by Vivi Holt
Without flinching, Harry lay his cards down beside them. A full house. Finally, he let himself grin with delight. “Sorry, Max old boy. I’m afraid I got you again.”
He was on fire! He hadn’t gambled since their arrival in New York, and the thrill of it was spinning around in his head and rushing through his veins with fury. He’d been getting so frustrated with Charlotte living right across the hall, all vulnerable and alone. Her wide blue eyes and springing blonde curls were driving him mad. He had to get out tonight, away from her, away from the desire that bolted up from deep within him whenever she was near. She was so irksome at times — determined to be independent, and yet hopeless all at the same time. He wished he could simply sweep her up into his arms, and hold her close, and kiss all her worries away.
He’d won big tonight – he wasn’t even sure how much yet. As a newcomer to the gambling hall, the regulars had rushed to let him in on their games. They seemed certain they’d be able to beat a greenhorn, fresh off the boat. But he’d come out on top almost every hand he played. All around him, faces had turned sour and men had moved off to play their regular games. All but Albert, Ben and Max. He could see that Ben was about to quit, but the others looked as though they reveled in the challenge.
Max smiled at him and pushed his chips into Harry’s pile without hesitation. “Well done, Harry boy. Seems you’ve got quite the knack for this, hey?”
Harry nodded and gathered his chips to himself in a large pile. “I’ve done it a time or two before, back in the old country.”
“I can see that. I can also see that you’re a man with ambition and talent. How about you come and work for me, eh?” Max scratched at his bald head and smoothed the few strands of hair that meandered over his glistening scalp.
“That’s awfully kind of you, Max. But it just so happens that I’ve found a job. I start on Monday.”
“Oh? What kind of job?”
“I’m workin’ over at a slaughterhouse on Washington Street.”
“Really?” Max smiled and took the cards offered to him by the dealer. “That might be my place.”
“Is it?” Harry’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You own Montebello’s Meat?”
“Yep. I own a lot of the places ‘round here.”
A waiter deposited a fresh round of whiskey sours on the table and cleared the empty glasses. Harry took a swig and then whistled, “So that makes you my new boss then, huh? I guess I’d better let you win a hand or two.”
“I guess it does. And don’t do me any favors. I wanna win, don’t get me wrong, but I wanna do it fair and square. And when I do win, the victory’ll be all the sweeter, having beaten someone with your skill.”
Harry nodded and perused his cards. He held back a smile. It was shaping up to be a good night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A bang at the door startled Charlotte awake. She jumped up and tripped over something hard, landing with a cry on all fours. What was that? What had she tripped over? She felt around in the darkness. It seemed to be a table, but what was it doing beside her bed?
The door to the room burst open and two men shuffled inside, doing their best to hold down peals of laughter and only succeeding in loud snorts and whispers.
Where am I? Oh, that’s right. I’m at Camilla’s. She drew a deep breath and slowed her racing heart. She’d stayed at Camilla’s after supper. They’d talked together in front of the fire for hours. She must have fallen asleep on their loveseat and Camilla had laid a blanket over her, which was now on the floor beneath her knees. “Shhhh …” she admonished Harry and Ben, who had run into the kitchen table and were whispering loudly together.
Harry spun around to face her in the darkness. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Charlotte,” she said, hurrying to help him. “You’ll wake Camilla.”
“Charlotte?” He sounded confused and turned his head back and forth to search his surroundings. “Am I in the right room?”
“Yes, this is your room. I stayed here with Camilla after we ate supper together. Now hush, you’ll wake her. What in Heaven’s name are you two doing up this late? And you’ve been drinking – phew! I can smell it on your breath!”
Harry and Ben both stared at their feet, trying hard not to laugh. Harry reached his arms out to Charlotte and leaned them on her shoulders. His face inched closer to hers and his eyes fixed on hers in the dim light that emanated from the street lamp shining through the kitchen window. “Charlotte, how beautiful you look in the moonlight,” he crooned, reaching up a hand to run it down her cheek.
She brushed it away impatiently. Even as she did, a tremble ran through her body at his touch. He was drunk – he didn’t know what he was saying.
His face looked sober enough though, as he regarded her. “So beautiful.”
She narrowed her eyes and pushed his hands from her shoulders. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re angry,” he pouted, sitting on a chair beside the kitchen table.
Ben tripped toward the door, waving as he went. “Are you set, Harry? I’m going to head out, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Harry waved in response, rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “Why is everything spinning?”
“Sorry, can’t help you there. You’ll just have to go to bed and perhaps you’ll feel better in the morning, though I very much doubt it.”
He stood and swayed precariously from side to side. “Oh.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped closer to help him. “Here, put your arm across my shoulders. There you go.”
He complied, his eyes fixed firmly on her face, and she helped him to walk to his cot. It was pressed up against the far wall of the room, neatly made, with a picture of a wild mountain range pinned above it. She lowered him onto the bed and he lay back with a groan. His arm was still draped around her neck and as he fell, she went with him, landing on his chest with a cry. He grinned at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, Lady Charlotte, what do you think you’re up to?”
She slapped at his chest, her face flushing with the heat of anger and embarrassment. “Let go of me, you lout!” She pushed against his chest, attempting to stand. But he held her tight against him with a grin.
She stopped struggling when she saw the look in his eyes – a hunger she’d never seen before lurked there. His smile faded and he dipped his head toward hers. She kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face and her heart raced in her chest as his lips met hers. His kiss was warm and soft, with the faint smell of whiskey on his breath. His eyes closed and she allowed hers to drift shut as he deepened the kiss, tightening his embrace. Her entire body trembled from the tips of her toes to her goose-bumping scalp. She’d never been kissed like this before. It shook her to her core and she gave in to the pleasure of it.
What was she doing? This was Harry, Harry Brown from Greyburn. The boy who’d thrown rocks at her horse when she was learning to jump in the river meadow. The boy who’d chased her into a creek when she was ten and ruined her new white dress. The man who’d yelled at her in the village when she’d almost plowed into him on Amber only weeks earlier. The silversmith’s apprentice, and a tenant of her father’s. She couldn’t be kissing him! Shouldn’t be kissing him. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d ever consider falling in love with. He was coarse and rough and he was drunk. She pulled away from him with a cry and scrambled back onto her feet.
He looked at her in surprise and sat up on his cot. “What’s wrong?”
“We can’t – shouldn’t – do that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t feel that way about you. You’re not … right for me.”
He shook his head and scowled. “Is that so? You seemed to feel differently a moment ago.”
“Well, I didn’t. I don’t. I may have gotten caught up in the moment, but that’s all it was. And you’re drunk. I think you’ll find when you sober up in the morning, you’ll agree with me that there isn’t a future between us.�
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“No, I don’t think I will. I’m not that drunk, Charlotte. I’ve wanted to kiss you like that since that day in Greyburn when you almost ran me down on your horse.”
“You have?” Charlotte blinked in surprise. Had he really been attracted to her this whole time? Well, it didn’t matter, because she didn’t feel the same way about him. Perhaps she was attracted to him, but he wasn’t the type of man she planned on ending up with. And she wasn’t the type of woman to kiss a man she had no intentions of ending up with. She may have run away from her home, her parents, and everything she knew, but she hadn’t abandoned her morality.
He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, making it stand on end. “Of course I have. You’re beautiful and stubborn and frustratin’ and sweet and foolhardy … and I have no idea why I feel the way I do about you, but there it is.”
“Thank you very much,” Charlotte sniffed. He really was the most infuriating man sometimes. Here he was, telling her he wanted to kiss her and insulting her all at the same time. “It’s of no consequence, anyway. I don’t want to kiss you, so I suggest you forget about it.”
He stood and stepped toward her, pausing with his face just above hers, his eyes trained on her lips. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
She swallowed and leaned forward, her eyes half-closed. “Yes?” She whispered her response as a question, her heart pounding in her chest.
He grinned and lowered his lips to within breathing distance of hers. His breath washed over her and she felt its warmth caress her skin. She shivered and closed her eyes, waiting for the press of his lips over hers.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He said it playfully, with a puff of air against her lips. Then he turned to fall onto his bed with a grunt.
Charlotte’s eyes flew open, her lips still puckered, waiting for his. With a huff, she turned and fled back to her room, slamming the door behind her. She swore she heard him laugh in the darkness.
She threw herself onto her bed with a groan and covered her face with her hands. What had she done? Her only hope was that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Otherwise she knew he’d never let her live it down.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte was hungry. It was suppertime, and she’d spent all day Sunday looking for work throughout the Meatpacking District and Greenwich Village without success. She sat slumped in the rocking chair by the fire.
Harry and Camilla had left early that morning to attend church, but she had given them a weak excuse and stayed behind. They’d been full of excitement and enthusiasm that the life they’d planned in this new world was coming together. They’d found work and would save for their trip west to Cutter’s Creek where their uncle and aunt lived. They knew what they were working for and they were on their way to achieving it.
She shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. What was she going to do? She still hadn’t heard anything from her parents. She’d stopped by Saint Anthony’s, and discovered that Sister Bertram had been reassigned to a church in Philadelphia, so she’d be getting no help from that quarter. Since then, she’d visited the Post Office every single day in hopes of finding a message from her parents, but so far she hadn’t received anything. She knew that she couldn’t wait any longer for their help. She needed money and she needed it now. For the first time in her life, she was truly on her own.
She supposed that she could always try introducing herself to New York society. Charlotte shuddered at the thought — it was tacky for a single, young woman to make her own introductions, and wouldn’t be well received by polite society. No, she couldn’t do that. Without Sister Bertram to help her, she had no one to turn to for an introduction. She was stuck in the boarding house for now.
A tear ran down her cheek and dripped from her chin. What had she been thinking, traipsing off around the world on her own? She didn’t have any work experience or connections. She’d never worked at anything a day in her life, and didn’t know how to do some of the most basic things that other people seemed to take for granted – like lighting a fire in a stove without burning her home to the ground. She missed the lavish food that she’d had served to her for every meal at a long dining table that was polished to a sheen by servants who picked up after her and answered her every beck and call. She missed Mary dressing her, brushing her hair until it shone and sneaking her chocolates and bon bons. She missed not having to share an outhouse with strangers. She missed riding whenever she liked, through the lush, green countryside. She even missed Mother’s disapproving glare, whenever she yelled or ran through the house.
She wiped the tear away and sniffed. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. That’s what Father had always said, and he was right. Maybe he was right about more than she’d given him credit for. He must be furious with her now. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t heard from her parents – they were too angry. She laid her head on the table and closed her eyes. She’d think of something. She had to. There was no one else she could count on, no one to help her. She had to figure it out for herself.
***
A knock at the door startled her into wakefulness. She lifted her head from the table and rubbed her eyes. A glance out the window showed that the sun had set. The street lamps were lit. “Yes, who’s there?” She stood to her feet and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“It’s Harry. Open up.”
“Harry?” She shuffled to the door, pulling a shawl from the coat rack and wrapping it around her shivering shoulders. The fire had waned, leaving only the faint glow of embers in the stove. The room was gray and cold. She unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern written across his handsome face. “Have you been sitting in the dark?”
“I fell asleep. I’m fine, why do you ask?” Her stomach growled and her thoughts were clouded.
“We haven’t seen you since this morning, and Camilla was starting to worry about you. She’s fixing supper, so I said I’d come over and check on you.” He smiled, and Charlotte couldn’t help but give him a wan smile in response. His grin was infectious and warm.
She might as well tell him – she had no one else to talk to about her woes. She sighed and slumped down into the rocking chair once more. “I’ve run out of money.”
Harry’s eyes widened and he rubbed his hands across his face without a word, stepping into the room behind her.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like, the fact that you told me not to spend so much. Or that I should never have come here …” She choked back a sob and covered her face with her hands.
She heard his feet shuffle slowly toward her, then felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
She breathed deeply and lowered her hands to look up at him. “Thank you, Harry.”
He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. A tremble ran through her body at his touch. What was wrong with her? Why did she turn to butter every time he touched her? She shook her head and stood to walk away from him. She had to keep her distance before she did something she’d regret, or he guessed at what she felt.
“I’ll tell you what,” Harry continued, “why don’t you come to supper with us? Have you eaten yet?”
“You can’t feed me every day, Harry. You’ve both done too much for me already. I don’t know if I’ll be able to repay you …”
“Never mind any of that. Friends take care of each other.” He headed for the door. “Come over when you’re ready if you like. I’ll let Cammie know you’re coming.”
“Thank you.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. She heard him enter the room across the hall and the murmur of voices drifted back to her.
Friends. He’d said they were friends. She felt tears prick her tired eyes. At least she had friends. He must not remember their kiss from the previous night – his behavior wasn’t any different than usual. She sighed wi
th relief.
Still, she couldn’t keep living off their generosity. It was time she stood on her own two feet. She straightened her back and lifted her head high. She had no idea what the future held, but one thing was certain – she wasn’t going to let things get the best of her. She would do everything she could to make a life for herself. There was no point wallowing or wishing about what might have been. Regrets wouldn’t fill her empty stomach. She strode from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
When she walked into Harry and Camilla’s room, they each greeted her with a smile. “Charlotte, we’re so glad you’re joining us,” gushed Camilla, hurrying to her side as she wiped her hands on the lace-trimmed apron tied neatly around her trim waist.
Charlotte felt her cheeks blush as Camilla took up her hands and squeezed them. “Thank you, Camilla – you are too kind. Can I help you?”
“That would be wonderful. Do you mind setting the table for me?”
“Of course not.” Charlotte stepped over to the kitchen table and found three plates, silverware and napkins. She carried them to the small, round dining table against the far wall of the room and set them in place. “Do you think there is still a job for me at the slaughterhouse?” she asked with a swallow.
Harry’s eyebrows shot skyward. “I’d say so. They’re expecting three of us tomorrow morning. I’d planned on telling them you weren’t coming once we got there. Are you saying you’ll come with us?”
Charlotte nodded and sighed with relief. At least she’d have work, such as it was. Perhaps she’d be able to buy some groceries tomorrow with the few dollars she had left, stashed inside the music box she’d brought from home that was hidden in her trunk beneath the bed. That should get her through the week until payday.