Page 53 of A Late-Blooming Rose
“I mean….” Rose gazed at him, her expression earnest. “I can understand why you didn’t before. A man doesn’t speak of his former mistress to a young, unmarried woman. Now, I’m a spinster, and no longer a green girl to be protected.”
Spinsterwas never a term Andre would have associated with her, and he didn’t like Rose referring to herself that way. Then the impact of her statement caught up with him.What does my weak heart have to do with her being unwed?
Perhaps, Delia didn’t break her promise and tell Rose about my heart condition.He settled back in his chair and steepled his hands on his stomach. “Perhaps, before I make assumptions, you should tell mewhatmy daughter shared with you.”
“Delia told me she’s illegitimate and has Negro blood.”
Although, Rose surprised him by choosing bluntness rather than a polite skirting around the issue, Delia’s decision to reveal her background didn’t surprise him. His perceptive daughter, who in private continued to refer to this particular guest asyour Rose,sensed more than Andre was willing to reveal.
“She said her mother was your mistress in New Orleans. That you didn’t know you had a daughter.”
His chest squeezed. This time, Andre knew for sure the pressure wasn’t physical. “I wouldn’t have abandoned my child, Rose.Never!”
She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course not!”
Relieved, he let out a breath.
“How odd, though, that Delia’s mother didn’t say anything.” Rose sipped her willowbark tea and pulled a face.
“I suspect that was my mother’s doing. She gave Isadora—Delia’s mother—money, so at least they were taken care of.”
She gasped. “Your mother knew and didn’t tell you?”
“One of her sons had to go to New York to help my grandfather with the business. Why not send the misfit?” He raised his eyebrows in self-mockery. “Have peace at home. No more arguments.” He gave her a wry smile. “I was a rather opinionated lad.”
Rose gave a ladylike snort. “I remember. That never changed. You just became better at disguising your opinion under—” she fluttered a hand at him “—a veneer of charm.”
He pretended offense, making an innocent face and touching the tips of his fingers to his chest.
She wagged a finger at him. “Yes, you.”
“I supposed that was my grandfather’s doing. He was a crusty old Scotsman.”
“Gruff with a big heart underneath.” She ate more cucumber sandwich.
“That’s right. I forgot you knew him.”
“You had Marty and I over for supper a couple of times before his stroke made him bedridden.”
“Even from his bed, my grandfather was still able to direct his empire—including me.”
“I remember you tried to learn as much about the business as quickly as you could because you wouldn’t have him much longer.”
Andre thought back to those days. Rose was a favorite of the old man, and he’d encouraged their courtship. He opened his mouth to tell her so, realized he couldn’t mention such a hazardous topic, and instead sipped his tea. The beverage was still too hot, burning his tongue.
Serves me right.
“His pride in you shone in his eyes.”
Rose’s comment brought Andre back to the present. “I suppose he approved of me, although he’d never be the type to say so.” He shook his head. “Goodness, how did we ever get on the topic of my grandfather?” He took a bite of a salmon sandwich and savored the smoky flavor.
“We started with your daughter, and then to your mistress, from there, to your mother—with a touch on your brothers—and finally to your grandfather,” she teased, her eyes bright behind her spectacles.
He swallowed and chuckled.
“Back to Delia and your family. What happened when you acknowledged her?”
“In the South, taking a quadroon mistress was a well-established tradition. Having illegitimate children with Negro blood is quite common. Some families acknowledge those children—send them to school or set them up in a trade. Others pretend to ignore their existence. My family is the latter. I suspect I have several such nieces and nephews. I saysuspect, because after leaving New York, I was only in New Orleans a few days before discovering Delia and leaving.”
