Page 57 of A Late-Blooming Rose
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The morning before the Baxter-Livingston wedding, Rose left the breakfast room, a heavy feeling of inertia weighing down her spirits. She didnotlook forward to all the hoopla happening today and tomorrow. The comings and goings this week had been bad enough.Who’d have thought a minister’s house would be such a center of social activity?
Rose sighed, missing her niece. A pity Cora wasn’t in town. She’d have sparkled in the center of every activity, garnered plenty of attention, and enjoyed every moment.
At least Cora wrote regularly. Thank goodness, Hank Canfield made frequent trips to town; probably, Rose suspected, to pay visits to Elsie.Ah, young love.So much joy. So much possibility…for pain.
Mature love can cause just as much pain.
Before she reached the staircase, familiar footsteps sounded behind her.
She didn’t stop and turn to see the cause of her pain.
The footsteps quickened to catch up. “Rose.” Andre reached her side and touched her arm.
This time, she halted and turned toward him, subtly sliding a few inches to the side to put more space between them.
“Now that you’ve finished cataloguing your books and mine—a task, by the way, which you’ve accomplished much quicker than I thought possible….”
That’s because I needed to stay focused and away from you.She gave him a gracious nod in acknowledgment.
“Rose, if I have to listen toone more thingabout that wedding, I swear—” he exhaled a sharp breath, and his expression tightened “—I shall goinsane.”
She couldn’t help laughing at his aggrieved tone, knowing Andre was only half-joking. The details of Maggie and Caleb’s wedding took over the breakfast conversation and, for that matter, were the main topic of the last few days.
With the excuse of cataloguing the books, she’d buried herself in the attic and, thus far, managed to skip much of the socializing taking place. She counted herself lucky to have avoided meeting the Boston relatives. “Hopefully, they’ll assign us neighboring rooms in the asylum,” she said wryly.
His expression relaxed. “I need to get away from town. Find someplace, well, not exactly quiet, but at least with other topics of conversation.”
She wished they really could leave town until the wedding was over.
Andre tilted his head, apparently thinking. “How about getting away for the day? We could make that visit to the Flanigans, which we’d planned for next week.”
Rose stared at him, puzzled. “But the dinner party for the wedding is tonight. I understand the Flanigans live several hours away. Surely, there’s not enough time for us to travel there, look through the books, and then return h—” she caught herself before sayinghome“—here.”
He casually waved a hand. “Plenty of time. I thought we’d take the coach, so there’s room to bring back crates of books.”
What’s worse—avoiding the crowd of unknown guests or avoiding the intimacy of Andre’s company?And yet, a longing set in.
To counter the odd feeling, Rose raised one eyebrow. “As one of the mostdistinguishedmembers of this community, youknowyou must attend the party.”
He rolled his eyes, borrowing one of his daughter’s favorite ways of expressing a sense of the ridiculous. “Onlydistinguished members of the community are invited. Among such an august crowd, I won’t be missed.”
Oh, you’ll be missed.But Rose didn’t say so aloud. Running away for part of the day sounded just perfect, and the coach would give them plenty of room to travel without shoulders, arms, and limbs touching. She glanced down at her gown, donned in expectation of receiving callers and paying calls, and then looked out the window.
The day appeared sunny and cool. With as deep an exhale as her corset would allow, she made up her mind. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Wonderful.” Smiling, he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll tell Delia we’re going, have Sam hitch up the horses, and ask Cook to pack us a basket, so we don’t go empty-handed.”
Feeling a little guilty for escaping the day’s activities, Rose hurried upstairs to use the bathroom. Once back in her room, she plucked her second-best hat from the stand on her dressing table and angled it on her head with several hatpins. Then, she pulled on gloves, slipped the strings of her reticule over her arm, and picked up the writing desk. The Flanigans would probably have paper, as well as a pen and inkwell, but she didn’t want to impose.
Once downstairs, she met Andre pacing across the entryway.
He stopped, smiled, and then glanced out the window. “Perfect timing. I see Sam pulling up with the coach.”
That was quick.“I’m looking forward to this outing.”
Andre bestowed a benign smile upon her. “Your pleasure is mine, m’dear.” He bent in an ironic bow.
