by Tamara Allen
“To do with Miss Mayhew?” Charlie was all sympathy. “Or maybe Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew?”
“How did you know?”
“Isn’t that the most worrisome thing for fellows in love?” Charlie bent and caught up a tie—Will’s tie—from under the tea table. “They haven’t forbidden her to see you?”
“Oh, no…” Archie sighed. “Not yet.”
“Wait a minute. You’re not worried about this old party the Whitmores are giving?”
Archie exhaled audibly. “I’m not worried. I’m frightened to death.”
“You are?” Charlie sounded amazed. “You’ve chased down thieves. And murderers. Granted, society parties don’t lack their share of low characters, but—”
“Charlie, I’ve never been to a society party. I’ll make a fool of myself, and Rose’s parents will want her to have nothing to do with me.” Archie rose, and moving to the mantelpiece, leaned against it. “Perhaps Rose won’t, either.”
The last was so quiet, Will almost missed it. He wished he could say something. But Charlie would say the right thing—the comforting thing—surely.
Charlie was silent for the longest time, perhaps not knowing what to say. Archie kicked a stray coal back into the fire and returned to the chair, slumping into it. “You’ve met her parents. Tell me square, won’t you? Am I foolish to hope?”
“Well…” Charlie sounded uneasy. “Mr. Mayhew’s fair-minded. Quite all right, really. Mrs. Mayhew—”
“She’s hoping Rose will wed this Belcourt fellow. Rose told me.”
“She’d put Rose’s happiness first,” Charlie ventured. “I’m sure she would. And don’t worry about the party. Really, these things are deadly dull. You’ve only got to go and be your old sweet jolly self and the Mayhews will love you like we do.”
Will didn’t think he could have said it better. Archie was quiet again, perhaps mulling it over. “I’m glad you’re going to be there,” he said finally, rising. “You’ll put me right if you think I’m about to do anything foolish.”
“Will’s probably better at putting a fellow right in those circumstances,” Charlie said with a laugh. “But I’ll be happy to jump in and make myself the bigger fool to draw off everyone’s attention.”
There was relief in Archie’s laugh. When he’d gone, Will crawled from under the bed, and cross-legged on the floor, eyed Charlie skeptically. “I’m better at putting a fellow right?”
“With all the energy you spend trying to correct the faults in others, I’d have to think so.”
“It may only seem that way to you because you’ve so many faults in need of correction.”
Charlie dropped onto his lap and draped his arms over Will’s shoulders. “Are you admitting to failure where I’m concerned?”
“Exhaustion, more like.” Will slipped his arms around Charlie and leaned against him. “The Bowery, then?”
Charlie sighed. “I don’t know…”
“The Hoffman House?”
A corner of Charlie’s mouth rose with rueful good humor. “And have them put it on Belcourt’s bill?”
Will laughed. “What do you say to a compromise between the Bowery and Belcourt?”
“All right. Down the street to the Continental?”
“Just for tonight, I hope.”
“We can always engage a lodging house room somewhere. Your old place on 15th?”
“I’d sooner spend my last dime at the Hoffman House.” And it would be his last dime, if they took up staying in hotels on a daily basis. “How will we explain ourselves if our absence is noted?”
Charlie shrugged. “We were chasing after a story. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stopped at a hotel while hunting down information or preparing for an interview.” He stood and began to dress. “I’ve even slept on park benches, chasing after stories during the holidays.”
“You don’t think we’ll find a room?”
“We may have to go all the way back to our bathing house on the beach.”
“In this weather?”
“I’ll warm you up.”
There was no vacancy at the Continental nor the subsequent Broadway hotels they ventured into. Not keen on the notion of a cold ferry ride back to the island, Will suggested they return home. Tired and chilled, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a warm bed. But Charlie seemed to have softened on the suitability of certain hotels, and a short ride on the streetcar brought them to a corner saloon advertising lager beer and bratwurst, and promising comfortable rooms upstairs.
Just how comfortable they might be, Will had to question. The saloon itself was overflowing with a boisterous crowd, their noise barely challenged by an out-of-tune piano. Couples chased each other upstairs, then reappeared at a rather more frequent rate than the average hotel of Will’s experience. Aware that Charlie seemed as wary, Will caught his glance and smiled like a man who felt at home. “Shall we ask for a third floor room? It’ll be quieter.”
Charlie’s gaze was a little too intent. “You’re sure?”
Will leaned toward him to speak softly. “I’m sure I’ll care nothing about our surroundings in five minutes, if you must know the truth.”
Charlie brightened. “Well, then. Let the truth set us free.”
The third floor did provide some respite from the noise, and if the bedstead wobbled and the linens were musty, the window could be shuttered and the door locked. They could lose themselves in each other, and the pleasure of Charlie’s hands on him again brought Will to the point of abandon well before clothing had been surrendered and the mattress reached. The cacophony of voices below and their piano accompaniment went on, but seemed like nothing more than part of the barricade raised against the world by the time an exhausted Charlie was snoring against Will’s shoulder. In the midst of such a raucous and apparently eternal party, they’d drawn no attention to themselves; and after a spell of weary vigilance to be sure, Will felt safe enough to sleep.
Waking to unfamiliar and rather bleak surroundings was disconcerting. Will roused Charlie and they went home to change clothes and quickly slip out before anyone appeared to ask difficult questions. On the way to the paper, Charlie was full of cheerful talk, and Will couldn’t bring himself to address the impracticality of their situation. He didn’t want to leave Caroline’s household any more than Charlie. If they stayed, it meant finding a safe place to meet during the day; likely a small, furnished room in an out-of-the-way lodging house of the most impersonal kind.
Stealing a few hours on Monday morning to hunt for such a place, they settled on a plain but respectable corner room on the third floor of a six story warren of plain but respectable rooms in what was, decades before, a fine hotel. Once they had the key in their possession, they fell upon each other without preamble. Anxious afterward, they dressed and went to the paper, going all the way upstairs for coffee and to reassure themselves they’d attracted no unusual notice.
“It just takes getting used to,” Will said. “In a week or so, we won’t think anything of it.”
“Unless we’re in the Tombs,” Charlie agreed with grim cheer. “Imagine the column we could write then.”
“Our last.” Will picked up the Sunday paper someone had left behind. “Perhaps we should stay away until after the Whitmore ball.”
“You mean till after Mr. Nesmith’s left town.”
“I thought that might promptly follow. No use lingering, once it’s gotten out.”
Charlie laughed. “You’re afraid Jake Garber is still following you around.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I think he’s hankering after Belcourt far more. But I’ll take a vow of chastity for a day or two, if that will make you feel better.”
“It won’t. But once I’ve left New York, I’ll be quickly forgotten…” Will smiled wryly. “And fully free to tempt ruin in the usual fashion.”
The chaste night was a restless one, but Will kept to his bed, determined that Mr. Nesmith and his private secretary should leave town on
Wednesday with no hint of scandal following them. At breakfast, everyone was quiet, Charlie and Archie in particular; and Will, no more at ease, could not seem to cheer them. He had a nagging sense that he shouldn’t have accepted the invitation from the Whitmores, as charming as they’d been. Each successive ball and party meant a further chance for exposure and public embarrassment; and though he’d been fortunate, he could not shake off an uneasy feeling that his fortune was about to run out.
Work was a welcome distraction; certainly when Charlie was out after a story and not in the city department, pacing about and frequently finding a perch on Will’s desk when the need to worry aloud became too much for him. By six o’clock, Will was ready to dress and have the ball done with, but he came home to find Charlie’s fretting had spread like the flu. Archie, though dashing in his hired evening clothes, wasn’t his usual cheerful self; and Caroline and Hilda, apparently possessed of more etiquette rules than a book on the subject, had taken on the task of instructing him.
When Will came back down, he found they’d moved from the parlor to the music room that had once served as a ballroom. At an old piano, its velvet cover faded from the sun, Caroline played a waltz while Archie led a red-cheeked Hilda around a little too energetically. Will kept to a corner, observing, until Charlie appeared—and at the sight of Archie and Hilda bounding over the squeaky floorboards, burst out laughing.
Though he could hardly contain his own amusement, Will looked at Charlie reprovingly. “We aren’t much better.”
“Than Archie or Hildy?”
Having escaped Archie’s awkward embrace, Hilda stalked past Charlie with a reproach that was far more effective in dousing his grin. “I make a respectable show, if I do say. It’s you young gentlemen…” She ran a smoothing hand over her loosened bun. “Great two-legged colts, the lot of you.”
“We are that,” Archie said ruefully.
“Not me,” Charlie asserted, and catching hold of Hilda, whirled her about. She pulled loose with an exasperated huff.
“A soul can only bear so much jostling,” she began, and looked immediately wary when Will extended a hand.
“Will you do me the honor, Miss Gray?”
She appeared reluctant to spurn a more polite approach. He drew her out to the floor, taking a stance of which she seemed to approve, and their stately progression around the room brought a pleased smile to her lips. “I won’t call you a colt again, Mr. Nesmith.”
“That is the highest of compliments, and I thank you, Miss Gray.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Charlie said. “You’ll put the girls to sleep, waltzing them around like that.”
Will gave him the barest glance. “I don’t recall that being the case at any of the parties we’ve attended.”
Charlie snorted. “A handful of dances and you’re quite the swell, aren’t you?”
Will was glad to see Archie all agrin. “Keep a close eye on us, Mr. Kohlbeck. You may learn something.”
He escorted Hilda to the settee beside the piano and politely inquired after a proper boutonnière.
“May I have one, too?” Archie asked.
“If you are content with rosebuds,” Caroline said, rising from the piano stool.
“A half-blown rose, I think,” Will said, intending to tease Archie… But his gaze found Charlie’s, irresistibly, and Will knew it was a sentiment not lost on him. The deeper emotion wasn’t Rose and Archie’s, alone.
Charlie smiled. “I’ll have one, too…” He glanced guiltily at Hilda. “If you’ll forgive me for tossing you about.”
“Asking for buttonholes at the last minute!” Hilda sniffed. “I’ve already fetched them up for all three of you.”
Caroline was laughing. “Clipped and tied to perfection, too. Hilda, if we may have a cup of tea before we go—”
“I’ll have it in the parlor straightaway.”
Hilda sailed off in triumph, despite the stray gray curls bouncing on her shoulders. Caroline looked after her fondly. “She’ll have it set before we’ve wandered in.” She led the way, fairly beaming, and Will was glad he hadn’t turned down the Whitmores’ invitation.
When they’d settled in the parlor, tea at hand, Caroline’s cheerful demeanor took a turn for the mischievous. “Mr. Nesmith, do tell me you haven’t spent the last month lifting your coat tails before you sit?”
“Miss Donnett, I—beg your pardon?”
Caroline poured a cup of tea and passed it to him. “In all my years, I’ve yet to see a gentleman of my acquaintance lift his tails before he sits. If he wears out one coat, he buys another.”
That had never occurred to him. “There are surely some frugal men of means.”
“Self-made men, perhaps,” Caroline said. “But I understand you inherited your fortune?”
Charlie choked on a mouthful of tea and then shook his head, laughing. “He’ll never do it.”
All eyes fixed on Will expectantly, and with reluctance, he stood. “This is a rented suit…”
Charlie grabbed a handful of his coat and pulled him to sit; and when Will began to protest, lurched up and ruthlessly dropped onto his lap. “That’s done. Now you won’t feel obliged to stand all evening.”
Caroline didn’t seem perturbed by Charlie’s tactics. “We shall make a legitimate swell of you, Mr. Nesmith,” she said, her eyes twinkling, and Archie laughed.
Outnumbered, Will glared at Charlie out of principle. “You’re sitting on your own coat tails, you realize.”
Blue eyes fairly shone upon him, and not just with sly humor. “Best raise my salary, then.”
“I’m sacking you, first thing tomorrow.”
“And taking great pleasure in it, from the look of you.”
“I live in happy anticipation of the moment.” Will pushed him off and rose. “As it’s our last party of the season, we’ll bring something good out of it.” He turned to Archie. “Ready to brave the wilds of society?”
Archie went a little pale, but stood and smoothed his own unrumpled coat tails.
“Have a glass of port,” Charlie advised.
“We’d better begin the evening sober,” Will said. “Or God knows how it will end.”
The Whitmore residence called only the most admiring attention to itself with its quiet presence on a block of grandiose homes all determined to be the most eye-catching. The entrance hall’s wintry aspect of gray marble floors and cool blue draperies stood in pleasing contrast to the reception room at the far end, where the warmth of a crackling hearth fire shone upon a veritable garden of red roses. Mrs. Whitmore welcomed Will with a friendly pat of her gloved hand on his shoulder, a distinct sparkle in her eye as she warned him that he’d already been included on more than one dance card.
Trying to take the news in stride, Will went in search of Rose while Charlie prowled the ballroom with Archie in tow; hoping to, as Charlie had put it, lower Archie gently into the pit of ravenous wolves. Will came upon the Mayhews at last, only to discover they’d found Charlie and Archie just moments before. Though Charlie appeared to have carried off introductions without a hitch, Rose’s shining face and Archie’s blushing one had surely given the game away… Or would have, if Mrs. Mayhew wasn’t clearly occupied with curiosity regarding the whereabouts of Lord Belcourt.
“We passed him a while ago,” Charlie said. “In Isaiah Knox’s company.”
Mr. Mayhew grimaced, but Mrs. Mayhew continued on valiantly. “Only Mr. Knox?”
Charlie looked startled. “I really couldn’t say. He’s got the usual crowd around him—”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Mayhew looked only more determined. “Well, we shall do the polite thing.” She turned to her husband. “My dear, will you take us over?”
Rose went wide-eyed. “Mother, Mr. Nesmith has invited us to supper at his table.”
“Has he?” She turned to Will. “Do you mean to sup this early, Mr. Nesmith?”
Will caught Rose’s beseeching glance and did his best to dissemble appropriately. “I’ll a
dmit to being utterly famished, Mrs. Mayhew. But of course I understand if you’re not quite… What do you say to cake and champagne, then?” He glanced encouragingly at Charlie. “I shouldn’t mind just watching the crowd a while. To get my bearings.”
“I wouldn’t mind a champagne or two,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Brace me up in case anyone’s foolish enough to want me to dance.”
“I would be that foolish,” Rose said, smiling.
“Rose.” Mrs. Mayhew looked quite severe. “Remember your manners. Mr. Nesmith, we’ll be pleased to join you, but we must pay our respects to Lord Belcourt.”
Mr. Mayhew’s gloomy expression abruptly cleared. “Why don’t you fellows come? Then if his lordship’s too busy for us, we can go straight in for a bite of supper.”
Mrs. Mayhew seemed to want to object, but instead salvaged her own manners and sailed ahead, her little bird tucked reluctantly under her wing. Will had the uneasy conviction that Mrs. Mayhew had seen the look between Archie and Rose, and she fully intended to encourage Belcourt’s attentions whether or not Rose wanted it.
Charlie and Archie seemed to have come to the same conclusion and they marched through the boisterous throng with all the cheer of two fellows heading to a funeral. But Belcourt, as Will expected, was surrounded by a dozen young ladies and nearly as many gentlemen, all hanging on his chatter as if there were some special wisdom to be imparted by virtue of his title. Amused, Will pulled Charlie aside.
“Ask Rose to dance and I’ll prod Archie to the other end of the room to meet you there.”
Charlie’s brows lifted. “Really? That sounds like a scheme I’d have come up with.”
“Yes, you’re a terrible influence,” Will said dryly. “Now go.”
But Caroline had come up with her own scheme, engaging Mrs. Mayhew in a lively conversation that gave Archie the opportunity to spirit Rose away to the dance floor. If Mrs. Mayhew didn’t witness it, Mr. Mayhew did.
“Just who is that young fellow?”
“Constable Doolan?” Charlie shrugged lightly. “Just a fellow who boards with us at Miss Donnett’s. Quite a clever and good-hearted man… Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Nesmith?”