The Rose of Winslow Street (26 page)

Libby was shaken, Michael could tell that much by her silence on the walk back to the train station. Normally she was such a chatterbox, but she was as tight-lipped as a crocus that closed its petals at night and refused to open again until dawn. At least she let him hold her hand, but he knew she was riddled with anxiety. Her relationship with her sister-in-law was bound to take a turn for the worse, which meant Libby would have even less of a family to lean on. Where could she go if her father continued to banish her, and her brother and his wife were thieves? He wished he could wipe the anxiety from her face as quickly as he'd pulled her skirts from the gears.

Michael was used to doing battle. If the mission was to haul Mirela out of an insane asylum, he barged in and did it. If it was harvesting a hundred pounds of rose oil before the end of the season, he labored in the fields until the job was finished. But how did one give a woman confidence in herself? The people in Libby's family had always belittled her, and Michael had not helped matters when he suggested the house was his motive in offering marriage. Still, he would learn from his mistakes. Libby needed to know she was his treasure and he would do anything for her. For today, that meant helping her deal with the thorny mess of her family.

He needed more privacy than this bustling train station platform could provide. Michael guided Libby to the far side of the platform and down a flight of stairs leading to the ground, where a path curved around a vendor selling meat pies and descended toward the bay. A stand of old sycamore trees partially sheltered a bench from prying eyes.

He guided Libby to the bench, sat down, then tugged her forward to sit across his lap. “Michael!” she gasped.

“Hush. No one can see us.” He liked the feel of her on his lap, but she swallowed and glanced about.

“It's unseemly,” she said in a halfhearted protest. That didn't stop her from draping her arms around his shoulders.

He bounced his knee, bumping her into the air and settling her more comfortably onto his lap. “It is a bit, isn't it?” He set his hands on her hips and liked everything about the way she fit against his body. “Come,” he urged. “Tell me why you are still upset.”

She looked at him as if he were a simpleton. “I need to tell my father what Regina and Jasper have done, but I don't know how.”

His brows rose in confusion. “What do you mean? You go to him and tell him what you saw in Plymouth.” It was typical for a woman to make things more complicated than necessary, but he would help her put this in perspective.

“It isn't quite that clear-cut.”

“Of course it is,” he said. “I know you do not want to hurt your father's feelings, but what happened is a hurtful thing. You cannot soften it by thinking up fancy words. Speak to him in a straightforward manner.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were not in the room the last time I spoke to him in a straightforward manner. I ended up in the middle of a rainstorm.”

Michael did not hesitate. “Then I will be with you when you deliver this information. No man should be allowed to bully a woman because she comes with news he does not wish to hear. The only reason he has done so in the past is because he believed he could get away with it. That ends today.” He grasped her chin, tilted her face toward him, and kissed her deeply. She was wearing no perfume today, but her skin carried a faint scent that reminded him of apples. It could be because they had been living in an apple orchard, but Michael knew it was simply the way her skin naturally smelled.

When he withdrew, he smiled at the attractive flush that darkened her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. “If you had looked at me like that the first time I saw you,” he murmured, “I would have flung you over my shoulder and carried you off to the nearest church. No man can have a woman look at him like that and not want to marry her.”

Libby's smile lit her entire face, but he couldn't let himself get carried away. The coming drama with her family loomed over her head, and he would help her solve it. “It will be late before we get home tonight,” he said. “What will your family be doing tomorrow?”

“I suppose my father will go to Jasper's house for Saturday luncheon. Regina always sets out quite a feast.”

Michael nodded. “Then tomorrow we will call on them and discuss the matter with everyone there.”

The chugging of an engine in the distance heralded the arrival of their train. Michael pulled her closer, savoring these last few moments. It felt good and right to have this woman in his arms. He breathed deeply, praying they would find a way to build a life together.

L
ibby twisted her hands in trepidation after knocking on Jasper's elegant front door. She clenched her teeth, now understanding how he could afford the splendid house. Perhaps Jasper would not reign quite so supreme in her father's eyes when the truth was revealed. Would it make her father love her any more? She had never been his favorite, but at least she had never stolen from him.

All Libby could think of was the confrontation about to occur, but leave it to Michael to become distracted by the way things smelled. Walking up the front path he had stopped first to smell the hydrangeas and then the elderberry bush. Framing the door were two urns filled with rosemary shrubs that held him utterly mesmerized. He leaned over and pinched off a leaf, held it to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

“There is a hint of pine mixed in with a soft, woody undertone. Very unusual.”

“Please,” she muttered, not exactly sure what she was praying for, but wishing Michael would drop that rosemary sprig before Regina saw it and accused him of thievery. She braced herself for a confrontation, but when the door opened, it was little Tillie, clutching a handful of dandelions and grinning with delight.

“Aunt Libby!” she said as she threw her arms around Libby's skirts with all the strength in her little body. Was anything so wonderful as the wholehearted embrace of a child? Libby's eyes drifted closed, the sudden realization that a rift with Jasper and Regina could jeopardize her ability to see Tillie. She bent low to sweep the girl up into her arms, savoring Tillie's musical laughter at being raised high in the air.

“We were not sure if you would be joining us,” Regina said, her voice cool as she glided into the front parlor. Libby stiffened at the sight. Regina was wearing a fabulous dress of canary yellow with a satin bodice and a low princess-cut neckline. She looked as fresh and innocent as a spring morning, but Libby knew it was an illusion. Regina's eyes widened in surprise as Michael stepped into the foyer behind her.

“And look,” Regina said. “You have brought your . . . brought the Romanian. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Dobrescu.” Regina batted her lashes and gave Michael a coy little tap on his shoulder with her fan. “Gracious, it looks as though Libby has been keeping a little secret.”

The irony of the phrase was too much for Libby to stomach. “I came to discuss some business with Father. Although you probably need to hear it, since it involves you as well.”

“My goodness. I hope it doesn't have anything to do with that patent nonsense. You
know
Jasper was only acting in your father's best interest. Willard really ought to thank him.”

Libby set Tillie down, then reached for Michael's hand. His firm squeeze gave her courage as she drew a deep breath and walked toward the back of the house. Jasper and her father were under the awning on the back patio, drinking lemonade and reading the newspaper.

“Look who has come to join us,” Regina said with a tight brightness. “Libby has made a new friend. Willard, would you like to dine with Mr. Dobrescu, or shall I ask him to leave?”

Both her father and Jasper shot to their feet. “What is
he
doing here?” her father demanded.

Michael shifted uneasily on his feet. “Perhaps the child should go inside for a few minutes.”

Libby was embarrassed she had not thought of protecting Tillie from the conflict that would likely break out. Regina snapped her fingers.

“Tillie, go practice on the piano for a few minutes. The grown-ups need to talk.”

Tillie still clutched her handful of dandelions as she toddled toward the house. “Okay,” she said in an obedient tone. Libby's heart turned over. If the family fractured as a result of this news, it was possible Regina would not allow her to keep seeing Tillie. Should she forget about the windmills? Try to go on as though she were not aware her father was being swindled by his own son?

But Father had a right to know. Her decision made, Libby took a deep breath and steeled herself. She kept her gaze riveted on Jasper as she spoke the words on trembling breath. “Michael and I went to Plymouth yesterday. We saw the windmills and I know they are built on Father's design. I spoke to Mr. Standish. He told us everything.”

Jasper did not move a muscle. He kept staring at her with mild bewilderment in his face.

“We saw the papers,” Libby said. “Mr. Standish even gave us instructions on how to get in touch with Regina to obtain the license. I know everything.”

Jasper finally spoke. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I do,” Regina said coolly from behind her.

All eyes swiveled to Regina, who strolled forward and lifted the pitcher of lemonade from the table. Without skipping a beat, she began filling the glasses with exquisite grace.

“I licensed the patents,” she said without a hint of shame. “They were just gathering dust down there in Washington and it seemed a shame to let all of Willard's hard work go to waste.” Her father stared at Regina in confusion, but Jasper looked stunned. His face lost all color and his chest crumpled inward as though he had lost the ability to draw a breath.

“Don't look so surprised,” Regina said to Jasper. “You always said your father was sitting on a fortune if he would get over his perfectionism and bring those inventions to market. I just helped him along.” She took a sip of lemonade and winced at the sour tang. Spooning a little more sugar into the glass, she continued speaking as she stirred. “It is not as though I
stole
the money,” she said. “It is all staying within the family and I'm sure your father won't begrudge the money I have spent providing Tillie with a decent home.”

Libby's pulse was racing, the heat pounding down and making her dizzy, but Regina remained serene. Only a person secure in the knowledge they did nothing wrong could appear so blissfully unruffled. Was it possible Regina had no trace of a conscience whatsoever? “When were you going to tell us,” Libby demanded. “Would you ever have told Father? Or were you going to wait until you had enough money to buy another summer house?”

Regina's face went hard. “I think that's quite enough, Libby. I fully intended to share some of the proceeds when the time was right. That was how I was able to pay for those lawyers, and there is plenty more where that came from. It is
family
money,” she insisted.

Jasper stood, stumbling a bit as he rose to his feet. “Father, I had no idea. I'll return the money.”

But for the first time in his life, her father ignored Jasper as he braced both hands on the table to push himself to his feet. The trembling in his arms was so severe he knocked over the pitcher of lemonade, the crystal shattering on the tile below. One hand clutched his stomach, as though he was about to be ill. The other shook violently as he reached out for balance, stumbling away from Jasper and the rest of the family.

“Father, sit down,” Jasper said. “You'll make yourself ill.”

“Don't speak to me.” His voice was as faint and raspy as a withered autumn leaf. “Don't ever speak to me again.” On shaking legs he shuffled toward the gate in the garden fence, looking like a blind man staggering about in the dark.

This is my fault
, Libby thought. She wanted to knock Jasper off the pedestal her father had put him on, and she had succeeded. Never had she taken less satisfaction in being proven right than at this very moment. She lurched toward her father.

“Let me take you home,” she said. To her surprise, her father let her take his arm and guide him through the gate. Michael followed behind. She hoped Michael's presence would not provoke an outburst from her father, but he seemed oblivious to everything going on around him, stumbling over a garden rake and heedless of the napkin he still clutched in his hand.

Father was lost in a daze as Michael drove the wagon home to Winslow Street. Libby was accustomed to seeing her father angry and hostile, but this lost, broken behavior was new. The prospect of exposing his inventions to the critical eyes of the world had always terrified her father. Libby was certain his anguish was not about the money Regina had siphoned away; it was the mortification of knowing his imperfect inventions were no longer something he could keep private.

When they arrived home, she helped her father step down from the wagon and walk up the slate pathway. She took the key from his hand to open the front door. Before entering the house, he looked her in the eye for the first time since Regina's revelation.

“Do you think Jasper knew what she was doing?” he asked in a pained whisper.

The look of shock on Jasper's face had been real. Regina had the cunning to orchestrate the scheme and cover her tracks, but how could Jasper have been ignorant of the money that was flowing in and out of Regina's hands? Jasper worked an exhausting schedule, so perhaps he truly was ignorant of Regina's activities.

“I don't think he knew,” Libby said quietly. The relief in her father's eyes was palpable. Rarely did he give her opinion much credence, but this afternoon he seemed anxious to latch on to any piece of exonerating information. The trembling in his hands eased and he stood a little straighter.

“That girl was never good enough for Jasper,” he said darkly. “My son would have never betrayed me unless
she
had driven him to it.” He turned to step inside the house, then stiffened. “You may enter the house, but that man is not welcome here.”

Libby glanced back at Michael, but his face was neutral, as though her father's words carried no more power than arrows glancing off a stone wall.

“It is all right if you wish to stay with your father,” Michael said.

She hesitated, one foot inside the house, the other beside Michael on the porch. The words he spoke on the train came back to her. He said she would need to make a choice, and soon. Her focus flitted to the spreading branches of the beloved silver maple tree she had climbed as a child. Captured in watercolors as a young woman. Just last spring, she had helped Father prune it while he sang a rousing rendition of “Beautiful Dreamer.” That had been a good day, one of the best. Staying with her father in this house was the
safe
choice.

“Libby?” her father asked. “Are you coming inside?” His expression reminded her of Tillie when she was on the verge of breaking into tears. How terribly weak he had grown over these last few months. He swallowed hard and twisted his hands, but managed a cautious smile. “Liberty-bell? It is time to come inside.”

It was hard to listen to him plead. Her father was a lonely man, and she would always harbor an instinctive love for him. But in her heart a new loyalty was beginning to grow and take root. If her future lay with Michael, she could not stand idly by while her father shunned him.

“I am going for a short walk with Michael,” she said quietly. The fleeting look of panic on her father's face was masked before she could even be sure it had been there. “I will return soon to check on you.”

Her father straightened his vest. “No need,” he said stiffly. “I am not an invalid.” He closed the door quietly.

She wished he had slammed it. When her father was surly and mean it was easier to throw up her defenses. This broken, needy man was much more difficult to turn away from.

Libby seemed oblivious to the curious gawking of her neighbors, but Michael felt the stares drilling into his skin like a weevil boring through the flesh of a plant. He followed Libby across the street to a garden bench in Mr. Stockdale's front yard. She said old Mr. Stockdale welcomed visitors and she had no qualms about taking advantage of the bench. The last thing he wanted was to be parted from Libby, but he eyed the bench reluctantly. “You think it would be okay?” he asked. “I already have a reputation in this town for barging in where I am not wanted.”

Libby patted the empty space beside her. “Let the neighbors see that we are friends. Perhaps it is the best way to ease their hostility. And my father will never become accustomed to the sight of us together if I keep meeting you behind his back.”