Rose Gardner's Florist (The Providence Street Shops #2) - Bonnie Dee Page 0,58
backhanded compliments and disdain is masked by good manners. I have attended events at which royal family members were present and witnessed seething yet repressed anger. So-called ‘polite’ society’s way is to deliver sharp thorns in a bouquet of well-wishes.”
His cool hazel gaze soothed her irritation like balm and prompted a different sort of internal fretting. If only they could be alone to explore that anxious feeling.
“Now shall we go to the party?” Will asked.
Rose nodded.
Several hours into the festivities, with the food gone and the keg getting low, the dancing began. Jigs, reels and foxtrots filled the union hall which reeked of smoke from years of workers gathering to dispute their wages, wait out strikes, or socialize during the good times.
Arietta’s hair had tumbled and strands stuck to her sweating forehead. A growing rip separated one side of her bodice seam, but her face glowed as Sergeant Gus Barnes swung her around. She appeared happier than Rose had ever seen her. Perhaps this match was the perfect one for her sister.
“Would you care to dance?” Will held out his hand. “I’m not much good at it, but I’m game to try.”
The reel had ended and the fiddle struck up a waltz. “Anyone can waltz,” Rose pointed out. “Step, step, slide.” She reached high to rest her palm on his shoulder, and a thrill quivered through her as he slid his hand around her waist.
Then she was airborne. Not literally as he did not quite sweep her off her feet, but with every glide and turn, her spirit lifted higher. This was the sort of romantic feeling she had yearned for but not found in any chap she’d stepped out with. This was more than romance for the feelings tied into the giddy sensation were powerful enough to take her outside of herself.
Love. I am in love with William Carmody and he appears to be in love with me. The beautiful crystalline thought filled her mind. Any worries for the future no longer mattered, for this moment of pure happiness was sufficient to last a lifetime.
When at length the song ended, Rose and Will remained locked together, breathing in unison, gazing into each other’s eyes. He did not let her go, nor did she want him to.
“A toast!” someone yelled and delivered a speech punctuated by belches.
Rose exhaled shakily. ““Well… I believe you lied about your accomplishments, because you are a very fine dancer.”
He slowly slid his hand from her waist. “I was hardly aware of what I was doing. Holding you felt so natural. Rose, I know we have only just met, but might I ask if you would consider—”
“There you are!” Her father boomed, interrupting. “Said you’d throw back a drink with me. ‘Ere you go.” He thrust a full glass of beer at Will which sloshed over the rim and wet his sleeve. “Drink up. Drink up. It’s a party.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gardener,” Will replied with good grace, taking the glass from the drunk’s unsteady hand.
“So, just how rich are you? Enough to keep my girl in the manner she deserves?”
“Dad, stop!” Humiliation burned through Rose like a fever. She could not bear to look at Will.
“Shut up, you!” her father snarled, his expression set in the belligerent scowl she knew too well. “This is business. If you and Lord Muckety-Muck are going to shack up, ‘im an’ me need to make an agreement.”
“You’re drunk. Be quiet.” Before you say something even worse. Although what could possibly be worse than the implication she was a prostitute.
“Tis a father’s duty to make sure ‘is girls is cared for.” He waved an arm to indicate Arietta, beer spattering across the floor. “Yer sister’s soldier ain’t bad, but seems you done her one better. But ya can’t count on the man’s goodwill. You gotta lock in a figure.”
“Mr. Gardener, I’m afraid you misunderstand my intentions toward your daughter,” Will stopped Dad’s yammering with icy control. “We will not co-habit unless married, and that is my full intention, given time to court her.”
Dad’s bloodshot eyes went wide. “You ain’t bloody serious. I don’t believe it. You’ll use her an’ leave ‘er in a family way no matter what fancy promises ya make now. Fellers like you don’t marry gals from Spitalfields. I’m ‘ere to see my daughter gets what’s comin’ to ‘er. Tis only right.”
“Dad!” Rose nearly howled. “Stop talking!”
He barely glanced at her as he yelled. “I said shut up. This is men’s business.”