Authors: Carol Finch
Rozalyn had been hurt by her father's disinterest, but she had come to realize there was no changing him. Now she amused herself while Aubrey spent every waking hour at his warehouse on the waterfront, conversing with the trappers, river men, ex-soldiers, and drifters who swarmed in the taverns and grogshops. He employed these rowdy adventurers to trap beaver and mink, and he encouraged his employees to trade with the Indians in exchange for the valuable furs that brought high prices in the East. His only goal in life was to monopolize the fur trade west of the Mississippi. Rozalyn had no doubt that her father had already accomplished his aim, for he set his own prices and virtually controlled the fur business.
Each summer Aubrey led a caravan, heaped with merchandise, to the rendezvous at the foot of the Rockies. He bought pelts from trappers and sold them necessary supplies for the following year. DuBois also enlisted ex-soldiers to construct trading forts in the wilds in order to promote trade with the Indians. It seemed to Rozalyn that her father had sewn up every facet of fur trading and that he reigned supreme, thwarting all competition that sought to cut into his vast profits.
Aubrey was known as the king of fur trade, but he could not relax and enjoy his prestigious position. Something drove him, some ambition that Rozalyn had never quite understood. But she had been forced to accept his obsession, along with the depressing fact that he had no love to offer anyone, not even his only child.
"Father is a very busy man," Rozalyn said defensively. "And I am quite capable of fending for myself. I have learned to adjust to the situation and I have no complaints about my life," she added with a careless shrug.
"Of course you don't!" Lenore railed. Then she wheezed, unable to catch her breath after her over-zealous outburst.
Damn that Aubrey. He's never cared a fig for his wife or his child, Lenore thought bitterly. It seemed he had felt it necessary to take a wife and produce an heir, but his family meant no more to him that the rest of his possessions.
"You have been left to run wild and your father has conveniently forgotten that he has a daughter. He was married to his business long before he wed Jacqueline, and he shut both of you out of his life. I firmly believe Jacqueline died of a broken heart, rather than from the grippe, but I will not be satisfied until you find a husband and begin to lead a life of your own."
Lenore's overheated rebuttal seemed to drain her failing strength, and she collapsed in her chair, exhausted and out of breath. Rozalyn peered at the
grade dame
with growing concern. It was obvious the dowager was ailing since she had taken to her wheelchair the previous month, claiming she no longer trusted her wobbly legs to support her, and her health had deteriorated drastically the past few weeks. Her face had become chalky and her shoulders drooped noticeably. It was apparent that Lenore's health was escaping her; she seemed to grow steadily worse with each passing day. The old woman was prone to violent coughing spasms, and her strength failed her when she exerted herself to give boisterous lectures. Although Rozalyn considered Lenore to be overdramatic at times, certainly the dowager had enjoyed better days.
Rueful gray eyes lifted and focused on the shapely maiden who was poised in her velvet riding habit. "Do you wish me to rest in peace when the heavenly chariot comes for me, child?" Lenore inquired in raspy spurts. "Answer my only prayer, Rozalyn. Find a man who can fill the emptiness in your life, the emptiness you disguise by gallivanting all over town in those outlandish breeches. You scare the wits out of good citizens when you thunder down the streets on that barely manageable stallion you insist upon exercising in the most unlikely places," Lenore drew a shuddering breath and then plunged on before she lost her raspy voice. "And for heaven's sake, stop cavorting with the undesirables who swarm the streets."
When Rozalyn compressed her lips to prevent a guilty smile from blossoming on her lips, Lenore mellowed slightly. It was difficult to remain angry with this lovely sprite, and Lenore found herself basking in the warmth of her granddaughter's impish grin. "This city is thick with kidnappers and thieves, Rozalyn, I do wish you would be more careful of the company you keep. One day you might find yourself held for ransom by those who live a hand-to-mouth existence. The riffraff you dare to call friend could easily turn on you."
Suddenly the beldame's wrinkled face assumed a strange, pained expression, and she seemed to have great difficulty drawing a breath. Rozalyn fell to her knees and clasped her grandmother's hand in her own, becoming more concerned by the minute. Could it be that Lenore's condition was far worse than Rozalyn had allowed herself to believe? How could she deny the dowager her dying request when it seemed to mean so much to her? She would never forgive herself if she were the cause of Lenore's distress. The beldame of Rabelais was one of the few who fussed over her, and Rozalyn dearly loved the old woman, despite her tendency to harp on the same annoying subject.
"Does it mean so much to you to see me happily wed?" RozaSyn reached up to smooth silver strands of hair back into place; they had tumbled loose during Lenore's violent coughing spasm.
"It means everything to me, child," Lenore breathed hoarsely. Then she gave her granddaughter's hand a weak but loving squeeze. "You are all I have left in this world. My last wish is to see you wed to a man you respect and admire, one who will not cast you aside for the sake of his fortune, one who will shower you with love. You have been so long deprived of true affection."
Rozalyn noted the sentimental mist that clouded Lenore's eyes, and she could not bring herself to disappoint her grand'mere, not in the woman's weakened condition. Indeed, she would have promised Lenore the world if she'd thought that would boost her failing spirits. Lenore had lost her husband and her daughter, and her son-in-law had been no comfort to her in her declining years. The beldame fussed over Rozalyn to fill her lonely days, insisting that her granddaughter behave like a proper lady, and she chastised Rozalyn each time a talebearer came to the door to tattle about her lively granddaughter's latest prank. Although she gave lectures aplenty, the
grade dame
also showered Rozalyn with love, the only affection she had known since her mother had died nine years earlier.
Rozalyn had grown up like a wild flower. Only her grandmother had attempted to offer her direction. If Rozalyn lost Lenore she would have no one who truly cared about her. Rozalyn suddenly realized this, and she vowed when the day came for her to relinquish her earthly claim on this good-hearted old woman, Lenore would go in peace. She decided to give Lenore what she wanted, even if it was not in her power to do so.
"Do you want to know a secret, Grand'mere?" Rozalyn whispered confidentially. "I think I have found a man much like Grand'pere, one who can make me as happy as Philippe made you."
A smidgeon of color worked its way into Lenore's waxen features. "Have you truly, Rozalyn? Do not lie to me, child. It would break my heart to live on false hope," she wheezed, emphasizing her poor health.
Rozalyn did not bat an eye. Was it so wrong to deceive Lenore when this meant so much to her? Was it wrong to give her hope when her strength failed her and her days were numbered? She could not blurt out the truth, not now. She would never allow Lenore to know that the man of her dreams remained a fantasy, out of her reach.
"Oui, Grand'mere," she insisted. As Rozalyn pasted on a love-struck smile, her vivid imagination began to conjure up a most dashing gentleman, one who probably didn't even exist. "He is tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, a fine specimen of a man who takes my breath away when I look upon him." Rozalyn cast her grandmother a discreet glance, overjoyed that the news was having the same effect as a magic potion. Lenore had straightened in her chair and had inclined her head, intending to miss not one word of Rozalyn's confession.
"Tell me more, my dear," the elderly woman said enthusiastically. "I want to know everything about this new man in your life."
Rozalyn closed her eyes and dreamed up a Prince Charming, a man who surpassed all those she had met. "He walks with a confident stride, and is a mite arrogant perhaps, but rightfully so, Grand'mere. He is powerfully built, with sturdy broad shoulders a woman could lean on for consolation and compassion, and his handsome face is framed with thick, dark hair and his eyes"—she paused and then thought better of giving a specific color, in case her next beau could not perfectly fit the description— "his eyes dance with a living fire, while his smile is so warm and contagious it can melt a woman's heart."
"Even one encased in ice ... like yours, child?" Lenore taunted, her eyes taking on the sparkle Rozalyn had not seen in them of late.
"Especially mine," Rozalyn gushed like a bubbling volcano. "My heart flutters beneath my breast as if it might leap out when I am near him." She was spreading it on a mite thick, but her words had done wonders for Lenore's condition. They had given the old woman a breath of hope, a sense of serenity she lacked.
When Lenore noticed the glow in Rozalyn's cheeks she readjusted her spectacles to ensure that she was not imagining things. "So you have, indeed, met a man to your liking," she surmised.
"Oh, oui, Grand'mere" her granddaughter insisted with a positive nod, playing the role of a love-smitten maid to the hilt. "I think this time I have found a man who can make me happy. I will even relinquish my wild wandering ways if he asks for my hand. He does not want to change me, you understand," Rozalyn hastily added when her grandmother's eyes narrowed skeptically. "He accepts me as I am and he has no need of Papa's money. For him, I could be true and I would never think to embarrass him with some impulsive shenanigan."
Lenore's graying brows formed a dubious line over her eyes. She found herself becoming more suspicious of her granddaughter by the second. If Rozalyn had discovered true love, why hadn't she mentioned this mysterious gentleman before when she'd been given the third degree? And what kind of man could make this rambunctious hoyden sacrifice her freedom for the sake of love? He sounded too good to be true. That made Lenore skeptical of his existence. She would have to see him in the flesh to believe there was such a perfectly matched beau for this sprite nymph.
"Then I should like to meet this one," Lenore demanded in a tone that anticipated no argument. "When I see the two of you together I will know for certain that he is everything you say he is and that you truly care for each other."
Rozalyn wilted back on her haunches like a delicate flower drooping in the blistering summer sun. "You want to meet him?" she chirped, inwardly cringing as her lie tumbled down around her like a rockslide.
Lenore gave her gray head an affirmative shake. "Today . . . now ... as soon as you can fetch him to me."
Good God! Rozalyn thought disgustedly. Now what the devil am I going to do? How can I talk my way out of this mess?
Her grandmother would have a fit if Rozalyn suddenly admitted that she had made this all up. The truth could cause another setback in Lenore's deteriorating health. The
grade dame
would begin to rant and rave, and that could well be the last lecture she ever delivered. It seemed Rozalyn was to be the death of her grandmother, one way or another.
Stall, Rozalyn advised herself. She had to allow herself enough time to collect her wits and determine how to wade out of this gigantic lie after she had sunk into it neck deep. Oh, why hadn't she kept her mouth shut? Her good intentions had not been an ounce of help.
"I would ... uh ... very much like you to meet him," Rozalyn stammered. After climbing to her feet she presented her back to Lenore, concealing her troubled frown. "But he is quite busy at the moment and I seriously doubt he—"
"Too busy to pay his respects to a dying woman who may not live to attend the wedding?
Mon Dieu
, surely he could spare me a few minutes of his time," Lenore scoffed and then gasped for breath. "Look at me, child! I have one foot in the grave and I am living on borrowed time. We cannot, delay. I would despair if I fell asleep never to wake. I demand that I be permitted to meet the man you have described. I want him here,
tout de suite
!"
"
Mais
,
Grand’mere
, it is quite impossible—" Rozalyn muttered, only to be cut off by Lenore's annoyed sniff.
"Fetch him posthaste. I may not see another sunrise, but I will damned well meet your intended. I have something to say to your new beau . . . if indeed there is one," Lenore added and then tossed Rozalyn a dubious frown.
"Of course, there is," Rozalyn adamantly insisted.
The gleam in Lenore's gray eyes warned her granddaughter that she was determined to have her way in this matter. Rozalyn must produce living proof of the man she had conjured up and now! Sweet merciful heavens. Where was she going to find this chivalrous knight on such short notice? Lord, she could use a miracle. Rozalyn lifted her eyes heavenward, wondering if she were asking the impossible and knowing in her heart that she was.