Page 28 of A Late-Blooming Rose
I’m in for it now.“I’ve offered Rose the position of librarian. I told you I would.”
“Does she know the library is only a hole in the ground, and not much of one at that?”
“I…I might have misled her.”
“Papa!” She gave his arm a little shake.
“I was afraid she would say no,” Andre said with a sheepish duck of his head. “I didn’t lie. I did hire Rose for the position of librarian. Her salary will start right away.”
“Being paid by you.”
“I always intended to pay the salary of the librarian. You know that.”
“Papa, this evasion isn’t good. When Miss Collier finds out, she’s going to be justifiably angry.” Delia shook her head. “AndIwill be onherside.”
Feeling guilty and maybe a little ashamed about disappointing his daughter, Andre couldn’t say anything more in his defense. At the same time, he liked the idea of Rose and Delia ganging up on him—rather ridiculous, when he should be like any other red-blooded man with a modicum of self-preservation and concern about the two women he loved banding together against him. “I’ll take whatever punishment you mete out.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll tell her right away? No more evasions?”
“During dinner, I promise.”
She cast him a narrow-eyedyou’d betterlook. “Hopefully, the news won’t make Miss Collier lose her appetite.”
“Then I’ll wait until after dessert.”
“Good plan, Papa.”
“Listen, darling.” He sought her gaze. “Please don’t mention anything to Rose and Cora about my weak heart. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Remember you dictated a letter to Marty that I wrote and sent?” she said pointedly. “Would your friend have kept the news to himself?”
He blew out a sharp breath. “Probably not.”
“I won’t tell, Papa, at least not yet. But I won’t lie, either.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Footsteps on the landing had him turn to see Rose. She wore a plain, gray traveling basque and skirt ribbed in black braid. She’d obviously unpinned and brushed her hair back into a tight coiffure.
Andre watched Rose descend the steps. He could see over the intervening years, she’d lost none of her graceful movements but gained more poise. He moved to meet her at the bottom of the staircase and held out his hand to assist her down the last steps.
Just the anticipation of touching Rose took his breath away. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face.
How can I live with her, see her every day and not want more than friendship?He inhaled a shuddering breath.
By continuously reminding myself that I might die at any moment, leaving her a widow.
He exhaled.That should work.
CHAPTER EIGHT
With Delia’s gaze upon them, Rose couldn’t be rude and avoid Andre’s outstretched hand, as she might have done if they were alone. So gingerly she touched her fingers to his palm.
A spark leapt from his hand to hers, making her stomach flutter. She pulled back her hand, and, not looking at him or waiting for an escort, boldly strode across the entry hall and into what must be the parlor—no, since the room ran the width of the whole house, a double parlor.
The large parlor had an elegant yet comfortable look with Persian rugs spread over the polished wooden floors. Two velvet sofas as wide as beds, with plump pillows and round arms looked like perfect places to read. A grandfather clock ticked the seconds away. Balloon-backed side chairs with needlepoint covers provided plenty of extra seating, while the two wingback chairs near one end of a sofa and in front of the corner fireplace, surrounded in green marble, looked like the men’s domain.
The sight of a blackpapier-mâchétable with an inlay of pink roses in the center and a gold-painted border made Rose’s heart squeeze. Once, while on an outing with Andre, she’d seen the table in a shop window and stopped to admire the piece. Later, visiting his house with Marty, she’d spotted the table in his parlor. The purchase seemed to carry a message—you will be the hostess of this home, and the décor will reflect your tastes as well as mine.
