by Joann Simon
"You'll want some time alone, and Abbey's waitin'." Stepping across the room, he went to pat Kit's head.
"So long there, tyke."
"Bye, sir."
" 'Twas good speaking with you," he said, looking, still shyly, at Jessica. "And good to have you in the house."
"Thank you, Willis, and good day."
"I'll see you out," Christopher said, and started toward the door with his friend. "I have some questions for you."
After Christopher had seen Willis off, and they had their tea and Kit his snack, Christopher took them on a brief tour of the house—to the kitchen below, through the dining room and study on the first floor; upstairs to his larger bedroom and the smaller one behind that could be given to Kit. The other front bedroom was Mawson's. Everything pleased Jessica, and although Christopher informed her that she should feel free to make any changes she wished, she saw no need, except to find more youthful draperies and a bed cover for Kit's room.
Back in the parlor, Christopher poured them each a glass of wine. Kit, weary now, snuggled up on the couch beside his mother and was soon nodding off to sleep.
"Shall I move him?" Christopher whispered, a soft look on his face.
"No, let him be. With everything so new, he'd rather be with us for the time."
"So what do you think of my friends? I believe they were both highly impressed with you."
"They're both very nice. I can see how you've formed close attachments. Christopher, this news that Bayard spoke of. . . I've been wondering about it. It has to do with Rhea, doesn't it? She's begun talking."
"I am afraid so. When I took Mawson aside before, I asked him if he had heard anything. Robert had told him that the talk is spreading like wildfire and already is all out of proportion to the truth, as is the way with gossip. It would seem I must go talk to Nathaniel Wilson, her father, as soon as possible—tomorrow morning if I can get an appointment. I had wanted to show you and Kit a bit of New York."
"That can wait. This other is far more important. Do you think she can really do you damage?" "I can answer that better tomorrow." "But does she really have grounds? I've heard of these breach of promise actions . . ."
"There was no formal engagement, only the verbal commitment between the two of us. It would depend, I suppose, on how far she wishes to press the matter, but why she should wish to do that either, I know not.
There is little she could gain. What a foolish mistake I made even to consider—"
"Please, Christopher; there's no need for you to say that. What's done is done. Had we not found each other, I would someday have had to consider marriage again, too."
He took her hand, held it in both of his. "Bayard is right—right beyond measure—about my being a fortunate man. I often think of that special day at Cavenly, when we walked through the park and sat under the trees in that favorite boyhood place of mine. I had just discovered the evidence that seemed to prove I was not going back to my nineteenth century life as the earl of Westerham. We were so sure that the future was safe, that we would be together in the twentieth century for the rest of our lives. I knew that day—as I held you in my arms on lands that once had been mine and would never be again—that none of what I had lost mattered.
Just having you made me the happiest man on earth. I still feel the same. Let us pray that this time the future will be safe." "Yes, let us pray."
"I was thinking about the house we will eventually build in Connecticut." He spoke thoughtfully now, staring out across the room. "How would you feel about modeling it after Cavenly? It would have to be much smaller, of course, but of the same stone and similar architectural details . . . perhaps on a piece of land overlooking the Sound."
"Oh, yes! Yes, but could we manage such a project?" "On a simpler scale, I believe we could." Jessica was picturing the magnificent structure of Cavenly as she'd first seen it, rounding a curve in the drive on that spring morning two and a half years before. There it stood, verdant green parkland to either side, the graceful gray stone facade rising three stories, the many-paned windows reflecting the sunlight streaming across their surfaces; every line of the house perfect beauty, from the imposing porticoed entry to the fountain that played in the center of the half-moon drive curving before it.
"There is no other home in which I would rather live," she responded simply.
"Then we will plan it. I can draw up the rough designs myself, and we can begin looking for a piece of real estate; perhaps even break ground in the spring."
"Do you think that might be rushing it too much?" She was as enthusiastic as he, but concerned. "If this talk of Rhea's undermines your business . . ." "Many of the men with whom I do business are out of town, and I would prefer to look at the optimistic side. You and I have lost two years already."
And they talked of their plans, Jessica letting caution fly away, until Kit began to rouse, and shortly thereafter Mrs. Hart peeked in to announce dinner.
CHAPTER 12
Christopher's first mission of business the next morning was to call on Nathaniel Wilson, and he was not entirely pleased with the course of the proceedings. Although willing to hear out Christopher's version of the story, Wilson was tersely cool and disapproving.
"I admit, sir, that my daughter has been a shade out of hand in her comments. However, she has every right to be undone by the whole affair," he stressed. "You were not behaving in an aboveboard manner to neglect advising her of your marriage and the loss of your wife and child. There may have been no formal announcement of your engagement, but you gave Rhea your word as a gentleman. This you yourself admit."
"Yes, I did tell her she could consider herself my fiancee. I realize how wrong I was, and I take full responsibility. I do not wish to make excuses for my actions, but the loss of my wife and child had remained a subject most painful to me—one I did not confide to even my closest friends."
"My daughter has suffered much pain in the past herself. She has lost one husband, and those wounds are barely healed. To be confronted with this second shock when she had implicit faith in you—it is a wonder she has stood up under it all as well as she has!"
"Again, my deepest apologies."
"The fact that you have come here personally to speak to me impresses me; I respect a man who does not hide from unpleasantries. However, that does not excuse your behavior, nor does it make my daughter's situation any more bearable. Since I have never believed in allowing my emotions to interfere with my business sense, our two firms will continue to trade together, although I will be honest in saying that your actions have left some serious doubts in my mind."
"As is only understandable. As much as I would try to assure you that what occurred was not premeditated, or even imagined possible, you have been more generous than I have a right to expect."
"Good day then, sir. I will inform my daughter that you came to speak to me."
Christopher rose. There was nothing further he could do, but at least he had made the effort. Now, only time would tell the damage done to his standing in the realms of business and society. He could stand the slurs to himself; it was for Jessica he feared. She was an innocent bystander in the tangle and deserved not the slightest ostracism. Yet much though he sought to shield her from any cuts, he realized they could not hide themselves away until the storm blew over, if it did at all. Their only course was to get out into society as soon as possible, holding their heads high and confronting the scandal face-on, without shame; otherwise it would appear there was something to hide.
Christopher came home disturbed from his meeting, and as he and Jessica sat together over tea, he told her what had occurred.
"I dislike so intensely having to put you through it, my love, but I feel we should make our social bow here in New York as soon as possible."
"I understand, after what you have told me, and knowing the gossip Rhea's spreading." She fingered her teacup, waiting.
"Before I left for Connecticut, Jessica, I received an invitation to a private exhibition of artwork�
�a charity affair hosted by John Richardson and his wife, with the price of the tickets going to the Trinity Church Orphanage. Only the most prominent in the city have been invited to attend. I believe we should go." He paused, obviously discomfited. "I should warn you that Rhea Taylor will undoubtedly be among the guests. As important as it is that we show our
faces, I shall understand if you do not wish to be in the same company as Rhea just yet."
"Since when have I been a coward?" She smiled slightly to take the serious edge off her words. "No, Christopher, maybe I'll be a bundle of nerves, but we'll attend—that is, if the host and hostess don't bar their doors to us."
"The Richardsons—at least Mr. Richardson—would not do that. From what I know of his wife, Celia, she delights in gossip, and although I know her to be a friend of Rhea's, she would be only too pleased to have us make our first appearance together at her reception."
Jessica took her husband's hand and squeezed it. She frowned in thought, then made a decision. "It's settled, then. But I'll need a new gown. Nothing I have is even close to being suitable."
"I was going to suggest that a new wardrobe be one of your first priorities. To see you in these plain, worn gowns," he said, touching the fabric of her skirt, "reminds me too sharply of all you have suffered these last two years. I want the best for you, Jessica, to try to make up for-"
"There is nothing to make up for. You had no more control than I over what happened to us—and you suffered, too. I only mention a gown because I don't know a seamstress; I don't even know if there will be time to have a gown made."
"Mrs. Hart might be of assistance to you. I seem to recall her mentioning a friend of hers who is a dressmaker."
"I'll talk to her before dinner . . . speaking of which, have you eaten?"
"My conversation with Nathaniel Wilson has not enhanced my appetite."
"In all justice, he had reason for what he said, Christopher. If you were in his position, and your daughter was involved, wouldn't you act the same?"
"Most certainly. I do not fault the man. As a matter of fact, I still admire him greatly. I am fully at fault for not having told Rhea something of my past, although I do not have to tell you what a ticklish subject that would have been." He smiled sheepishly.
"It still amazes me that I never slipped at the Beards, never gave away some information about the future." She shook her head. "Being with you again makes me feel, somehow, that such worries are gone. Of course, they're not. I've realized, these past two years, just what an adjustment you had to make when you arrived in the twentieth century. Since I've been here in the nineteenth century, I've wished 30 many times for your advice, tried to remember all that you told me—"
"Now I am here to help you."
He laid his other hand over hers. She studied the long, finely shaped fingers, the square nails, the dark hairs across the back of Christopher's hand—a strong hand. How good it was to see that hand on hers again after so many months of her longing to feel the touch of him again. She sighed.
"You might begin your lessons by telling me what to expect at this reception. What will it be like? What should I do?"
"To the last question, do nothing but be your attractive, charming self. We will greet our host and hostess aa we enter and will most likely be directed to the drawing room, or wherever the artwork is displayed. There are going to be curious looks and comments directed toward us—that I can guarantee—although I do not believe anyone will go so far as to cause outright embarrassment. I will be at your side, remember, should there be any awkward moments. Also remember that these people are going to be so caught up in their examination of us as principals in the rumored scandal that they will not have time to question you too deeply. You will make a most positive impression. Aside from your beauty, you are intelligent, and speak well; believe me, my love, you have nothing to fear. If there is any nastiness at all, it will be directed toward me, and at the moment I feel very much equal to the battle."
She chuckled. "When you say things with such gritted teeth, I can almost see you drawing swords, or at least pulling a matched set of pistols from a velvet-lined case."
He smiled, for the time relieving his features of their tension. "Twenty or thirty years ago, perhaps; not now.And I do not really want to risk my life, to lie dying in a field, when I have just been reunited with the one woman who can help make that life worthwhile."
After talking with Mrs. Hart, Jessica found a dressmaker who could have a new gown ready for her with a day or two to spare before the reception. What with fittings, organizing her new household, shopping, and running other errands, Jessica's first week in New York was a busy one indeed.
Christopher had taken them on a tour of the city that first weekend, and Kit had been wide-eyed as they stood on the Battery promenade and his father pointed out the stone fortifications of Castle Clinton and Castle Williams, and the busy traffic in the harbor. Jessica, too, enjoyed the sights, summoning up her impressions of the roaring, rushing street noise and the soaring concrete of twentieth century New York and comparing that remembrance to this quaint and very personable old city.
She was able to put aside her nervousness about their social debut, until the arrival of that evening itself, when she and Christopher were dressing.
He helped her with the buttons of the high-waisted green silk gown delivered from the seamstress the previous afternoon. She turned before the long mirror above the dressing table.
"Do you think it looks all right?" Critically, from all angles, she viewed the lines, the fall of the silk.
"You look marvelous—beautiful! You will have every other woman swooning from envy."
She laughed. "I'm not so nervous that you have to exaggerate." As she spoke, she swung around toward him, and caught such a soft, loving expression on his face that her heart melted.
He stepped across to take her hands. "I do not exaggerate."
' Thank you. And you look remarkably handsome yourself." .
His deep-blue, tailed evening jacket seemed molded across his shoulders; cream-colored breeches clung to his long, slim legs.
"Do you remember," Jessica mused, reaching out to finger the finely woven blue cloth, "that you were wearing a jacket of just this color the day we met?"
"I have not forgotten. I remember well, too, the dress you wore—dotted, and exposing far more of a lady's leg than I had ever seen in public."
"A bit shocked, weren't you?" A grin warmed her face. "And that next day, when you first saw me in a pair of jeans!"
" As I recall, that was quite a pleasurable surprise. I immediately began to feel that my journey to the future was going to be far more interesting than I had anticipated."
"You tease. As I remember it, your brows lifted nearly into your hairline, though you laughed at me, all the way down the stairs, when I replied that jeans were far less revealing than the dampened muslin gowns that were the rage in your era." She slipped closer into his arms, rubbed her cheek against his lapel. "How long ago all that seems. So much has happened."
"Do you regret any of it? Your life would have progressed far more simply had I not popped into it."
"I regret nothing . . . and never will. What an empty existence it would have been without you."
"But if fate had not crossed our paths in the way it did, neither of us would have known what happiness
. . . or tragedy . . . might be ours." He was silent for a moment, lost in thought; then his lips touched her hair.
"Well, my love, if we are to make our entrance at this party with any promptness, we had best be leaving."
"You'll stay close by?"
"I would not think of leaving your side."
As they entered the Georgian town house on State Street, a butler and a maid were on hand to take Jessica's warm cape and bonnet and Christopher's cloak and top hat; and they were motioned toward John Richardson, a thin, graying man with a quiet smile, and his wife, Cel-ia. Jessica quickly studied her hostess. A fading blond,
dressed to the height of fashion in a style more appropriate to a woman in her late twenties than to one in her early forties, Celia herself was busy assessing Jessica, her sharp eyes sweeping over her, and the look did nothing to calm Jessica's already strained nerves.
Celia smiled and greeted Christopher, but her attention was given over primarily to Jessica. "Good evening, Mrs. Dunlap. So pleased that you could join us this evening. Allow me to welcome you to New York.
You are enjoying our city?" Her voice was conventionally pleasant, though Jessica sensed the pleasantness was provoked more by curiosity than by warmth.
"Indeed I am. You understand it takes a bit of time settling into a new household, but I am delighted with it all."
The woman was clearly surprised at the educated tone of Jessica's speech, but hid that surprise quickly.
"How nice to hear. You do not find the city somewhat awesome in comparison to the Connecticut countryside?"
"Not at all. My husband and I resided in New York for a brief while some years back, so it is not totally unfamiliar."
"True. And you have a son, I understand. How is he adjusting?"
"Beautifully. I believe he has inherited some of his father's love for the sea. All he can talk about is going down to the Battery or to South Street to watch the ships."
"And how old is he?"
"Two."
"Yes, an inquisitive age. Well, I hope you will enjoy yourselves this evening." From the sly turn of her lips, it was obvious she was skeptical about that being a possibility.
"We shall." Jessica smiled and nodded to the woman as Christopher led her forward to the drawing room.
He leaned down to speak in her ear. "You handled that extremely well, my love."
The real challenge is surely yet to come—but she was a pompous boor, wasn't she, waiting for me to make a slip? How I wanted to set her back on her heels—and just a few words of truth would have done it so nicely. 'Yes, the earl and I are very happy,' or, 'Actually, I find this New York rather rustic and unsophisticated in comparison to the one I used to know, but then you are years behind.' '