The boy untangled it, then set it on his open palm as if afraid it might break.
Mr. Kingsman flipped the cover open, which was indeed in danger of falling off since its hinge was broken. He studied it with narrowed eyes, then glanced at his own watch. “Good. I was hoping mine wasn’t losing time. This one’s so troublesome; the old ones are always so much more reliable.” He handed Theodore’s watch back. “I wish I had my grandfather’s—that’s for certain.”
He smiled and winked at the boy, then looked over at Alexandria across the blanket. The girl was near six yet still sucked her thumb unless she was occupied with eating, but she’d abandoned her food the moment he’d arrived. “What’s your name?”
She shrugged, but her older sister Jocelyn answered for her. “She’s Alexandria. Alex for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Alexandria. You remind me of a beautiful woman who came to talk to my church a few years ago—her name was Scholastica. She had the prettiest smile. I wonder if you do too?”
Jocelyn smacked her sister’s hand from her mouth. “The man wants you to smile for him, Alex. He wants to see if you’re pretty enough.”
Mr. Kingsman’s eyes widened and Evelyn stiffened. It was always so unnerving how these children could take things the wrong way—in ways she wouldn’t have thought of herself, even at the age of seven and twenty.
“Oh no.” Mr. Kingsman shook his head. “You don’t smile unless you want to, Alex. No man should make you do anything you don’t want to do, all right?”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where you’re from, mister, but that ain’t the way things go around here.” She took a bite of her roll and repositioned her dirty skirt around her long, thin legs.
Alexandria gave Mr. Kingsman a shy smile before sticking her thumb back in her mouth.
“All right, children.” Evelyn wiped her hands, hoping they’d pay attention to her Bible story despite Mr. Kingsman showing no indication of leaving. “Let’s continue reading about the Israelites fighting for their Promised Land, shall we?”
The children sat quietly enough, but after she told the story and started asking questions, only Scott seemed to have paid any attention. Caroline passed out the peppermint sticks they brought to entice the children to stay through the lesson, and then they all quickly scrambled away.
Without asking any of his customary questions, Scott picked up little Jesse and, with a heaviness in his step, returned to the red-light district.
She sighed and gathered the remaining plates and added them to Caroline’s pile in the wagon.
“I hope you aren’t too irritated with me.” Mr. Kingsman stopped beside her, rotating his hat in his hands, crushing its brim. “I didn’t know the woman wouldn’t stay.”
“It’s the first time she dared come.” Evelyn swallowed her disappointment. The man had behaved gallantly among their uncouth little crowd. His presence hadn’t been unpleasant. “Her son’s been praying she’d come for weeks now.”
“I see. What’s your connection to these children?”
“No connection, just the hope that with a modicum of guidance, they’ll choose to leave their parents’ world before it’s too late.”
“Do you do more than this Bible story lunch thing?”
She turned to look at him. Had she noted some censure in his voice? “It’s all I have the time and provision for at the moment. I help run the orphanage for the children who were once more needy than these.” Why hadn’t he left yet? Was the chicken the real reason he’d come, or was it her?
Because if he was interested in her, he might as well give up now. “I know we had extra today, but that’s not always the case. It would be best if you pack your lunch next time, so—”
“He gave us two dollars.” Caroline stopped folding one of the blankets to look at her pointedly. “He paid for everyone’s meal.”
“But we don’t need charity.”
“We don’t?” Caroline frowned at her as if she’d said they weren’t in need of oxygen.
“We have a benefactor.”
“Who could use freed-up funds for something else worthwhile.”
If she read her friend’s look right, Caroline was seconds away from lecturing her in front of this man. And likely for good reason.
But there was a reason he shouldn’t return, a very good one. “Thank you, Mr. Kingsman, for the money. But truthfully . . .” She stopped and forced herself to look into his mesmerizing eyes. Were there actual purple hues in those dark blue irises? She dropped her gaze the second she realized she was staring and he was smiling. “The thing is, I want Amy to return, and unfortunately, your presence drove her away. My gut says you’ve heard plenty of Bible stories, but I bet she’s not heard a one.”
“I understand, Miss Wisely. Thank you for your hospitality.” He tapped his finger against the brim of his hat, his smile a little lackluster. “Give my compliments to your cook.” And then he was gone.
Caroline tsked once he got out of earshot. “That man could have helped these children. Did you not see how Theodore looked at him after they talked about his watch? I don’t know who this Mr. Kingsman is, but when has any man other than Mr. Lowe given these boys some decent attention?”
“But what about Scott’s mother?” How could Caroline ignore that need?
“That’s one person who might not be helped, but what about the others? Mr. Kingsman could show these boys some good manners as long as he was willing to come. Scott’s mother could have returned later.” Caroline picked up a stray spoon off the ground. “Mr. Kingsman didn’t come here for you, you know.”
Evelyn halted on her way to the wagon seat. “What does that mean? And how would you know that anyway?”
She shrugged. “It just means every time a single man comes near you, you act as if he’ll fall in love with you if you so much as talk to him—even if he’s not looking at you with any interest.”
Her cheeks heated. Was she turning as vain as that sounded? No, her response to new men was a safety measure. She’d had to tell one too many that she would never be interested in his court, and she was loath to do it again.
She busied herself with wiping her hands with a handkerchief. “I’m obviously not so beautiful or cultured that I’d believe a man falling in love with me was inevitable, but men . . . well, they complicate things.” More than Caroline might ever know.
4
Taking one last look at Scott and his hopeful eyes, Evelyn knocked on the door to his mother’s surprisingly quaint little cottage. It had been only three days since Mr. Kingsman had scared Amy away, and Scott had been to the mansion twice already to ask her to talk to his mother.
Amy opened the door with a scowl. Her frown disappeared for a second as she took in her visitor but returned as she stepped outside. “What am I supposed to do for you?” Amy swept her dark unbrushed hair off her shoulder, seemingly not the least bit embarrassed by still being in her nightclothes at nearly ten in the morning.
Evelyn gave Amy a smile. “I wanted you to know I was glad to see you Saturday. Mr. Kingsman doesn’t plan on returning, so I hope—”
“Scott.” Amy looked past Evelyn’s shoulder toward her son. “Go get us more wood.”
He squirmed in place for a moment, but after giving Evelyn a quick pleading look, he pivoted and ran off.
“Now look.” Amy leaned casually against her doorjamb and crossed her arms, more the stance of a rebellious youth than a lady. “I know you’re putting all this God talk into my son’s head, and maybe it’ll do him some good, but I don’t need you begging me to come listen to your Bible telling too.”
Evelyn’s lips twitched. That wasn’t the only reason she wanted her to join them. “I’d be happy just to have you come eat, if you’d like. Your son wants more time with you.”
“Well, I do what I can . . . sometimes.” She shrugged. “I went with him on Saturday, didn’t I?”
“Is there a reason you don’t want to return?”
“Fra
nkly, I’m not interested in spiritual things. And I’m afraid Scott thinks that if I listen to some preaching, I’ll be able to give him the life he wants. But that ain’t going to happen.”
“I know how uncomfortable hearing God’s Word can be sometimes, but I—”
“Ma’am, I know what you think of me. Frankly, I don’t have a high opinion of myself either.” She straightened and took a step back into her home. “So I’m not eager to hear what your God thinks of me too—not when I can’t do nothing about it.”
“But He offers a way out.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Show me one former prostitute getting along in good society, and I might believe you.”
The door’s slam ended the conversation.
Well, that hadn’t gone well. She stared at Amy’s door for a minute, but she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make Amy thankful she’d answered her door a second time.
With a sigh, Evelyn turned away. What hope could she offer Amy in regard to joining good society? Queenie was a well-known former prostitute in Teaville, but she still lived in a small shack on the edge of the district. Despite the woman’s adherence to Christianity and tireless hours serving the hurting, her past profession marked her unfit for good society.
Lydia and Nicholas Lowe’s housekeeper was a former child prostitute who had escaped, but anyone who knew had been sworn to secrecy, since she’d be shunned if her history came to light.
If only she had a success story to share—but she knew of none.
“Miss Wisely!” Scott came running out from behind a nearby house, no wood in his hands. “Is she going to come?”
“I’m afraid not.”
His face drooped, and the light in his green eyes disappeared.
She couldn’t help but pull him into a side hug. “We’ll keep praying, all right?” She felt him shrug against her, and after a few seconds, she let him pull away. “Let’s not give up hope. I’ll think some more on how to help your mother, and you be the best boy you can be. God will honor that.”
He nodded slightly.
“So go get some wood, and I’ll go see Mr. Lowe.” He’d helped a few women out of the red-light district; perhaps she could convince him to try again. But what could he do for Amy if she didn’t want to fight for a way out?
Evelyn consulted her timepiece. Before heading back to the orphanage, she could drop by the Lowes’ to see if her best friend’s husband was at home.
She didn’t exactly know what she hoped Nicholas could do, but if anyone could help her figure something out, it would be him. And if he agreed to help, she’d not have to worry about the finances.
With a swiftness in her step, she chugged along the sidewalks and skirted passersby on her way to the upscale part of town. Her friend’s gorgeous Queen Anne house sat across from the new library. If she’d had more time, she would have checked to see if there were any new books the children might enjoy, but she couldn’t leave her parents longer than necessary.
Evelyn knocked on her friend’s beautifully carved front door, closed her eyes, and inhaled. Lydia had planted even more roses this year, and the scent of their yard was spectacular. Oh, to have the money to not only create a fence out of roses, but to have them imported from Europe.
The door opened many minutes later, and the Lowes’ young butler, a boy who’d grown too old to stay at the orphanage, waved her in. “I’m so sorry, Miss Wisely. I was clear across the house.”
“I assure you, it is no hardship to stand out here with the last of the roses, Mr. Cleghorn.”
Franklin rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Cleghorn.”
She tugged on his lapel as she walked by. “Yes, I do. It befits your new vocation.”
“Still feels funny.”
She tugged off her gloves and handed them along with her hat to Franklin. A tittering of laughter sounded somewhere in the house, but it didn’t sound like little Isabelle Lowe’s giggles and it certainly wasn’t Lydia’s laugh. “Is Mr. Lowe in?”
“He’s expected any minute. Mrs. Lowe’s in the dining room, I believe.”
“Thank you.”
The laugh sounded again, and she couldn’t help but smile at the gaiety. Who did Lydia have over? Whoever it was sounded as if she might help brighten Lydia’s day. With newly walking Isabelle getting into everything and Lydia sick with her newest pregnancy—despite being six months along—she’d been having a rough time of it.
Evelyn headed for the dining room and lost her smile the second she got a glimpse of the occupants through the open doorway.
Mr. Kingsman was leaning against the wall, grinning at Lydia’s housekeeper, Sadie.
Evelyn hesitated beside the doorjamb. She should have known such a smile hadn’t been anything special for her, but rather a practiced one for wooing the ladies. It was indeed too perfect to be real.
“Are you sure they didn’t name these after you?” Mr. Kingsman winked, then popped the last bit of white candy into his mouth. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Oh stop—divinity’s good, but not that good.” Sadie shook her head as she finished wiping down the dining room table, a light blush staining her cheeks. “I found the recipe in the New York Times—had nothing to do with me.”
Sadie was right; her divinity fudge wasn’t nearly as good as Mr. Kingsman’s groans indicated. The young housekeeper had taken up candy making since she’d come to work here, sending batches to the orphanage every Saturday, determined that the children would have sweets despite Nicholas’s declaring orphans didn’t need candy—at least not weekly.
Was Mr. Kingsman interested in the Lowes’ seventeen-year-old housekeeper? He was likely in his midtwenties, so Sadie wouldn’t be considered too young to court, considering most wife-seeking bachelors started turning up their noses when a woman hit twenty-three or twenty-four. But what if he learned Sadie had been a child prostitute Lydia rescued from the red-light district?
But Mr. Kingsman hadn’t seemed bothered at the prospect of eating lunch with Scott’s mother, and Amy had clearly been dressed as a woman of ill repute.
Perhaps Caroline was right. She was intent on thinking ill of him for no good reason.
But if she let herself think too well of him, she might become as taken with his smile as Sadie seemed to be.
Mr. Kingsman snatched another little white square from the sideboard. “The New York Times, you say? Could I get a copy of the recipe?”
“Of course, I’ll go get it for you.” She smiled at him and he smiled back.
Evelyn spun on her heel and left the room, hoping they hadn’t seen her.
She slowed to keep her footfalls from drawing attention and stopped in front of a mirror, placing a hand on her cheek where the pox scarring was most noticeable. She should be happy she was only decent-looking and too old to be of much interest anymore. So why had she left before bidding Sadie good morning? Jealousy?
Surely not. She was not allowed to be jealous over some man she’d only met twice. And definitely not because he simply smiled at someone else.
The heavy scent of roses was perhaps too thick around this place, and her brain was muddied up.
Hopefully he wasn’t going to get too chummy with Nicholas. A handsome, single friend of Lydia’s husband would inevitably be seen as the next best person to pair her up with.
Of course Lydia only wanted her to find the same happiness she had, but no matter how nice Mr. Kingsman might be, she would resist his charm.
5
“Lyd!” Evelyn called as she took the stairs up to the nursery. Hopefully her friend’s housekeeper’s sweet disposition and divinity candy had kept Mr. Kingsman from noticing how she’d fled.
Evelyn peeked into the nursery, but no one was there.
Though Lydia could afford a nanny, a governess, and whatever servants rich people employed to keep children out of sight and mind, Lydia had only employed a maid who would watch Isabelle whenever Lydia and her husband spent time together on the tow
n or with guests.
Would Isabelle be with her mother when there was a guest downstairs? No, more likely the maid had taken her for a walk or something. Evelyn turned around to head for Lydia’s sitting room. “Lydia?”
Before she got there, her friend popped out into the hallway with a hairpin in her hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to greet you, but I got”—she cringed—“sick in front of a guest, and my hair . . . Oh, it’s too embarrassing.” She shoved her pin into her beautiful dark hair behind the pouf she’d created at the crown of her head and patted her hands against her coiffure. “Do I look all right?”
“You’re as pretty as ever.” Except for her having no color in her cheeks and purple smudges under almost-transparent light blue eyes, but she wouldn’t tell her that.
“You’re such a dear.” Lydia slipped under Evelyn’s arm to give her a hug. “I just looked at myself in the mirror, so I know you’re lying.”
Lydia’s huge stomach made it difficult for Evelyn to give her friend a good squeeze. Not that it wasn’t always a bit awkward to hug her friends, since most were at least a half foot shorter.
Lydia took a step back, locked an arm around Evelyn’s, and pulled her toward the steps. “I have a guest I’m eager for you to meet.”
“If you’re talking about the man downstairs eating a plateful of candy as if he’s never tasted sugar before, I’ve met him.”
She pulled up short. “You have?”
“I came across Mr. Kingsman in the district last week. Wanted to make sure I made it out safely.”
“And what was your impression?”
That first day, Saturday, or ten minutes ago? They’d been far, far different reactions. Strangely spontaneous reactions to a man she’d been around for less than an hour all together.
“Well?” Lydia’s intentions weren’t at all hidden by her nonchalant tone of voice.
Evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose but quickly pretended to have an itch to hide the frustrated gesture. Which birthday would have to slip by before the matchmakers gave up?
A Love So True Page 3