her face with the back of her hand.
Clara rose from the bedside and retrieved a fresh cloth from Rosemary’s trunk. She moistened it from a jar of water, then returned, wiping the tears from the young clown’s face. “Does it hurt you so much, then?”
Rosemary sighed as the cool water soothed her hot cheeks. Forcing down another sob, she hiccuped and had to drink a cupful of water to still that. When she finally could speak, she looked at Clara, and it was an older and wiser Rosemary than just a few days before.
“Yes, it hurts that much. Oh, Clara, he was just using me. You know, I thought he really cared about me. I thought he even…” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t let Clara know just how much of a fool she had been. “But he didn’t,” she finished quickly. “It was all just a game for him. A reprieve from his real concerns. You know, I’ve really done it this time. I tried to be something I’m not, and look where it got me.”
Clara frowned, her birdlike face sharpening in displeasure. “Don’t be a fool. I don’t want to hear you talking that way. What in God’s name did you do wrong? You took a risk, girl, but every woman does.”
“God, how he must be laughing,” Rosemary said, wincing at the thought. “Every time he thinks of how he bested Carney the clown. It is so odd, Clara. I fought him with lions and knives and clown tricks and potions. And he fought me with—”
“Love,” Clara supplied. “You mean something to him, Rose, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” She sent Rosemary a quelling look, then asked more gently, “Did you tell him about the child?”
Rosemary froze. She turned to Clara, her face pale. “How did you know?”
“Bah! The cards, lass. Isn’t that my job? So you did not tell him, then.”
“I couldn’t,” Rosemary admitted. “After he told me he was leaving, there seemed no point.”
“What?” Clara’s eyes popped, and her wrinkled mouth widened. “No point? He’s the father of that child! He has the right to know. He may want to wed, he may—”
“Wed!” Rosemary looked at Clara as if she’d grown two heads. “I wouldn’t marry him if he was Barnum! Ice-cold mercenary! He doesn’t want me—he’s made that very clear. I won’t stoop to begging him for some crumb of his affection, not for me or the child. I will manage without him. I have for most of my life.”
“But the baby!”
“The baby will grow up fine.” Rosemary smiled for the first time, patting Clara’s hand reassuringly. “It will have you for a grandmother and Biddle, Griggs, Rags, and the rest for relatives. What else would a Carney need?”
Outside, Griggs looked to Biddle, Biddle to Zachery, Zachery to Leonardo, Leonardo to William. Although only Griggs was mute, none of them needed words for what they were feeling.
“Ach, she’s in a family way, I know it for a fact,” Clara said, though her voice held less of an edge than it usually did. “I saw it in the cards. The puir girl! He broke the heart in her.”
“That he won’t do.” Biddle sighed, surprisingly sober. “We’ve got to help her—we owe it to her. After all, if we hadn’t interfered, she wouldn’t be in this mess right now. We’re all she has.”
All of them exchanged a look, sharing a collective guilt. Biddle was right on that score. Zachery’s fists knotted, and he turned an interesting shade of purple. “I say we beat the living hell out of him. Damned fool Yankee! What right does he have to hurt her like that?”
“No right at all,” Rags concurred.
“But what can we do?” Leonardo said. “He’s packing now. I don’t think Rose even told him about the child.”
“Of course she didn’t.” Clara glared at the lion tamer. “She has her pride, same as all Carneys. What woman would crawl to a man who doesn’t want her and beg for a few morsels of kindness? Ah, ‘tis the same all over. Men are deceivers wherever they go. But Rose is luckier than most. She knows we’ll take care of her.”
“That’s not enough,” Biddle said decisively. “The man owes her things that we can’t give her. A name for the child. An acknowledgment that he’s the father. It would do Rosie no good to be another circus wench, carrying a bastard child.”
They all shook their heads in agreement. When Rags spoke, it was with far more determination. “You’re right. We don’t want Rose burdened like that. Whether he likes it or not, he’ll wed. The question is, how do we make him?”
Zachery frowned, still aching to solve the problem in his own way. “I’ll talk him into it.” He grinned, flexing his fist.
“No, we cannot assault the man and expect his cooperation,” Biddle said wisely. “But with the same thinking, he wouldn’t be coerced any other way. He has reasons for wanting to return home. I don’t give a damn where he goes, once he gives Rose his name.”
“Then let me!” Zachery protested.
Biddle shook his head. “No, I have a better idea. Clara, go fetch the miners. You’ll find them in the taproom, under the sign for Bailey’s Root Beer. Tell them Rose is in trouble.” Biddle smiled determinedly and the clowns grinned as Clara scampered to do as he asked.
“And by the time we’re through with him, Michael Wharton will see the wisdom of agreeing.”
“What the devil…” Michael glanced up to see his tent slowly filling with people, the circus performers, Clara and Rags, Zachery and William, Leonardo and the roustabouts. He paused, his hands deep inside a crate he’d been packing, the smile dying on his face when he saw their expressions. If he thought they’d come to say goodbye, one look at the group dispelled that. They appeared like a vigilance committee.
“We’d like to speak with you,” Biddle said formally, showing none of the warmth the ringmaster usually treated him with. “Now.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Michael wiped his hands on his trousers and returned their stares. “I’ve a train to catch tomorrow morning, and I have to finish packing.”
“This won’t wait,” Biddle continued, unperturbed. “I suggest you come with us peacefully.”
Michael gazed at them incredulously. “Is something wrong?”
“It is about Rosemary,” Biddle acknowledged. “But that is all we can discuss here. Are you coming?”
“No,” Michael snapped. “Miss Carney has made her feelings abundantly clear. I don’t have anything else to discuss with her.” He didn’t add that his ankle was still killing him and probably sprained. He should have known better than to try and reason with a woman who put lions in his tent when they disagreed.
“I’m afraid you must, either willingly or nonwillingly,” Biddle said simply. “The choice is up to you.”
He frowned. He knew he didn’t have any real choice, not with half the troupe in his tent looking daggers at him. God only knows what they’d do to him next if they took it into their minds to stop him. Nodding, Michael followed them through the tent opening and across the field beyond.
Rosemary must have told them about their fight. He wondered why that would create the need for a council, or what they planned on doing about it. He’d never hidden the fact that one day he’d leave—Biddle was well prepared for the event. But something about the way they were acting was making him uneasy.
The direction they were taking him wasn’t toward Rosemary’s tent. Puzzled, Michael knew it would do little good to try and question them any more. Circus folk had their own way of doing things, and if he’d learned nothing else in the past few months, he’d learned that.
They paused before the big top and bade him to enter. More confused than ever, Michael stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. When he could see clearly, he gaped in surprise.
It was the miners. He’d met them only once, that day down by the river, but he’d never forget their work-roughened faces betraying their grim existence. He smiled as he recognized some of them, but none of them smiled back. Instead, he noticed with increasing alarm that they held rifles. Surely they weren’t going to kill him for some ridiculous slight…
Biddle laid a hand on his shoulder as if reading his mind. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve gathered together today.” The ringmaster grinned, but his eyes were deadly serious. “We’ve come to witness a wedding. Yours.”
M
ICHAEL COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS EARS
. They would do it! These circus buffoons and pyrite miners would, with their rifles and threats, force him into wedlock with Carney the clown! If the whole thing wasn’t so ludicrous, it would be funny.
“I’m sorry to disappoint all of you,” Michael said dryly, staring them all down with his best banker’s manner, “but I have no intention of marrying. Now, if we’re all through with this farce, I have packing to do, and—”
“I’m afraid we have to insist,” Biddle said firmly, his eyes like ice. “if not for Rosemary’s sake, then for the baby’s. One less circus bastard will benefit everyone.”
“Baby?” All the color left Michael’s face, and for a moment even his businesslike facade was shaken. “What baby?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Biddle scanned him carefully, then, when he was convinced the banker wasn’t lying, he continued with a bit more compassion. “Rosemary is having a baby. Yours.”
Michael sank down to the bench, stunned by the news. A baby! Rosemary was pregnant, knew she was carrying his child! No wonder she had looked so happy that morning and so bursting with news.
“I have something wonderful to tell you
…” Good God, he’d assumed she’d planned to tell him she loved him, not anything like this!
Most Victorian women wouldn’t have even said the word. They would have mumbled something about a blessing, never openly discussing the facts of life. Michael swore some of them really believed that baby girls came from roses and boys from cabbages.
But not Rosemary. She would have just blurted it right out, as she obviously had intended.
And as to whether or not it was his…there wasn’t a consoling shred of doubt in his mind. She’d been a virgin that night when he’d first made love to her. The child was his.