“When I asked you to come up with a grand idea, you didn’t disappoint.” David walked out into the middle of the room, his shoes tapping against the polished wood floor. “This place is perfect. Where do these doors lead to?” He pointed to the various doorways lining the perimeter of the ballroom, which took up almost the entire third floor.
“Well, most are storage, though the east room is furnished with a few health-inducing apparatuses like you’d find at the natatorium. Then over there is the fainting room.”
She crossed in front of him to open the door next to a glass one that looked like it went to a small balcony.
He’d never been allowed inside a fainting room and hadn’t one in his own home, so he crossed over to look.
The room was long, narrow, and lined with chairs, but the low ceiling made him feel claustrophobic.
Maybe fainting rooms weren’t where ladies went when they felt faint, but to practice fainting. He backed out.
“Over here is the smoking balcony.” She pointed to the glass door he’d noticed, then walked past the fainting room. “And down here is the room where we keep all the piano rolls. We have a little over a hundred so far.”
They had a player piano and didn’t even entertain? He glanced around and spotted the fancy-looking Mignon. Ah, so a reproducing piano, even better. What rolls had Nicholas collected? Likely the best, knowing him.
How strange to have this fancy ballroom and do absolutely nothing with it. He’d have to ask about why that was over dinner, or maybe he’d overhear the speculation at the party.
Lydia padded across the room and turned in front of the rounded alcove located in the center of the north wall. “And this is the music pit, with a beautiful veranda behind it, so if we leave the doors open, you can hear the orchestra out on the front lawn. So what do you think?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Evelyn shifted, her back arched to keep the baby somewhat reclined. He would have told her to hand the baby over, but he didn’t dare. “There are plenty of well-to-do people in Teaville and nearby towns who would flock here if we do this right, and being this is the first time you’ve ever held a dance, we should get plenty of publicity.”
“I’ve already picked out the musicians. They said they need two weeks to practice since they’ve never played together.” Lydia’s smile was as bright as her eyes. “Just two weeks! It’ll fly by. I’ve got to get a menu to the hotel for them to coordinate with Cook, and we’ll have dance cards printed up and we’ll get the tailor to come over and fashion dresses for you and me and Sadie—”
“Sadie?” Evelyn’s face drained of color. “Don’t tell me Sadie is going to be giving a speech.”
Sadie? David looked over at the young housekeeper working with Caroline. Wasn’t that her name? What would Sadie have to talk about?
Lydia sobered. “No, not her. I’m thinking Max. He’s quite articulate for his age. Hopefully the businessmen will sympathize with a young man’s story. And I might try to get Florence to sing something. She’s got a decent voice and is beyond delightful. Maybe they’ll imagine their daughters at her age having to live the life we’ll inform them of. Caroline doesn’t want to speak, but Nicholas will, and I hope you will say something, Evelyn, since this is your project.”
Evelyn nodded while a ringing sounded to his right. A bell high on the wall was swinging, likely being pulled by someone downstairs.
“I told Cook to ring me when she got the . . .”—Lydia’s face was almost comical as her hand stirred the air while she tried to come up with what she wanted to say—“thing. I’ll just leave you two to come down at your leisure. If dinner’s ready before then, I’ll have Cook ring again. Please stay and discuss what you think Nicholas and I could do to make this the most fruitful and wonderful party ever.” With that, she scurried back down the stairs.
Could the woman be any less subtle about leaving him and Evelyn alone? He looked at the floor for a minute to get control of his smile.
“Well, then.” Evelyn did a slow turn, looking around the magnificent ballroom. “I’ll go see if I can put Hope down. Maybe you and Nicholas can talk about ways to improve Lydia’s plan—if you can get him away from the pony rides.”
So she wasn’t about to let Lydia snooker them into having time alone? “But Nicholas already knows what Lydia wants to do, and she said we could discuss it at dinner. Why don’t we go out on the veranda, enjoy the view before it’s crowded with partygoers?”
Her eyes glanced that way, but she shook her head. “Hope’s getting heavy.”
“Then let me take her.” Wait, did he just offer to do that?
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to move her in case we’d wake her up.”
“But you’d have to do so to put her down.”
She only looked at him, as if she couldn’t believe he’d dismantled her excuse.
“Here.” He pried the baby off her shoulder gently, attempting to drape her against his own shoulder in a similar manner. This baby heavy? She was light as a feather.
“You woke her.”
“I did?” He’d have expected a fire alarm to be going off in his ear. He started to bounce a little, like Evelyn always did. Thankfully the baby only made contented-sounding grunts. “Well, she seems happy enough. Let’s go look.”
He held open the glass door for Evelyn with his free hand.
Outside, the beautiful remainders of autumn clung to the trees, and the long winding driveway wove through the dying grasses that sloped toward the brick street. Teaville to the north looked bigger than he’d imagined, though it was but a speck compared to the clumps of towns surrounding Kansas City.
Hope started fussing, so he jostled her more. “Have you ever been up here?”
Evelyn leaned against the wall, staring out toward town. “We bring the kids up on rainy days to run off energy.”
Hope’s fussing turned into a cry, so he turned her to face him and made a pouting face just like hers. “What’s wrong, Hope?”
She only cried harder in response.
He jiggled her more, but with how tiny she was, he was afraid she could be jiggled too much. If only he could get her quiet again so he and Evelyn could talk. He raised his voice to overpower hers and turned her so she could see the mansion’s exterior. “Do you see that pigeon on the gable there. Isn’t it pretty?”
Pretty awful, perhaps, considering Hope’s escalating response.
Evelyn held out her hands. “I’m sorry she started crying on you like that. I’ll take her back.”
“Will you be taking her to the wet nurse?”
“No, she doesn’t come until dinnertime.”
He put the baby on his arm like he’d seen Evelyn do once, only making the cry more insistent. “Then tell me what you’d do to stop her.”
“You want to deal with a fussy baby?” Evelyn looked as bewildered as Hope.
He shrugged. It wasn’t a matter of want, exactly, because handing back this fussy little feather would probably make him sigh in relief. But if he was going to help at the orphanage, he’d have to do things like this, right? If he couldn’t figure it out, then he should stop thinking about marrying Evelyn altogether. If he would be of no help, he’d not be the kind of man she’d attach herself to anyway. “I can’t learn how if I don’t try.”
“All right.” She came over and flipped the baby around and put her on his shoulder again. “I think her tummy’s hurting. So I’ve been pressing her midsection against my shoulder while I rock her back and forth a little. Like this.” She pushed Hope up a few more inches and then used his shoulder as a fulcrum for a baby seesaw.
Whether Hope liked it or simply found the whole thing strange, she settled down to rapid-fire sniffling. “How’d you get so good at understanding babies?”
She backed away, gaze pinned on Hope. “I’ve just watched good mothers, perhaps, but Hope isn’t a typical baby. The doctor says he sees this sort of behavior with a lot of the prostitutes’ infants, always fussy, some downri
ght in distress. He says they’re protesting being born to such circumstances. We had one come in a year ago, but sadly she didn’t live long.”
Evelyn stared at her folded hands, the memories of grief playing across her face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well.” She inhaled quite loudly. “Working here isn’t easy, fussy babies or not. Sometimes the children who come have been abused and neglected, and they often act in strange and difficult ways. And we rarely get them placed in a home, since Nicholas is adamant he’d rather pay for them to live here for years than go somewhere they won’t be loved. Many who want to adopt the children are too poor to hire servants and figure after the life the children have led, they should be happy to clean up after them.”
Hope started crying again, and he looked at Evelyn in question. The shoulder seesaw had apparently lost its charm.
“I sometimes try to swing her down near my waist in a figure-eight pattern. I think it confuses her since it’s not just back and forth.” She demonstrated an interesting sort of dance that made him smile despite the crying going off near his ear.
He tried it, but was sure he looked the fool. And the baby’s squalling continued its crescendo. Perhaps Father was right, he needed to pursue more manly hobbies, like hitting and killing things, because this sure wasn’t working.
He had to be insane to not be handing Hope back to Evelyn. For why else would a man choose this?
He put Hope up against his chest, face out, so she could see the front yard. He wrapped her tight in his arms so he wouldn’t drop her off the balcony. “Come on, little lady, let’s find something fun to look at.” He loosened one arm to point. “Look there, Hope. Can you see the pond out by those trees? I bet there are fish out there. When you get older, we should go check.”
Suddenly, the baby let out a burp louder than he’d expect from something so small. And whether she’d startled herself or that had been her problem, she relaxed and went quiet. If she wasn’t still audibly breathing and shuddering, he’d have wondered if he’d squeezed her too hard. “Huh! I did it.”
He turned to look at Evelyn, expecting her to give him a congratulatory smile, but instead, her warm gaze made him feel like some giant had squeezed the stuffing out of him. He forced himself to suck in air. Maybe dancing around with a crying baby wasn’t the most foolish thing he’d ever done.
29
Evelyn listened at the door to the room where the wet nurse was supposed to be. Mrs. Dewitt had been paid extra to stay the night to care for Hope, but even taking into account the musicians tuning their instruments and the movement of the crowd three floors above, the basement was quiet. Despite how difficult Hope was, Mrs. Dewitt had grown fond of the baby and had convinced her husband that with four boys at home, a baby girl might be a good thing. Hopefully Nicholas approved of them adopting Hope, because she couldn’t imagine anyone else taking a baby that fussy.
If only Annette hadn’t disappeared and could be convinced to keep her family together, but even Rosie had no idea where she’d gone after she’d given her a note for Lawrence. Thankfully, hearing from his sister had eased up the boy’s melancholy, even though she’d not told him if or when she’d return.
Evelyn turned the knob and slowly opened the door. The light was on, and Mrs. Dewitt was asleep in the rocker with both children curled up on her chest. Her boy Gregory, though not much older, was nearly three times as large as Hope, and they made for a darling scene.
However, if she woke them, Mrs. Dewitt would find nothing darling about her unneeded visit.
As slowly as she’d pushed the door open, she closed it.
She fingered the filigreed paper fan the local Teaville printer had worked overtime to produce. She’d never been to a dance that required a dance card, but she was certain most weren’t this exquisite. Each dance slot was on a separate little blade that could be written on when fanned out. What a beautiful thing for a woman’s memory box—if there were names on it, of course.
Closing her blank fan, she headed out of the basement. The dances would start soon, and Lydia would be heartbroken if she avoided dancing entirely. Putting her card out late meant she wouldn’t have to dance every dance, but hopefully there’d be enough men still filling in cards that she’d get enough dances to satisfy Lydia, especially since she’d been kind enough to pay for her gown.
But before she left the basement, she wanted to check on Caroline. Caroline had given a heartfelt talk to the men and women before dinner, but she’d curiously left out her personal connection to the red-light district. She’d never kept Moira a secret before. Had something happened to Moira that she hadn’t told her about?
Evelyn tapped on Caroline’s door and, upon being invited in, stepped into the small nondescript room. “I wanted to tell you that I thought you gave a good speech this evening.” The rest were going to give their speeches between dance sets. Though Caroline had changed her mind about talking, she’d asked to be excused from the party.
She rocked in her rocker, a half-finished afghan draped across her lap, and glanced up for a second. “Thank you.” She pulled more yarn from her skein and continued to crochet.
At Mr. Hargrove’s, David had seemed worried about her lack of smiling, and if Caroline’s lack of good spirits had been as persistent as hers, no wonder he’d been concerned. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She shook her head. “There’s no need to bother with me tonight.”
Evelyn took a step in. “That’s not true. If you need me—”
“Evelyn.” Caroline gave her a motherly look, despite her only being old enough to be an elder sister. “I said I’m all right.”
Evelyn rubbed her hand down the smooth surface of the door, reluctant to leave when she knew full well Caroline had been far from all right for a few weeks now. “I wish you had let Lydia commission you a gown.” She played with the draping across her own bodice, marveling at the fine texture of the silk. With its blue-and-white vertical stripes, the dress made her look even taller, and the wide blue belt made her waist look tinier than her corset truly cinched her. And the quality of the silk and the Valenciennes lace about her neck and at the end of her three-quarter sleeves made it the finest thing she owned.
Not only had Lydia provided Evelyn’s dress, but she’d had one made for Sadie. Caroline, however, had completely refused. “When Henri saw Sadie was attending, he asked if you were planning to change later and come up.”
Caroline’s stitches grew more jerky. “If Henri asks about me again, please tell him he’s not obligated to worry about me. I’m a lowly housekeeper who’s happy enough to have the night off, for there will be plenty for me to do come morning.”
Was that a crack in her voice?
Caroline sighed and put her needlework down and tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry, Evelyn, I know you well enough to realize you want me to talk about what’s bothering me, but please go enjoy yourself. We can talk later, if you’d like.”
Above them, the musicians began what sounded like their first song. The soft lilt of the violins carried down to them through Caroline’s open window.
Evelyn looked at her dance card and frowned at the time printed—she should have had plenty of time to get up there before the dancing started. After listening for a measure or two, it was clear the song being played wasn’t a waltz. Perhaps there was an introductory set of music before the dancing began. Even so, she needed to get up there. “Do you promise to have tea with me tomorrow?”
“Yes. Now go before you miss out.” She shooed her with the back of her hand and returned to her stitching.
Evelyn was loath to leave, but Caroline was right. Dinner had been over for twenty minutes and all the well-dressed guests had gone upstairs and she should already be up there. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hopefully she’d open up to her.
She backed out of Caroline’s room, walked the servants’ hallway, climbed the stairs, and crossed through the empty entryway. The line for the ele
vator to take the women up had finally disappeared, and so had Franklin, who’d acted as operator.
She left the foyer and padded up to the hallway. Surprisingly, Sadie was gliding quickly toward the kitchen. Hadn’t she seen Franklin escort her into the elevator earlier?
The seventeen-year-old hadn’t protested at all about Lydia wanting to outfit her in the latest ballroom fashion. Sadie’s gown was made of the creamiest off-white silk with an intricate flowered lace overlay that extended into a modest train behind her. Her see-through sleeves ended at her elbows, and the amount of roses tatted into the lace made Evelyn hope Sadie had rinsed her hair in rose water to match the dress.
The girl’s dark blond ringlets were piled high on her head, and an off-white band of silk and a solitary peach silk rose had been woven into her high coiffure.
She opened her mouth to call to Sadie, but a man’s arm reached out of the kitchen doors and grabbed her. She yelped and disappeared.
Evelyn put a hand to her skipping heart. Had one of the guests recognized her from the district and planned to take advantage of her, at a ball meant to help such women wanting a new life? She picked up her skirts and ran after her.
She stopped in the kitchen doorway but saw no one. Not even Cook.
A giggle sounded to her left, where the butler’s pantry was located.
Oh no, was Mrs. Naples right? Would soiled doves fall back into moral vice so readily that any attempts to help them were ill spent?
Evelyn crept over to the pantry door and peeked in to see Franklin holding Sadie in a very proper dance position, arms and shoulders held high, twirling her about to the barely audible music, as if they were at a royal ball.
Franklin was obviously besotted, his eyes practically melting under Sadie’s huge grin.
The music ended abruptly. Perhaps the musicians were still just warming up.
Franklin twirled Sadie around one last time, stepped away, and bowed.
“Oh my goodness, Franklin.” Sadie pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks high with color. “That’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”
A Love So True Page 23