Chapter Thirty-Seven

New Year’s Eve

The Painted Lily smelled of cinnamon and rose petals, rather an unusual aroma to be found in a tavern in the heart of Manhattan. But Rose had spared no effort attending to the ambiance of this night. Since she’d taken over the establishment, she’d put her own stamp on the pub. The Painted Lily had become the place to see and be seen in the heart of New York. Stage performers and society types alike mingled within the cozy space, while Broadway stars frequently dropped by to perform an impromptu song on the polished oak stage.

She wanted this night to go well—very well. The concert and auction she was hosting would bring in a small fortune to benefit the orphans’ home. Why, she’d even convinced Ruth Delacroix, the most acclaimed contralto on the New York stage, to sing for charity that night.

Her efforts to draw patrons to the event had paid off. The place was packed. Now, the thought of standing before the crowd gathered to see and hear the renowned singers prompted a fresh fluttering of butterflies in her belly, but she pushed past it. She’d offered her venue, her profits from the night, and her voice to support those children who lived out their young lives without parents to love them. She could think of no more worthwhile use of her time and funds.

An auction was to take place before the concert, allowing the attendees to bid on items donated by the performers as well as to offer for the privilege of requesting a favorite song or two from the singers.

Slipping into her elegant gown of emerald silk, she summoned her assistant to secure the fasteners in the back, then arranged her hair into a becoming, upswept style, topped with a black feathered headpiece. Satisfied with her appearance, she sipped from a snifter of brandy and readied herself for her duties as hostess.

“It’s time, Miss Lily,” her bodyguard called into her dressing room, addressing Rose by her stage name.

“Thank you, Seth.”

Taking her place on the stage, she introduced the auctioneer for the night’s event to a round of enthusiastic applause. She smiled to herself. Cornelius Drake, an acclaimed thespian on the New York stage, approached his role with good cheer. While the handsome actor lacked the speed of a true auctioneer, his rich baritone voice, chiseled countenance, and charming smile were sure to fill seats and inspire generous donations to their cause.

Item by item was auctioned off with great success. One bidder offered a tidy sum for a song to be dedicated to his wife by Ruth Delacroix, a request the contralto was happy to oblige. Another bidder requested a personalized birthday serenade by an ingénue on the night’s bill. In response, Daisy Benson took the stage, bringing a smile and a blush to the old gentleman’s face with her sweet yet bawdy song.

When Mr. Drake announced the last item for auction, tickets for two in his private box for a performance of Henry V, bidding was brisk, the donations generous.

“I’ll top every bid in this place, with one condition.” A man spoke out from the crowd.

Rose’s heart stuttered. Dear God, is that MacAllister?

Cornelius Drake knew a theatrical opportunity when he saw one. He tipped his top hat to the man in the audience.

“And what might that condition be, good sir?”

The bidder rose to his feet. “If Miss York will serenade the audience with a song that means a great deal to me…to us…I will bid five hundred dollars.”

A gasp rose from the crowd.

A sudden thrill of anticipation rippled through Rose’s veins.

In her heart, she knew which song MacAllister would request.

Mr. Drake turned to her. “Miss York, what do you say to this most generous offer?”

Stepping to the front of the stage, she peered into the audience. The sight of MacAllister’s face made her knees quake ever so slightly.

Odd, how suddenly shy she felt—she, who’d spent years sauntering about this stage. She met his gaze. “Which song would you like to hear?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that.”

She drew in a calming breath. “Yes, I believe I do.”

“You are agreeable to the gentleman’s offer?” Cornelius Drake inquired with a dramatic flair.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Very much so.”

“In that case, we have a bargain.” MacAllister strode into the aisle. “Please close out the bidding, Mr. Drake.”

“So, what say you, good people—is there anyone willing to exceed the gentleman’s bid?” Drake called out to the audience.

A stony silence met his question.

“You have your answer,” MacAllister said, walking slowly toward the stage. All eyes were on him.

Drake smiled. “Once, twice…sold to the gentleman for five hundred dollars.”

“And worth every penny,” MacAllister said.

The orchestra leader turned to her. “Which song have you chosen, Miss York?”

“Thank you, Mr. Fields, but I do not require accompaniment.”

“Very well,” the orchestra leader said, surprise showing on his creased face.

A quiet joy filled her as she began to sing. The melody and lyrics of the ballad she’d written for MacAllister all those years ago came to her as readily as if she’d sung the words only yesterday. With each note of the melody, her heart swelled with love. She could not tear her eyes away from the man she adored.

As she sang the final words of the ballad, she drank in the love in MacAllister’s eyes. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

“Well done,” Mr. Drake said as she took a little bow to thunderous applause. “Well done, indeed.”

“And now, Mr. Drake,” MacAllister said, “Miss York will need to take a few moments’ leave from her duties. I trust you will carry on in her stead.”

The actor cleared his throat. “Well…um…” He glanced at Rose as she dabbed away the tear stains on her face. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

She eased away to the side of the stage. MacAllister waited in the wings.

“You’re here,” she said, swiping away a stray tear. “I suppose that’s not the most brilliant of observations, is it?”

“I told you I would choose you.” MacAllister brushed away another tear with the pad of his finger. “Now, the question is—will you still have me?”

Standing on her tiptoes, she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the yearning in her heart. “Darling, what took you so long?”

“These weeks without you have been a bloody eternity.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. “The blasted investigation is still proceeding. It’s in the best of hands. And there was another matter I had to attend to—I got what I was after.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes,” he said without elaboration, tracing the curve of her face with his thumb. “Every time I see you, you are even more beautiful than before.”

The heat in his eyes stirred a fresh wave of longing. “I suppose it has something to do with absence—as I recall, it does tend to make the heart grow fonder.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “It’s not that, Rose. You’re happy here. And sure of yourself. All in all, you’re rather intoxicating to a man.”

“I don’t give a fig about a man.” She drank in his dark gaze. “Only you.”

Reaching into his vest pocket, he concealed an object against his palm. “I have something for you.”

He dangled a length of gold chain between his fingers.

Her heart soared. “My mother’s locket…oh, MacAllister, you don’t know what this means to me.”

“Ah, but I do, my darling. I know how you cherish it.” He framed her face in his hands and kissed her. “I can’t give you riches like the blokes and dandies in this place could. But I can give you love that will never die.”

“Is that your promise?”

He nodded solemnly. “If you trust me with your heart, you will have a man who adores you until his last breath.”

“I do trust you,” she murmured. Tears of joy brimmed in her eyes. “I love you. More with every beat of my heart.”

“In that case,” he said, smiling as he removed a velveteen pouch from his vest pocket. He took the ring from within and placed it on her finger. “Rose, my love, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, MacAllister, I’ll be yours until the end of time.”