Defiant Rose (9 page)

Blood surged hotter in his veins as he pictured her in the tent. Candlelight had bathed her in a golden glow, making her remarkable hair take on a brilliance he hadn’t noticed before. Her complexion, normally doused with greasepaint, was incredibly soft and creamy, unmarred by the makeup she wore. But it was her body that took him by surprise and oddly reassured him. Lithe and seductive, she had breasts that, although small, appeared enticingly firm, and legs that could drive any man to distraction. He hadn’t been deceived that first time he’d met her, when she’d struggled up against him. She’d merely hidden her attributes beneath that ridiculous clown suit, like a knight in silk armor.

His frown deepened as another thought occurred to him. Surely some of the men had known her in the biblical sense. She was too casual around them, too carefree, completely unlike the fragile, aristocratic women of his upbringing. The Philadelphia ladies would surely dissolve into vapors if he walked boldly into their toilette, but Rosemary seemed delightfully embarrassed, and, if he read her expression correctly, a little too accepting of the situation. Yes, she was no virgin, he was certain of that.

His frown grew thunderous, and he mentally cataloged the men he’d met. He hadn’t noticed her favoring any one of them over the others, but it would be a simple matter to discover if she had a current lover. He wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but for some reason it did. Flinging himself on his cot, he fought to catch a rare hour of sleep.

Tomorrow would come far too soon, and when it did, he planned to continue Rosemary Carney’s education. Tonight had been lesson number one.

CHAPTER SIX

“A
YE, IS IT
C
ARNEY, NOW?
” The storekeeper wiped his fingers on his apron, then extended his hand toward Rosemary and proceeded to pump the life from her wrist. “Good to see you, lass! I didn’t need the clown suit to recognize you! I remember when you were just a tiny little thing, coming in here with your pa. You’ve been coming here every year since. I’ve watched you grow up.” He beamed from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, then cast a suspicious glance toward Michael. “Who’s that?”

Rosemary managed a smooth smile. “Our new manager. He’s helping the circus to provide a better profit. Michael Wharton, Angus MacDonald.”

“Pleasure.” Michael’s hand was also vigorously shaken. Glancing disdainfully at the clown suit, Michael reluctantly admitted that wearing it to town was a clever ploy. She was like a walking advertisement for the circus. It was unbelievable how well the disguise served her—there was no sign of the curvaceous young woman from the previous night beneath the gaudy costume and clown-white. There is something wrong with you, Wharton, he chided himself. But the sight of her in the candlelight, water glistening from her soft skin, was an image that wouldn’t leave him. More annoyed than ever, he shook off the shopkeeper’s grip, massaging his wrist to get some of the blood back in it while Angus turned to Rose. “How is the show? Old Griggs? I heard you got two more elephants. Aye, your father would have been proud of you.”

“The show’s doing very well.” Rosemary grinned, pleased at his interest. “We’re gaining a larger audience all the time. I think last year we did about one hundred and fifty tickets here, but tonight, I plan to double that.”

“That’s grand. You’ve worked long and hard, you deserve it. I suppose you want to come round back while we load up your order?”

Rosemary nodded, then followed the shopkeeper to the rear of the store. They passed through a narrow doorway, into an enclosed area filled with crates, barrels of feed, cages of pullets, and pens of pigs. Hay glistened from one side of the enclosure like a wall of pure gold, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of straw and corn.

“Well, if it isn’t Carney! How’s the troupes?”

“Guess we’ll be seeing them all tonight at the Red Keg. Will you be drinking them under the table again, Rose?”

“No doubt.” She grinned at the farmboys. They were stripped to the waist, carrying bound-up bundles of straw, but the sight of the little red-haired clown was like a tonic. Carney meant the circus, and the circus meant fun. “Weaklings, every one of them. Can’t hold their liquor any better than they can their women. And will you all be at the show, Jim Bob?” Rose asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” The tallest boy grinned. He reached out to ruffle her wig, his fingers tangling in the red mop. His grin died as her companion stepped closer, radiating disapproval. Clad in a stiff white shirt that was totally inappropriate for a warm June day in a feed shop, the man looked bored and impatient at the rustic’s cheerful comradeship.

Rosemary’s cheeks heated, and she was grateful that the thick makeup covered just about anything. The sight of Michael towering over her in censure reminded her all too vividly of the previous night, when he’d caught her in the tub and dangled her nightgown in front of her. She gestured to Michael with the backward crook of her thumb, grateful for the excuse to stop thinking of her own reaction to him. “This is our new manager. He’s learning the circus ropes.”

“You’ve got the best teacher in the world. No one knows how to run a circus like Carney….” Jim Bob’s voice trailed off as the stranger eyed him with cold animosity. Even Rosemary was puzzled by his actions. From what she’d seen of him so far, Michael was undoubtedly a prig, but he usually wasn’t openly rude. Shrugging, the farmboy joined Angus at the stall as the wagon backed into the square cut opening to be loaded.

Michael walked disdainfully through the dark store, examining barrels and making notes in that damned book he always carried. Rosemary watched him with annoyance as he noted a price, then checked to be certain that it was the same as they paid in the last town. Figures were checked and double checked, the quality of feed noted, as well as sizes and amounts. Growing more embarrassed by the moment as the boys looked questioningly from the well-dressed stranger to Carney, she tried to smile but inwardly burned.

Angus noticed Michael’s scrutiny of his goods. “Is there something amiss, lad?”

“Yes.” Michael stopped, made a few more calculations, then indicated the feed. “Why are we paying top dollar for the oats and the hay? I notice you have a cheaper quality.”

Angus looked at Rosemary, who looked mortified, then spoke in a barely controlled voice. “We always get the best feed. Circus animals are worked very hard and need to be well fed. It is a practice my father insisted on.”

“Well, I don’t.” Ignoring her indignation, he gestured to a barrel of pale, crumbly oats. “This will do for the horses. And we can use the inferior hay. That should provide a fifty-dollar savings.” He grinned, pleased with himself, then pocketed his notebook.

Rosemary cleared her throat as the farmboys looked at her questioningly, then favored Michael with less appreciative glances. In desperation she tried again. “The money is well spent. Our animals look the best, are always in good health, and able to withstand the travel and the rigors of performing. Zach even says—”

“They don’t work as hard as farm horses, for God’s sake. And elephants in Africa don’t get choice feed, and they seem to survive just fine.” His eyes bore into hers, daring her to challenge him again. “As new manager, I’ve made the decision. Replace this order with the cheaper feed. Now.”

The boys did nothing but leaned on their pitchforks and looked to Rosemary. New manager or not, it was Carney’s circus, and it was Carney they’d obey. Fighting back her anger, she was forced to nod and watch in dismay as they unloaded the barrels brimming with shining oats and replaced them with feed unfit for swine. Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the store into the blinding sunlight.

Michael Wharton was a greedy, selfish tightwad. And no one was learning that faster than herself.

The dram shop was next. Rosemary bolted out of the cart and into the dimly lit store before Michael dismounted.

Inside, the shop was lined with shelves, and on them were bottles of every shape and size. Good wines imported from France and shipped from Philadelphia were proudly displayed, along with kegs of ale and casks of Kentucky bourbon. Rosemary nodded as the shopkeeper glanced up, his rimmed spectacles partway down his nose, and favored her with a warm smile.

“Carney! I heard the circus was in town. I’ll be at the show tonight for certain.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Rosemary unfolded a list from her clown suit pocket and placed it on the counter. “The usual, same as last time.”

“Right.” The shopkeeper nodded to a small boy, who rushed to put several jars of whiskey into a crate, along with a sampling of ale. He’d succeeded in completing half the list when Michael strode into the store, pulverizing him with a glance.

“What is all that?”

The shopkeeper looked back up from his work, clearly annoyed. His glasses bobbed up and down as his eyes traveled to Michael’s frock coat, his pure white shirt, and his good trousers that still contained a pleat. Confused, he looked back to Rosemary, who was eyeing the stranger with undisguised annoyance.

“This is our order. Whiskey, for the men.”

“Put it back.” Michael waved his hand abruptly. The boy stopped with a whiskey keg, gazed from Rosemary to the shopkeeper, then back to Michael, uncertain of what to do. “You heard me! I said put it back.”

Rosemary forced a smile between gritted teeth. “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” she said calmly, her voice strained. “Would you mind waiting a few moments?” she said to the boys. “I need to speak with our new manager—outside.”

The boy nodded, placing the keg at his feet, certain of the outcome of this quarrel. The shopkeeper frowned, continuing to work on his books, but he favored Michael with a cold glance as the man walked out with Rose.

They had barely reached the sun-washed road when Rosemary exploded.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“We are not in the liquor business,” Michael said calmly, extracting that damned book once more. “I’ve added up the amount of money you’ve spent on whiskey, and the sum astonishes me. If the men want to drink, they can buy their own. Carney’s is a circus, not a brewery.”

Rosemary bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain calm. “I suppose I should have explained this before. You see, my father made arrangements with the men to supply whiskey and beer during the season. In turn, they agree to show up sober for work, and not disappear into every taproom along the way. It’s the only way to keep the men working and the show continuing. We can’t afford to have them sitting in the local saloons when it’s time to perform.”

She tried to sound reasonable, but Michael’s expression did not change.

“That’s nonsense. When you pay a man a day’s wages for a job, you expect him to work when needed without coddling him with whiskey and beer. I’ll fire the first man who fails to show up for a performance. Believe me, that will end any such thoughts for the rest of them.”

Rosemary glared at him, her fists clenched. “And what of Biddle? He has a drinking problem; surely you’ve seen that. Without the whiskey, he cannot function.”

“Then let him supply his own. I’m sorry, but we simply can’t afford to be aiding every man’s addiction just to get him to work. Next you’ll want me to provide them with opium pipes and gin.”

“But my father promised—”

“Your father is no longer here.” Michael tone softened, but his words did not. “I’ll tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about. But charity begins at home, and we need to turn a greater profit. No more liquor.”

Her face crimson, Rosemary marched back into the shop, her arms folded across her chest. Michael entered behind her and gestured to the boy. “I’m sorry, but we’ve changed our mind about the purchase. Please put all that back.”

The spectacles toppled down the nose of the proprietor, and he glanced up in astonishment. “You can’t mean…Is there something wrong with the quality of the merchandise? I can assure you I stock only the best—”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Michael began while Rosemary shrugged, mortified. “As the new manager of Carney’s, I’ve decided to cut any unnecessary costs. And whiskey is one of them.”

“But Carney’s has always been one of my best customers! It’s in the circus tradition…”

“This is the new tradition,” Michael said coldly. “I’m sorry, but if the men want to purchase their own libations, they are free to do so, and I am certain you will get their patronage. After the show.”

He strode out of the shop, leaving Rosemary to face the storekeeper and the lad, who scratched his head in bewilderment. “I’m so sorry,” Rosemary choked. “If I would have known, I wouldn’t have had you go to the trouble.”

“Don’t worry.” The shopkeeper gave Rose a sympathetic glance, then nodded to the boy to unpack the crate. “I have a feeling you’ll have a near riot on your hands when the boys hear. Clowns without whiskey. What’s the world coming to?”

Lastly came the butcher shop. By now Rosemary was no longer speaking to Michael Wharton, and when he politely inquired as to why, she informed him that she was afraid to use too much speech, seeing as he might take it away. When that earned her a scowl, she retreated to a cold silence that was joined by his own. This time she gave Michael the order, determined not to be embarrassed once more.

Instead of cutting it down or eliminating it as he had previously, this time he surprised her and actually increased the allotment. The butcher rushed to fill the order, while Rose stared in astonishment at the banker.