"Miss Klein, do you know anything about your grandfather having a cigar cellar on his property?" Dutch asked, his hands on his waist as he stood over her.
Rosalie laid on her stomach in the tall, dry grass, her gaze narrowed down the sight of her rifle, barrel pointed at the glass bottles in the distance. "Can't say I do. He and I haven't talked much, to be honest. There was the first time I met him, and then briefly at the garden party." She said.
Dutch glanced from her, then to the glass bottles in the distance. "Well, are you going to see him anytime soon?" He asked, somewhat impatiently.
"I will today. Why?" Rosalie asked, finger dusting the trigger as she adjusted her aim toward the bottles.
"I heard from my contact. I met him a few days ago when you and John robbed that stagecoach. Colm and Cormac have been busy plotting. While they're waiting for them O'Driscoll boys to bring in pounds of tobacco and rum from the Caribbean at the end of this month, they're also plannin' to blow up the cellar on your grandfather's property," Dutch said, squinting at her from underneath his hat.
Rosalie pushed herself up on her elbows and relaxed the grip on her rifle, looking up at Dutch underneath the brim of her hat. "So… I'm assuming you want me to find out where it is, and we'll do a stakeout?" She asked, raising a brow.
Dutch grinned at her in approval. "Why, yes. How did you know?"
Rosalie smiled back at him. "Why, only because your genius has rubbed off on me, Mr. Van Der Linde." She teased.
Dutch wagged a finger at her and laughed. "Now, now, I think that genius came all from you, Miss Con woman."
Rosalie only grinned in response.
He sighed and placed his hands back on his hips, looking up at the sky with a pondering expression. "It's odd, not having Arthur around, but you have proved yourself useful, Rosalie. I'm glad this business with Colm and Cormac will be coming to an end soon." He said.
Rosalie blinked up at him. She was glad for it too, as she had been taunted throughout her nights with restless hours where she would wake in bouts of sweat, Cormac's face lingering in her mind and cackling at her misery. Dutch wanted them dead just as much as her, and while he had emphasized Cormac to keep her motivated, she knew the person he really wanted was Colm.
Did he too have nightmares or terrifying thoughts about what happened to his lover at the hands of Colm O'Driscoll? Rosalie didn't know, as she never thought it would be proper to ask, but if she grappled with her own struggles of rest, she wouldn't be surprised if he did too.
Especially when she thought back on the hunger in his eyes, that night all those weeks ago when he promised they would deliver justice for those that were wrongfully murdered.
"I'm glad it'll be done with soon too," Rosalie said, as that was all she could think to say.
Dutch looked down at her again. "Now that you have this oh-so-wealthy family, do you still think you'll take me up on my proposition? About stayin' with us." He said.
Rosalie snorted and returned her gaze to the sights of her rifle. "Me? In a fancy house? I don't think so. Attending that garden party was difficult enough. All I could think about was getting a nice score from them." She paused. "Besides, it's not as though I've been given an invitation to stay somewhere permanently. It would be strange to ask."
Dutch slowly nodded, a look of thought crossing his face. "I understand feeling not belonging. But… a life of luxury. Wouldn't that be something…? Nice clothes, high status, people looking to you for your opinions and approval." He hummed as though he was thinking out loud.
Rosalie furrowed her brows, her gaze still pointed down the sights of her gun.
Did Dutch really care about that kind of thing? The group seemed to look to him as someone who would guide them forward, as he always had their next move planned out, much like her own father did when she ran with him and her uncle. But there was still a collaborative effort present, as he often looked to Hosea for advice and was even open to leads from herself or Arthur. Did he want to be seen in such a high-society manner? It was strange. Rosalie never wanted that.
"Maybe," Rosalie said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind the nice clothes. But anything they have isn't really mine. I'm part of my father's family, not theirs. I'm a Klein, not Montgomery."
Dutch waved his hand as if he was banishing his earlier thoughts. "It doesn't matter anyhow… just… find out about that cigar cellar. The hit is supposed to be tomorrow night, so find out the location today." He shook his head. "I don't know how I'm going to wrangle Arthur. That Mary girl… she's nice on the eyes, but Arthur… I've known that boy for many years, and I could see it in his eyes that he's sweet on her."
Rosalie made a deadpan expression. She did not want to hear about Arthur's feelings for Mary today.
"Okay…?" Rosalie said slowly, unsure why he was saying this at all.
Dutch glanced down at Rosalie. "I'm just glad you have your head screwed on right. Arthur… I don't know what he's thinking or what his intentions are with that girl." he shook his head again and began to walk back toward camp. "Just find that cellar!" He called over his shoulder.
"I will!" Rosalie called back, her sights narrowing in on the glass bottle that was placed farther away than any shot she had taken before. It was at least 200 yards away and glistening in the sunlight tauntingly.
Jaw set, Rosalie's finger grazed the trigger. She took a deep breath, then fired, the bullet shooting across the field and landing in the bottle, the glass bursting into hundreds of tiny pieces.
"Yes!" Rosalie cheered, hitting her fist against the ground.
Hours later, Rosalie sat in Julie's bedroom at the Montgomery manor, seated at her vanity as Julie ruffled through her overflowing makeup bag.
Neither of the girls mentioned the embarrassing interaction at the garden party, as there was an unsaid agreement between them that Rosalie had forgiven her, and that she would overlook her friends… rather rude comments, as it wasn't necessarily Julie's fault her friend said something so mean.
"I think you should do a dark red lip," Julie said as she pulled out a small metal case of four lip stain colors potted into little squares. The colors looked almost wet as Julie dabbed her finger in the pot and turned to Rosalie, tapping her finger against her lips.
When finished, Julie pulled away with a large smile. "It's so pretty! I think it makes you look like a mature woman." She said, clicking the case closed.
Rosalie turned to look at herself in the mirror, blinking at her reflection. For once, she wasn't wearing her hat, allowing her to see her face fully. Her lips, pouty and glossed, looked more womanly with the touch of red, a stark contrast to her usual homely appearance. It was pretty. She preferred this simple, light look to the heavily made-up face she had worn at the garden party. She looked more like herself.
"It does look good," Rosalie agreed, tilting her head as she looked at herself from different angles.
Julie began ruffling through her case again as she looked for something. "So, Louis told me that you've been spending a lot of time with George." She sent her a sideways glance with a knowing smile.
Rosalie raised a brow, not sure what she was getting at. "Yeah, I have. He's been a good friend."
"A friend?" Julie said in a light voice as she took out another tin and a thin stick. "Are you sure he's not anything more…?" She trailed off.
Rosalie's face went bright red. "No! I-I don't think so, at least…"
Julie only smiled as she beckoned for her to lean forward and close her eyes. Julie dipped the stick into the black smudge in the tin and dragged it over Rosalie's eyes in a thin line, filling it at the corners.
"That's not what I heard…" She said knowingly.
"Uhm, well, what is it that you heard?" Rosalie asked, her heart beating in her chest.
Did George… like her? He did try to spend time with her alone. That in itself was not normal between a man and a woman. He would seek out her company, ask questions to get to know her, and do things to make her feel more comfortable. He had even called her beautiful once before. But she couldn't imagine that he had romantic feelings for her.
Julie moved to the other eye as she drew in the eyeliner at the corner. "My lips are sealed. Maybe… you should ask him? Though I do wonder… do you like Geroge?" She asked.
Rosalie's face was burning up. "Uh, I hadn't really thought about it. He's… very nice. He's handsome and a nice man, but I… I kind of like someone else." She said slowly, embarrassed to admit it again.
Admitting she had a crush on Arthur was so humiliating.
"Oh?!" Julie exclaimed in excitement, "Who?!"
"He's… a friend… but he's involved with another woman right now, so I know he doesn't like me back," Rosalie said, unable to help how defeated she sounded. "I haven't seen him in a while, and when I do, I just get so mad when I think about them together… I can barely look at him."
It was true. She had barely talked to Arthur. It hurt, not just because of her feelings for him, but because he was her friend. She liked him because she enjoyed his company. Hunting, taking morning rides together… she liked being around him. Mary had captivated his attention as of late. That, combined with her angry jealousy, had really pushed them apart.
"Well, he's an idiot," Julie said plainly. "You can open your eyes now," Julie instructed as she put the makeup back into her case.
Rosalie looked at her reflection again, surprised at how large her eyes looked with the eyeliner. It was a nice pair with the red lip stain, and she much preferred the look without the heavy face powder.
"Whoever this man is, he's stupid for not paying attention to you. But, if he likes someone else, you can't help it." Julie shrugged. "Not that I know anything about boys. I haven't found one I like. It drives my Momma crazy. She thinks I'll die alone and poor." She sighed wistfully, obviously annoyed at the thought of her mother's nagging.
Rosalie did her best to act as though it didn't matter much to her and shrugged. "It does hurt, but… um… you know, it's not like I can do anything about it." She leaned closer to the mirror to get a better look at the makeup. "I like the way this looks. Better than the makeup I wore at the party."
"I think it looks good too," Julie agreed, watching her thoughtfully. She turned back to the case and ruffled through the contents, before pulling out a small tin and another pot that was similar to what she put on her eyes. She set it on the vanity and pushed it in her direction. "Here, you can have these. I don't use these colors much, and they look a lot better on you anyway." She offered with a small smile.
Rosalie blinked as she picked up the case. "Oh… I can't take this—" She began to protest.
Julie smiled and shook her head. "No, please do. I want you to have it." She paused, her face twisting before she spoke again. "...I don't have many good friends, and… well, I like you a lot, Rosalie. I wish that… I wish that you were staying here." She confessed, diverting her gaze. "I know we haven't spent much time together, but you've been nice to me. The most real and honest person I've met, at least." She added.
Rosalie was surprised at the confession. When Julie spoke to all those girls at the garden party, it seemed as though she had lots of friends. Or at least, lots of people she knew that were friendly enough with her. George's comment about her being lonely and succumbing to her mother's pressure flitted into her mind.
Julie was a nice girl, and as George said before, Rosalie thought she meant well too. But to stay here… in New Orleans, potentially at the manor… no one had directly asked her to, and she wasn't sure she would enjoy that life anyway.
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to live in a big, fancy house, you know?" Rosalie confessed. "Being out in the world… exploring… that's all I know. It's what I love, you know?"
Julie smiled. "Yeah, I can tell."
The door opened, and in walked Louis and George. Louis had some kind of French literature tucked under his arm, his blonde hair combed neatly and his shirt without any wrinkles. George followed, carrying a large box in his hands. Rosalie eyed it curiously, wondering what he could be holding that was so large.
"Hello," Louis said, waving to Rosalie. "How are you doing?" He asked kindly.
"I'm doing well," Rosalie replied, her gaze drifting down to the book in his hand. "Do you speak French?" she asked with interest, turning herself in the chair and holding on to the back.
Louis nodded, surprised she had recognized the language. "I do. I know some Latin too, but that language is… rather difficult. I have some difficulty wrestling with it, but I'm trying." He gave her a small, mischievous smile. "I know a bit of Spanish too, but don't tell my grandfather that." He added.
That got Rosalie's attention. "Latin? You can speak Latin?" She asked, her eyes widening in excitement.
Louis nodded. "Yes, I can. Did you… did you want to hear some?"
Rosalie's smile widened. "Yes! Please!"
George smirked, sharing a look with Julie. Julie returned his knowing gaze. His guess that Rosalie and Louis would get along well was proving to be true.
Louis walked over and perched himself on a loveseat in the middle of the room. George followed, bringing the large box with him. He sat down beside Louis and delicately placed the package beside him, then leaned back and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable beside his friend.
"Well, there's a rather romantic phrase that I like," began Loius. "… ab imo pectore. It means, 'from the bottom of my heart,' or 'with my deepest affections.' I find it to be quite beautiful." A gentle smile pulled at his lips.
George grinned and gave him a light shove. "You're quite the romantic, Mr. Montgomery." He teased.
Louis turned red. "A-ah… no. I just enjoy the language." He glanced at Rosalie. "You seem to have an interest in foreign languages. I'm surprised. Do you know any yourself? Forgive me, as I assumed that…"
"That I would be uneducated?" Rosalie asked with a raised brow.
Louis frowned. "Well, that's much more rude than how I would have put it, but sure."
Julie snorted. "You're so mean, Louis."
Rosalie shrugged. "I would think the same. But my Daddy and Uncle made sure that I knew how to read and write properly. Most of what I know is from all the books they shoved in my lap as a little girl. They did it to keep me out of trouble and it worked." She hummed. "As for languages, I do know German. My Daddy's first language was German. He taught me what I know."
"German?" Louis said in interest, leaning forward. "German is a peculiar language. While I would describe French to be a more poetic, romantic language, much like Spanish… Latin in the same… I'm not sure how I would describe German." He said thoughtfully. "I can't say I've heard anyone speak it."
George grinned at her, "I think you should enlighten us, Rosalie."
Rosalie turned red. "Ahaha… I don't think so."
Julie looked at her with big eyes. "I want to hear! I'm so sick of French, it's all I hear, especially from my grandfather. Oh, please do let us hear!"
Rosalie thought for a moment, running through her mind of any funny or strange things she would hear her father say. She didn't want to offer a boring phrase such as 'good morning' or, 'good afternoon'. Especially when Loius had said something so poetic.
"There is one… that my Daddy used to say. It's a weird phrase that literally translates to 'we have the salad', but it means that you have a big mess to deal with. It's Jetzt haben wir den Salat." Rosalie grinned at the thought. "Whenever something crazy would happen both he and my uncle would say it. I always thought it was so weird." She couldn't help but laugh.
Julie looked at her strangely, and even Geroge seemed to find it odd, but Loius laughed along with her.
"We have the salad…" Louis repeated with a shake of his head. "Who would have thought? So strange. Languages are so interesting. There's plenty of phrases I've tried to directly translate, whether it be French, Latin, or Spanish, but it doesn't work quite right." He added.
Rosalie tilted her head with interest. "Oh, like what–?"
Julie cleared her throat, cutting her off as her gaze narrowed in on the box George brought into the room with him. She folded her arms underneath her chin and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, Mr. Langley, would you enlighten us as to what you have brought as this gift?" She asked in a light voice.
Louis seemed to deflate at the conversation change but didn't vocally protest.
"Ah, this old thing?" George leaned forward and tapped the side of the box. "I don't know, do you think now is the time to open it?"
Julie stood and walked over to Louis, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him to his feet. She smiled at George before shifting her gaze to Rosalie. "I absolutely do think now is the time! So, I'll leave you both to it. Grandfather will be done with his meeting soon, so he can see you then, Rosalie." With that, she pulled Louis toward the door.
Rosalie blinked, stunned at how quickly Julie had shot out of her seat and snagged Louis. She gave them a wave with a raised brow. "Uh, goodbye?" She offered, confused.
Louis was just as confused by his sister suddenly dragging him out of the room and waved back at her silently in response. The door clicked shut behind them.
Now that they were alone, Rosalie slowly stood from the vanity and walked over to the loveseat, sinking into the cushion beside George. She smoothed her hands over her trousers as she looked at him and then at the box.
"So, what's in the box?" She asked. "Julie seemed to think it was pretty important."
George shrugged and set it closer to her. "Open it and you'll see."
Rosalie opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish. "Oh, no, this isn't for me, is it?" She asked, completely stunned as she stared at the box, before looking up at him in disbelief.
A sly grin pulled at George's lips. "Perhaps. You'll see once you open it," he said, nodding for her to proceed. "Go on."
Unsure, Rosalie swallowed hard. She kept her gaze trained on George, and when he nodded again, she relented, picking up the long, rectangular box and laying it gently on the carpet. She pulled at the side and lifted the top of the box. Inside was… a wooden case, that was skinny at the top before fattening out like a pear shape. Rosalie recognized it immediately, her heart practically stopping in her chest.
"Oh no," Rosalie said quietly, "I… I can't…"
"Please, keep going," George said, urging her to continue.
Rosalie feared she would start crying if she continued. The case looked eerily similar to the one her father had when she was a girl. She remembered it well, the chipped wood and lines of wear on the case from travel. It looked the same. All the marks and chips. It made her think that… that maybe…
With shaky hands, Rosalie lifted the case out of the box and set it on the coffee table. She popped open the rusted clasp, her mouth running dry as she lifted the lid to see a polished, black guitar inside.
It looked identical to the one her father owned. The shiny black wood… followed by the delicate, hand-painted lines of ivy trailing up the side of the instrument. It was impossible. There was no way she was looking down at the same instrument, as he sold the guitar when she was only twelve, somewhere up in New York. It had been long gone for years.
"Is this… is…" Rosalie said slowly, a chill running through her as her eyes darted across the instrument, unable to believe what she was looking at.
George nodded. "Your grandfather found old plans Adelaide had sketched up. I mailed them to different antique stores and shops up north… it was a difficult process, but if there's a sizable amount of money involved. Well… it's difficult for any man to say no. Most times, anyway." He said. "It wasn't hard to find multiple people willing to go on my little wild goose chase. Once they heard my price, it was like they were competing to find it. It didn't take long for it to turn up after that." He said.
Tears pooled in her eyes. She sniffed, blinking away the liquid that threatened to run down her face as her vision blurred. She couldn't help it though, especially as she lifted the guitar out of the case and set it in her lap. By that point, she was fully crying, unable to believe what she was holding, and the trouble he had gone through. All for her.
"Y-you shouldn't have…" Rosalie sobbed, holding her wrist to her face as she cried, looking over the instrument.
George shook his head and scooted closer to her, trying to offer comfort. "I wanted to. I know that… I know when I lost my mother… it felt like my world was crashing down. The piano was one of the only ways I felt close to her. When you mentioned you played guitar but you had no instrument… I spoke to your grandfather about it, and he pointed me in the right direction." He explained gently, placing a hand on her arm.
Tears continued to rush down her face as she stroked her fingers over the strings.
This was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. She couldn't believe that… that anyone would do something like this for her. What had she done to deserve a gesture such as this? Why was he so nice to her?
George stroked a thumb underneath her eye to wipe the smudged eyeliner Julie had put there, long washed away by the tears by now. Rosalie set the guitar in the case and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck as she sobbed, unable to help herself.
George 'oofed' from the sudden impact and blinked in surprise. He didn't expect her to hug him, but he didn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around her and patting her back as she continued to cry.
Rosalie was never one to seek out physical affection from others, but right now, her heart was overwhelmed with gratitude. Since her father's murder, her emotions had been tumultuous, haunted by thoughts of vengeance and longing. Teaching English to Annie, the little girl from the orphanage, was her only outlet to think of him positively. George offering her a piece of him in the form of his old instrument meant more than he would ever know.
Once she had calmed down a bit, she pulled away, sniffling. "I'm sorry," She apologized, eyeing the tear stains on his shirt.
George shook his head. "No, there's no need to apologize." He said.
Rosalie ran her fingers over the smooth, black wood of the instrument, eyeing the ivy that her mother had hand-painted herself for her father. "I don't know how I can repay you for something like this. It's… it means more to me than you'll ever know. Thank you. Thank you so much." She said in a soft voice, the tears threatening to spill again.
He smiled at her. "There's no need to thank me. I had been planning this for a little while now, so to finally see you open it… that's enough of a thank you in itself." His kind smile turned mischievous, and he leaned in, knocking his shoulder against hers.
"But, if you wouldn't mind, would you play something for me?" George asked. "If you remember, it was my one requirement that if you ever came near a guitar, you had to play something for me," he said, a teasing flit to his voice.
Rosalie gasped, a laugh escaping her through her sniffles at the realization of what he'd done. "You… you already planned this?! You knew when you asked me to play for you?" She cried, unable to believe her ears.
"Guilty," George confessed, his grin widening.
"H-how?" She asked.
"Your grandfather told me," George offered easily.
Rosalie had mentioned it to him in passing during their first meeting, but she didn't think he would remember. To her, it was a rather insignificant detail, but it had stuck in his mind enough for him to tell George. When she reconfirmed it at the coffee shop, it must have solidified the idea for him, and he knew he had to find the guitar for her. She still couldn't believe it.
"I can try to play something, but no promises it'll be any good. It's been some time since I've been near a guitar, so…" Rosalie said, pricking a string with her finger as she adjusted the knobs at the end of the instrument, tuning it.
George only smiled at her and rested his chin in his palms. "I don't even know how to play guitar, so I don't think I'm in the position to judge. I've only heard someone play it a few times in my life, so I don't have much to compare it to." He said.
Rosalie scoffed, though still sniffling a bit. "It doesn't take a genius to know when someone plays an instrument poorly."
After plucking the last string and deciding it was tuned well enough, she suddenly turned very red in the face and looked up at George. "Don't make fun of me." She said quickly.
George laughed. "I won't. Are you shy?" He teased.
Rosalie's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "No."
Rosalie's face, while still bright red, became focused as she began pricking at the strings, playing a low, gentle melody, It was a deep, soft sound of an aged guitar, the strings proving true as she strummed them with gentle fingers. The song was calm and filled with an emotional depth that George had a hard time putting his finger on. It was an intimate tune that made Rosalie's heart clench, thinking of how her father would lazily strum it around the fire with a faraway expression.
George watched her in awe, blinking slowly as her fingers danced over the strings with the ease of years of experience. Her blonde curls fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head down to watch her fingers, the red tinge of embarrassment fading from her cheeks as she became more comfortable with the guitar after a long absence. There was a calmness about her as she played.
Finishing her song, Rosalie looked up with a smile. "I hope it wasn't too bad."
George blinked slowly, his eyes glossy as he took in the sight of her bright yet serene expression. The joy she found in the music was evident from her wide eyes and large smile.
"It was amazing." George complimented, still in awe at the ease she played the song. "You're amazing." He added.
Rosalie's face lit up in a furious bush again, overwhelmed by his compliments. "You're embarrassing me." She said, pressing a hand to her face in an attempt to cool her heated skin.
"No, I mean it." George insisted. He gave her a sly grin. "Though… I didn't get to hear you sing."
Rosalie shook her head furiously and placed the guitar back into the case. "Absolutely not. That won't be happening anytime soon." She said, lowering the lid and clicking the case shut.
Becoming serious, Rosalie met George's gaze. "Thank you, though. I mean it. There isn't a gift in the world that would mean more to me than this. No amount of money… or anything really, means more than this. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you."
George shook his head. "I don't need you to repay me. I'm just… glad it's in your possession now. It is yours, after all."
Not too long after that, Rosalie and her grandfather were taking a stroll through the property, the day drawing into the mid-evening now. It wasn't as unbearably hot as that afternoon, and the gentle breeze made it more bearable as they took a leisurely walk together.
"I think it's safe to assume that you enjoyed the present from Mr. Langley?" Charlie asked, raising a teasing brow in her direction.
Rosalie nodded, folding her hands. "Yes, it was… it's the nicest thing I've ever been given. I know you helped him with that, so thank you." She said sincerely.
The pair walked underneath a huddle of towering oak trees, the vegetation neatly trimmed and grass clipped. Birds chirped in the background as they flew overhead to their nests. It was shaded and cool where they walked, as the tall trees provided the perfect amount of shade and swayed with the easy breeze.
"The boy hounded me for any information I could give him once I mentioned that you played guitar. Especially when I said that your mother had paid for a very expensive, custom instrument. She put a lot of effort into that thing… and went through a lot of trouble to hide it from me." Charlie sighed deeply, folding his hands behind his back. "By the time I found out, she had already made the plans and given the guitar to your father... oh, I was so angry." He said, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Rosalie found it hard to believe that the kind old man walking next to her hated her father. The image of Charlie raging over the thought of his daughter running off with an outlaw was not one she could picture easily.
"George is a very kind boy," Charlie added with a nod. "I like that man as though he was my own son. His father may be my business partner… but he isn't around much to run the business, as he's off usually gambling away much of their fortune or spending it in whorehouses. He's a busy fellow."
"He's busy?" Rosalie asked, thinking about how often she had seen him over the last few weeks. George hadn't mentioned much of anything about his father besides him being her grandfather's business partner.
Charlie gave her a knowing smile. "Though I'm sure it doesn't seem like he's very busy to you." He said.
Rosalie wrung her hands, a slight feeling of guilt overtaking her as she thought of how much effort George had gone through to talk to her or take her out. She recalled the time she ran into Louis and George on the way to Isabella's. They could have been off to do business, and she would have never known.
"...No, I didn't know he was such a busy man," Rosalie confessed, her brows furrowing.
"No matter," Charlie said, coming to a stop. He took her hand and gave it a gentle pat. "I don't think he minds much. He seems to like your company."
Rosalie swallowed thickly, trying to shake the odd feeling creeping into her chest as she thought about George and all the kind things he had done for her lately. That really wasn't important right now. What was important… and what had been important from the start, before her life became muddied with her mother's family, was finding the O'Driscoll brothers, and killing Cormac.
"Grandfather, can I learn more about the family business?" Rosalie asked, changing the subject.
Charlie's brow shot up, a perplexed look crossing his face at her request. "...Why would you want to know that? As a lady, that's not something I would think you would want to concern yourself with." He said, not necessarily in a condescending way, but just honestly speaking.
Rosalie shrugged. "Well, I would just like to know more about what makes us so successful. What made the Montgomery's so… highly thought of?" She offered, hoping he wouldn't be suspicious.
This seemed to be the right thing to say, as a grin pulled at Charlie's lips. "Ah, I see… yes, in fact, I do have something particularly special that's a family secret."
Rosalie raised a brow. "Oh?"
He nodded. "We have a very special… cigar cellar on our plantation. It's hidden away where most can't find it, but it's what makes them so high-quality. It's air-tight with thick, layered brick and clay. We've had the best in the country build it for us, so it's our prized, business secret." He smiled, with a raised brow. "Would you like to see it?" He asked.
Rosalie pretended to think about it. "Uhm… well sure, I would love to see what helps the family business be so successful. That would help me learn more about it, right?" She asked, feigning thought as she scratched at her cheek.
Charlie's smile widened and he began leading her on their walk again. "Why yes, I do think it would." He agreed, steering them in the direction of the cellar's hiding place.
Rosalie would make sure them O'Driscoll boys didn't stand a chance tomorrow night.