The Message in a Bottle Romance Collection

by Joanne Bischof

  Just as he was sealing the folded note, the door opened, and a familiar voice called from the foyer.

  “Hogarth!”

  The summons was followed by the sound of various items falling to the floor.

  Cal stood, walking slowly to the archway that separated foyer from parlor. “Good evening, Early.”

  His cousin, rubbing a hand through his untethered, shoulder-length hair, stood behind the mess he’d just made—a toppled easel, dry pallet, a box of pig bladders inflated with various colors of oil paint, and a sprawling number of paintbrushes mimicking a game of pick-up sticks. He stilled abruptly then gazed at Cal with wonder before bursting into a smile and hopping over the heap to simultaneously grab Cal’s hand and thud his shoulder.

  “Welcome home, Cal! Your letter said not to expect you until August, but by thunder, here you are and July’s barely begun. It’s good to see you.”

  Cal couldn’t help but smile, an exercise of facial muscles he hadn’t used in quite some time. But Early always dispelled frowns from anybody standing inside his radius. Just then Hogarth appeared, gathering the abandoned goods as he spoke.

  “I see you’ve reunited with your cousin, sir,” he said. “I’m glad to see it’s a happy occasion. We’ve held dinner, which can be served whenever you’re ready.”

  Cal found himself already hungry again, even though he’d lunched so late, and Early patted his flat stomach and pronounced himself famished.

  “We can talk about what you’ve been doing these past few years, cousin, all about your island adventures. And I’ll tell you how things are here. Then—most importantly—we’ll make plans for you to attend a few parties with me.”

  “I haven’t suitable clothing,” Cal protested. The last thing he wanted was to impose dancing on his barely regained footing. “Besides, I’ll be working again as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, we’re all working, aren’t we?” Early said, draping a comfortable arm about Cal’s shoulders. “But in between we’ll surely have fun. Don’t worry about what to wear. If we can’t find what you need at the shops tomorrow, you can borrow what you need from me. It’s the least I can do. Starting tomorrow night, I’ll introduce you back into society.”

  “I came home to work, not to be caught up in all that.”

  “Ha! No wonder you’ve remained a bachelor so long. You’re a year or two older than I am, and at twenty-five I’m considered quite the catch. Well,” he added with a wink, “only by those foolish enough to think my artwork allows me to live here, but you won’t spoil that secret, will you? Come on now. You can’t live in New York and not socialize. It’s against every law of polite society.”

  Cal felt another smile coming on, if only half of one. Attending a society ball was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he remembered his cousin’s ways, Early wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Chapter Four

  On the night of the Pipperday Independence Day gala, the ballroom on the second floor of their spacious city home was alight with candelabra and chandeliers. Silks and satins shimmered, ivory fans swished, intricately coiled hair—some undoubtedly enhanced by wigs and hairpieces—glimmered with strategically placed combs winking with gems. The men, with their dark, close-fitting trousers, crisp cutaways, and white cravats were a subtle contrast to the bejeweled women.

  A tinge of uncertainty surged inside Abigail as the room rapidly filled. On previous Independence Days, she’d worked with Father. Boys and gunpowder never failed to produce mayhem. She was sorely tempted to join him, and she might have if she didn’t believe both her father and Mindia would have a fit.

  So she swallowed her disappointment, determined to appear as carefree and lighthearted as Mindia. How could she not, considering she’d been practically adopted by the Pipperdays? She would stand in the welcome line as if one of the family.

  All three of the men Mindia had picked out for Abigail from the night before arrived among the first guests. One offered the longest kiss to her hand, another the promise of as many dances as she would spare, the third a request to sit beside her at dinner. And so, eyelashes fluttering, smile quivering, fan engaged, Abigail played the role of society coquette just the way Mindia had taught her. If she could perform it successfully, if she could convince someone she’d be the perfect society wife, then she would, at last, be allowed to set it aside for the woman she wanted to be.

  Cal followed Early up the wide staircase to the ballroom on the second floor of the Pipperday home. He’d never been here before, not even for a ball during the year he had in New York society prior to taking up his medical studies in Edinburgh. He hadn’t gone to many such functions, despite his age and his family’s place in society, which had been earned by his father’s military rank and sacrifice, along with that of Cal’s two older brothers. Back then society hadn’t been very festive; it hadn’t yet recovered from the war.

  Tonight’s celebration of the fledging nation’s eventual victory wasn’t enough to lift his spirits. Coming home to an empty house—empty, at least, of his own immediate family—had been harder than he’d expected.

  The pain of losing his brothers should have scarred over by now, but somehow these years of struggle to heal his patients, who too often died, had kept the wound open. Losing his mother, then his mentor Charles to a fever had been the match in the powder keg that blew whatever remained of his heart to pieces.

  “There she is,” said Early once they reached the ballroom. Cal followed his cousin’s gaze toward the host and hostess line in the grandly lit room. An older couple, perhaps only a bit younger than his parents would have been, welcomed their guests. At their side, however, was not one lovely young woman, but two. Early had said he wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything, the reason being the young Pipperday girl. He hadn’t mentioned she had a sister.

  “Which one?” he asked, with an equally quiet voice. Probably the one in yellow. They were both pretty, both greeting their guests with youthful enthusiasm, but the one in yellow had something about her that would have caught his own eye if she wasn’t already in Early’s sights. Her dark blond hair was swept up fashionably, but she had a sense of maturity the one in pink lacked. She offered her hand gracefully to the gentleman being introduced to her, with a more level gaze and slower smile—even when the younger man being introduced held her hand too long.

  “The one in pink. That’s Mindia. I don’t know the other girl. Mindia doesn’t have a sister. Let’s go find out, shall we?”

  Surprised at the answer, Cal’s breath unexpectedly caught. But then, in the time it took to cross the room he reminded himself he wasn’t interested in laying bare his heart again, just to have someone taken from him. He was even less interested in the kind of girl Early had described Mindia Pipperday to be: happy, frivolous, talkative, and a lover of society galas like this. Such a person would bore Cal before the evening was out. Even on Saint Kitts, women were expected only to build up the ego of the men they supposedly loved. Well, Cal didn’t need such a shallow relationship as that.

  Someday, if he ever did risk getting married, it would be to a woman who involved herself in more than the simple parlor games too often enjoyed during an evening like this.

  “Ah, Mr. Goodwin,” said Mr. Pipperday to Early, “so good of you to join us tonight. I trust you remember my wife?”

  The lady nodded somewhat regally in his direction; then her gaze traveled to Cal quizzically.

  “This is my cousin,” Early answered the unspoken question, “recently returned from the tropics, where he’s been serving as surgeon and physician. Dr. Calvin Tallery.”

  Was it his imagination, or had a gasp come from one of the two girls at Mrs. Pipperday’s side? But he wouldn’t let his gaze go there, not until he was properly introduced. He may have been a novice at society parties when he left, but his Edinburgh education hadn’t been strictly in medicine.

  “Mr. Goodwin, Dr. Tallery, may I present to you my daughter, Mindia, and her very good friend Miss Ab
igail Van de Klerk.”

  Now it was Cal’s turn to gasp, and he nearly did, though he caught it before any sound emitted. Van de Klerk! Surely she was related somehow to Dr. Daniel Van de Klerk. As Mindia Pipperday offered a slight curtsy, he kissed the back of her hand but finally let his gaze travel to the woman at her side.

  “I hope you will both spare a dance for us tonight,” Early said, lingering a moment or two longer than necessary in the receiving line.

  “Of course we shall!” Mindia Pipperday responded, following with a little giggle that instantly grated on Cal’s senses. Giggles and batting eyelashes! Part of the silliness he hadn’t missed. “We must make a pledge immediately to ensure no set is played without us. I insist! You agree, do you not, Mr. Goodwin?”

  “I do indeed!”

  When it was Cal’s turn to bow to Miss Van de Klerk’s curtsy then accept her hand, he was dismayed to see her flutter her lashes in a mirror display of Miss Pipperday’s.

  “I believe you’re acquainted with my father,” she said to him in a demure, almost teasing tone that hardly matched the reasonable words. “Dr. Daniel Van de Klerk?”

  Her father! By his absence in the receiving line, he guessed the man mustn’t be present. Obviously he wasted no time at parties. When, exactly, had she the time to discuss her father’s acquaintances if she spent her time at functions like this? Instead of asking, he said, “I know him only by letter, and most recently by an exchange of notes. I hope to meet him as soon as tomorrow.”

  “He will be most happy to meet you in person, I’m sure,” she said, then another bat of the eyes.

  “No more so than I,” he murmured, grateful for the line of newcomers still behind them cutting short any further opportunity to talk. He and Early walked on.

  “Well?” Early elbowed Cal once they’d joined the gathering crowd filling the ballroom. “Glad you came, then? You already know one of the two prettiest girls here!”

  “I don’t know her at all.”

  “You know her name, and that’s the same thing.” He let his gaze travel back to the two girls. “I heard she made quite an impression just last night. My friend Reginald couldn’t stop talking about her today. If you set your cap for her, you’ll have some competition. But then, it sounds like you can work your way into her good graces through her father, so you’ll have an advantage there.”

  “Who said anything about setting my cap for her? I’ll be working with her father, not socializing with him. I doubt anything from either of our personal lives will come up.”

  At least, that was how he planned for things to go. He’d let Charles become a surrogate father to him, and look how that had ended. No sir, he had no intention of getting close to anyone these days. Neither Van de Klerk nor his daughter.

  No matter how pretty she was, she was still just a silly girl who likely hadn’t a serious thought in her head.

  “I’m going to ask Mother if we can be excused from the line,” Mindia whispered to Abigail. “Look, the mayor is taking his place by the orchestra. He’ll start the ball soon by reading the Declaration of Independence, and then the dancing begins. I refuse to miss a single moment!”

  Abigail nodded, but her attention had left the incoming string of guests several minutes earlier anyway, between spotting something oddly charged in Mindia and, more so than that, meeting Dr. Tallery.

  While Mindia turned to her mother, Abigail’s gaze floated again to the handsome doctor. She tried recalling every bit of information her father had shared. He’d been trained in Edinburgh, hadn’t he? Where he’d heard about Father’s friend Charles Woodridge, working in the tropics. Dr. Tallery had gone straight from university to Dr. Woodridge and had been there ever since.

  And now he was interested in working with Father. Goodness, he’s fine looking.

  She caught her breath when she thought he was looking her way. A flutter! A real, honest-to-goodness heart flutter!

  Whether she was merely succumbing to Mindia’s prediction or whether this reaction was truly unique and worthy of further consideration, she had no idea. But she did look forward to dancing with him.

  While the mayor called for everyone’s attention, Abigail brought up the other matter on her mind. “Is it my imagination, Mindia, or has someone entered this room tonight who ignited something in you not previously lit?”

  Mindia sucked in a breath, looking at once both horrified and pleased. “So I can’t hide it!” No sooner had she uttered the words than she turned her back to her mother, who couldn’t possibly hear anyway from where she stood. “It’s Early Goodwin. Isn’t he the most delightful man you’ve ever seen?”

  Abigail knew exactly where to find him, since he was still accompanied by the doctor. “I suppose he’s charming,” she said. “But you’ve said so about any number of others. Is he different?”

  “Well, for one thing, Mother doesn’t approve of him. Only because he’s an artist! You’d think that would make him more intriguing, wouldn’t you? Why, his artwork could make his name practically immortal!”

  “But your mother doesn’t think so?”

  Mindia shook her head. “He wouldn’t be here at all except I convinced Father to invite him. So I intend to make the most of my time with him. And you, my dear,”—she pointed her closed fan at Abigail—“ought to do the same with the handsome doctor. In fact, I aim to make such a thing happen.” Winking, she added, “Just leave it to me.”

  And so Abigail followed Mindia, letting commence more eyelash batting along with sugary words to pink not only her own cheeks but also the nearby gentleman’s as well. She laughed, fanned, fawned, and flirted, and danced without reservation the steps she’d only just learned. All the while she hoped for an audience with Dr. Tallery, for him to be struck by her performance as a society coquette, and for him to ask permission to dance, perhaps even a contra dance. There was always time to exchange a few pleasantries during those steps.

  But though she never lacked a dance consort, not one of them was Dr. Calvin Tallery. He neither sought her company nor asked her to dance.

  Just when she believed Mindia had thoroughly forgotten her promise of help, Mindia approached with not only the attentive Mr. Goodwin trailing her, but the young doctor as well. Abigail had just excused herself from a contra dance, intent upon finding a spot near an open window for a breath of fresh air. Mr. Goodwin had two glasses of punch in his hand. One he handed to Mindia and the other to Abigail, which she gratefully accepted.

  “Miss Pipperday has just told us you’ve been spending the summer with her family,” said Mr. Goodwin. “I’m surprised we haven’t had the pleasure of your company before tonight.”

  Abigail exchanged a cautious glance with Mindia. “Other obligations have kept me busy until recently.”

  She couldn’t help but notice one of Dr. Tallery’s brows rose, but whether it was from curiosity or skepticism she couldn’t tell.

  “Miss Van de Klerk is my dearest friend!” Mindia proclaimed. “We share everything from a love of poetry to our great passion for reading. Isn’t that right, Abigail?”

  She knew better than to admit her favorite reading material was Dr. Mitchill’s periodical, the Medical Repository, even if it might interest Dr. Tallery. That was just the sort of thing she’d been told to keep hidden. Still, she nodded and could honestly add, “We were alternately thrilled and scandalized over Charlotte Temple recently.”

  Mindia immediately giggled with the confession of having read such a novel, and Abigail couldn’t help but laugh with her. Mindia’s giddiness was so contagious even Mr. Goodwin joined in.

  “We ought not laugh,” said Mindia upon catching her breath, “since Mother approved of the novel because of the warnings it contains, but goodness! It spelt so very clearly how a young girl can be swept away by a dashing young man.”

  Then she cast a slow blink Mr. Goodwin’s way, and he blushed a deep shade of scarlet.

  “Isn’t this evening the most fun?” Mindia went on, setting aside
her empty punch glass on a nearby table to free both hands as she boldly looped her arm with Mr. Goodwin’s. “Father has arranged for a troupe of actors to perform the last act of Bunker Hill, right outside in our garden. We can sit together on the veranda for the best viewing. Shall we?”

  Mindia chatted all the way to the edge of the ballroom and down the hall, while Abigail dared only a furtive glance in Dr. Tallery’s direction. He looked straight ahead, as if not even aware of her company. Everything Mindia taught her about engaging in playful conversation came to mind, something she hadn’t had much trouble practicing all evening. Somehow the task wasn’t as easy with someone as distant as Dr. Tallery. Nonetheless, she persevered. Express extreme interest, as if any and every aspect of their life is fascinating. Such were the instructions that came to mind as they followed the hall out to the upper verandah of the house.

  Why was it so difficult to think of a suitable question? Personal, but not private. Interesting, but not complicated. Elegant, but not simple. If only she could ask him about his work! Or how certain treatments might differ in the islands compared to here in New York. “I trust your voyage from the tropics was pleasant?” she said at last.

  He glanced her way for the first time, as if reminded she was there. “Uneventful.”

  “Ah! The most enjoyable kind of transportation, then,” she said, adding her mimic of the little laugh Mindia promised was music to a potential beau’s ear. Abigail wanted to follow with reference to her father’s work but held back. How many times had Mindia said a man’s ego simply wouldn’t tolerate a woman speaking of anything serious? So she said, “Will you miss the islands, Dr. Tallery? I’ve never traveled from our own shores, of course,”—she added a shy tone to her words and batted her eyes over the rim of her fluttering fan—“but there are wonderful poems about the beauty of such places.”