David took a step back, only too eager to be done with the night’s conversations. As grateful as he was for Nicholas introducing him to these men, he was pretty much done in. He normally wasn’t up anywhere near this late.
Behind him, the musicians played their penultimate song. He widened his eyes in an attempt to keep them from drooping and scanned the crowd for a Mr. Belton. All he knew about the man was that he wore glasses and had a receding hairline. Nicholas had told him he wanted to introduce them, but he’d disappeared in the middle of David’s conversation with Mr. Pickett.
He smiled when he caught a glimpse of Evelyn promenading across the floor with a gentleman several inches shorter. She seemed to be somewhat familiar with this dance—she hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she wasn’t good at the mazurka. His bruised toes were a testament to that.
Her partner whisked her behind a cluster of dancers, so David scanned the waning crowd for Nicholas. Ah! Nicholas had caught sight of him first and was beckoning from across the room.
David put up a hand, letting Nicholas know he saw him, and wove his way between clusters of people clumped around the edge of the area they’d reserved for dancing in front of the orchestra. Once he passed the dancers, he saw Nicholas was headed toward him.
They stopped in one of the gaps in the crowd. Nicholas pulled at his high collar. “Have you had the chance to talk with Mr. Belton?”
David refrained from yanking on his own uncomfortable collar and pulled out a handkerchief to blot his forehead. Though some guests had left, the heat from the crowd refused to dissipate. “No, but I had promising conversations with Mr. Drumsfelt and Mr. Pickett.”
“Good.” Nicholas gestured back the way David had come. “Mr. Belton’s there near the punch table.”
David looked over his shoulder but shook his head, not seeing a man who fit the description he’d been given.
“The one with the older blond woman in green on his arm.”
“Ah, I see him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t introduce you, as I’d hoped. I’m leaving.”
“No problem.” He sighed in relief. Mr. Belton lived in Caney. If he had to introduce himself, maybe he’d drive over on another day. Wait. “You’re leaving?” Since when did a host leave before the party was over?
“We’ll still be in the mansion, of course.” Nicholas wiped the sweat off his own brow. “We can talk tomorrow if you’d like. Come to dinner?”
“Certainly.” At least then he didn’t have to come up with an excuse to come see Evelyn.
“Were any of the men you spoke to interested in our cause?”
David jiggled his head in indecision. “Perhaps Mr. Drumsfelt, but most were more interested in rubbing elbows.”
“I was hoping for more conversation about the project myself, but it didn’t seem many were interested.” Nicholas sighed and tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Tell Mr. Belton you’re a friend of mine. He should remember I mentioned you. Good night, then.” Nicholas thumped him on the shoulder and strode back through the crowd.
When the sea of people parted, he caught a glimpse of Lydia sitting with a curly-headed Isabelle asleep on her shoulder. Once Nicholas made it to them, he pulled his year-old daughter off his wife’s shoulder and helped her up. Lydia’s stomach and the size of her ball gown made the maneuver almost comical, but the second David felt like laughing, Nicholas dropped a kiss on the top of her head and slipped an arm around her shoulders. Then the three of them skirted the perimeter of the room and headed toward the stairwell.
So that was why he was leaving early.
That would never have happened with his father. As long as there was business to discuss, Father would have stayed.
Nicholas was nothing like Father. He was the only businessman David had ever seen talk business while holding his young daughter, and he’d held her as though he did it so often he didn’t realize no one else brought their child to work.
Though Father would be impressed by Nicholas’s wealth, his respect would end there, since Nicholas’s life didn’t seem to revolve around money, power, or status.
Father would call him a pushover, despite the fact that he’d assembled this huge crowd willing to listen to a radical proposal.
David hung his head. If he were to gain the admiration of one man, only to lose the admiration of the other, which would he want?
Could he give up his two-decades-long quest for his father’s approval?
“Last song, ladies and gentlemen,” the conductor called.
Where was Evelyn? If he could be certain she’d love him, would Father’s lack of parental pride matter so much?
He scanned the last of the crowd partnering up.
In the corner near the player piano, Evelyn was sitting on a bench talking to Sadie, who was positively glowing despite the late hour. A tall redheaded man approached them, claimed Sadie’s hand, and whisked her toward the ballroom’s middle.
Evelyn resituated her dress, pulled her dance card off her wrist, and started fanning herself with it, not bothering to look at the names written inside. Had whoever she’d hoped to claim her last dance failed to do so?
The conductor tapped a beat upon his little podium, and the musicians started to play the last waltz. A glance back at Mr. Belton found him engrossed in conversation.
Skirting the dancers, David made his way toward Evelyn.
She was watching Sadie. Her smile, however, looked somewhat sad. Before he got within twenty feet of her she looked up at him and seemingly couldn’t look away.
He couldn’t look away either. When he stopped in front of her, he held out his hand. “Since it seems no one’s claimed your last dance, may I?”
She finally dropped her gaze and stared at his open palm. “I was sort of hoping I was done for tonight. My new shoes have not been kind. And this heat, you’d think it was summer.”
He let his hand fall back to his side, trying not to take her response as an insult, for it was quite late. “Do you need to retire to the fainting room?”
She cringed. “Oh no, it’s stuffier in there than out here.”
He held out his hand again. “Perhaps some fresh air, then?”
Her hand came up, and though he noted a hesitation on the way, she put her hand in his. “That would be nice.”
After pulling her to stand, he led her to the portico’s balcony behind the musicians. Once outside, he smiled. They had the veranda to themselves.
She let go of his arm and went straight for the railing.
He joined her, glad the music wasn’t so boisterous it prevented conversation, yet was amplified enough that their conversation would be private if someone came out.
So how to take advantage of the privacy he’d stumbled upon? He looked at the sky and spotted a pinprick of movement that quickly disappeared. “I just saw a falling star.” He pointed beyond the trees. “Make a wish.”
She turned to look where he’d pointed. “I think you saw a reflection from someone’s lantern below. There are too many clouds.”
Perhaps romancing Evelyn would be as difficult as getting Father to admit his son had any talent.
How could he get her to loosen up? He’d thought the dance would do so, but she likely should have skipped the festivities and caught up on the sleep the baby was stealing from her—not that he wasn’t happy she’d attended. He’d certainly enjoyed having her in his arms as he waltzed her around the room. “Perhaps I didn’t see a falling star, but since I have so many things to wish for, you can’t blame me for wanting some extra help.”
She looked over at him, the reflection of the gaslight behind him flickering in her eyes. “You don’t need stars to pray.”
“No, but wishing on stars is still fun.” He stepped closer, then leaned against the railing next to her. “If you had seen the star, what would you have wished for?”
She took a step away and looked out over the front lawn. “That after tonight, the women’s home would be fully fund
ed and no one in town would oppose it.”
“Well, yes, if your wishes are that serious, then prayer would be better. But you’re supposed to wish selfishly on stars.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. “That’s all I’m willing to wish for,” she said softly but resolutely.
“You’re too serious by half, you know.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “My father would agree with you.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s been saying the same thing for years.”
“No, I meant why are you so serious?”
She shrugged. “Once, I wasn’t as serious and careful as I should’ve been, and ever since . . . Well, not all mistakes are easy to move on from.”
What had her father told him that one day? That she was punishing herself for something? “What in your past makes you believe you shouldn’t wish for more?”
Nothing but music answered him.
She turned from him, the lamps on each side of the portico throwing shadows across her profile. He moved so he could see her face better, studied every dip and curve. Though he knew most men wouldn’t call her gorgeous, there was such a charming quality about her. Her heart was certainly lovely, but the cute nose, the long lashes, and the determined jaw made him wish he could help her find her smile more often. “What happened? Sometimes I get the feeling you think your life is beyond repair, yet you have wonderful family and friends, a job you’re passionate about—”
“That is exactly why I don’t need to wish on stars. I need nothing more.”
It certainly was a good list. He wished he had parents as caring as hers and a job he felt as passionate about. But did she truly have no desire whatsoever for a family of her own? Not even an inkling of yearning for him? “Truly, you would wish for nothing more?”
“Well, I would, but pining for things only makes a heart sick. I’m surrounded by children who’ve endured more nightmarish things than I have, so I ought to be content with what I have . . . I have to be.”
“But what about—”
“David.” She reached over and put a hand on his arm.
Whatever he was going to ask fled his mind.
“I don’t need to wish on stars because you’ve done better than any old star. You’re the reason I’ve gotten my wish of a women’s home. You’ve not only helped me, but you made it possible for the dreams and hopes of many women and children to come true. They may never know it was you, never be able to thank you, but God knows. I hope He rewards you greatly.”
He reached over and clasped her hand before she let go. “I hope I can keep fulfilling your wishes. Let me know what they are, and I’ll do everything I can.”
She stared at their hands, hers limp within his.
He squeezed her fingers, readying himself for her to slip her hand from his, but instead she intertwined their fingers and squeezed back. He looked back at where he’d seen that star.
As nice as a reward in heaven would be, I wouldn’t mind the reward of Evelyn’s heart here on earth.
When he turned back, he couldn’t see the expression on her face clearly, though she certainly seemed to be looking at him intently. Could she see more of his face in the lamplight than he could see of her? What could he say that wouldn’t ruin the moment, that would hint of his feelings without scaring her away?
After another minute she released his hand but continued to watch him.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She shook her head, stepping back into a circle of light. “What I’m thinking shouldn’t be said.” She blinked her eyelids rapidly, her frown tight.
He scooted closer and captured her hand again. “Something to do with me?”
She turned her face away but didn’t take her hand from his. “Yes.” Her voice was so breathless he might have imagined that answer.
“What?”
She just shook her head again.
He tried not to huff in frustration. After that whisper of a yes, she had to like him just a little bit, yet she seemed to think it necessary to tamp down those feelings. He didn’t expect her to spill all her secrets just because he asked her to, but it surely wasn’t emotionally healthy to keep herself bottled up either. With a finger to her chin, he gently brought her face back around. “You know you can tell me anything, right? We’re friends.”
The word friends seemed to relax her a bit, and she smiled slightly.
“Do you know how pretty you are?”
Her smile disappeared—as he should have expected. “That doesn’t sound like something a friend would say. Besides, it’s just the new gown and fancy hairdo.”
“I’m not looking at the dress or the hair.” He let his thumb caress her jaw, amazed that she hadn’t backed away from his touch yet.
Many women wore “natural” makeup though they claimed they wore none, but Evelyn really hadn’t worn any until tonight.
The pink in her cheeks, though a natural color, never disappeared, and the lampblack and Vaseline concoction he’d asked Marianne about once seemed to be on Evelyn’s lashes.
The coloring made her prettier, he supposed, but that wasn’t what stood out to him nearly as much as what she’d covered up. He’d noticed while they were dancing, and the harsh light of the lantern confirmed it.
He dared to move his hand, and she only stood there, looking straight at him as if mesmerized. He let his fingers trail along her hairline to her cheek, where he knew she had pox scars, but they were covered with some kind of flesh-colored makeup.
Masking them didn’t make her lovelier, just . . . different. But no matter what she put on her face, it wouldn’t change her eyes, the proverbial window to the soul, a tortured soul he longed to fix.
Her eyes closed and his heart sped up. Her lips were just inches away. Could she be wishing on a star after all? Was she waiting for a kiss?
The last notes of the string quartet slowed near the end of the song, and he leaned forward.
Her eyes flew open and she stepped out of his reach.
And the song died.
“Oh, David.”
The longing in the syllables of his name made his breathing speed up. He reached to cup her chin again, but she took another step back.
“I have to go now. Right now.” And with that, she fled back to the ballroom.
His body shook slightly, and he sucked in air. Though he wanted to rush after her, he’d only embarrass her in front of a crowd—and as everyone had told him, he couldn’t go too fast.
He turned to look out over the line of carriages heading off into the night, most likely headed to Lowe’s hotel. When his heart settled, he looked back up to the few stars he could see. Maybe he didn’t need to wish on any after all.
He’d nearly kissed her, and though she’d fled, he’d seen she wanted to kiss him too.
31
The cool of the morning hurried David through the main doors of his factory. The heavy heat of the furnaces would be welcome today, but until they were hot enough to warm the entire building, at least he was out of the wind.
The main floor of the factory was nearly empty, but off in a corner, Mr. Kerry was drinking a cup of coffee while reading the paper. David flipped open his timepiece. Did his foreman always come in this early before work?
The man must have heard the door, and after glancing up, he raised his hand in greeting.
“Good morning,” David called. And it was. Every morning since the ball had been good. For the past three nights, he’d fallen asleep reliving how Evelyn had let him trail his fingers along her soft skin, how she’d looked at him with yearning, even if she hadn’t acted on it.
Since then, nothing had brought his feet back down to earth—not the boardinghouse’s awful oatmeal, not his unending paperwork, not even an entire run of glass jars ruined.
After work yesterday, he’d gotten two more businessmen to financially contribute to Evelyn’s project. For the past few evenings, he’d been following up on all the
contacts he’d made at the ball. And after his talk with Queenie this morning, Evelyn’s desire to help women might become a reality even before the women’s home existed.
It seemed the best way to soften her toward him was to make her dreams come true. And she had softened to him over the past few weeks—she’d sought his arms when she was worried about her father, she’d watched him when she didn’t think he’d notice, and on the balcony, she’d said his name in such a way he could have sworn an I love you lay behind the word.
And yet, she’d fled as if she were a fawn and he a huntsman.
If it weren’t for Lydia’s insistence that he’d be the best man for Evelyn, and Mr. Wisely’s prayers that he could help his daughter open up, he’d likely have given up already.
What was he doing anyway? Marianne might never have acted as if she wanted to kiss him, but she certainly was a lot more comfortable to be around. He felt at home with her. Evelyn made him unsure of his every move.
But Evelyn’s father had said it would be a long road. Did he have enough endurance for such a monumental task when he never could seem to stand against his own father for long? Could he keep going with such minimal encouragement?
Hmmph. Seems his thoughts had just plunged him back to earth again.
He took his time climbing the stairs to his office, looking out over the near-empty floor and imagining the bustle that would take over in about twenty minutes. At the top, he leaned on the railing and looked out through the little windows high up near the ceiling.
What could he do to stay in Teaville long enough to find out if he could ever scale the wall Evelyn put between them? He only had another month and a half before Nicholas planned to advertise for help. And even if he got far enough with Evelyn to have Nicholas hold off advertising, he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend all day, every day at the orphanage. He did like several aspects of business—like tweaking projections, making things run more efficiently, and balancing the ledgers—all of which he’d have no chance to do at an orphanage.
Wait. Nicholas and Lydia had worked alone at the orphanage before the Wiselys took over, so what would keep him from running a business as Nicholas surely had?
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