The Ringmaster's Wife (30 page)

Colin shook his head. “I just don't want to jump at this.”

“You're not having doubts now, after you trained her up, brought her this far?” He wrinkled his forehead in an all-knowing, almost paternal glare.

Colin huffed. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Someone's got to do it. Now, I know you're circus first, Colin. But there comes a point in every man's life when he realizes what really matters. And I don't think it's a canvas tent that holds the most interest for you. ”

Colin had willed that night under the Big Top to leave him alone. That moment, that one memory of crossing the line to do what he'd imagined so many times before . . .

Rose had never mentioned their kiss to anyone, he was sure.

Nor had he.

How in the world could Owen know?

“I'm just thinking of her, Owen. It's a lot to shoulder. I worry that she's too kind for it. Maybe too generous to be a showstopper in this life. I've seen it before—the rise. The fall. It happens with stars all the time. I just don't want it to happen to her.”

Owen studied his face. “You're worried about how Bella will take it?”

Colin nodded. “I am.”

And he was. More than he cared to say at the moment.

The Rossi family had kept packing in the crowds through the end of the season. And though Rosamund's act had settled into a routine that was gaining notoriety in the towns they'd visited, the Rossi flyers remained a steady draw. Still, after the doubt
surrounding Bella's future in the show, the family had opted to keep an even lower profile on the lot than usual. They'd circled the wagons, sticking close to their tents. Even kept the shades drawn on their train car most of the time.

Bella seemed the most out of sorts. Her beauty had been eclipsed by tired eyes and a despondent nature that even Colin could see from the ground floor of the Big Top. There was just no spark in her performances.

Colin watched as Rose propped yet another little girl on Ingénue's back. She laughed aloud when the girl threw her arms up over her head in a pose worthy of the center ring itself.

He ran his fingers through his hair, indecision boiling over.

“You might know—we've had some trouble with Bella in the past. Alcohol.”

Owen nodded.

“I'm worried it's plaguing her again. And I'm not sure we can risk the show by renewing her contract for another year.”

“And you're afraid that if you don't, the fallout will affect Rosamund.”

“It's complicated,” Colin said, offering his friend a slap on the shoulder. “Nothing to burden you with now. Especially not on Christmas.”

“But you'll tell Rosamund what's behind the shift in the show's billing? She deserves to know.”

Colin noted the subtle deflection at his change of subject.

It was one thing to offer Rose a contract for top billing. But it was quite another to open wounds that had been sealed up long before she came into his life. He wasn't sure he could tell Rose about his past. About Bella. About everything that had been built up and then crumbled down again in their relationship.

“Fine. It's settled. I'm giving her top billing.”

“No.” Owen shook his head. “It's not settled until you tell her everything. If Bella's poised to become an enemy, then Rosamund has a right to know why.”

“I'd already planned on it. Tonight. We've got top billing business to discuss about the New Year. And God help us—maybe some of this will be behind us by then.”

Rosamund sat on her bed in the freshly painted dormitory, flipping the envelope back and forth between her fingers. She shook her head, feeling fresh tears sting her eyes.

“You are in here.”

Colin's voice floated in from the doorway. She had her back to him and quickly slipped the envelope under her pillow. She dabbed at the tears in the corners of her eyes before turning round to face him.

He'd cleaned up. No work shirt and suspenders like he usually wore on the lot. He wore a suit and crisp linen shirt, and had even managed to tie a respectable but slightly loosened knot in the striped navy tie around his neck. He'd even wrestled his hair into submission, combing it into a sleek part at the side. He didn't use the sticky pomade that other men favored, though, and it was likely that the unruly tousle would be back in his hair the instant they stepped out into the heat of late afternoon.

“Minnie will have your hide if she catches you in here.”

“Her bark is worse than her bite,” Colin said, shrugging as if he couldn't care less that men were not allowed in the female dorm. He'd set the rule himself and now, it seemed, he was quite content in breaking it.

He stepped in, crossing the room she shared with Annaliese.

“In truth, she knows I'm in here. Scared the wits out of this Irishman. She's waiting at the end of the hall. Gave me two minutes to appear at the door with you, or she said she'd come back up the stairs and turn the fire hose on me.”

Rosamund couldn't help but smile. “She must have thought you were up to no good.”

“Maybe, but I told her it was Christmas and she let me pass.” He furrowed his brow just a touch. “Hey—are you okay? Was it too much today, all the people?”

“No. I loved seeing the children. It's just—” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Old ghosts, I suppose.”

“Old ghosts, huh?” He paused, as if trying to read her mind for the trail of thoughts she wouldn't share with him. “Well, no more haunting today. I've come to escort you to dinner.”

Rosamund glanced out the window.

The sun was still high in the sky behind them. It couldn't have been four o'clock yet.

“It's a bit early, isn't it? The Christmas party isn't until six.”

“I know. But I thought maybe we could duck out, if you're game for a little road trip.” He tossed her a smile layered with mischief. “Well, a short one anyway. We have an invitation from John and Mable, if you want to accept.”

“We?”

He nodded. “There's some business at the Cà d'Zan. Then a Christmas party at Lido Key after.”

She was confused. What business could possibly demand her attention at the Ringlings' mansion on Christmas Day?

“And you're quite sure they know I'm attending?”

They heard the echo of a throat clearing out in the hall. Minnie was apparently making her rounds.

“I'd better go,” Colin said, walking back to the door. “I'll let
you get changed. Meet me downstairs. And it's not formal. A family dinner on the beach.”

“Family . . .,” she whispered after he'd patted the side of the doorframe and disappeared down the hall.

Family, was she?

Rosamund closed her eyes and dropped her head in her hands.

All of a sudden it appeared she had two of them—one in Sarasota, who'd invited her for dinner at their estate, and another very far away at Easling Park. She wondered if the latter would accept her if she had to come crawling home.

She eased her fingers under the pillow and pulled the envelope back out into the light.

Another note had been left for her—this one slipped under the pillow on her bed. It, too, bore a warning message, folded in the same card stock as before. But this one was different. No scrawled words. No veiled threats. Just a strip of canary-yellow satin tucked inside.

She'd almost convinced herself that her first costume had been destroyed by accident. But now that lie faded.

Someone wanted her out of the show, and they wanted it badly.

“Bella . . .,” she breathed out, squeezing the satin shred in her palm.

Colin turned the Capitol Roadster toward the gated entrance to the Cà d'Zan.

He drove past the gate and whizzed down the lane, not stopping until he'd brought them around the circular drive that hugged the front of the mansion.

“You've got a lot of nerve, tearing down my drive like that.”

Mable stepped out of the field of palms and tall shrubbery that led to the rose garden, a basket of woven sea grass draped over her arm. It was overflowing with a riot of blooms: roses in shades of bright bubbly pink, ivory, and deep crimson.

It made Rosamund smile to see her, wearing gloves and carrying shears like a gardener while dressed in an elegant dress of gray crepe suited for a night at the opera. The fabric shimmered in the shades of twilight that were poised to fall around them.

Colin seemed to know it was cheek Mable offered, and grinned in response. He jumped from the pickup and rounded the back to open Rosamund's door, then extended his hand to help her out.

“Mable,” he said, smiling ear to ear. He took Mable's hand, greeting her with a light kiss to her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

“Colin, you think it appropriate to drive like that with a titled lady in the car?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I didn't want to be late. Not for this.”

Mable arched her eyebrows up at him, sending him a disciplinary glare. She then turned to Rosamund, greeting her with a smile while she pulled off her gloves.

“And that is exactly why I don't have a driver. If I want to go somewhere, I hop in the motor myself. That way, I control the madness.”

Rosamund was so taken with the idea that she smiled and looked from Mable to Colin. He shrugged and raised his hands in submission.

“She's telling the truth. She drives her purple Pierce Arrow all over the county.” He leaned in to Rosamund's side and whispered in her ear, “Stay off the roads when she's tearing them up in that limo of hers.”

“Colin, stop trying to start trouble.” Mable shoved her basket of roses into his arms. “Take these in for me, hmm? Give them to Tomlinson, and tell him I want to take them to hand out at the beach tonight. And be sure to ask our butler about your guest. I believe he arrived some time ago, and I had Tomlinson invite him into the court. He'll be waiting for you there.”

Colin did as he was told and swept the basket of Mable's roses into his arms. He trotted up the front steps and headed through the front doors, not waiting for the butler to admit him.

Rosamund turned back to her hostess. “Thank you for having me back to the Cà d'Zan, Mrs. Ringling.”

Mable held up her hand in response. “No. Call me Mable, remember? I insist.”

Rosamund thought that for anyone on the outside looking in, Mable Ringling did not seem like a woman of untold wealth. She was genuinely kind and as unpretentious as a great lady could be, even standing in the shadow of her mansion.

“Well, thank you then, Mable. And Merry Christmas.”

“That's right. This is the second Christmas you've spent with us, isn't it?”

Rosamund nodded, scanning the vast landscape of palms and the water of the bay behind them. “It's hard to believe it's been that long since I've seen England.”

“Well, walk in with me,” Mable directed, holding her arm out to link with Rosamund's. They walked slowly, easing along to the side entrance of the mansion. “Colin has a surprise for you. A Christmas gift from all of us. You'll be pleased.”

“I'd almost forgotten it was Christmas until this morning. It seemed so far away last year when we were planning for the opening of the show. And now the winter lodgings have gone up and we're accepting tourists.”

“And has a lot changed since you were here last?”

Rosamund thought on it.

The last time she'd been at the Cà d'Zan she'd been a reluctant performer. She'd played the piano in front of a small party of ten. And now? She was used to performing in front of thousands.

The threatening notes burned a hole in her thoughts again, reminding her that those performance days might be numbered.

“Some. But I think
I've
changed more,” she answered, forcing a smile. Hoping Mable couldn't see anything through it.

“Well. That's what's important, isn't it?”

Mable opened the door to the solarium and held it wide, inviting Rosamund into the sun-swept room. It boasted familiar views of the bay through the colored-glass windows. The ceiling was a cool blue, with whimsical baseboards and a painted medallion around the Venetian-style lamp hanging from the ceiling. Sconces were aglow in the foyer, illuminating the wonderfully lavish works of art and antique furniture they walked past.

Rosamund could see Colin standing in the court, chatting with a man who boasted height similar to that of Mr. Ringling, but had chestnut hair and glasses perched on his nose. The men were
engaged in conversation as two miniature pinschers yipped around their feet.

The dogs bounded across the foyer when Mable entered, and she stooped to rub their ears.

“Don't worry, they won't bother you. There's also a German shepherd around here somewhere. He's called Tell. He likes to bound through the kitchen, though, and it doesn't sit well with our cook.” Mable pointed to an intricately scrolled black iron gate that cut off the alcove containing the lift and the marble staircase. “So we put those gates in. You can just move them out of the way if you need to get through.”