The Ringmaster's Wife (21 page)

“You decent?”

Colin rapped his knuckles on the side of a trunk before stepping into the backstage dressing area. He found Rosamund sitting on a crate, holding a poultice of ice against her elbow.

She looked up, nodding him in.

“Decent? I suppose that's relative to whether you were seated in the audience tonight.”

“Well, I agree it could have gone better,” Colin admitted, folding his arms across his chest. “Minnie told me there was some damage to your costume. Did that shake you up before you went out there?”

“That was nothing. Just something that happens from time to time. She got me a replacement.”

“Okay. But that wasn't the same Rose I've been watching train for weeks. Something shook you tonight. What was it?”

Normally Rosamund would have welcomed him to sit, as she had at the cottage in Sarasota. But now? He watched as she drew in a deep breath. She looked as though she was willing herself to keep from crying in front of him.

“You've done that backbend and dismount hundreds of times. You want to tell me what happened out there?”

“I don't know . . .”

“A jittery horse is to be expected in her first show. Was it Ingénue?”

“I'd never blame her.”

He whistled low. “So who's responsible for your near death out there? If Owen hadn't dragged you out of the ring, I would have done it for him. You were nearly trampled to death.”

“Colin, I don't even know what I'm doing here. There's no way I can win over that crowd. It's impossible.”

“Not true. And the crowd is the last thing you should be
worrying about right now,” he added, trying to make light through the pain of her bruised ego.

Colin couldn't shake the instinct that he was right about Rose. She could be a star. He'd already seen it in her. He just hoped she'd realize it sooner rather than later, or things could get mighty ugly for him in the process. He had a feeling that if Rose failed, it could spell disaster for them both.

He walked over, scraping a stray crate across the floor to a stop in front of her. With a sigh, he sat down.

“The crowd isn't why I'm here, Rose. We need to talk.”

Rosamund looked up.

Despite their growing friendship, Colin knew he had to play the boss now, and from the evidence flooding over her face, he could see that Rose recognized the change.

“Are you hurt?”

She gingerly rubbed her elbow, but shook her head.

“I can't show any special treatment to you, Rose. We both saw what happened out there. But I'd wager your view of it looked worse while sitting in the sawdust.”

“I've never fallen before. Not like that. I don't know what happened.”

“Every performer falls now and again. And it might surprise you to know that my view of it includes offering grace when it's warranted. Despite a failure.” Colin grimaced, reminding himself that he wasn't above feeling as she did now. For how disappointed he was, Rosamund surely felt ten times worse.

He kept his tone firm, but not so much as to damage what pride she had left.

“But you were looking up, Rose. Owen warned you about that. And so did I. You forgot everything he taught you.”

“But you don't know what it's like out there. There were
thousands of people. Lights in our eyes everywhere we looked. Ingénue and I are not used to that! You can't expect me to march out there and perform like I've got years of experience under my belt. Not when this is all brand-new.”

He shook his head.

“Years of experience . . .,” he started, then stopped short of adding
like Bella
at the end of it. He didn't need to.

It all made sense.

The showstopping star had given a flawless performance. The interaction Rose had with Bella on the London train platform might have been worse for her than he'd initially thought. Or maybe there was something more going on behind the scenes. Perhaps Bella had gone out of her way to make Rose feel every bit the newcomer, despite his expectation that she act in a professional manner.

Colin squeezed his eyes shut on a drawn-out exhale, wanting to curse. Maybe to punch something. Certainly to fire someone, if necessary. He'd never had to do it with a top star in the show before, but he was confident he could warm up to it if need be.

“What did she do?”

“Who?”

Colin sent Rosamund a direct look, one that he hoped would show her he didn't want to fight. All he wanted was the truth.

“You know who. Bella.”

I just want to help,
he willed, keeping his eyes connected with hers.

Rosamund kept her head up, still meeting his gaze, but she looked utterly miserable.

Colin knew she wasn't spineless—quite the contrary. He had the utmost respect for the way she'd been brave already, stepping out of the life she'd always known and daring to dream something different. But in the moment, doubt crept in.

Doubt for the instincts he'd had back in England.

Maybe Rose wasn't ready. And maybe she never would be.

“I'm on your side, Rose.”

“I know,” she started, then paused to tuck a few stray locks behind her ear. “But this time I can't blame anyone but myself.”

“But something had to happen. You didn't look like you do in practice, not from the moment you led Ingénue out there in that ring.” Colin shook his head at her. “On opening day. At Madison Square Garden. With the Ringlings in attendance. Rose . . .”

“The Ringlings were here?” Rosamund eased her forehead down in her palm.

“Yes. They're in New York for business and stopped in to see the show.”

“I'm sorry for that. I really am. But maybe I'm not supposed to do this. Maybe you thought you saw something in me that you really didn't. Ingénue and I, we're made of flesh and bone. We'll make mistakes. Neither of us can expect perfection in our first or even tenth performance.”

“But it's what this show demands. It's perfection or someone gets hurt. Everyone here does their part. We're a team. A family traveling on that train we're loading. Whether a person performs under stage lights or not, whether man or beast, if just one performer fails, then we all do. It's a balance, Rose. And I'm sorry, but you fell flat with it tonight.”

“Up to now, I've been a joy rider doing tricks in a field. I'm not a professional, Colin.”

“You became a professional the moment you signed the contract we gave you. And don't discount your abilities. You've done much more than riding in a field. Owen went down to Florida expressly to work with you. For months. Please don't tell me that his time was wasted. Yours either. Don't tell me any of it was.”

Rosamund bit the corner of her lip and looked down to the sequin-sparkling tips of her riding slippers.

They'd worked hard for weeks, Rose and Ingénue, with Owen guiding them. She'd performed the tricks hundreds of times. And yes, Colin had to admit she'd looked ready. But it took about five seconds of introspection to realize that though he wanted her to succeed, it wouldn't be accomplished on skill alone.

“Here's what I saw: you were watching the flyers, weren't you? You had your eye on Bella before you ever set foot in that ring. You forgot everything you've been working for, Rose, and you handed her your performance tonight.”

“I know I did.”

Rosamund clamped her eyes shut, sending a fresh pang of regret to burn the inside of his chest. She was broken and bruised, and he hated to feel the cause of it.

“But . . .,” he added, with the compassion he knew Rose needed in the moment. “Little-known secret: everyone is a disaster their first time in the ring. It's not fatal, Rose. I just want you to remember what you have to prove—for yourself and everyone out there in that ring—you can do it.”

“Shall I go down fighting then? I'm overjoyed that no one from Easling Park came over for my debut. At least I can hold on to that, hmm?”

“You didn't tell me you'd invited your parents.”

“I sent them a wire.”

Rosamund's shoulders dipped. The backstage light was dim, but Colin could see enough through the shadows to note the unmistakable trembling of her chin.

“I'm so sorry they didn't come.”

“It's a long voyage for one routine, isn't it?” She paused, toying with the end of a sequined length of satin from her skirt. “The truth
is, I don't know if I can do this. And it wouldn't matter if they'd chosen to support me, not if I really believed in myself.”

“You can do this, Rose.”

“How? How do you know that?”

“Because I believe in you. And
I chose you
, Rose.”

Colin stopped, shocked that he'd actually said the thought aloud. The sentiment was one of familiarity—one that couldn't rely on a platonic relationship between show boss and employee forever.

He wanted—no,
needed
—her to know that her presence there wasn't a mistake.

Rosamund remained silent.

She blinked, an earnestness covering her features. It was enough that he pulled back from the connection of her green eyes to his.

He clapped his hands against his legs and stood to leave.

“Remember what you said to me in the stable at Easling Park? It was your wish to live a new life. Well, this is the life. And if you could forget what you
think
you're supposed to do for one minute, you just might ride out into that ring and have the most fun you've ever had.”

Have fun.

He reminded Rose of the words she'd whispered to Ingénue after the first ride they'd had in Florida. He hoped they were well placed now.

“Stay here, okay? I want to send the doctor in to check you over.” When she opened her mouth to counter, Colin raised a hand to stop her. “And no disagreement this time. We're not standing on the side of a creek. We've got a process to how things are done here. Anyone falls in the ring, the doctor is sent in. No arguments.”

She nodded understanding. Even graced him with the hint of a thankful smile as she readjusted the muslin pack of chipped ice on her elbow.

“Chin up, Rose. The show rolls in two days, and we'll start again.” He turned to leave. He wasn't sure he could stand another moment of watching the pain flooding those beautiful green eyes . . .

“Colin?”

He turned back. Was jarred by the welcoming green once again.

“Yes?”

She drew in a deep breath, then offered, “Thank you.”

“You're still my star, Rose. I know I'm right about you. But we can't work with anything less than your whole heart out there. You've always known your own mind. So get out there and prove it to everyone else.”

“May I join you?”

Rosamund recognized the voice immediately.

She turned, jumped, and nearly overturned the crate she'd been seated on in her haste to pop up to a proper standing position.

“Mrs. Ringling . . . I—”

“No, no.” Mable shook her head. “No need to get up. And please, call me Mable.”

Rosamund did as requested, settling back down on the crate with a swoop of sequined ribbons flouncing about her lap. She chewed the edge of her bottom lip as Mable sat before her.

“I'm sure this visit is an unexpected one. In truth, I hadn't anticipated it myself. But, well, here we are.”

The alcove in which they sat was dim and shielded almost entirely from view.

Rosamund had never been more grateful for the haven of anonymity. Here they could talk. Unnoticed. Watching the circus pass by beyond their hidden corner without anyone else seeing the bareback rider who was poised to receive a reprimand from Mrs. Ringling herself.

“This is all new, you know, this location for Madison Square Garden,” Mable began, quite differently than Rosamund had expected.

She'd expected the conversation to begin with
You're fired
.

“Yes.” She paused, uneasy. “I did hear that.”

“The city heads got it in their minds to widen Madison Avenue some time back. My favorite part of the old building was torn down.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“All of it.” Mable laughed. “It was a lovely piece of Venice right here in the city. But time marches. Changes are made. Everything has to be bigger and better . . . Flashier, including the Garden. But this underground area is nice. Much larger than I'd thought.”

The barrage of normal chitchat proved too much, and Rosamund interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut as she blurted out, “I'm so sorry, but I can't bear it any longer. Are you here to fire me? Please tell me, and I'll just get my things and go.”

Rosamund cracked open one eye, feeling but an ounce of courage to do so.

Mable appeared taken aback, both by the question and by the honesty of Rosamund's distress so readily on display. It felt safe then to open both eyes and hope for the best.

“Fire you? I have no call to do anything of the sort,” Mable replied. “No power to do so either. Only don't tell that to Mr. Ringling. He'd never let me live that notion down.”

Rosamund's trepidation eased, her shoulders lightening with it.

“No, I'm here for another reason.”

“Did Mr. Keary send you?”

Mable shook her head. “That would not be in keeping with our Mr. Keary's nature. I expect he'd fall into a very manly swoon if he knew I was here talking to you right now.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I've never done this before.”

Rosamund stared. “You've never . . . what?”

“Gone backstage to talk to a performer.” Mable confirmed it
with a light shake of her head. “Not once. The circus is my husband's world, and I do not intrude upon that. I stick with the fun and just watch the shows. But I did venture down to the performance floor. Just once, years ago. I stopped by to chat with someone who was not altogether unlike you—new in his role. Figuring things out. Maybe on the verge of making a mistake or two along the way.”