Page 32 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Delia finished her last bite of cake. “As with this house, Papa is throwing plenty of resources and men at the project. So, not as long as you’d think.”
“A year,” Andre said abruptly, firmly placing a palm on the table. “But your salary begins tomorrow.”
Rose wasn’t sure how to feel. Relieved, certainly, she’d have a salary. But she wasn’t sure she’d be doing enough work to justify being paid. She mentally shrugged—whether or not I like the idea, I need to take the funds. The sooner I begin saving money, the sooner Cora and I can move into our new home.
The thought wasn’t as gratifying as it should have been.
* * *
After the meal ended, Cora went upstairs for a bath, and Rose followed Andre down the hall and into his study to view the library plans. Like the dining room, the room faced the back garden, the big window letting in plenty of reading light.
Once inside, she glanced around with approval, noting the built-in shelves of books. The large desk was different from the one in his New York house. A blotter was placed in the center, a closed ledger on top, and a cut-glass pitcher of water and a matching glass on one corner. She couldn’t see the title of the book resting next to the ledger but suspected from the well-worn cover, the volume was Andre’s favorite,Meditationsby Marcus Aurelius.
But the sight of a bronze eagle—one claw holding an inkwell and the other the pen—stabbed Rose with pain. She’d given him that pen and inkwell set for his birthday, when she thought a proposal was imminent, so a gift from her was wholly appropriate.
She didn’t know what to make of Andre keeping the inkwell for all these years.Does he think of me when he uses it?
Doubtless, he even remembers. His warm gaze and courtliness are probably just about welcoming old friends.
He followed her glance and smiled. “The most useful present I’ve ever received.” His voice roughened. “I’ve often blessed the giver for her care and thoughtfulness.”
To hide the sudden tears misting her vision, Rose turned away and tottered almost blindly to the long table against the wall, the surface covered with large sheets of paper. After taking a breath to regain her composure, she looked closer and recognized building plans. Four silver paperweights in the shape of pieces of fruit held down the corners of the thick stack.
She wasn’t at all familiar with architectural drawings and leaned closer to study them surprised to see the ink was blue. But the closer view only made the print blur and become difficult to see, making Rose realize she needed her other pair of spectacles—the ones she used for reading, which she’d left in her reticule. She bit her cheek, not wanting to admit her aging eyesight to her former beau.Vanity, she chided herself, though she still couldn’t bring herself to confess the truth.
Apparently, Andre wasn’t fooled, for he gave her a knowing smile, walked over to his desk, and opened the top, center drawer. Pulling out a pair of spectacles, he held them aloft. “I’ve noticed print has become smaller.” His tone was as bland as his expression, but his eyes twinkled. “Quite annoying, wouldn’t you agree?” He returned to Rose’s side and handed her the glasses.
Not allowing herself to be charmed, with a huff, Rose took his spectacles, exchanging them for hers, and leaving her glasses on his desk. After a few blinks to adjust to the different lenses, she once again leaned over the drawings. His spectacles were wider, and she had to push them up to the bridge of her nose and hold them in place.
The top page of the drawings showed a watercolor picture of how the library would look completed—far bigger and more elaborate than what Rose had imagined—a three-story neoclassical, revival-style stone building, with massive ionic columns flanking the doors, a circular rotunda perched on top, and carvings on the exterior.
Once again, the lines of the drawing blurred, this time not because of her eyesight but because of a sense of awe and gratification and possessiveness overwhelming her with emotion.My library.Mine.
She blinked away the tears and raised her head to find Andre watching her with a tender expression.Could he tell?In the past, he’d proven quite good at reading her—something a shy girl, poor at expressing herself unless discussing books, marveled at.
Looking back, Rose realized Andre’s innate understanding had probably misled her into expecting more from their friendship.Perhaps I can’t hold his withdrawal against him in the way I believed. Maybe he didn’t care as much as I thought and tried to spare my feelings.
What about the kisses?
Confused again, Rose didn’t know what to think. She resolved to leave their past in the past where memories belonged.
Keeping her emotions under control, she touched the colored brick of the library print. “Sioux Quartzite again?” She forced her tone to sound logical.
“The business owners are trying to give the town a cohesive look with any new buildings. The library, though, will have the same rough bricks as this house, instead of the shiny façade of the hotel. And we’ll bewarminside with radiators throughout the building and two fireplaces. Probably lure people off the street that way.” His eyes gleamed.
She couldn’t resist a smile in return. “The heat will feel lovely in the winter. Stone Street Library had an old boiler that emitted tepid warmth and never reached all the corners.” Rose inhaled a happy breath. “I can see this library becoming a center for the community.” She had a sudden yearning to be part of such an important endeavor.
“Yes. A space for cultural activities.” With zeal blazing in his eyes, Andre looked through the drawings and pulled out one, laying the page on top and replacing the paperweights on the corners. “See, here on the first floor is a theatre for amateur or professional readings and productions. Outside will be a wide Mediterranean terrace, big enough to hold gatherings—teas or garden parties.” Still looking at the plans, he waved toward the window. “The garden will flow into the park.”
“How marvelous.”
He took her arm and pulled her closer to the window before releasing her and touching the glass. “Look out there. Beyond our yard is the park. From here, I’ll be able to see the library’s upper stories, at least until the trees grow in.”
Standing next to him, Rose could imagine all he described, even if the wrong glasses kept her from seeing clearly out the window. Excitement buzzed through her. She liked knowing she’d have more freedom here to implement ideas and programs in a way she couldn’t at Stone Street Library were Mr. Nicklesby-Ward held sway.
He grinned. “‘If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.’”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you forsaking Marcus Aurelius for Marcus Tullius Cicero?”
