What Drew wouldn’t give for a ginger beer with the “grime set,” those concerned with matters beyond the latest Paris dresses and who was yachting where.
He didn’t spy Conway amid the crowd of black-jacketed men. Not that Drew spent much time perusing their faces. Traitorous gaze…it flashed straight toward the pastel-dressed ladies.
And found its mark the instant an emerald-gowned figure appeared in his line of vision.
She stood beside a man Drew didn’t recognize. Or did he? Something about the fellow, his dark hair, tall and narrow-shouldered build, green eyes—he and Adele could have been twins. Far too much of a coincidence for two similar-looking people to just happen to stand near each other in a crowd.
Adele didn’t have a twin. But she did have a brother.
Drew maneuvered his way through the clusters of guests situated throughout the room. Adele’s eyes locked with his, as he stopped in front of her.
“Good evening, Miss Linley.” When he’d begun this gentleman role, his bowing left much to be desired. After weeks watching the professionals, Drew flattered himself. He’d done a bang-up job mastering the art. He added to the gesture of chivalry with a kiss to Adele’s gloved hand, hoping that her brother didn’t see through his acting skills.
Adele drew her hand away with a graceful gesture and a stifled smile. “Likewise, Mr. Dawson.” She turned to include the man beside her in the circle. “Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Mr. Tony Linley. Tony, this is my friend, Mr. Drew Dawson.”
From across the room, the resemblance between Adele and her brother was remarkable. Up close, it became a resemblance, nothing more. Though possessing a similar height and build, Tony owned little of his sister’s regal bearing. His eyes, though green, were not of the same emerald shade as Adele’s, and there was something about them, an unrest, perhaps, that could not be denied.
“How do you do, Mr. Dawson?” Tony gave a nod, his British accent smooth.
“Very well, thanks.” Drew could have left it at that and walked away. But he had questions about the wherefores and whys of Adele’s wastrel brother showing up in America. Was the man looking for money? “Did you recently arrive, sir? Miss Linley didn’t mention you were planning a visit.”
And the look in Adele’s eyes suggested she hadn’t known until recently. She gave him a small smile, though her skin seemed paler than usual against the dark green backdrop of her dress. Her imitation diamonds caught the light of the chandelier, sparkling against her skin.
“Del didn’t know until I arrived just this afternoon.” Tony chuckled, glancing at his sister. “Thought I’d surprise her.”
“And did you?” Drew posed the question to Tony, while keeping his eyes on Adele. An unrest, not an obvious one, but there nonetheless, lingered in both siblings. One that required more probing.
“Did I ever! She practically fell down the stairs in astonishment.” Tony laughed again. “Still can’t get over how glad she is to see me, can you?” Something about the man’s high-pitched tone suggested he’d had one too many drinks. But from what Drew could see, the footmen weren’t passing anything around, not before dinner was served.
“I’m very happy you’ve come, Tony.” Adele’s smile seemed genuine at least. Of course, she’d already proved herself a consummate actress, so she could be faking it. “How have you been of late, Mr. Dawson?”
He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to find out more about Tony Linley. Yet this wasn’t a courtroom but a drawing room, and the outright question couldn’t be dodged.
“Well enough. I received one of my own handbills just before heading over here.”
Tony’s brows rose. “Handbills? What are you? An actor or something?”
Drew glanced at Adele, attempting to ask with his eyes, Do you want to tell him, or shall I? He didn’t know much about this brother of hers, what his response would be to Drew’s line of work. Adele hadn’t taken to it well. Maybe it was a British thing.
“Mr. Dawson has become a good friend to me during my time here. That’s the thing I like most about him.” If smiles were candles, Adele’s would’ve matched the brightness of the chandelier hanging overhead. Like a chilled traveler, Drew let himself bask in its warmth. “However, he is also a famous funambulist and is about to perform in just a few weeks.”
Obviously, Adele’s disdain for his occupation stemmed from different reasons than her nationality. For the instant the word funambulist left her lips, Tony’s eyes lit with interest.
“I’ve heard about that sort of thing. Chatted about it with the Prince of Wales once. He saw Blondin on his tour through America. The fellow actually offered to carry Bertie across his back, but His Royal Highness’s chaperones forced him to decline.” Tony’s grin matched that of any dazzled schoolboy. “You’re seriously going to repeat those antics in just a few weeks?”
“So the posters say.” Drew gave a congenial smile but continued to watch Adele from the corner of his eye. Though she’d agreed to let bygones be bygones, that didn’t mean she approved of his endeavors and he didn’t want to cause her unnecessary discomfort. The reasons for her dislike of his job went far beyond surface impressions, and feeding Tony’s enthusiasm would muddy waters that had only recently become clear.
“Aren’t you terrified? Clinging to a rope with nothing between you and those teeming waters. It sounds fearful to me!” Tony shuddered.
“Mr. Dawson has done so once before, most successfully. He has experience and will succeed this time, as he did the last. Though I personally find such antics unsettling, I trust Mr. Dawson’s abilities and look forward to congratulating him on his victory.” Amid the conversations buzzing around them, Adele’s words rang through the air, clear and full of trust.
The confidence in her eyes nearly undid him, so unexpected he could do nothing but stare at her and trust his eyes to convey his thanks. She’d given him a gift in those words, in that trust. One he did not deserve, and one his occupation hardly merited. Only Hope had shown such understanding. But then Hope would understand if he told her he intended to take the moon and bring it down to earth. What Adele offered had been hard-won and high-priced.
Yet she offered it, like a priceless coin held out in an outstretched hand.
Leaving Drew with nothing to do but take the coin, realize the value. And gaze into her smile.
Something troubling you?”
Mr. Conway’s words pulled her from her thoughts with as much abrupt carelessness as a little girl yanking her rag doll off the sofa by the strings of her yarn hair. Not that her thoughts were any she ought to have been entertaining. The look in Drew’s eyes as she declared her confidence in him had been worth any difficulties she’d faced in forming the words. They’d continued with their trivial conversation, and he hadn’t actually voiced any thanks. But it had been present, as surely as if he’d met her eyes and whispered the words.
Despite the drain of yet another social engagement, that moment had brimmed over with undeniable sweetness.
A sweetness that evaporated the very next instant, as Mr. Conway entered the room, apologizing profusely for his tardiness.
“Not a thing.” They sat in the gardens behind the Osbourne mansion, lounging on canvas chairs while Millie, Dorothea, and Gordon Kirby played an impromptu game of croquet. There was such a thing as too much idleness, and the Osbourne girls possessed it in spades. Adele too had begun to chafe at the utter nothingness of their existence. In England, her days had been occupied with estate matters and the welfare of the village, a few social engagements sprinkled in like salt atop a meal of wholesome vegetables.
In this American city, no one consumed many vegetables.
“I’m glad. I like to see you smile, despite how endearing that wrinkle in your brow is. In fact, I’d like to make certain your life is nothing less than an endless round of things to please and amuse you.” As if to punctuate his words, he reached across the space between their chairs and toyed with the ends of her fin
gers. A chill snaked up her back, despite the sun slanting down upon them in rays of warm light. Was this how a man made advances to a woman? Was this how she ought feel when he touched her hand? Was she supposed to find it romantic?
Though she didn’t have answers to the first two questions, the last was clear. Yes. She was supposed to find this, him, romantic. Because she wanted to marry him, and she needed to make him marry her. The man she chose must be told of and accept Linley Park’s financial state and her rather self-seeking reasons for needing access to his capital.
Though the American men she’d met possessed a certain daring, only Franklin Conway seemed the type to pursue a cash-poor English debutante.
So she deepened her smile and moved her hand closer to his. “Isn’t that a bit unrealistic? An endless round of things to make me smile? You haven’t lived in the world very long, Mr. Conway. Life isn’t all smiles and sunshine. Though I’m not nearly as wise as some people, I’ve seen enough of the world to learn the truth. There’s unhappiness, heartache, and even hardship. And the only way to cope is to face it head-on. Not try and get ‘round it.”
She’d started out intending to mirror his coy banter. Why had she not continued in that vein? Mr. Conway wasn’t Drew. Drew looked life straight in the eye and saw it for what it was, both the good and the bad. He laughed with her, yes, but wasn’t afraid to speak of things that mattered far beyond a giggle or light nothing.
Drew was also the person she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about.
“That may be true, yes. But I’ve worked hard for what I have and intend to take every opportunity to embrace the good things in life. Many hardships can be countered if one has enough cash.” After living in America for several weeks, she should have become used to the direct way Americans spoke of money, and other subjects an Englishman would have found indelicate. She had become more accustomed, grown a thicker skin. But the brash look in Mr. Conway’s eyes made her squirm.
Doing her best to quash her squeamishness, she tried for another smile, inhaling the scents of trimmed grass and blooming lilacs. The same fragrances had filled her senses in England, yet in this city, despite the garden atmosphere, they lacked a purity that Linley Park possessed. Or perhaps it was just her imaginings. Her own mental lack of clarity.
“Then I toast to your good fortune, sir.” She picked up her glass of lemonade and held it in salute.
“To both our good fortunes.” He clinked his glass to hers, and they drank the cool, tart liquid Delany had brought half an hour ago. “Which, if I don’t miss my guess, look brighter and more radiant by the day.”
“How do you figure that?” The remainder in her glass rippled as she placed it back on the table.
“Every time we meet, I’m awash in a new wave of radiance.” He leaned into the depths of his chair, the straw hat atop his head tilting at a rakish angle.
“And my fortunes?” Finally, she was learning. How to curve her lips into the prettiest of pouts, to lower her lashes, to exhale so the bodice of her dress lifted in just the right way.
Though experience had been her only teacher, it proved a faithful one. Mr. Conway’s gaze followed her every movement, as if she were the North Star to his compass. Any earlier talk of hardship had obviously flown straight from his brain. “Your fortunes are on the rise too.” His tone was smooth as silk and just as soft, his mustached upper lip curving into a half-smile. “All that remains is for you to grasp opportunity when it knocks, and meantime, leave the door wide open for it to enter.”
“Perhaps I shall.” She skimmed a finger across the edge of her chair. “If you’ll but teach me how.” Then before he could reply, she stood and crossed the garden, keeping her back straight and steps deliberate, making an exit any lady would be proud of.
Only she wasn’t proud. Flirting with Mr. Conway only made her feel…cheap. Like a fancy woman laying out wares for men to gape at. As if, instead of the pursuit of a husband, she was pursuing a lover to take her under his protection.
Not that she was an idealistic child. Mr. Conway thought her beautiful, as any man would the woman he hoped to wed. But must he look at her as if she were a plaything for him to…undress? No. That was an exaggeration. She was exaggerating, brought on by fatigue and strain and the tide of life that had swept her along as surely as water over Niagara.
Twirling one of the lilacs between her fingertips, she focused on inhaling the sweet scent, until footsteps sounded behind her. She turned.
“Do you know where your brother is, Adele? He promised to join us.” Dorothea—cheeks pink from exertion, sailor-style dress swishing around her legs—stood close by.
“Isn’t he inside?” At breakfast that morning, he’d declared his intentions to peruse the Osbourne library and play croquet with the girls. Of course, changing his mind was something he did in England as often as he changed clothes, but that was the old Tony. Not the reformed brother, penitent and determined to begin anew.
Dorothea shook her head. “Delany looked everywhere. And Millie and Gordon are tired of the game and went inside to look through the latest Harper’s Bazaar. I’ve no one to play with now, and Cousin Tony promised.”
Cousin Tony promised.
If Dorothea were smart, she’d know not to trust the word of certain people.
Adele drew a breath, letting the flower fall to the grass. Wherever her brother was, it wasn’t where he ought to be. But she wouldn’t disappoint Dorothea, and there would be time enough later to seek out Tony.
So she smiled and slipped her arm through her cousin’s, determined not to spoil the afternoon. “Come on. Let’s see if Mr. Conway is up to a trouncing.”
During the day, Canal Street could be walked through as safely as one would proceed around a sleeping guard dog. By nightfall, the dog awoke, growled and writhed in fine form. As did Canal Street. Light spilled from the open doors of saloons and gaming houses. The tinny strains of a piano plunked into the air with as much precision as a barmaid slapping beer mugs onto dirty tables.
Having grown up around the guard dog, Drew had learned firsthand how to master it. How to pull his hat down low and blend into the crowd. How to wear a greatcoat over any outfit that bespoke wealth. How to avoid the beggars that plied their trade simply for profit and how to slip a coin to those truly desperate.
It struck him as almost ridiculous, how this place, this street had begun to feel like home. For there was not a thing to recommend it, save familiarity.
Tonight, he whistled a jaunty tune under his breath and walked with a bit more spring in his step than usual. He’d befriended a woman who ran a bakery shop and she’d given him a bag of stale sweet rolls, declaring that she’d rather see them eaten than chucked out. He and Hope would have a treat tonight. In the daily grind of life, the promise of a simple pleasure could make the world spin all the merrier. Or so Hope forever told him.
His gaze landed on one of the finer gaming establishments. Caro Aubrey’s Castle. The place boasted a cheap opulence that, for some absurd reason, attracted the upper classes, those men brave enough to trek to Canal Street and spend their dollars on cards and roulette. Drew had gone in once, not to gamble but to collect a friend’s misbehaving son and return him to his family. While there he’d glimpsed the mysterious Caro Aubrey, the real draw of the gaming castle. Bedecked in fine fabric, bereft of any jewelry lest it be pilfered, her shining golden hair and deep blue eyes brought men from all social spheres to gaze at her, the price being their money, lost at her tables.
Drew stopped short as he passed the place.
Just as Tony Linley ducked inside.
Drew tensed. Of course, he could have been mistaken. Could’ve been a hundred men. But he never forgot a face, a form, especially one he’d seen so recently standing in a drawing room.
An inebriated reveler knocked into Drew, his corpulent build throwing Drew of balance. Not even bothering with so much as an apology, the drunkard stumbled on, and Drew, on impulse, ducked inside. The despair of cheap
opulence surrounded him for the time it took to spy Tony Linley near the bar.
Not giving temptation a hairbreadth more of a foothold—for once, he might have succumbed to the urge to have a drink—Drew dodged outside and strode past the Castle. He didn’t stop until he gained the door of his apartment, let himself in, climbed the steps, and stood on the threshold of his rooms.
He hadn’t spoken to Adele, nor found out the reason for her brother’s arrival in the States. She’d seemed happy in his presence though, something that surprised him seeing as Tony had highly contributed to the family’s financial ruin.
Drew rubbed a hand across his jaw, fingers raking over stubble. He’d spent four hours that day practicing and another two going over arrangements with Conway’s assistant, Henry Godfrey, who dealt with his employer’s affairs when Conway was otherwise engaged. The rest had been occupied conveying himself from location to location. Sometimes, Conway offered the use of his conveyances, but either the man hadn’t felt generous today, or forgotten, as Godfrey hadn’t extended the offer. A cup of weak tea, the sweetness of a roll, and a chat with his sister would be just the thing to peacefully end a long day.
He turned his key in the lock and opened the door. Candlelight gave the living room a ruddy glow, illuminating Hope, a blanket over her knees, one of his shirts in her hands.
“I brought payment for the hardworking seamstress.” He pulled the bag of sweet rolls from his overcoat pocket and held it up for her to see.
“How delicious.” She smiled at him, laying aside her work. “But the best payment I receive is seeing you home each night, safe and sound.”
He stepped to her side and pressed a kiss against her hair. She smelled of soap and lemons, sweet innocence and unconditional love. “And the best payment I could ever gain is coming home to the dearest sister a brother could ask for.”
She giggled. “Well, if sweet rolls are indeed what are in that package, and it’s my payment for working so hard, I’ll take my compensation now, if you please.”
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 11