The Ring on Her Finger (21 page)

Oh, why question it? she asked herself as she braided her hair. Why was it so hard for her to believe that a handsome, wealthy, successful man might find her attractive? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. But then, look how that had played out. Handsome, wealthy and successful Phillip Somerset might have been, but he hadn’t loved her, had he? Certainly not enough to overcome the prejudices of his family—or his own prejudices, either. Certainly not enough to make her his wife.

“But can’t you come to the testing, too?” Abby asked anxiously from her perch on Rosemary’s bed. As if the situation weren’t already difficult enough, Alexis had dressed her daughter in a pink, girly dress. Abby hated pink, girly things.

“Your mother asked me not to come, sweetheart. She’s afraid I might distract you.”

“You won’t distract me!” Abby’s desperate tone tugged hard at the thing inside Rosemary that always got tugged whenever she was around the little girl. “I want you to be there! Can’t my mom stay home and you go with me? Please?”

Rosemary turned back to the mirror so Abby couldn’t see her expression. Alexis would certainly be the greater distraction, because she was even more anxious about this test than Abby was. She would constantly be after the little girl to sit up straight, and get her hair out of her eyes, and smooth that wrinkle out of your dress, Abby, and push your glasses up on your nose, and oh, why did you have to have such poor eyesight, those glasses just aren’t becoming at all, your father and I both have perfect vision, I can’t imagine where you come by this.

“No, Abby,” Rosemary said softly. “Your mother should be with you.” Hah. “And you’ll do just fine.”

“Besides,” Abby added cheerlessly, “you’re going out with Mr. Nathaniel today.”

Rosemary’s stomach roiled at the mere mention of the day ahead. She tried to sound happy and excited when she replied, “Yes, sweetheart, I’m going out with Mr. Nathaniel today.”

Instead of arguing any further, Abby watched with much fascination as Rosemary effortlessly finished braiding her hair, then wound it around and around her head like a headband, and deftly fastened it into place. She hadn’t been sure what to wear when the occasion was looking at a horse someone else was considering buying. Back in Derry, she would have worn something appropriate for riding in case an opportunity arose, but she’d only been a teenager then and hadn’t known anything about social graces. Or life in general, for that matter. Ultimately, she had selected a sleeveless, floral print dress and coupled it with flat sandals. She knew she was no glamour-puss, but she was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

“Will you bring me a present?” Abby said when Rosemary completed her preparations.

Rosemary didn’t bother to hide her smile. She strode to the little girl and bent to place a loud kiss at the crown of her head. “Yes, Abby, I will. A very special present indeed.”

Abby smiled back. “Then I’ll pass my test. I’ll pass it for you, Rosemary. Just you wait and see.”

But there was more than a hint of apprehension in her tone when she spoke, and it tugged again at that place deep inside Rosemary. She really should be with Abby today. She had been there for every one of Abby’s milestones, both the good and the bad. It had been Rosemary who heard the little girl’s first complete sentence when the Coves were in New York, and Rosemary who witnessed her first steps when the Coves were at a golf tournament. Rosemary had been the one who rushed Abby to hospital when she fell off the monkey bars and needed three stitches under her chin. And Rosemary had been the one, every night, who responded to the child’s cries when bad dreams struck.

She should be with Abby today, too. But Mrs. Cove had made clear that, this time, she would be the one there for Abby. Rosemary wished it was because she cared about her daughter’s welfare, but she was certain it was to dispute the findings, whatever they turned out to be. Mrs. Cove refused to accept that her child had a problem requiring professional help. She refused to accept that her child was imperfect Bad enough the little girl’s eyesight was flawed. It was impossible that her brain might be wired differently from the average brain, too. That simply didn’t happen to Coves.

“Just do your best,” she told Abby. “That’s all you can ever do.” With another soft kiss to the little girl’s head, she added quietly, “That’s all any of us can do.”

“I’ll do good,” Abby promised. “You’ll see. I’ll do good today.”

Rosemary smiled again, but there was no happiness in the gesture. She had no doubt Abby would do good today, regardless of how well she performed on her reading test. She only wished she could say the same about herself.

Garamond Stables was a beautiful thing to behold on a sunny day in September, its green hills rolling beneath a bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. Wide maples dotted the countryside here and there, white slat fences streaked the fields like stripes on an ice-cream vendor’s shirt, and magnificent Thoroughbreds raced across the landscape for the sheer, abundant joy of it. Towering oaks lined the long drive to the main residence, a stately white house in the Federal style, with a chimney at each comer, a cobbled walkway lined with pansies, and a wraparound porch with a white wicker swing swaying laconically at one end.

Rosemary caught her breath as the house came into view, because it was such a perfect symbol of everything she had ever wanted in life—beauty, warmth, security, love. A home. That was what she truly would have loved to find for herself. A home of her own, and someone to share it with, a man who would love her to distraction and help her fill the house with children. Instead, she had found the Coves. Although their house was certainly beautiful and secure, and warm enough, she supposed, in a superficial sort of way, it wasn’t Rosemary’s home. Still, Harborcourt had Abby, didn’t it? And Abby was as close to a family as anything she’d ever had in her life. Because Abby loved her. Abby needed her. And Rosemary loved and needed Abby, too. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing would ever separate her from that little girl.

So what if Rosemary didn’t have a home of her own or the man of her dreams? The place she held in the world was just fine, thankyouverymuch. Even if it lacked a certain something. A certain someone. She couldn’t have everything, could she? No one could. So she’d be happy with what she did have. Of course, she would.

Of course, she would.

Nathaniel rolled the Jaguar to a halt in front of the house just as a man pushed open the screen door, lifting a hand in greeting. He was dressed in faded denim overalls that were streaked with the morning’s work, a checkered, short-sleeved shirt, muddy, muddy work boots, and a faded, battered ball cap. His age, she guessed, was probably about a hundred and eighty.

“Silas Garamond,” Nathaniel told Rosemary with a smile as he unhooked his seat belt and watched the man make his way down the front steps. “He’s a character. But he knows horses, and he and my grandfather were good friends. I’ve known him all my life.”

“Nate!” Silas shouted as Rosemary waited for Nathaniel to round the front of the car and open her door for her.

She smiled at the appellation. She could scarcely think of her companion as Nathaniel, let alone Nate, even though he had insisted that morning that he didn’t want to hear any more of “this ‘Mr. Finn’ stuff” from her. He seemed too sophisticated a man for Nate. Yet somehow, Nathaniel seemed too formal.

“Silas,” he called to the other man as he opened the door for Rosemary and extended a hand to help her out.

He did it so naturally. He was very mannerly and attentive that way, genuine in his social graces, as if he’d been bred for the good life. Today, though, he seemed to straddle two worlds, having opted for faded jeans and a dark green polo emblazoned with the logo of a popular Prospect restaurant. His riding boots were scuffed and nondescript but had doubtless set him back more than Rosemary earned in a week. Whether he was at one of Mrs. Cove’s formal cocktail parties or on a horse farm in the country, he moved as comfortably as if he had been born to both.

His world was a far cry from the one in which Rosemary had grown up, with its three-room walk-up flat, and its homemade clothing, and its public bus system. Nathaniel had probably never ridden a bus in his life. He probably had no idea how much work went into the creation of a simple garment. He probably couldn’t imagine what it was like to have no privacy. He certainly couldn’t know what it was like to have no opportunities growing up. No family. No anything sometimes.

Of course he would be sophisticated. Of course he would know how to be mannerly and attentive around a woman. Of course he would be wonderful.

Because he was pretty wonderful—Rosemary could no longer deny that. Their drive to Garamond Stables had been filled with quiet conversation about the horse business and Nathaniel’s grandfather and Ireland. Strangely, he’d been the one to talk mostly about that last, stressing how much he wanted to visit Dublin and County Cork. Rosemary was reluctant to talk about her own past on the island, but it was really two different matters. Northern Ireland was a far cry from the south. When she had asked him why he hadn’t yet visited the country he so wanted to see, he’d seemed stumped for an answer.

“I don’t know,” he’d said. “I guess since I learned about it from my grandfather, I just always thought I should visit it with someone special.”

Meaning there’d been no one special for him so far, Rosemary deduced. Something about that realization had sent a warm sensation wheeling about inside her.

He’d been a perfect gentleman over dinner Friday, too, and during the drive home. He walked her to the door, made sure she got in all right, then said good night and smiled at her in a way that made her heart dance. She stood at the Coves’ back door as he walked back to his car, then watched as he smiled again through the driver’s side window and waved before pulling out. Even after he left, she stood at the door gazing out at the nighttime, wanting to preserve it for a little while longer. He was so handsome. So kind. So interesting to talk to. Then, Saturday morning, when a tow truck showed up at Harborcourt with her car, fully repaired—No charge, miss, Mr. Finn took care of it—Rosemary realized he was very sweet, too.

Now here she was, with a day to herself in the company of a handsome, kind, interesting, sweet, wonderful man. Sometimes, life worked out well. Not often. But sometimes. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to be rewarded this way, but she decided not to question it. She would simply enjoy the company of a nice man she liked very much.

“Silas,” Nathaniel said again, this time turning to include Rosemary, “meet Rosemary Shaugnessy. Rosemary, this is Silas Garamond.”

“Mr. Garamond,” she said with a smile, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, none o’ that now,” the old man said, giving her hand a sturdy shake. “It’s Silas. Pleasure to meet you, too, Rosemary.” He turned to Nathaniel and winked. “Nice girl from the old country, eh, Nate? Your grandpa woulda been proud as punch to see it.”

Rosemary felt her face warm with a blush. “Oh, no, I’m just a friend of Mr.... I mean,” she backpedaled when she saw Nathaniel’s teasing frown. “Nathaniel and I are just friends,” she finally said.

Now Nathaniel smiled. “Is that all we are?”

She opened her mouth to reply, realized she had no idea what to say, so closed it again and gazed at him with much curiosity. Of course they were just friends. Weren’t they? The point quickly became moot, however, because Silas began speaking again.

“She’s a real beauty, Nate,” he said. Rosemary felt herself coloring again, until the old man added, “Ain’t seen a horse like her for a long time. ’Course, I’m only acting as the agent here, but I think she’s got some real potential. You were the first person I thought about when I saw her. I think you’ll be pleased.”

The two men continued to chat as they strode toward the house, but Nathaniel hung back with Rosemary instead of moving forward to walk with Silas. Warmth seeped into her body at his attentiveness, going nearly incandescent when he slipped his hand beneath her elbow to help guide her up the stairs.

It was the first time he’d touched her, she realized. Oh, no, wait, it wasn’t. The first time had been Friday night, when he lifted her cross to inspect it, and his knuckles grazed her flesh. But that was an accident. This was the first time he’d touched her deliberately, and she relished the tenderness of that touch. For such a large man to be so gentle was a wondrous thing. It had been a long time since any man had treated Rosemary with such care and attention. A long time since any man had touched her with tenderness.

Too long a time.

The interior of the Garamond house was as charming as its exterior. Rosemary absorbed quick impressions of hardwood floors, colorful hooked rugs, old furniture, and fat, pink roses climbing the wallpaper in the foyer and hall. She was besieged by the aroma of something sweet and high-calorie in the oven, and the soft strains of Bluegrass music, which she had come to love, since it reminded her of the music of her homeland.

“Livvy!” Silas called out. “Nate’s here! Come out and say hello!”

Before he finished speaking, a woman who was as tidy as Silas was, ah...not, came striding down the hall. She, too, was of extended years, her hair short, curly and white, her denim skirt and red T-shirt crisp and unsullied. She had a sweet smile and crinkling brown eyes, and Rosemary liked her immediately.

“Nate,” she said with undisguised delight, pulling him into a warm embrace that dwarfed her. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and added, “We’ve missed you. It was Christmas when you were here last.”

“I’m sorry, Livvy,” Nathaniel said. “It’s been a busy year.”

She patted his cheek maternally. “Well, at least you call from time to time.” She turned to Rosemary with another smile. “And you brought your girl,” she said by way of a greeting.

“Actually, I’m not—” Rosemary began.

But Nathaniel cut her off with a simple introduction. “Livvy, this is Rosemary Shaugnessy. Rosemary, Livvy Garamond.”

“Irish,” Livvy said with clear delight. “Your grandpa would have been so happy.”