Duchess (29 page)

She tried to match his grin, but she just wanted to weep.

“Don't you dare get killed, or Mother will—” She closed her eyes then pressed a hand over her mouth before a sob escaped. “Please stay alive, Jack.”

He drew her close again. Leaned down to whisper into her ear. “If I perish, I perish. But I'll do it with fewer regrets. Now, at least.”

He lifted her chin, kissed her on the nose. “Tell Mother you found me, tell her I love her.”

“She can't bear losing you again.”

“All right. Then wait. I promise that, should I survive, I will come home to you.”

She read his face, the truth in his eyes. “I'll wait. And hope.”

Because that's what she did best. She took his hands. “Now it's your turn to trust me. Will you free Rolfe? Please?”

“It's not just Rolfe I'm worried about.”

“Me either. Get ready for one of Mother's society bashes because I, too, have a plan. And we're not just going to rescue Rolfe. Darling brother, it's time for you to go to the movies.”

“What kind of crowd do we have out there?”

Rosie dropped the curtain from the window, effectively hiding her presence in the entrance hall of the Theater an der Wien.

“I can't tell in the dusky light, but it looks significant. Mostly uniforms, but civilians also.”

She turned to Hale, who approached her across the parquet floor, looking every inch a movie hero in his fresh haircut, his black tails, a silver silk scarf around his neck. “How angry is he?”

His expression gave her the only answer she needed.

“Did you tell him I was here?”

“I'm desperate but not crazy.” Hale lifted the curtain at the doorway. Nodded. “This just might work.”

“Is everything in Austria ornate?” she pointed to the arched frescoed ceiling of the theater hallway, the Romanesque moldings along the walls. “Why did they close the theater?”

“I don't know, but be glad, because it was the only place I could get on such short notice. You look gorgeous, by the way.”

She smiled at him. “Sophie dug out the wig. It looks so much like my own hair.”

“And the dress?”

“We bought two, same style.”

Indeed, Sophie looked just as fabulous in the gown, the silky satin black dress flowing over her curves just as well as Rosie. Rosie wore the long pearls Dashielle had gifted her and long black gloves and turned into the starlet seen pasted on the banners and leaflets around Vienna.

Jack, just like his mother, knew how to advertise a party.

And she, Rosie Worth, knew how to throw one.

Now, she hoped Roxy Price might show up to dazzle—and blind—them all.

“Is Sophie ready?” Hale asked. He glanced again outside, his fingers fumbling with his cuff links. She put a hand on his arm.

“This will work, Hale.”

He gave her a tight smile, pressed his hand on hers. “I wish I had your hope.”

Well, hope was about the only thing holding her together. “It's time.”

He caught her hand, pressed it to his lips.

“I'll see you on the red carpet.”

Jack's cadre of workers—how could they know they were committing an act of treason—managed to carry out all her orders, from the printed movie posters that flanked the entrance, to the model airplanes used as props in the film, now hanging inside the grand four-story theater. The airplanes dangled like mobiles from the first balcony tier. Along the backdrop on stage, a small task force had erected a giant cinema screen.

She'd seen the drama once already and had nearly wept with the beauty of the film.

In addition to changing the ending, Rolfe had added Technicolor.

If it ever made it to America, she might actually become a star again.

Not that she cared. Not after today. After today, she just wanted them all to survive.

And someday, to bring Jack home.

The secret might burn a hole clear through her if she returned to New York City and looked her mother in the eyes.

Rosie stood in the empty theater for a moment, imagining the Nazi officials seated, mesmerized, in the floor and balcony seating. An ornate two-headed eagle hung at the apex of the stage. She had no doubt a Nazi banner would soon replace it.

She'd never seen a more glorious theater. The perfect place to show her last film.

She expected an ache, but something of relief swept through her. Last film.

And tonight, her last, and best performance.

She headed toward the side doors then to the alleyway and found Sophie there, smiling. Sophie handed her the fur coat. Kissed her on the cheek. Her Rolls waited, a German soldier at the wheel, and Rosie slid inside, relaxing against the plush velvet, relishing the quiet of the moment.

Releasing into the hands of the Almighty the outcome of her drama.

Meekness. Trust. So she might help others.

It was a glorious night for a movie. The stars twinkled like spotlights overhead, the air finally clearing after the fires.

A glorious night to save lives.

They pulled out, around the block, and headed down the street toward the theater. The crowd pressed in, hoping for a glimpse of her, and she couldn't help but compare the faces to those she'd seen throwing bricks and rocks and chasing Jewesses down the street.

Smile. Be brilliant.

She waved even as her driver pulled up.

The door opened, and she slipped out, to the red carpet.

The crowd erupted, cheering. She stood there, smiling and lifted her hand in a wave.

Usually she drank in the applause, let it feed her. But tonight she had no appetite for it. Especially when she turned and saw Rolfe.

He waited at the entrance to the theater, beside Hale, who had clamped his hand on his shoulder.

Regal. Courageous. Angry. She couldn't decide which adjective described Rolfe the most as he stared at her. First a frown then his mouth closing, his jaw tight.

She kept her smile. Kept waving. Posed for the flashes. Waved again. Then she reached him and looped her arm through his.

“Darling,” she said. “It's a divine night for a movie, don't you think?”

His jaw tightened.

“Smile, Rolfe. Be brilliant.” She turned him, and he lifted his hand. “Really, smile. Trust me.”

He glanced at her, something of heat in his eyes, but he forced a smile. The crowd erupted. Perhaps they were as hungry as she for something to make them forget.

They turned toward the entrance, and she made to withdraw her hand, but he clamped his on hers. “What are you doing here,” he said under his breath.

“I'm attending our movie premiere,” she said.

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing.

“Please, trust me.”

“I'm finding it difficult,” he said as they entered the theater hall.

“I know how you feel.”

He let her go, and she led him down the aisle to their reserved row, to the side, near the doors.

The theater filled up behind them, and she turned, watching the cadre of officials take their seats. She'd sent tickets to nearly every Nazi in Vienna. She searched for Jack but couldn't find him in the throng.

Maybe he wouldn't come. Probably he wouldn't come.

She pressed against the ache in her stomach. For this to work, she couldn't say good-bye.

Couldn't even hint that she knew him.

“Are you ill?”

Yes. “No. Just nervous.” She smiled down at Rolfe, and he responded with a frown, something of real concern in his expression.

Oh Rolfe. Even when furious with her, he still cared.

She slid down into her seat. “Listen. No matter what happens tonight, please—please remember that once upon a time you believed in me.”

He blinked at her. “I still do.”

She was counting on that.

On the stage, the screen began to descend, and the room darkened. Nazi propaganda sputtered to life, and beside her, Rolfe tensed. She put her hand on his arm, squeezed until the reel ended and the next reel—their credits spooled across the screen.

Then suddenly, the world dropped away, and Jardin was on screen wooing her into his arms. Rosie stayed until he died; then she ducked down in her theater seat and slipped away, through the side entrance into the darkened hallway.

She felt her way to the dressing room door behind the stage and let herself in.

Everyone in the room froze. Including Rosie. Seventeen refugees: nine men, seven women, and a ten-year-old girl had transformed into high society under the deft hand of Sophie Le Blanc.

Rosie put a finger to her lips and shut the door behind her.

Sophie was finishing applying makeup to a young man still nursing a black eye.

“That's pure magic,” Rosie said.

Sophie had raided the costume container from the film, and now the men wore tuxedos, some of them in bow ties, others in silvery vests and shirtwaists, the women in ornate dresses, all from scene 37, a ball held in Master Colin's estate.

Though the dresses might be out of fashion, they still blended, and with the capes attached, they would make for fine disguises.

The little girl's dress Rosie purchased at a shop she had visited with Sophie during her New Year's stay. Sophie took it in, hemmed it up, and with a bow at the waist, it fit fine. Made the girl look older—twelve, perhaps.

Sophie had done the ladies' hair, and with the faux jewelry, the assembly appeared as if the royal house of Windsor had shown up for the premiere of
Red Skies over Paris
.

“Remember to wait until after the applause. Then slip in from the side door, blend in with the crowd. There will be cars waiting at the curb. Remember, you're all my special guests. More than that, you're royalty.”

She touched Ava's hand. “Especially you.” Ava was still posed as a nanny, dressed in a black dress, her hair in a severe bun. Rosie leaned down and kissed the baby on the forehead, inhaling the smell.

She slipped back into the theater just as, on screen, Hale as Colin confronted Bridget with the truth.

“I was there.” He looked fierce, angry, and way too handsome in his German uniform. It was a wonder Bridget didn't just throw herself into his arms right there.

But she didn't. She rounded on him. Kept her face tight for the close-up. Then, “What do you mean, you were there?”

Even though she'd said it a hundred times, the surprise, the horror in her voice seeped through her.

And then Hale stepped toward her. His voice softened, his eyes in hers. “I was watching as you defied them. Your courage. Even the fear that I see now in your eyes. But you don't have to be afraid of me, Bridget.”

He reached out, touched her face. “I am the one who freed you.”

Oh, silly girl. Why was she crying? She reached up to wipe her face and found Rolfe's hand intercepting hers.

He gripped it in his.

“Why would you do that?”

Hale pressed her hair back, behind her ear. “Because I love you, Bridget.”

She stilled, saw Hale's mouth move— “Because I've always loved you.”

Rosie turned and Rolfe was staring at her, his gaze in hers.

On the screen, Bridget was pushing Colin away, picking up a vase, about to hurl it at him. “No, you don't. You can't. Not after what you put me through—”

“I was just trying to protect you,” Rolfe said softly, repeating the words on the screen. And why not—he'd written them. And suddenly, she understood. He shook his head even as the vase crashed on screen. “But I'm a pitiful man because I—I shouldn't have reached for your heart. I should have made you hate me.”

How could she ever think of hating this man, this duke who'd chased her across the world, not once but twice, who believed in her so much he wrote a movie for her.

And then—and then declared his love for her through every line. She stared at Bridget as the final scenes played out. As Colin continued to protect her, to bring her food, to keep her from harm even as the Germans discovered his ploy, as they sentenced him to execution.

Rolfe was watching the screen, his face taut.

This was Rolfe. The man who loved her despite her mistakes. Who called her beautiful when she had no hair. Who wrote a part for her. Who knew she could be brilliant if she just—just… “
Everyone brings a piece of themselves to the stage. Find that piece
.”

If she just gave away her heart.

To the screen.

To the role.

To Rolfe.

She didn't have unquenchable hope.

She had unquenchable love.

So much of it, she kept giving it away, hoping it would return to her. But she'd just been giving it to the wrong places. The wrong audience. The wrong man.

“If I've learned one thing in Hollywood, it's when fame loses its attraction, and the approval of others loses its hold on your heart, when Jesus becomes the most important in your life, that's when you'll hear the only applause that matters
.”

Meekness wasn't about losing control. It was handing over her heart, her destiny to the one who loved her. Jesus.

And maybe He'd sent her Rolfe to remind her of that. That no matter how many times she pushed Him away, He kept showing up. Not because He needed her.

But because He loved her.

“Don't you dare leave me, Colin. Not now. Not after everything.”

Rolfe turned to her, searched her face.

“You do love me,” Bridget said.

The movie flashed to the final scene, but she didn't watch the travesty demanded by the German censors. Instead she caught Rolfe's eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. “You do love me,” she repeated softly.

But right then, the audience burst into applause, the screen dark as the final credits rolled. She wanted to pause it, to hold his eyes with hers, to make him hear her. But people rose to their feet around her, and Hale reached over and pulled her up, taking her hand. They turned, waved, and as she looked down at Rolfe, he was looking away.

As if pained.

Hale led her up the aisle, and she prayed Sophie heard the thunderous applause, was already scampering toward her position.

“Don't forget Rolfe,” she said to Hale as they entered the foyer. The crowd pressed in behind them, on their way out of the theater, and she glad-handed fans, waving as she let him go, and spilled out into the street.

There, the line of Rolls Royces. And under Hale's direction, their cadre of nobles just might make a clean getaway.

She climbed into the first one.

“So, how did it go?” Sophie asked.

Rosie managed a smile. “Drive,” she said, and gasped when her driver turned around.

“Finally giving me directions,” McDuff said. He wore a derby and a tweed jacket. “Sophie told me about the premiere. I didn't want to miss it.”

“I'm so sorry. I would have telegraphed you—”

“I've seen the movie a hundred times in production.” He turned away. “But it seems I'm not the only one who can direct.”