by Merry Farmer
He raced back into the hotel, checking the clock in the lobby. Only ten minutes? More time than that had to have passed. He would have checked it against his pocket-watch, but that would mean unbuttoning his coat, which was utterly out of the question at the moment. Instead, he slipped into the dining room-turned-ballroom through the closed door.
The tables were mostly cleared, though stacks of chairs stood in the center of the floor and the long buffet tables were laden with dirty dishes. The sight struck panic into Jason’s chest. How could they possibly finish the transformation in time?
He searched for Flossie, finding her near the dais that had been set up for the orchestra, directing the musicians where to sit. She saw him coming as he marched across the empty floor toward her.
“Well?” he asked with several yards still between them.
“Five more minutes,” she said, holding her hands up as she came to meet him. “The tables are mostly put away and, look, the hall boys are taking the chairs into the hall.”
“You promised me fifteen minutes, Flossie,” he said, stepping closer to her.
“And I’ll deliver, sir,” she snapped right back.
His panic ebbed, and he relaxed enough to breathe.
“How are you holding up?” Flossie asked, leaning toward him.
“I’ll manage,” he said, nodded, and turned to go.
“Oy, how come she gets to talk to the boss like that?” he heard Samuel say as soon as his back was turned, resorting to his common accent instead of the posh one he put on for guests.
“She’s Flossie,” one of the girls answered.
Damn, he thought to himself. He had to be more careful. If he was smart, he wouldn’t address Flossie at all in public. Unfortunately, with the amount of things he relied on her for, he had to address her and work closely with her on a daily basis. Maybe their arrangement wouldn’t work out after—
He didn’t bother to finish the thought. It had to work out. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Though he might have to take measures with the rest of the staff if lips became too loose.
“Jason, I demand to know why on earth you invited that man to your hotel opening,” Marshall snagged him the moment he was out the side door and into the back garden.
Night had fallen, and the hundreds of lights made the whole garden sparkle like a fairy paradise. Jason barely noticed it, turning to his friend instead.
“You always liked Rev. Albright,” he said, baffled. “When did that change?”
“It changed when the man was revealed to be a sodomite,” Marshall hissed.
Jason balked. “So? He never did anything to you or me or Lawrence, or any of the others, for that matter. He had a companion, and now that man is dead.”
“It’s a sin,” Marshall went on. “It’s—”
He was forced to press his lips shut when Lawrence, Matty, and his girls rushed to meet them. Lawrence escorted Matty, looking decidedly content with his lot, but the girls ran and scampered toward him.
“Oh, Uncle Jason, it’s beautiful,” Mary exclaimed, charging right into him and hugging him tight.
Jason reeled, pushing Mary away as soon as he could. He would have loved to hug her back with all the enthusiasm she deserved, but things were still entirely too…pronounced where they shouldn’t be.
“I arranged all of this for you, my sweet,” he smiled instead. He saved the best smiles he had for Mary to make up for his fear of being physically close to her.
“I love you, Uncle Jason,” she said, tugging his arm to make him bend down far enough for her to kiss his cheek.
A wave of longing, so intense it took his breath away, washed through him at the innocent gesture. He wanted children. Desperately, hopelessly. The impossibility of it crushed him.
As soon as the thought rose up to strike him, he pushed it away and buried it deep.
“What were the two of you talking about, looking so intense?” Lawrence asked.
“Albright,” Marshall said.
“I’m not going to argue with you on this, Marshall,” Jason replied, glad to have something to keep his thoughts away from places where they didn’t belong. “The evening is progressing splendidly.”
“Yes it is,” Lawrence agreed with a smile. He turned that smile to Matty, who echoed it, squeezing his arm.
Jason’s brow flew up. Well, it would be keeping perfectly in his friend’s character to seduce a beautiful young woman under his charge. Whether that would lead to good or bad, though, particularly with the girl’s lack of memory or identity, was another thing. She could belong to someone else, for all they knew.
“You’re looking exceptionally well,” Lawrence said, turning back to Jason and catching him in his thoughts. “You seem downright relaxed.”
“The event is going well,” Jason replied with a shrug.
“That’s not what I meant.”
The look Lawrence gave him was as prying as if he’d asked about his sex life in a loud voice in the middle of a crowded but quiet ballroom. Jason returned the look with a stern warning to keep his thoughts to himself. Which was as good as an admonition to him that he had no business wondering if Lawrence was bedding Matty. They were on equal footing of minding their own business.
“Psst! Sir!”
Jason spun to find Flossie waving to him from the ballroom’s outer door. He raised his brow in question, holding out his arms.
Flossie nodded, a proud smile on her beautiful face. “Fifteen minutes, as promised.”
You beautiful angel, he thought. Aloud he said, “Excellent.” He turned back to the others. “If you will excuse me, it’s time to open the ball.”
“Go right ahead,” Marshall waved him off. “Don’t mind us. We’re just your closest friends, the ones you shuffled off to the side of the room.”
“Ignore him,” Lawrence laughed.
“I plan to,” Jason said. He had better things to do. Things such as finding Lady E, praying she still had a modicum of respect for him, and asking her to open the ball with him.
Marshall
“Right,” Marshall turned to his girls, each one prettier than the next in their best dresses, but drooping as the excitement of the evening wore down. “And now it’s time for the Pycroft family to go home.” And good riddance. He hadn’t spent a more uncomfortable, awkward evening in his life.
“Aw, no, Papa!” All three of his girls whined in unison. The sound was nearly enough to drive a man to distraction.
“Your dear Uncle Jason was mad to invite such young children to a ball in the first place,” he argued. “There isn’t a single other child here.”
“Uncle Jason loves us,” Molly protested.
“That may be,” Marshall told them, “but it’s still hours past your bedtime.”
“No it’s not.” Mary crossed her arms, not fooled for a moment. “The clock in the lobby said eight, and that couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes ago.”
“Let them stay for at least one dance,” Lawrence added his argument to the pile. He wore as wicked a grin as any of the girls. “Chances are they’ll be treated to the sight of their beloved Uncle Jason opening the dance with the illustrious Lady Elizabeth.”
That wound the girls up even more. “Oh, oh, please, Papa? Please?”
Marshall knew when he was beaten. He sighed, reaching out to lay a hand on Martha’s head. “Oh, all right. One dance.”
The girls erupted into cheers, and as a group they headed back into the dining room, which was now a ballroom.
“Jason should pay for this,” Marshall commented, walking alongside Lawrence. “I should send the girls up to follow him around all day tomorrow, exhausted and cranky little demons.”
“Jason will be more of a demon than any of them,” Lawrence laughed.
“True.”
“Send them down to the forge instead,” Lawrence went on, slapping him on the back. “They can nap outside in the back garden. I’ll even send for Mother Grace to watch them.”
> “Don’t you bring that woman anywhere near my daughters,” Marshall complained.
“What’s gotten into you today, man?” Lawrence chided him. “First you turn your back on Rev. Albright, then you bite back at Jason, and now Mother Grace?”
“In case you had forgotten,” Marshall muttered through clenched jaw as they stepped into the ballroom along with the rest of the crowd, “my wife is not two weeks in her grave, but here I am, parading about at a ball. And you expect me to laugh and caper?”
Lawrence schooled his face to contrition. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was insensitive of me.”
That was the end of it for the moment. The noise in the ballroom as all of the guests who had fled to the gardens earlier returned was too deafening for casual conversation. Marshall caught up to his girls and took Molly and Martha’s hands to lead them to the side of the room where they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. It warmed his heart to see the way their eyes went round at the glitter of the chandeliers, the color and grandeur of the ladies’ ball gowns, and the proud stance of the men in their suits. Of course Jason would invite them to this ball. Jason’s heart was made of treacle, underneath it all, and he would see this ball as a child would see it, as magical.
And sure enough, he came striding into the room from the lobby door, Lady Elizabeth Dyson on his arm. Lady E. beamed and nodded to as many people as she could as Jason led her to the center of the room. Mary gasped at the artful swirl of the woman’s ball gown, the jeweled pin in her hair and the diamond and pearl choker she wore. She was a princess and Jason was…a frog with no chance at all of being kissed. At least he didn’t give another speech. The orchestra started playing a waltz, and the guests moved to allow ample room for Jason and Lady E. to open the ball.
“The great, bloody fool,” Marshall muttered as he watched.
“What?” Lawrence shrugged. “They look stunning together. He’s rich and she’s titled.”
“She’s an exhibitionist and he’s the man of the hour, you mean,” Marshall grumbled.
Lawrence laughed at him. “He’s happy. I haven’t seen him so happy since he moved back here.”
“That’s because he’s living in a fool’s paradise at the moment,” Marshall insisted.
“Papa, what’s a fool’s paradise?” Molly asked.
“Never mind, love,” Marshall silenced her.
Lawrence continued to chuckle. “I tell you, something has changed with him. I haven’t talked to him much in the past week, but we had quite a conversation in the churchyard after,” he paused, winced, and finished with, “Clara’s funeral.”
“Did you now?” Marshall said. He crossed his arms, focusing on the dance, no wish to talk about the funeral or anything touching on the subject of Clara.
Two weeks. It had only been two weeks since that dreadful afternoon. He could still close his eyes and see the speeding carriage, hear Clara’s cry cut short, smell the dust and the horses and the blood. And yet, when he opened his eyes, it was almost as though Clara had never existed. She had vanished from their lives, leaving only silence. And now, here they were, two weeks later, attending the ball she had eaten her heart out over. The girls were alive with wonder and he….
Hugging himself tighter to keep from shaking with misery, Marshall turned and glanced out the ballroom’s tall windows to the glittering garden. Clara would have loved what Jason had done with the gardens. She would have been one of the ladies walking along the electric-lit paths, mesmerized, transported. And as soon as they’d gotten home, she would have demanded to know why they didn’t have electric lights and browbeat him about how it was his fault that she was denied every little thing she wanted. She would have added one more arrow to the quiver full of acid that she’d shot him down with every day.
He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped loving her, nor could he imagine when he would cease feeling this bone-crushing guilt over the peace he enjoyed now that she was gone. He didn’t deserve that peace.
The orchestra finished their song, and Jason led Lady E. through one final turn before bowing to her as the assembled guests applauded. He stepped closer to say something to her.
“Well, there you have it.” Marshall turned to his girls, holding his arms out. “The ball is opened, and now it’s time for the Pycrofts to leave.”
“But Papa.” Another round of whining blossomed. At least this time Martha wasn’t taking part. She’d come over to wrap her arms around Marshall’s leg and stood there now, her head pressed against his hip.
“No, no. Your sister is near to falling asleep on her feet,” Marshall went on. “I’ll have to carry her home as it is, and I’ve only strength enough for one of you. Unless you wish to curl up in my pocket.”
“Papa,” Molly laughed.
“I wouldn’t hear of you leaving.” Jason strode up to them as the guests who had been watching chose partners for the next dance. “I haven’t danced with the most beautiful girl in the room yet.” He turned to Mary and executed a perfect formal bow. “Miss Pycroft, would you do me the honor?”
Mary’s face filled with such joy and surprise that she looked…she looked like the child she was, for a change, and not a little woman worn with care.
“Can I, Papa, can I?” she begged of him.
“Of course. Go on.” Marshall met Jason’s eyes with a grateful smile and a nod.
Jason held out his arm and led Mary onto the dance floor. Several of the guests within earshot murmured their approval, saying how charming it was. At least Mary was tall enough now that she could dance with Jason properly instead of standing on his feet and circling the room as she’d done when she was Martha’s age. Although Marshall did note, with a sigh, that Jason was keeping a large distance between the two of them. The man needed to stop believing he was contaminated.
“Miss Matty, would you like to dance?” Lawrence asked Matty.
Just like Mary, Matty blushed a deep pink and nodded. Lawrence winked at Marshall as though he’d taken the prize, then led Matty out into the waltz. They made a fine pair, but Marshall knew he had the real prize.
“Papa, can we dance?” Molly asked. The exhaustion was beginning to show on her face.
“Come here, child.” He held out his free arm, and Molly dragged herself over to hug him from the side the way Martha was. Marshall stood in place and swayed, a girl clinging to each side, their sleepy heads resting against his sides. God help him, even his girls seemed happier now with Clara gone. What a pitiful tribute to the woman he had once fancied himself in love with.
“I was coming over to say that I thought the sight of Mr. Throckmorton dancing with your Mary was the sweetest thing I’ve seen all evening,” Alexandra said as she approached him. “But I do believe the sight in front of me is a great deal more charming.”
Marshall greeted Alexandra with a smile, continuing to sway. “Do not be deceived, Dr. Dyson. We’re being kept here against our will. I’m only trying to lull these two monsters into sleep so that I can toss them in a sack and steal away home.”
“Papa,” Molly scolded him, but she didn’t raise her head from his side.
He smoothed a hand over her head, then turned to Alexandra. “Jason Throckmorton is Mary’s godfather,” he explained.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Alexandra said, as though that answered everything. “Well, I hope he will forgive me for feeling as though I’ve had a wretched time at this entire affair.”
“You too?” Marshall asked. Finally, someone who didn’t find the whole thing bliss beyond telling.
Alexandra gave him a wary laugh. “My mother forced me to come so that she could foist me off on the first eligible bachelor to glance my way. She seems to think it’s necessary for me to show my face at every social function going, as if my presence were flypaper to attract a husband.”
“In the short while I’ve known your mother, I do not find that at all surprising,” he said.
They shared another knowing look. Alexandra relaxed into a weary laugh.
“To tell you the truth,” she said. “I would so much rather be at the hospital now, in an apron and carrying a stethoscope, than putting myself on display here in this gown.”
“It’s a lovely gown,” Marshall teased her. Though it was a lovely gown. The shade of green was complimentary to her complexion, and the low cut of the shoulders and neck reminded him that she was a woman. Quite a comely woman at that. No wonder some of the men on the ward didn’t want her treating them. At least not as a physician.
“I suppose it is fun to dress up once in a while,” she admitted with a shrug that was both artless and feminine. “I would still rather be at the hospital. I’m concerned that Mr. Thatcher’s boil won’t come to a head without being lanced.”
“What a charming thought at such a gathering as this,” Marshall smiled.
“Yes, well, I can see quite a few boils that stand no chance of coming to a head,” Alex muttered.
Something warm and expansive sliced through Marshall’s chest and he smiled. “I think you may be right there, Dr. Dyson,” he laughed.
“I know these people, Dr. Pycroft,” she replied. “I am right.”
“They shall all have to be lanced then.”
He laughed harder. The orchestra played the final strains of the dance, then ended with a flourish. Marshall breathed a sigh of relief as Jason escorted Mary back in his direction and as Lawrence and Matty returned as well. He was bone-weary, feeling defeated with guilt, and aside from Alexandra, hadn’t had a pleasant exchange all night. It was most definitely time for him to be in his bed.
“Oh no, no,” Alexandra whispered beside him. “Dammit.”
That expletive woke Marshall right up. “What?”
He followed Alexandra’s eyes to see where she was looking as the orchestra struck up the next song. Her mother was at the far end of the room with a middle-aged gentleman who looked as though he’d had too much champagne. She had spotted Alexandra and was coming their way.