by Tamara Allen
Charlie grinned. “The best of luck with your betrothed.”
The coal lasted the night, leaving Will so blissfully comfortable, he was slow to rise. Holding off on the delivery of the invitation, he took a cab to visit Violet, only to find her in the company of several friends and on her way out. She allowed him to draw her aside in the front hall while the others went on ahead. “I didn’t imagine you’d find the time today,” she said crisply.
Will had the suspicion that was not true, but he decided not to tease her about it. “Vi, come to breakfast with me, won’t you?”
“I’ve other plans. You might’ve asked yesterday—oh, but you were occupied marching up and down Broadway with all your worldly goods.” In the midst of putting on her gloves, she paused long enough to bestow a dour glance. “Is that labor finished or will you be proceeding through town today with your pajamas and shaving razor in hand?”
“Now, Vi, if I’d had the chance to tell you about it, I would have. If I’d waited, I might’ve lost a better situation—”
“So you’re willing to accept a better situation from that loathsome reporter you’ve known a handful of days, but not the woman who has only your best interest at heart.”
“That’s a rather different thing. Charlie merely put in a good word for me. He’s not paying my rent.”
“I don’t see how it’s any different. I put in a good word for you with my father—”
“Who wanted to provide us a house we hadn’t earned and give me a position I wasn’t suited for. Vi, be fair. I haven’t asked you to give up anything… Just to wait a bit while I settle in. You didn’t like that miserable boarding house any better than I—and the moving’s done, so you needn’t worry that Caroline Astor will spot me dragging my mattress up Broadway—”
“Don’t be childish, William.” Violet moved to the hall mirror and began to fuss with the feathered concoction on her head. Her glance met his reproachfully in the glass. “You’d best not give that reporter any more of your time or you’ll have no manners left.”
Will laughed. “Vi, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you want to know where I’ve moved?”
“Oh, indeed.” She shoved a hatpin into place with ruthless force. “I can’t imagine you’ve moved up, with all its attendant costs. For which new hovel have you exchanged the old?”
“I’ve taken a room at the residence of Miss Caroline Donnett, as a matter of fact.”
Violet stared at him in the glass for a long instant before turning her all the more sharply knitted brow in his direction. “I don’t find that amusing in the least, William Nesmith.”
She was nearly through the doorway before Will shook off his surprise and started after her. “Violet…” Concerned faces peered from the windows of the waiting carriage below. Will ignored them, catching Violet by the hand halfway down the steps. “Violet, come to breakfast and I’ll explain all of it.”
“I’ve told you I have plans. You may call this afternoon, if you like… Unless you’re going to tea at the Vanderbilts.”
Exasperated, Will let go of her hand. “I’m having tea with Lord Belcourt.”
Violet smiled thinly. “Do give him my regards.”
He saw the troubled light in her eyes as she turned away. The young ladies in the carriage drew her swiftly inside, seemingly in sympathy with her injured spirit. Will wished he could take back what he’d said. He hadn’t made the peace he’d hoped for and he’d left her hurt and bewildered.
Well, it wouldn’t be resolved by waiting about. Waving down a cab, Will left the invitation with the desk clerk at the Hoffman House, then went to breakfast at a restaurant near the Herald offices. He knew he wasn’t the only one anxious about Belcourt’s answer when he walked into the city department to see Charlie already scribbling away. But whatever he was working on apparently didn’t have his full attention. He was out of his chair and at Will’s desk in an instant. “Did you talk to Belcourt?”
“He’d left instructions not to be disturbed. The clerk took the invitation.” Will scooped the unedited copy from the basket on his desk and sat. “I don’t suppose he’s up until ten or eleven.”
“It’s nearly ten now.” Charlie perched on one end of the desk and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I thought you wouldn’t be in so early.”
“Violet had another engagement.”
Charlie’s brows rose. “She’s still going about with that Elliot fellow?”
“She was out with several young women, one or two of whom are her cousins, I believe. Whether they’re meeting any gentlemen for lunch…” Will frowned. “Well, I didn’t inquire.”
“You might want to.”
Will stopped searching for a pencil. “What does that mean?”
Charlie’s grin was not without sympathy. “Elliot Lamb’s a handsome fellow. You’re not bad yourself, of course, but Elliot seems to be fond of… Going about. I’d wager he does every night of the week.”
“I go about. In moderation, like any man who has to consider his bank account.”
“That’s the trouble,” Charlie said. “You’re so damned moderate. Why don’t you sweep Violet off her feet? Take her on a spree around town. A spree of the highly immoderate sort.”
Will snorted. “Best not use words you can’t spell.”
Charlie looked indignant. “I-m-m-o-—”
“For God’s sake. Charlie, your definition of immoderate diverges considerably from Violet’s, I assure you.”
“And from yours.” Charlie lay back on the desk and let loose a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind. I know just how to cheer you up.” He held out his handful of copy. “Yours to cut to ribbons.”
Will broke into a laugh. “When did you become such a trusting soul?”
Charlie shrugged. “You won’t find much to the story. The usual fuss over liquor laws. Really, it’s hardly worth the trouble.”
“Rather more worthwhile than Mr. Palmer’s bit of fluff about a sea serpent.”
“Beg your pardon?”
Will waved the paper he’d taken from the basket. “Spotted off Long Island…” He glanced over the copy. “All of fifteen feet and as big around as a barrel. No indication of whether the gentleman who discovered it had been drinking beforehand.”
“I’d think the tale itself is indication enough.” Charlie sounded aggrieved. “Do you know where Palmer was last night? Attending a lecture about ghosts. And what was on my desk today? The Kansas crop report and the compelling confirmation that William Brookfield is definitely, finally resigning as commissioner of public works.”
“Is he? How unfortunate. I’d heard he was doing a good job of it.”
Charlie’s laugh was more of a groan. “I feel a measure of sympathy for Violet.”
“Ghosts and sea serpents won’t get you on space, Charlie. Do you want to live with a fixed salary the rest of your days?”
“Belcourt will do the trick,” Charlie said serenely. “And once I’m paid per inch—”
“You’ll need even more editing than you do now.”
Charlie sat up. “You’re not much of a hand at boosting a fellow’s confidence.”
“I don’t know that yours wants boosting. But if it makes you feel better, you’ve spelled ‘commissioner’ correctly…” Will trailed off as Hilda Gray, of all people, appeared in the doorway. “That was quick. I’m afraid we’re both about to have our confidence crushed.”
“Oh, damn,” Charlie muttered, and launched himself off the desk. “Hello, Hildy! Everything all right at home?”
“As well as can be expected.” Hilda glanced around dubiously, then bent and picked up a discarded wad of paper. “Is this place always so…”
“Neat as a pin. Ordinarily.” Charlie took the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket, then furtively kicked another wad under the desk. “Come sit down—”
“I can’t visit. Miss Donnett’s sent me to give you this.” She fished an envelope from some pocket hidden in her skirts and held it out. “I don’t
know that I’d have accepted an invitation on such short notice—”
“But he did, didn’t he?” Charlie hastily tore open the envelope.
Will rose, moving to his side. “Did he?”
“He did.” Hilda seemed disgusted. “Just like a man. There’s no time to plan a fitting tea. I thank the good Lord I had the presence of mind to wash the drapes last month—but we’ll have to pay the neighbor boys to come give the rugs a beating.”
“Will and I can do it,” Charlie said. “We’ll help you with all of it.”
Hilda sniffed. “I wouldn’t send you to market. Like as not, you’d come back with week-old fish and not much else.”
“We’ll go for flowers,” Will suggested. “Miss Donnett will like it.”
Hilda’s air of perpetual disapproval seemed to ease ever so slightly. “Not too many colors, now. You know Miss Donnett’s taste,” she said to Charlie.
“Only the most fashionable daisies,” Charlie vowed.
“We’ll buy proper flowers,” Will said before Hilda could scold. “And anything else you need.”
Hilda seemed relieved. “We may manage all right then, as long as the cake don’t fall.”
“We’ll fetch another if it does.” Charlie followed her to the door. “You took the streetcar down?”
“Well, I didn’t walk,” Hilda said, a trace of humor in her tone. “And I’ve more sense than to pay for a cab—”
“I don’t,” Charlie said. “Stick by me. I’ll find you one.”
She clicked her tongue at that, but made no real objection. Once she was on her way, Will read Belcourt’s brief but friendly response again and realized it wasn’t just relief he felt, but guilt. “I shall be devoutly glad when this is finished.”
Charlie hadn’t settled back at his own desk, but had again taken up residence atop a corner of Will’s. “You’re worried we won’t get much in the way of a worthwhile interview?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. To be frank, I…” Will shook his head. “I’m a fraud, Charlie. I’ve got this man believing I’m someone I’m not. I should hate for him to find out the truth.”
“He doesn’t have to. Mr. Nesmith is going back to California and Lord Belcourt’s going to toddle off to England eventually, so the odds of you two ever meeting up again are slim.”
“And when the paper publishes the interview?”
“If Belcourt asks…” Charlie grinned. “Just tell him you had no idea I was a newspaper reporter.”
“Charlie, you’ve got to hold off publishing it until Rose’s party. Mr. Nesmith must be well away and forgotten. Please tell me you’ll wait.”
That only provoked a laugh. “Mr. Nesmith may be well away but he won’t be easily forgotten—”
“Charlie.”
Charlie’s amusement yielded to an exasperated snort. “Why are you so anxious? You don’t go about in the same circles as these folks, as much as the maiden fair might wish it. When the clock strikes midnight, you’ll go back to striking out every perfectly fine word I put to paper, and once you’ve won Miss Chapin’s forgiveness, your life will resume in all its magnificent moderation.”
Will didn’t have the heart to rise to the bait. He slumped forward in the chair and folded his arms on the portion of the desk unoccupied by Charlie, resting his chin atop them. “You were right about one thing—”
“More than one, I hope.”
“Manhattan isn’t New Brighton,” Will went on as if Charlie hadn’t interrupted. “And right now, I’d give every penny in my meager account to be back there.”
Charlie fished a blue pencil from a drawer and laid it before Will. “Have a go at Palmer’s sea serpent. You’ll feel better.” He stood, and after a moment, his hand dropped lightly on Will’s shoulder. “I’ll hold the story until Mr. Nesmith’s on his way back home—and I mean California, not New Brighton. All right?”
Will glanced up into his rueful features. “Really?”
“Really. But if someone else snags an interview with Belcourt in the next few days, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I might be able to live with that,” Will said.
Charlie nodded solemnly. “I had a suspicion you might.”
Chapter Eight
In the hour before Lord Belcourt was to arrive, Charlie reflected that Hilda might have made an excellent field marshal, with her talent for bossing the life out of her recruits. After sweeping the hearth and giving every cushion a thorough plumping, Charlie had been set to work coaxing a brighter shine from the silver. He’d found it not entirely dull work, as he had a good view of Will in the garden, swinging the carpet beater with an energy Charlie suspected must be rather relieving. He felt anxious, himself, though Caroline had promised to settle them in the seldom-used back parlor where there would be no interruptions. There was little reason to think the tea would be anything but a success and he tried to take some comfort in knowing his forced partnership with Will was nearly at an end—even as he had to admit it hadn’t been as miserable as he’d expected.
When the carpets were back in place and the leaves had been raked to return some dignity to the windswept garden, the hothouse flowers arrived, most of which Charlie didn’t recognize, despite suffering through the Jersey flower show. Since Will seemed to know what he was about, Charlie had let him choose, offering only a belated suggestion that they include Caroline’s favorite pale pink roses.
The parlor looked quite all right with the flowers all around and the soft autumn sunlight coming in. Just as the bell rang, Caroline came down in her Sunday blue satin, all smiles, and settled with quiet dignity on the sofa. Perhaps she hadn’t had a caller from her former circle in a dozen years, but the caller she had now certainly topped them all—and Charlie wondered if she found that satisfying. He had the feeling she was too kind-hearted to think that way; but he was happy to take satisfaction in it on her behalf.
Hilda, neat as a pin despite an afternoon spent cooking, answered the bell and shortly appeared at the parlor door with Lord Belcourt in tow. He was his dapper, gregarious self, greeting Will like an old friend, and bowing ever so respectfully when Will introduced him to Caroline. The conversation lingered over the weather before skipping lightly to the subject of the Vanderbilt wedding—a topic that Belcourt did not shy from, but in fact introduced, leaving Caroline to inquire if he’d come to New York for the express purpose of attending.
“Oh, no,” Belcourt said. “Well, not entirely. I’m here to have a closer look at my investments. Land, you know…” He turned all at once to Will. “You must give some thought to joining our little group. We’ll go out and take a tour. Make a grand party of it.”
“Well, I…” Will faltered.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Caroline cut in. “This is land out west?”
“West… And south, too, I believe.” Belcourt smiled as if embarrassed. “Mr. Knox has explained it more than once, but I’m afraid my geography is lacking.”
“You’ll grow accustomed to it,” Caroline said. “Do you mean to stay a while?”
Belcourt cleared his throat. “Well, I can’t say for certain. If we do indulge in a trip out west, I suppose we will be some months at it. A lot of ground to cover,” he added cheerfully.
“You won’t go on your own?” Caroline turned to Will. “It’s not quite safe, is it?”
Charlie snorted. “They won’t shoot you if they think they can sell you something.”
Belcourt broke into a broad smile. “We must ask Mr. Nesmith. I’m sure he’s been back and forth a number of times.”
“He’s certainly had his fill of strange cities.” Charlie tried to suppress a grin at the reproof in Will’s gaze. “Of course, Mr. Nesmith owns land in California and I don’t know that he’s considering the purchase of more.”
“Yes.” Relief rang in Will’s voice. “We’re concentrating on development at the moment—and that’s always a costly project, you know.”
“I’m sure his lordship understands,�
�� Charlie said. “No doubt he owns a good deal of land back home.”
“One can never have too much land.” Belcourt sounded as though he were quoting Knox. He sipped his tea and cast an admiring eye at the white citron cake Hilda had placed on the table. “How lovely. It looks like a cloud that might just float away.”
“Hildy bakes the jolliest cakes,” Charlie said. “Shall we have some?”
Caroline took over, passing around generous slices, while Charlie thought furiously for the best way to guide Belcourt back to the subject. “Even if Mr. Nesmith were inclined to consider Mr. Knox’s offer—” Catching Will’s startled glance, he shook his head in warning. “He’d certainly want to go back home and confer with his family.”
“Oh, quite,” Belcourt said.
“I should hate to leave them ill-informed,” Will said. “Especially over such a substantial expenditure.”
“Naturally,” Belcourt said.
Caroline set down her plate and picked up her tea cup. “Have you a large family back in England, my lord?”
“Sadly, no, Miss Donnett. I’m all alone in the world.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been left in similar straits and do find it lonely sometimes. I imagine it’s singularly difficult, living on an estate far from town…” She smiled with disarming and, Charlie sensed, very deliberate chagrin. “Perhaps I’m being presumptuous, though. I do beg your pardon, my lord.”
“Oh, not at all. I’m often lonesome, myself, which is why, I suppose, I like traveling. It does wonders to distract a fellow.” Belcourt brightened. “You might come along with us on our grand westward adventure.”
“I’m not much of a speculator, my lord,” Caroline answered lightly.
“Oh, but land’s such a sure investment, I’ve found.” Belcourt suddenly laughed. “You know, I expect a good many people believe I’ve come to New York to follow in Marlborough’s footsteps and wed a woman of means to help me right my misfortunes. But since I’ve come to put my trust in Mr. Knox, those misfortunes are resolving most satisfactorily.”