by Tamara Allen
The wistful note brought Charlie to a standstill. “I may use too many words trying to tell you just how much.”
“I’d be glad to help you edit it down to three.”
Charlie seized his wrist, maneuvered him into an empty office, and shut the door. In that quiet space, he pulled Will into his arms and kissed him. Despite their surroundings, Will returned the kiss with abandon, and Charlie couldn’t break away. Out in the hall, someone shouted his name; Mert, probably wanting to gloat some more. Reluctantly, Charlie drew back. “Give me one minute. That should be long enough to push him out a window.”
He stepped out, meeting Mert coming along the hall. “Honest to God, Palmer, if this is about that Sun story—”
“It’s not. And I’ll remind you I’m not your errand boy, Kohlbeck, so don’t expect I’ll be this obliging every time company calls.”
Will emerged from the office. “We have a visitor? You didn’t bring him upstairs, did you?”
“She.” Mert’s gaze narrowed, a frown taking over. “What were you two doing in the night editor’s office?”
Will’s expression seemed to suggest he’d never heard a question so obtuse. “Editing.”
Charlie choked back a laugh. “Did our visitor leave a card?” he asked, half-afraid it might be Violet.
Mert was still staring dubiously at Will. “No, she decided to wait.”
“She surely gave her name,” Will said, exasperation creeping in.
Mert snorted. “She told me to mind my own business. Bossy old bird—”
“Hildy,” Charlie said in relief. He clapped Mert on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t call her that in her hearing, if I were you. She’d pluck your feathers quick enough.”
Will was already heading for the stairs. Charlie dashed after him, only to run into Hilda coming up. Though Hilda always seemed a little fretful when she had to go out and about, her face was pinched with such anxiety, Charlie took her arm to escort her back down to the lobby. “Hildy, what on earth is the matter? Is Miss Donnett all right?”
“She’s well enough.” Hilda took the seat Charlie offered her on a secluded bench. “It’s Mr. Archie I’ve got to find, and quick.”
“Have we been burgled?”
Hilda gave him a reproachful look. “It ain’t at all funny. Miss Mayhew’s at the house. She set upon our doorstep not an hour ago with her valise and all damp-eyed as though she’d been crying the morning through. Miss Donnett sent me to find Mr. Archie but he’s not in the usual places…” She shook her head glumly. “The girl won’t go home, not till she’s talked to him, she says.”
“Miss Donnett is with her?” Will looked as glum—and not a little guilt-stricken, Charlie thought.
“Miss Donnett’s fed her and petted her, but the poor little girl won’t be reasoned with. She refuses to let us send word to her mother that she’s safe. Not until—”
“She talks to Archie,” Charlie finished. “Well, she will, then. We can find him.”
“Let me find him,” Will said. “You’ve got to come up with a column by five.”
“I couldn’t do better than a story about a runaway heiress.”
Will stared at him. “Charlie—”
“You want to leave it to the Sun? I promise you Garber will turn it into something sordid. If I write it, Rose and Archie will look like the innocent kids they are.”
“Garber doesn’t even know—”
“You don’t think he’s following Rose around just to see if she means to say yes to Belcourt? Hell, he could be at the house right now.” Charlie cleared his throat. “Beg your pardon, Hildy.”
“We’d best go.” Hilda seemed only more troubled. She said nothing else on the cab ride home. Will had plenty to say, the better part of it a futile endeavor to persuade Charlie not to write the column. Will was battling too much guilt to see clearly, Charlie thought, but once he’d read the finished copy, he’d feel better about it. If he didn’t…
Charlie knew all at once he would be hesitant to hand it in without Will’s approval. He’d sooner have Holloway angry at him—he’d sooner have Holloway fire him—than have Will think him mercenary enough to humiliate Rose and her family just for the sake of his job.
But Will wouldn’t think that, surely.
As the cab drew up to the house, Charlie set his gaze fixedly out the window and tried to tamp down the worry eating at him. He wanted to give up the article, rather than go on being crosswise with Will. But he couldn’t give in every time he and Will didn’t see eye to eye on a story. And he’d be of no use to the Herald if he didn’t do his job properly. Will understood that, and would forgive him.
Surely.
“Charlie?” It was teasing, affectionate. “Do you mean to sit here through dinner?”
Charlie woke to the present, to realize Will had already helped Hilda down from the cab and was waiting on him to climb out. “Will…”
“We’re finally on a first name basis, are we?”
Will’s smile raised his spirits, but made it all the more difficult to go on. “You may edit the copy, if you want. You may throw it into the trash, if you think it’s not fit to print. But I’m going to write it. Mr. Holloway expects a story from me and this is the story.”
The smile turned rueful and Will stepped back, opening the door a little wider. “This could be a costly conversation. Come along and let me pay the fare.”
Charlie hopped to the sidewalk and fished out some change, handing it to him. “You can shout at me all you want—”
“I don’t want to shout at you.”
“But you are angry.”
Will waited till the cab was away before turning back to him. “There’s a certain futility in being angry with a reporter who means to do his job. Suppose you had another story to write?”
“You’ve got one?”
“Only one.”
It struck Charlie just what he meant. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But you’d do it to Rose?”
“It isn’t the same—”
“No, it’s worse. Rose doesn’t want to deceive anyone.”
“Neither did you.” Damn it, anyway. That was what came of falling in love, he supposed—and he was in love. Absurdly, wildly, hopelessly. “Talk her into going home.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Talk her into going home.” Vexed at himself, Charlie scowled at Will. “Talk her into it or I’ll pick her up and carry her back home if I have to.”
Will brightened. “You won’t write it?”
“I can’t write a story if there’s no story to write.”
Rose appeared in the doorway, pale and weary-eyed; but her shoulders were unbowed, her mouth set in a resolute line. Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wasn’t the only one hopelessly in love. “We’re going to need some help.”
“Think you can find him?”
“Oh, I’ll find him.” Even if he had to walk every last block of Broadway to do it.
Chapter Seventeen
Rose had suffered a sleepless night and no more pleasant a morning; that much was clear. And Will was sick at the thought that she had yet to hear of the Sun article and his impetuous effort to spare her having to give Belcourt a hasty answer. He hadn’t improved upon the situation and may have made things worse. If her parents had heard the story, they might well be on their way to the house, giving Rose no time at all for a word with Archie.
But if Rose was upset with him, Will didn’t see it in her face as she came down the steps. Her smile was the shy, sweet one he knew, though it wasn’t shining as brightly in her eyes. He offered her his arm. “Let’s go back inside—”
“Where has Mr. Kohlbeck gone?” She asked as if she already knew.
“He means to find Archie.” Partway up, Will turned to her. “Please forgive me for asking this, but… Have you come here intending to elope?”
Her cheeks reddened, her gaze dropping. “You think I’m a dreadful little fool—”
/>
“I don’t think any such thing.” Will took her hand. “Come inside. We’ll have a cup of tea and sort it all out.”
“I don’t know that it can be sorted,” she said quietly, but joined him, walking into the parlor to find Caroline just stepping out.
“Oh my dear, there you are.” She put an arm around Rose’s shoulders, at the same time casting an anxious glance at Will. “It’s much too cold to be waiting outside. Come and sit by the fire. Mr. Kohlbeck—”
“He’ll bring Archie,” Will assured her.
A valise sat at one end of the sofa, Rose’s hat perched on top. Will had a momentary vision of an irritated Charlie carrying both Rose and her valise down Broadway and he had to contain a smile. It was a sight her parents might be glad to see, no matter how unseemly. He could imagine how worried they were… But perhaps there was a way to remedy that. “Miss Donnett, haven’t you forgotten your luncheon engagement?”
“My…” Caroline’s brows rose. “I don’t—”
“The one you mentioned at breakfast?” Will glanced at the clock. “At noon, wasn’t it?”
Caroline seemed to recall all at once. “Goodness, yes! How foolish of me. But of course I can’t—”
“Oh, you must,” Rose said in dismay. “I’ve kept you so long already. I’m so sorry. Please do go!”
Caroline hesitated. “Are you sure? I might simply send my apologies with Hilda…”
“Please don’t let me spoil your luncheon.” Rose clasped a hand over Caroline’s. “You’ve been so good to take me in. I feel much better… And I will be quite all right with Mr. Nesmith.”
Caroline appeared to consider it. “Yes, I think Mr. Nesmith is a suitable chaperone. He has the most impeccable manners of any gentleman I know.”
Will was taken aback. “That’s a compliment I may only hope to live up to.” He started to rise. “Let me find you a cab—”
“That’s not necessary, my dear. Stay and have your tea.” Caroline stood, bending briefly to kiss Rose’s cheek before hastening off down the hall. Hilda came in with the tea tray and deposited it without a word, but Will saw the lingering worry in her face.
“Hilda, will you kindly tell me when Mr. Kohlbeck comes in with Mr. Doolan?”
She let out a breath that was more of a gasp. “Mr. Charlie hasn’t gone off to write his story?”
Will smiled reassuringly. “I think he’s changed his mind.”
“Has he? Well, then.” Hilda poured the tea with only mildly unsteady hands. “I’ll just see if I can hunt up some of that ginger cake he fancies. And the molasses cookies for Mr. Archie.”
“She spoils you terribly, I think,” Rose said when Hilda had gone.
“She does.” Will passed her the sugar. “More than we deserve, certainly.”
Rose sighed. “I shall never be able to bake such lovely cakes. I can’t cook or sew. I won’t darn his stockings or clean his uniform properly.” She absently cradled the sugar bowl in her hands. “Mother says I’m not fit to be a constable’s wife—”
“You don’t have to be perfect, you know. He won’t be… But you’ll love him just the same, won’t you?” Will gently took the sugar bowl, setting it aside. “What else did your mother say?”
“That I cannot possibly know my feelings for someone I’ve only just met… And still she’d have me marry a man I haven’t known that much longer.” Despair crept into her voice. “We had a terrible row last night. I couldn’t make her understand.” Rose shook her head. “I can’t marry Lord Belcourt. I can’t marry anyone who isn’t Archie.”
“Your parents can’t force you to accept Belcourt’s proposal.”
Rose breathed a laugh. “Mother has always said I must wed a man who would be utterly devoted to me, as Father is to her. But she thinks Archie must want me only for my inheritance. I reminded her that’s just the reason Lord Belcourt is after me. She was quite angry, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it.” Rose lifted a troubled gaze to meet Will’s. “I’m forbidden to come here or to meet Archie anywhere else. Mother was talking of a trip abroad this morning. Maybe she hopes Lord Belcourt will pursue me across the Atlantic.” Her laugh was softer, edged with bitterness. “Well, I took my own trip, instead.”
“Without telling anyone?”
She smiled, a rather dull but knowing smile, as she glanced at him sidelong. “Miss Donnett has gone to talk to my parents, hasn’t she?”
Will returned her smile wryly. “You don’t suppose you’ve frightened them long enough?”
She dropped her gaze and fumbled for the kerchief forgotten in her lap. “I had to come. I couldn’t leave New York without a word. At least a good-bye.”
She turned away, pressing the kerchief to her mouth as she huddled against the sofa cushion. Though it was against all propriety, Will wanted to gather her up and give her a shoulder upon which to shed her tears. He didn’t know how to ease her grief without making glib reassurances; and she needed more than that. “Rose… Dearest girl, don’t cry. It seems rather grim, I know, but you aren’t married yet and you do have a say in the matter. If your parents doubt Archie’s motives, I can certainly speak to his character, and Charlie will, too. We’ll invite your parents to dinner—”
“They won’t accept.” Rose straightened, head still bowed as she tried to dry her eyes. “They won’t sit down with him—”
“Then we’ll think of something else. We’ll bump into you on the street—accidentally of course—and go on about Archie’s upstanding qualities. If I can’t, Charlie surely can.”
That won him a small but genuine laugh. “My father might listen, but…” She shook her head. “I can’t think that anything will persuade my mother.”
“The trouble with running away is that she’ll think you’re not ready for any marriage. If you want to persuade her, you must show her—as you’ve shown me—the indomitable Rose who knows what she wants and will marry no one but the man she loves.”
She smiled tiredly. “I suppose I should. I only want to crawl into bed and pull the blanket over my head.”
“That’s because you’ve hardly slept or eaten, I think. Come take a walk around the garden with me. Charlie and Archie will be here shortly and we may have a proper luncheon.”
“My parents may come for me,” Rose said apprehensively.
“All the more reason to hide away in the garden for a bit.” Will had only started to rise when Hilda poked her head in.
“They’ve come!”
Rose lurched to her feet and turned to Will in alarm. “My parents—”
But Hilda had pushed the parlor doors wide, admitting Charlie and Archie, the two of them red-cheeked and breathless but grinning like a pair of twelve-year-olds. “I was very nearly arrested for being a public nuisance,” Charlie announced cheerfully. “But here you are, Rose. I’ve brought him.”
It seemed a superfluous statement, as she was already in Archie’s arms. Archie bent to kiss her, so tenderly that Will averted his gaze. He was proving a poor chaperone, he thought, but if Rose and Archie were saying their farewells, they deserved to be alone together. He left the parlor, appropriating Mr. Kohlbeck along the way, and settled in the kitchen for a time to pester Hilda. She plied them with tea and ginger cake, much to Charlie’s satisfaction, but Will was too anxious to sit for long. He moved to the back parlor, to discover that Rose had taken his advice and was walking around the garden with Archie. When Charlie bounced onto the sofa beside him and leaned over the back to peer out the window, Will grimaced and let the curtain fall into place. “I wonder if all chaperones feel like the most wretched of busybodies.”
“I think most would—well, apart from the ones who like being busybodies.” Charlie leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder. “Want to run upstairs? Hildy’s busy and no one else is around.”
Will peeked past the curtain, to see Rose and Archie huddled on the mossy stone bench; the same spot where he’d sat beside Charlie just a few weeks before. “Caroline has entrusted me to loo
k after Rose.”
Rose had turned to Archie, her head tilted invitingly, and they lingered in a kiss that was no doubt keeping them both warm. Charlie snorted softly. “Rose is doing the looking after now.”
“That’s the danger,” Will said, and as Charlie shifted nearer, rather too warm and inviting, himself, turned from the window with reproach in mind. “Do you need a chaperone?”
Charlie wrapped his fingers around Will’s necktie and tugged lightly. “We’ve never kissed in the garden.” Will eased away, only to bump into the arm of the sofa. Charlie pressed nearer, rising on his knees to loom over him. “Nor in the back parlor.”
“Charlie…”
At the warning, Charlie only laughed. “I do need a chaperone.” He collapsed against Will, and his grin faded into the sweetest of smiles. “This one.”
It wasn’t a kiss in which they could linger, but Charlie’s desire for him made itself felt from the moment his lips parted Will’s—delving with such need, Will ached to encourage him. It was Charlie who drew back, the regret in his gaze swiftly giving way to mischief. “Care to walk in the garden?”
Will wriggled out from under him. “The Mayhews will probably be here to fetch Rose in a minute. I thought we might ask them to supper, but Rose is of the opinion they’ll turn down the invitation. She’s been forbidden to see Archie and it seems the Mayhews are contemplating taking her abroad, no doubt hoping her affection for him will fade.”
Charlie pushed aside the curtain to peek out. “I don’t think the memory of that kiss will fade any time soon.”
“No, indeed.”
Charlie appeared to catch the emphasis and immediately looked smug. “You’re sure you don’t want to go upstairs?”
“You’re single-minded at the moment.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Will caught hold of Charlie’s tie and gave it a firm tug. “Pay attention to the more pressing matter. Bringing Archie and Rose together with the Mayhews will require some subterfuge and I think your wily brain is more suited for dreaming up the right venue—”
“Skating.”
“Skating? I don’t quite see—”