Authors: Colleen Quinn
As the noon hour approached, they headed back to the carriage, Rosemary weak with laughter. They’d had a wonderful time, and she knew that whatever else happened, she’d never forget it. Pausing in front of a shop close to the carriage, she was about to walk by when a baby pram caught her attention.
It was gorgeous. Constructed of white wicker with a soft little mattress inside and a satin pillow and blanket, the pram looked as if it had been made for a princess. Rosemary sighed, admiring the delicate ribbons that were tied around the handle and the frilly lace that trimmed the hood. It was beautiful, like something from a dream. Pressing her nose to the glass, she saw the shopkeeper smile at her, and he moved the carriage to a more advantageous position.
“Let’s look inside.” Michael firmly took her hand and led her through the door before Rosemary could utter a word. She didn’t want to go; there was something too personal, too close to her own feelings about the place. This shop was for couples who had wanted to be married and wanted their baby—not for someone like her, who did everything backward.
But she couldn’t resist, and once inside the store she was glad that she hadn’t. Picking up a tiny baby outfit made of white lace trimmed in pink, she turned to Michael, her heart melting. “Oh, look at this,” she said, beaming as she displayed the miniature clothing. “Isn’t it pretty? And it’s so little!” Smoothing the material, she placed it back and picked up another tiny dress, and then a satin christening outfit.
Michael watched her in amusement, touched by her innocent enthusiasm. She looked so pretty, her green eyes warm and misty, her face aglow with a look that only would-be mothers possessed. A feeling of pride welled up within him as she grinned at the shopkeeper, immediately earning a smile in return. Rosemary had more charm than any ten women he knew, could run a circus by herself, and would easily be the most beautiful and loving mother he could imagine.
She turned away from the clothes and knitted blankets to look at the pram. Intent on her explorations, she wasn’t aware of her own expression as she touched the handle reverently, testing the carriage’s spring. She was entranced, obviously envisioning her own child, their child, riding in this elegant apparatus. The storekeeper pointed out some of the features of the carriage, and Rosemary listened eagerly, filled with wonder at the beauty of the pram. Then her expression changed as she realized the time and glanced toward the waiting carriage outside.
“I’m sorry, but we have to go—” she began, but Michael interrupted.
“Let me see it.”
The storekeeper complied, lifting the carriage from the window display and placing it on the floor before him. Pushing on the handle, Michael tested the pram much more thoroughly than Rose and asked pointed questions as to the construction and material of the coach. He peered underneath, checking the metal springs and bolts, then tried the wheels, rolling the carriage back and forth.
“It seems well made and sturdy,” he remarked slowly. “Can you deliver it to this address?”
Rosemary’s mouth dropped as Michael handed the man an elegantly scrolled card, and the shopkeeper beamed with satisfaction.
“I can do that, sir. You’ll have it there today. It is twenty dollars…”
“Fine.” Without hesitation Michael produced a roll of bills and counted them off, paying for the coach. Pocketing the rest, he turned to Rosemary and at her astonished expression gave her a warm smile.
“I wanted you to have it. For the baby. Our baby.”
Something about his voice made her knees weaken and a giddy feeling pass through her. He had done this for her, for them. Rosemary didn’t miss the significance of his action—he hadn’t even known the price, but he wanted to please her and wanted the carriage for their baby. Incredible joy flowed through her, and she sniffled, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.
Michael smiled, then reached out to touch a strand of her hair that had long ago escaped her hat. “You’re welcome. We have a chance for a new beginning. You and me and the baby. I know it’s a little frightening and this is a strange place for you. Just give it time.”
She knew what he meant. It could always be like this. She had to fight the emotion that threatened to overcome her, and the promise that the single statement entailed. He was committing himself to her and their child. Swallowing hard, Rosemary wanted to touch him, to put her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder, to feel the warm excitement of his embrace. It had been a long time since she had loved him, and she wanted to again, not with the feverish passion that they’d had earlier, but with something deeper, signifying the change in their relationship. She had to turn toward the window to hide her feelings, but somehow, she knew he sensed them, for he took her hand and led her into the carriage. Once inside, he put his arm around her shoulder and held her close to him.
A new beginning. Closing her eyes, she wondered if it was too good to be true. Maybe they had a chance. Maybe…she should just give it time.
When they returned, Michael told her that he had to go to the bank. Gazing at her in concern, he questioned her softly. “Will you be all right?”
“She will be fine,” Catherine said quietly from the parlor, then entered the hall. “Rosemary and I haven’t had a chance to talk. I was just about to have tea and would be very glad if you would join me.”
She sounded so gracious and reasonable that any declination would have appeared rude. Michael glanced at Rose questioningly, and she nodded, aware that Catherine meant it so, but decided not to fight a confrontation, if that’s what this was about. “Tea sounds fine. I’ll see you tonight.”
He hesitated, then took his hat and departed, still obviously uncertain. Rosemary doffed her cloak and handed it to the butler, who gave her a reassuring wink. James then disappeared, leaving the two women alone.
Rosemary followed Catherine into the parlor, taking a seat while the older woman poured the tea. For a moment the only sound in the room was that of Catherine gently spooning sugar and cream into a cup. Rosemary sipped the tea, barely tasting the pungent liquid, while Catherine prepared an identical cup for herself.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you,” Catherine began softly. “I thought this might be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other.”
Rosemary nodded. “Is there something else you wish to know?”
Rose’s direct manner took Catherine aback, but she smiled and continued in the same elegant voice. “You’re right. I suppose this isn’t a time for pretense, is it? I’m sure you think I’ve been rude to you and that my questions at dinner were meant to make you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Rosemary said slowly. “I think you’re doing what any mother in your situation would do.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Catherine said. “You see, I love my sons. I know them both very well, and Michael especially. He was very close to his father and adored him as a child. So he was hurt and disillusioned when my husband died. Jonathan, to him, was always a tower of strength and knew all of the answers. It upset Michael greatly to understand the debt we were left in, due to my husband’s gentle heart. I’m afraid he took it badly.”
“I can imagine,” Rosemary said. It was a subject she knew something about, having been in much the same position.
Catherine nodded. “Michael became a very rigid man when he was head of the household. It was a lot of responsibility for someone his age, and I’m afraid neither Robert nor I was much help. Michael had to shoulder it all, and he did an excellent job. But in doing so he deprived himself of his youth.”
Catherine sipped her tea, then placed the delicate china cup beside Rose’s. “Michael never did many of the things most young men take for granted. He didn’t see a lot of women. He didn’t frolic or go to dances, or engage his time in cards or sports. Instead, he worked and rebuilt our wealth. He became the model of an industrious young man, good at numbers and with an uncanny business sense. It seemed that everything he touched turned to gold.”
“Mrs. Wharton,” Rosemary interrupted. “Is there a reason you’re telling me all this?”
Catherine nodded. “I was always afraid Michael would have a reaction against his upbringing. Yet, he showed no signs of any such thing until this summer. I think your circus was an escape for him. I am glad, because he needed a respite, and I understand how things can happen. You seem like a nice young woman, and not the type to take advantage of such a situation. But you have the power to ruin him. I beg you not to.”
“Do you mean because he married me?” Rosemary stared at the woman, incredulous.
“Think of what it means,” Catherine said gently. “He would throw away his standing as one of Philadelphia’s first families, his promising banking career, his chances of making a suitable marriage. It would be different if none of this mattered to him, as it does so little to Robert, but Michael is different. No man would work as hard as he did to restore something he didn’t believe in. Would you have him risk all that for an infatuation, a lark?”
Rosemary stared at the woman. “I would think your son doesn’t share your opinion. I am here by his choice.”
“I understand he feels a sense of obligation to you,” Catherine said smoothly. “And I applaud that. But would you hold a man for that reason? I sensed in you an honest woman. Would you do that to him?”
Rosemary struggled with the outrage she felt, but there was a sliver of doubt. She was a circus girl, didn’t know a soupspoon from a teaspoon. She’d been raised on peanuts and popcorn, laughter and gags. She’d known hardship and bad weather, lack of money and physical injury. But she didn’t know this world and, from what she’d experienced already, never would. Today had been a good day, and she’d felt closer to Michael than ever. But was it truly representative of what their life here would be like?
“What are you suggesting?” Rosemary asked, wishing she had a whiskey or a least a cigar. Something to give her strength.
“I understand there is a debt involved,” Catherine said, more relaxed and satisfied that she’d made her points. “I will furnish you the money from my own funds, plus travel expenses and any other inconveniences you’ve been put to. I will wire you funds every month until the baby is born and until you are able to work once more. I will even help you after the child arrives. I understand from your conversation earlier that you might prefer that as well. Michael will be furious at first, and very hurt, but in time he will agree that it’s for the best. Think of it, Rosemary. I can tell you care for my son. Think of what is best for him. For all concerned.”
Rosemary froze, the words sending a shudder through her. My god, these Whartons were all alike! They sought to buy whatever they wanted, no matter who it hurt or how much it cost! She was forcibly reminded of the man Michael used to be and how much he’d changed.
It was as if someone had lifted a veil. Gripping the back of an elegant chair, she faced Catherine like an ancient Celtic warrior, beautiful in her outrage.
“Mrs. Wharton, I’ll give you my answer now. I don’t believe you have anyone’s best interest at heart except your own. You don’t want a clown as a daughter-in-law, and you don’t want a circus performer as a grandchild. I’m sorry about that, but even sorrier for you. I’ll leave Michael when he wants me to, and not before. I…love him! Potion or no potion.”
Catherine stared at her disapprovingly, her lips pressed together, her hands knotted. “Then am I to understand you won’t consider my offer?”
Rosemary grinned, remembering what she’d once said to another Wharton. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be bought. And if you can’t accept me, then you have a problem. I love your son, and I won’t leave him. Not for you or anyone else.”
“M
R
. W
HARTON
, Mr. Morris is waiting to see you.”
Michael nodded as his clerk announced the presence of one of the most prominent businessmen in Philadelphia. “Give me five minutes, Carter.”
The young clerk nodded, then closed the oak doors, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts. Pushing aside the piles of papers that adorned his desk, he searched for the Morris file with a sinking feeling.
God, the job had changed so much since last summer—or had it? Michael frowned as he recalled that he’d never previously objected to the long hours, waking up at half past seven, breakfasting at eight, arriving at the office by nine, and working straight through until three. Then it was supper, meetings with local businessmen, social outings designed to increase his connections, and a late dinner. It was nightfall before he returned home, and he caught a few precious hours of sleep before starting all over again the next day.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find upon his return or why it even bothered him now, but it did. He resented the time spent at his office, plush though it was. He glanced at the polished mahogany desk, the hunt scene pictures on his wall, the decorating theme of dark green and burnt orange. Once this place had been a refuge from his mother’s overcrowded and stylish house, but now he wanted nothing more than to finish up and return to Rosemary.
He smiled as he thought of her face a few nights ago, when the pram had arrived. Like a little girl, she’d taken it up to her room and played with it for over an hour, tucking in the blankets, folding up the knitted shawl, gently touching the lace. Somehow, his gift had helped seal the bond between them and make her realize that he wanted a life with her, and a family.