Six Little Sunflowers: Historical Romance Novella (American State Flower) (5 page)

A woman must always remember that a proposal of marriage is the highest honor that a man can pay her, and, if she must refuse it, to do so in such fashion as to spare his feelings as much as possible.

~
Social Life; or The Manners and Customs of Polite Society

“W
HAT IS IT?” CARP ASKED
, stopping where Parker and Miss Laurent were on his left and the brunette on his right. One of the ladies, if not both, smelled of carnations, vanilla, and something woodsy.

Parker and Miss Laurent looked to the brunette.

Her bright eyes, which he didn’t think could get any bigger, widened as she glared at the two people standing across from her. “Two is enough,” she said firmly. “More than enough.”

“You are smart and beautiful and brave,” said Miss Laurent. “This isn’t the time to allow fear to gain victory over your dreams.”

“A girl should never settle,” Parker put in. His mouth curved into a smile that looked far more nefarious than suspicious.

Carp knew that look. He distrusted that look.

The brunette coughed a breath. “There is a degree of kindness one expects from friends.” She looked pointedly at Miss Laurent. “Kindness—as in helping another from an unpleasant circumstance, not as in adding to another’s woes.”

The pug barked.

She motioned to it and gave a little lift to her shoulder as if to say
even the dog agrees with me
.

Miss Laurent’s eyes narrowed.

The brunette mimicked her.

Miss Laurent nodded toward Carp, her curls bouncing.

The brunette shook her head.

Miss Laurent gave her a
why not
look.

The brunette gave her a
you know why
look back.

“You’re embarrassing me,” snapped Miss Laurent.

“Ha!” was all the brunette said.

Carp couldn’t stop the grin. This was the most amusement he’d had all day.

Parker rubbed his forehead, his hat sliding back. “This is awkward.”

The ladies continued to glare at each other.

Carp continued to be amused, and if he was entertained by their banter— He glanced to the table where the four church ladies stood, examining the pies yet clearly trying to listen. He didn’t fault them. In light of what Mrs. Buckwalter had shared, this was one conversation he’d want to overhear if he weren’t already a part.

Miss Laurent abruptly turned to Carp and smiled. “Captain Yeary, it’s so good to see you again. I hope you are enjoying the day. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asked and gave him no time to respond. “My...uhh, my friend here would like a word with you. Since Miss Trudy-Bleu could use a walk”—she wrapped her arm round Parker’s—“Ridgley, dear, would you be so gracious?”

Parker nodded. “Of course. Anything for you.” He winked at the brunette. “Knock ’em dead.”

That earned a roll of her blue-gray eyes.

Which only made Parker smile more. “It might be worth staying to hear—”

“Come along, Ridgley,” Miss Laurent said with a tug.

As they walked away, Carp stepped around the girl. He leaned back against the tree, crossed one ankle over the other, and folded his arms across his chest in a lazy posture. He waited for her to put words to her thoughts. He didn’t even know her name and she fascinated him.

Her gaze stayed on the departing couple. Lips pursed. Head shook.

Then her countenance changed.

She sighed—a sad, pathetic release of breath that left her shoulders slumped. He wasn’t born yesterday but neither was he so cynical as to not recognize that her demeanor bore no artifice or deception.

She met his gaze. “Captain Yeary, thank you for your time, but I will leave now.”

“What do you need?” he blurted.

She stopped.

The muscles in his chest tightened. He wanted to help her. Had to.

She needed him.

“It is of no import,” she insisted. “Not anymore.”

Carp took pity on her. “What if I agree up front to help? Will that make you feel better?”

She groaned. “Heavens no.”

And he nearly doubled over in laughter. “Whatever it is,” he said with a chuckle, “I promise it won’t be that tortuous.”

Her upper lip curled in annoyance.

He liked that. He liked how she communicated her thoughts and feelings in her expressions. A person had to be confident in who she was to behave so honestly.

She released a loud breath. Turned to face him. Straightened her shoulders.

And she smiled.

Not a real smile, not the one he saw last night when she gathered the pug in her arms. This one reminded him of the smile she’d given to Beaufoy. A tad placating. More than a tad of a when-unsure-of-what-to-say-smile kind of smile.

She looked heavenward. Her lips barely moved when she spoke.

Carp blinked.

He pushed off the tree, arms relaxing at his side.

Convinced he hadn’t heard her correctly, he said, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I asked,” she said, so grudgingly that it took supreme self-control for Carp not to laugh, “will you marry me?”

He patted her shoulder. “See, that wasn’t so painful.”

She gasped in obvious horror. “Did you not hear what I said?”

“Yes.” This wasn’t his first merry-girl-proposes-to-guy-go-round. He’d long past gotten over being shocked. Besides, there was something about her that made him second-guess his decision to return home and lounge in his hammock alone.

She stared at him. Long. Hard. Stunned. As if he’d gone eccentric and joined a circus. “Is that a yes, you heard me, or a yes to my question?”

Carp felt a little spark of mischief. “Yes.”

“Yes?” she repeated.

He nodded.

She took three steps to where she was standing in front of him, close enough for him to pull her into his arms. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

“I did,” he remarked in a grave tone.

“Then what is your answer?”

“‘I did’ was my answer.” When her eyes narrowed, he said, “Ah, you mean to your first question. The will-you-marry-me one. And to your second question, which, it must be noted, was also a will-you-marry-me one. I’ve never had the pleasure of having a lady propose to me twice.” He paused to give her a chance to speak.

She didn’t. Nor did she look away. She held her head high, but he noticed her cheeks had pinked. She was no wilting flower.

Carp felt a smile creeping back on his lips. He slowly continued with: “Yet here we are…waiting for my response...to your marriage proposal...just now. And so on and so on.”

“You enjoy torturing me,” she said in a factual tone that he was beginning to realize was her normal speaking voice.

“I am,” he admitted.

She was trying not to smile. He could see it in how the corner of her mouth twitched and in her I-should-not-like-you-but-I-do expression.

“Your honesty is refreshing, I will give you that.”

Carp couldn’t take his gaze off her. He’d never known a woman with such a lack of pretense. “Then let us agree to always be honest with one another.”

“Agreed.” Her lips spread into an easy grin. “In light of the inelegance of my initial question, your silly and torturous responses are fair. Years from now I will look back and view them with amusement.”

Carp howled with laughter. He couldn’t help himself. A lady with a dry wit. How she managed to say that without grimacing—it was impressive to say the least.

Dozens of people in the park looked their way.

He also noticed how even more women from his church had huddled around the pie table. Not surprising, considering how every one of them had attempted to match-make for him at one time or another.

“Since we’re being honest, I didn’t know you were smitten with me,” he managed to say while keeping a straight face. “I’m a fool.”

“Say nothing of the sort.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “It is impossible to know what is in another’s heart. I do, however, apologize for my lack of smittenness. Being so would make this less awkward.”

“Or more so.”

She laughed, and he loved the sound.

“Well, Captain Yeary, I am prepared for your refusal.”

“Ah-ha! So you admit you want me to say no—wait a second.” He held a hand up, and her mouth closed. “You
expected
me to say no. Just like you expected Clark and Parker to say no. What kind of woman proposes to three men in one day?”

~***~

Félicie winced. Put that way, she sounded like a horribly greedy person. When she had spoken to Mr. Clark and Mr. Parker, she had been upfront about her situation. Immediately up front. They had readily agreed to purchase her a dress without her even having to say the words
will you marry me
. Why had she not approached Captain Yeary in likewise manner? Because he rattled her. She should apologize for proposing, tell him she changed her mind, and walk away. Yes, definitely walk away and never speak to him again, even though she had finally begun to enjoy their awkward conversation. He truly was not what she had expected. She could see why Wichitans adored him. He knew how to make a good impression, how to put a person at ease, how to make her feel like she had a co-conspirator.

Her heart skipped two beats.

Oh dear. She was attracted to him.

She needed to leave.

She needed to leave before she actually became smitten.

He must have sensed her decision to run, because his hand wrapped around her wrist. “You can’t flee the ball, little cinder girl, until I give you my answer.”

Félicie did her best not to look flustered over the warmth of his touch.

“Well, see, here is the thing.” She leaned forward, which in hindsight was an unwise action because it afforded her a whiff of his sandalwood cologne. “We both know your answer is no.”

His gaze fell to her mouth. “Possibly.”

Félicie could not take her eyes off of him. Or move.

“Possibly?” she whispered.

His attention returned to her eyes. “My answer is possibly no.”

Which also meant possibly yes.

In no way was his answer possibly yes.

She shook her wrist. “You can release me. I will not run away in humiliation and tears.”

He looked at her as if he knew, though, that she
would
run.

She would. She certainly would.

His lips parted, a response clearly on his tongue, but then he gave her a rueful smile and let go. “Before I turn down your magnanimous proposal, please appease my curiosity. I can understand a girl proposing for one dress. It happens every Leap Year Day. But three? You don’t strike me as an uppity, fashion-obsessed female or a flibbertigibbet. I figure you have good cause. Since you’ve been a good sport in tolerating my teasing, first tell me why you need three new dresses, and then I’ll take you to buy a new gown.”

Félicie felt the tension in her shoulders relax, and she smiled a genuine smile. “Oh, Captain Yeary, thank you! The fire last night, it destroyed the new wardrobe I had commissioned Madame Laurent to construct for my new position as the calligrapher at the Carey Hotel. I spent ten years of savings. After Mr. Eaton refused to give me an advance on my paycheck, I stayed hopeful. Surely the bank would give me a loan. None did, seeing as how I had no collateral. Mr. Clark felt poorly for me. Mr. Parker, too. Rena said you were a kind-hearted man, and generous. Do know I will never forget this.”

His head tilted to the side as he studied her. He seemed charmed, not offended.

Why had she ever thought him to be intimidating?

Something in the way he so readily smiled made him more human, less archangel. Alta and Pearl would find that quite unbelievable. That she was even talking to him would render them speechless. That she had proposed and he had not outright laughed at her—well, he certainly was a gentleman.

“Problem is, I’m out of money. I donated it the pie fundraiser.” He gave her an apologetic grin. “Looks like I have no choice but to say, yes, I’ll marry you.”

Félicie blinked several times before saying, “You are joking...right?”

He chuckled. “Of course, I’m—”

Someone yelled, “Carp’s getting married!” Then another did. And another. A roar of applause broke out with whistles and whoops and hollers. In seconds the ladies at the pie table rushed over. Next a horde of exuberant and congratulatory Wichitans surrounded them.

Félicie eyed Captain Yeary. He looked as stunned as she felt.

When a fire has started, it can be extinguished by one of two methods— (1) By cooling the combustible materials and the air at their point of contact, i.e., the flame. (2) By extinguishing air from the burning mass, thus stopping the chemical change, oxidation, which produces heat.

~The Chemistry of Fire and Fire Prevention

Mid-afternoon, the next day

10
th
and Waco

Grbic Estate

“L
ET US DRINK TO THE HAPPPINESS
of a young pair whose future welfare is close to the hearts of us all,” announced Mrs. Grbic.

The other seven church ladies in the parlor raised their crystal goblets. “To Carp and Félicie,” they said in unison.

Glasses clinked.

Carp gave his fiancée a sideways look. She’d worn the same frozen smile since they sat together on the sofa. For someone engaged to a practical stranger, she was handing it well. She looked lovely in the black-and-white tweed suit Parker had bought her. It was a utilitarian dress, not what Carp would have chosen. His choice would have been a bright blue silk to fit in with the rainbow of dresses in this room. Even though he said yes, he ought to buy her a new dress anyway. His fiancée should wear silk.

Before today, he’d never considered the benefits to being engaged.

(1) This was the first morning not a single church lady tried to set him up with her niece, daughter, cousin, or neighbor.

(2) He had a good excuse to skip last night’s Leap Year Day celebration ball at the Goldbergs’ estate and every other ball in town.

Instead—upon Mrs. Burkwalter’s insistence—he’d spent the evening in the lobby bar, getting to know his fiancée in between congratulatory interruptions. Miss Richmond liked reading, especially Jane Austen.
Emma
she re-read every other year for the last twelve years. Her favorite color was yellow. She loved sunflowers, strawberry shortcake, and sunrises better than sunsets. She’d lived “here and there” before settling down in Wichita when she was sixteen, began working for the hotel when she was eighteen, and she celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday this past January. For every specific answer, another was vague. He’d felt like they’d been interviewing each other until Miss Félicie Richmond, calligrapher at the Carey Hotel and former housekeeper’s assistant, surprised him with the news that she had no blood relations in Wichita.

“My parents live elsewhere,” she had said with little inflection in her tone. Yet he’d noticed how her gaze had broken away from his when she made the admission.

He could’ve admitted he was an orphan. He’d considered it. He didn’t want to talk about his parents or his uncle and aunt. He suspected she didn’t want to talk about her family either. It was best their conversations remain superficial. To end the awkward silence, he’d suggested they give the pretense of being a happily engaged couple. After a couple months passed, they could agree that things weren’t working out and announce they’d jointly agreed to go their separate ways. She’d agreed that was best; she no more desired a husband than he wanted a wife.

Carp couldn’t argue with that.

“To us,” he murmured, drawing her attention.

A muscle under her left eye twitched. “To us.”

He smiled.

Then she smiled.

In unison, they turned to the coffee table where their lemonade-filled glasses sat next to their plates of cookies. Miss Richmond handed him his plate and glass.

“Thank you.” Carp sipped his drink as the ladies drew Miss Richmond into their conversation like they’d known her for years.

But they hadn’t.

Félicie Richmond had attended their church—his church—for the last year and not once had any of the ladies in Mrs. Grbic’s palatial sitting room ever spoken to her. Even he hadn’t. Worse, no one else in the park yesterday had recognized her as being a faithful attendee. He’d wager none of the nine-hundred members knew she attended. It was as if she’d slipped in and out of church like ghost. Miss Richmond had insisted she wasn’t offended. She never sat in the same spot two weeks in a row, specifically to avoid drawing attention. Her words had kept him awake through most of the night.

Carp stared absently at the empty china plate resting on his thigh, a white circle against a sea of gray pin-stripes.

He’d never considered shame a useful emotion.

This morning he did. This morning shame prodded him into looking for people in church whom he didn’t recognized. This morning shame propelled him into leaving his pew and greeting the people he didn’t know, instead of staying in one spot and letting people come to him. No one should be made to feel insignificant and unnoticed. Especially not in church.

She wasn’t unnoticed anymore.

As soon as word spread that she was Carpenter Yeary’s fiancée, everyone in Riverside Park yesterday talked to her. Last night when they sat at a table in the lobby bar, people continually walked over. To him, it’d looked like everyone at church talked to her this morning. Because she was with him. To the people who hadn’t noticed her, she’d responded with the graciousness of a lady. Félicie Richmond was a good sport, indeed.

He needed to do the gentlemanly thing and break off the engagement today. Everyone would understand if he explained how he’d been teasing her. If he ended the engagement this very moment, would any of these ladies still welcome Miss Richmond into the fold? He doubted. Ladies like them did not associate with the kind of woman proposed for a dress. No, the most gentlemanly thing he could do was stay engaged and give Miss Richmond time to develop connections with their fellow church members. That way when it all ended, she would have friends to provide support.

Carp gave Miss Richmond an assessing stare. Then he looked to the eight older ladies— women who would love to help a struggling calligrapher, especially one engaged to him. For Miss Richmond’s best interest, they needed to stay engaged a little while.

Miss Richmond motioned to his empty plate. “Are you finished?”

Carp nodded.

She gave him an awkward grin before picking up his plate. She placed it atop the empty one she held.

Mrs. Grbic stood. “I know you—my circle of friends—are all wondering why I invited you here today with such little notice,” she said as Miss Richmond moved to set the dishes on the coffee table. “Before church, Carp mentioned how his lovely fiancée has no blood relations here in Wichita.”

The plates hit the edge, rattling and clanking against each other, but Miss Richmond caught them before they fell to the carpet.

All eyes looked their way.

“Sorry, sorry,” she blurted. “I am sorry. I usually am...uhh...” She placed the plates on the table then rested her hands in her lap and smiled that same impassive smile she’d worn since he arrived at the hotel to escort her to church.

Carp reached over and patted her clasped hands. In time she’d grow accustomed to Mrs. Grbic’s exuberance for seeing things get done, and in a timely manner.

Miss Richmond gave him an adoring look.

All eight church ladies grinned.

Someone sighed, “
Awww
.”

“As I was saying,” began Mrs. Grbic, standing and drawing everyone attention. “Proper etiquette following an engagement requires calling on the parents. Since our dear Carp also has no living blood relations, then we as his—as their—church family will stand in the gap. Buckwalter, Dillingsford, Grbic, and Jones will be the groom’s parents. Kleg, Lester, O’Brian, and Topping will be the bride’s. I’ve placed calls to various daily papers.” She looked to Carp, who no longer felt as accustomed to her exuberance. “Carp,” she said sweetly, “reporters from each will be contacting you this week for a photograph and wedding plans. You two have a five-thirty appointment on Tuesday at Roger’s Photo Gallery.”

While her expression remained bland, Miss Richmond’s hands tightened under his palm.

An appointment on Tuesday?

Carp did his best to appear unaffected despite the pounding in his chest and the moisture he felt on the back of his neck. There was no need to panic. He would delay giving any wedding details to the papers. He would call Roger and reschedule the photograph for May. If he and Miss Richmond publically agreed to a lengthy engagement, say a year, all would work out. Come April, they could mutually end the engagement before any actual wedding plans could be made.

See, no need to panic.

~***~

A photograph? An announcement in the papers? None of this was needed. She and Captain Yeary were not getting married.

Not.

Once Mama Helaine and Rena heard about this—oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. She had to think. She had to calm her racing mind. Why had she allowed Rena to convince her proposing to Captain Yeary was a good idea? Two dresses had been enough.

Félicie’s gaze fell to where the not-as-noble-as-she’d-been-told captain’s hand was resting atop hers. They would not be in this predicament had he not tattled to Mrs. Grbic about her lack of blood relations. It was a good thing she had not confessed to being deserted by her mother, or that Mama Helaine had taken her in as her own, or how Rena was closer to her than any blood sibling could be. This was his fault. All his fault. His duty as a gentleman was to repair the damage he had caused. Once they left here, she would explain his obligation and he would thusly do what was honorable.

His reputation, unlike hers, could endure the slight.

Feeling a bit more settled, she returned her attention to the on-going discussion.

“And that is why, ladies,” Mrs. Grbic was saying, “I call upon each of you over the month to host Carp and his lovely fiancée for dinner. Encourage your friends to do so as well. Every meal they eat shall be given for them by someone.”

Félicie looked at Captain Yeary and did a double-take. He looked like he was staring at something on the wall behind Mrs. Grbic.

Mrs. Lester set her empty lemonade glass on the side table between her chair and Mrs. Grbic’s. “What about having a tea?”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Grbic looked expectantly at her friends. “Anyone else?”

“Both sides of the family should,” prompted Mrs. Topping. “I shall host the bride’s tea.”

Mrs. Jones raised her hand. “I’ll host the groom’s.”

“I shall give a dance in their honor,” Mrs. O’Brian put in.

“Now, Doris,” interjected Mrs. Kleg, “where do you propose this dance take place? Or has Harold decided your ballroom is no longer the best place for him to store his carriage collection?”

Mrs. O’Brian’s cheeks colored. Her voice softened. “I shall host a Saturday brunch instead.”

Mrs. Buckwalter patted Mrs. O’Brian’s arm. “Brunches are always nice.” She looked to Mrs. Grbic. “I’ll host one too.”

Félicie glanced from one lady to the other. Five days a week she took her meals at the hotel. She always took her meals in the hotel. Or at Mama Helaine’s. That was her schedule. She liked knowing what she was going to eat, when she was going to eat, and where she was going to it. They couldn’t just change it at their whim, no matter how laden down in jewelry they were.

She leaned closer to Captain Yeary and whispered, “Say something.”

He continued to watch the wall with an inscrutably blank expression.

Mrs. Dillingsford withdrew what looked to be a planner from her tote. “Dinners throughout March,” she muttered, flipping pages.

Mrs. Grbic nodded. “Ladies, we can extend into April, if necessary.”

“Good idea,” someone muttered.

“This is not necessary,” Félicie insisted. “Really, it is not.” She nudged her fiancé, yet not even his eyes blinked. The man was worthless. She turned back to the circle of eight. They were huddled in groups of two. None were paying her any attention.

Mrs. Jones tapped Mrs. Dillingsford’s planner. “
That
evening is best.”

Mrs. Dillingsford nodded and wrote in her planner. She looked up. “Rachel and I will organize the engagement ball for our daughter-to-be,” she said, punctuating her words with the wave of her ring-encrusted hand. “I can think of a dozen other premier families she has yet to be presented to.”

Mrs. Kleg picked up a cookie. “My Melissa’s engagement ball was at the Carey Hotel. Mr. Kleg swears by their Indian pudding.”

“It
is
the finest Indian pudding west of the Mississippi,” Mrs. Lester added.

The ladies all nodded in agreement.

“I heard they purchase Barbados molasses from the Caribbean Islands,” Mrs. Topping put in. “
It’s made from sun-ripened cane which has grown twelve to fifteen months.”

Mrs. Buckwalter looked significantly impressed. “Really?”

“Ahh,” said Mrs. O’Brian, “that has to be what makes it taste so good.”

Mrs. Grbic finally decided to sit. “I use sulphured molasses in my gingerbread.”

“Your gingerbread is delicious,” Mrs. Jones said with a sigh. “I rarely cook with molasses much anymore. Mr. Jones doesn’t care for the taste.”