Even Godfrey thought the maid had better taste than Rosemary did.
Remember, she is the maid and everyone expects you to be difficult. “I’ll pick out my own dress, thank you.”
“Ah, but Mr. St. John said—”
“You can go, Mollie.” Rosemary steeled herself to be authoritative.
“All right then,” the maid said in a flip tone, “but don’t be ablamin’ me if he’s that upset.” She sailed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
He’d think upset October thirty-first when Rosemary took over and tossed him out on his handsome and well-clad posterior.
She climbed into the big copper tub and made lots of suds, then leaned back with a sigh. She was the dark and mysterious Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. Men would give their lives to see her beautiful form bathing, but of course, only Mark Anthony and maybe some other powerful men ever would.
Then she started scrubbing herself and shook her head over just how plump the mysterious queen had become. She closed her eyes as she bathed, not wanting to be Rosemary Burke again. As she sudsed her long brown hair, she thought again of the strong, tanned man. What would he say if he could see her bathing? The thought made her shudder and she quickly finished bathing, wrapped a towel around her wet body, and went into her bedroom, avoiding the mirror. It had been a difficult day; how she wished she had a leftover piece of cake for comfort.
Mollie had laid out some underthings and a dress, despite Rosemary’s orders. The arrogant servant was one of the people Rosemary intended to fire when she sent Godfrey packing. She wondered if Mollie would still find the stepfather so fascinating when he had no money?
Rosemary put on her underthings and picked up the corset with resignation. She’d like to throw it away and never wear such an uncomfortable thing again, but of course it made her appear thinner, and that was important to men. Then she looked at the dress Mollie had chosen and gritted her teeth. It was bright green, very elaborate and expensive, and Rosemary hated it. She hung the bright-colored silk back in the closet and chose a simple pale blue gown.
Mollie came into the room just then. “Ye need help with your corset, ma’am?”
Mollie was so slender, she probably never wore one.
“Yes, please.” Rosemary put it on and hung on to the bedpost as Mollie struggled to lace it and pull it tight. Tiny waists and full bell skirts with hoops were the fashion now. Even when Mollie pulled the corset so tight, Rosemary felt her face turn cherry red, she knew she would never achieve the hourglass figure featured in all the ladies’ magazines. “Not so tight,” she gulped, “I can’t breathe.”
“Ah, but ye’ll want to be stylish, won’t ye?” Mollie scolded.
“No,” Rosemary said emphatically, “I want to breathe. I don’t want to swoon from lack of air.”
“Gentlemen like dainty ladies who swoon,” Mollie said and in the next breath, “is that what you’re going to wear?”
Now she sounded just like Mother. Rosemary bristled. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to wear.”
“But Mr. St. John—”
“Enough, Mollie. I intend to wear the blue dress.”
“All right, but I hope he don’t blame me none that—”
“I’ll deal with Godfrey.” She was surprised at her own resoluteness. “You may get the curling iron and do my hair now.”
The uppity Irish girl stomped out of the room and returned with a curling iron, pins, and brushes. She lit a lamp and put the curling iron to heat over it while she towel-dried her mistress’s brown hair.
“Not too elaborate.” Rosemary ordered.
“All fine ladies have theirs all done up fancy,” Mollie reminded her.
“I don’t care. I’d like it pulled to the nape of my neck and tied with blue ribbons so the curls can hang down my back.”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s your hair.” It was evident Mollie disapproved. “Can’t make a silk purse from a—”
“What was that?”
“Nuthin’, ma’am,” Mollie said.
No doubt Godfrey would disapprove, too. Well, she’d deal with that when she got there, Rosemary sighed.
Below, she heard the front door open and the butler say, “Ah, good afternoon, Mr. St. John. The lady is upstairs dressing.”
Then Godfrey yelled up the stairs. “Yoo-hoo, Rosemary, I’d like a word with you in the library.”
Rosemary gritted her teeth. To Mollie, she said, “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
Mollie went to the door. “Godfrey,” she called, “I mean, Mr. St. John, Miss Rosemary says she’ll be right down.”
The maid seemed a little too familiar, Rosemary thought, but she let it pass. She dismissed Mollie, heard her descending the stairs, and after a moment, she thought she could hear the maid and Godfrey talking.
Rosemary dreaded this evening, trying to make clever conversation with the prominent locals. No doubt someone would bring along an eligible son or nephew, hoping to marry her for her money. For a long moment, Rosemary wished there was someone out there who would be interested in her for herself.
The image of that big Texas cowboy passed through her mind. His arms had been so powerful as he picked her up out of the dirt, and he hadn’t laughed behind his hand like she suspected so many others were doing. In her mind, she was Billie, the Western Queen of the Range, galloping around an arena, a tiny, spunky thing on a big black horse, roping and doing tricks while the audience applauded and the big cowboy nodded in approval from the sidelines. Then he would lift her from her saddle and—
“Rosemary, are you coming down or not?” Godfrey’s annoyed voice broke into her daydream from below.
“I’m coming.” She hurried toward the stairs, the big hoop skirt swaying around her as she walked. She felt like a hot air balloon about to go aloft.
Below her, Godfrey St. John looked up at his stepdaughter and frowned. He liked tiny, slender women who laughed a lot and were free with their favors; someone like Mollie. Rosemary was not his type at all, so plain and plump in that simple blue dress, and the wide hoops only made her seem heavier. Ye Gods, did he really have to marry her? Maybe it would just be easier to murder her.
Chapter Two
Rosemary came down the stairs, the hoop skirt swaying as she descended. She might as well begin practicing her resoluteness if she was going to take over the bank. Then she felt herself begin to waver. “Well, Godfrey, you’re home from the bank early.”
“I was so eager to see you. You’ve been overseas for almost a year now.”
“That wasn’t my idea; it was yours.” She took a deep breath. She wasn’t at all sure she had the courage and self-confidence to confront him.
He took her hand, frowning. “Rosemary, dear, as many clothes as you own, that’s a very simple frock.”
She felt herself tremble. “As a matter of fact, it is, but it suites me better than that green ornate silk. I like my clothes simple. I’m thinking about doing away with my corset and hoops entirely.”
“Ah, my dear, surely you jest.” He laughed without mirth. “We’re people of property, and you should dress accordingly.”
“I don’t see why upper-class women should be more miserable than poor ones.”
“Don’t be difficult, Rosemary, dear. You wouldn’t want to be the laughingstock of this town, now would you?” He took her elbow.