by Joanna Shupe
She picked at a loose thread on the bedding. “Do you believe my father will approve of Julius?”
“If you’re happy, then I cannot imagine your father standing in the way of a match. It’s not as if Mr. Hatcher is a fortune hunter, after all.”
The words brought to mind Julius’s sneer when she’d told him about Robert. “Allow me to guess. A struggling artist.” The tips of her ears grew hot. Robert was not a fortune hunter. In the first place, the subject of her family’s money had never been raised between them. His love for her was genuine—not a scheme to ensnare an earl’s daughter. Did Julius think her so silly as to not know the difference?
“There is indeed that,” she murmured when she realized her aunt was staring at her. “Julius has more money than God, it would seem.”
Her aunt chuckled. “Quite possibly. More importantly, because he lives an ocean away, your father won’t have heard of Mr. Hatcher’s wilder exploits.”
Not if Nora could help it. She wanted her father to catch wind of every misdeed and outrageous moment of Julius’s life. The more scandalous places they visited together, the higher the chance of it making the papers. Her father would be outraged and undoubtedly come to see what a terrible idea it had been to send her to New York.
“Do you feel up to paying afternoon calls today?” her aunt asked. “There are several we should return, including the Appletons. I thought you might want to visit with their daughter, Kathleen. I noticed the two of you speaking the other night at the ball.”
“Oh, yes.” Nora perked up at the idea. “I should like that very much.”
“Very good.” Aunt Bea glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We have an hour or so yet before we need to leave. I’ll let you catch up on your correspondence.”
“Thank you, Aunt Bea. For everything.” She meant it. Her aunt had opened her home and her heart to this niece she’d barely known. Even after Nora returned to England, she would not forget this kindness.
“My pleasure. You’ll see.” Aunt Bea patted Nora’s shoulder. “It’ll all work out. We shall make a true New Yorker out of you yet.”
When her aunt left, Nora dove for the letters and tore open the most recent from Robert first.
The poem at the top made her smile. He’d taken each letter of her name and written a line about her qualities. O was for her “Open and trusting manner, her Otherworldly beauty.” Otherworldly seemed an odd description but she was not complaining. Certainly the thought counted in the art of wooing.
Halfway through the letter, her breath caught. No, no, no. How . . . ? She sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress and reread the words.
The earl paid a call yesterday. It was a civil meeting and I think he believed me when I said we had not been in contact. As always, I am counting the minutes until you are safely back in my arms . . .
Papa had inquired whether she and Robert were corresponding. Why? More important, how had he learned where Robert lived? She checked the date of the letter and saw it had been written three weeks ago.
A cold unease slid over her skin.
She needed to return to England.
Soon.
Chapter Seven
Darkness cloaked the city as the carriage rolled downtown, away from the electrified mansions of Fifth Avenue and toward the seedy entertainment district known as the Tenderloin. Julius knew he’d well and truly lost his mind to participate in this scheme. Why couldn’t he say no to this woman?
She looked dashed pleased with herself, too, nearly bouncing in the seat across from him in her excitement, her wide eyes tracking their progress through the streets, fascinated. He suddenly wanted to learn more about her. Know her secrets. He gathered she’d been fairly sheltered in London—until her father sent her away. “How did he discover you?”
She jerked at his abrupt question. “He, who?”
“Your father. You said he disapproves of Robert. How did he learn of the affair?”
“It isn’t an affair,” she snapped.
He had no desire to launch into an argument this soon in the evening, so he held up his hands. “I mean no offense.” There wasn’t enough light in the carriage to see her expression so he plowed on. “How did your father learn of the deep and loving relationship?”
She cleared her throat. Twice. This caused Julius to inch a little closer on the seat, curiosity thrumming through him. She finally said, “I arranged for him and some of his Parliamentary peers to discover us together one evening.”
Julius’s jaw fell open as he tried to put this together. “You and Robert . . . found locked in an embrace . . . in front of a bunch of stuffy English lords?”
“That is about the right of it.”
He ignored the edge in her answer and threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, God. He must have been humiliated.”
“Who, Robert?”
“Your father. To have his daughter flaunt such disrespect under his nose . . . in front of his cronies? No wonder you were sent to America.”
“I had to do it.” Her skirts rustled as she straightened on the velvet seat. “If he’d been alone he may have just ignored it.”
True, but no man wanted his daughter’s intimacy thrown in his face. Julius never wanted kids of his own, but even he knew that. “What did you think would happen when they found you?”
She lifted a shoulder, her hands smoothing out her cloak. “What any father does when his daughter is caught with a man to whom she is not married.”
“Well, that plan certainly failed,” he said through a chuckle.
“Obviously. And I am so pleased to serve as a source of amusement for you.”
He tried to rein in his mirth. This was clearly a sore spot, even though her scheme had been reckless at best. “I apologize. Are you close with your father?”
“Children of the British aristocracy are not known for being smothered by parental affection.”
“So he ignored you?”
“No need to paint me a tragic figure. I had more advantages than most. And what of your parents? You said your mother lives upstate.”
The swift change in topic was not lost on him. “Yes. She lives with my sister, Agatha. My father died when I was thirteen.”
“Other siblings?”
“Clarissa but she moved to Chicago years ago. I go upstate once or twice a year.”
“Do they ever come to New York?”
“No, never.” His mother hadn’t visited once since she left. He’d invited her countless times but she always made excuses. It had taken him a while to realize that his home, his wealth embarrassed her.
The carriage slowed as they arrived at Thirtieth Street. A large crowd had gathered on the corner in front of the legendary dance hall—a term used loosely considering the activity on the second floor—and he once more questioned his sanity in assisting in this endeavor.
“Stay with me,” he told Nora. “Do not get lost in the crowd or separated—and absolutely do not go to the upper floors.” He thought of the curtained alcoves designed for trysts. “Or the balcony.”
Her wide gaze took in the brightly lit three-story building. Music and conversation drifted in, hints of the raucousness one could expect to find inside the walls.
“Is it always this lively?” she asked, not turning away from the window.
“Yes, whenever the doors are open.” The area was one of the most popular entertainment destinations in the city, with saloons, opium dens, brothels, and restaurants all crowded on top of one another. Vice could be found at any time on any street corner. He and his friends had certainly proven that over the years.
The carriage door opened. Julius descended and then assisted Nora to the ground. “Perhaps you should put up the hood of your cloak,” he suggested. “Just until we’re inside.” And tucked into a corner somewhere, safely away from the crowd.
“Why?”
He couldn’t tell her the real reason: a desperate attempt at protecting her reputation. So he went with a lie. “It’
s not uncommon to see drinks thrown about. You wouldn’t want to get drenched in whiskey.”
“Oh.” She drew the cloth over her head, which shrouded her hair and placed her features in shadow. Then she took his arm and they set off for the front door. A large band played a gay tune, a siren’s song to the degenerates frequenting the wicked neighborhood, degenerates like himself. Hell, he’d been lured by similar tunes many times over the years.
Which was how he knew this was a terrible idea.
Cutting through the crowd, Julius worked toward the large, mustached man who guarded the entrance.
“Twenty-five for the gents. Ladies drink free,” the man called out in a booming voice. The side of his mouth hitched when he saw Julius. “Mr. Hatcher! It has been a while. Good to see you again, sir.”
Julius slid a dollar piece into the man’s palm. “Hello, Jim.”
They were quickly waved through the main door. Taking a deep breath, he led an earl’s daughter into the very heart of New York City’s debauchery.
The Haymarket was billed as a dance hall, yet dancing seemed a distant secondary activity to the general merrymaking and mingling throughout the cavernous space. Nora gaped, lowering her hood for an unencumbered view as they entered, Julius staying close to her side.
Hedonism surrounded them from every angle. Serving girls moved briskly through the crowd. Ladies beneath plumed evening hats hung on the arms of well-dressed gentlemen, while women of a coarser nature strolled the wooden floors with working-class men. Each guest clutched a drink of some kind, whether champagne or ale, and the sound of laughter nearly drowned out the booming band. It was a wondrous mix of humanity—young and old, rich and poor—one she hadn’t ever experienced in London.
On the stage were five dancing girls, their colorful skirts bouncing as they kicked their legs high. Men lingered close to the edge of the stage, leering, but the girls laughed and danced, ignoring the admirers.
Nora had a strong urge to dash up there and join the women on the stage. To bask in the freedom and conviviality of the hall.
“Let’s find a table.” Julius took her elbow and began navigating the crowds and small round tables. He passed scads of empty seats until they reached a dark corner, as far from the excitement as they could possibly get.
He held out a chair, but she shook her head. “I won’t be able to see a thing from here.”
“Yes, but it’s quieter. We’ll have a better opportunity to carry on a conversation.”
Was he serious? “Is that why we’re here? To converse with one another?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, and she immediately understood. This was an attempt to keep her away from the crowds and protect her reputation. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she spun on her heel and strode off toward the stage, not bothering to see if he followed.
Of course he’d follow. Instead of her conspirator, Julius was beginning to feel more and more like a chaperone. He’d ordered her to keep her hood up all night and not to talk to anyone. And not to leave his side. A long list of rules had been set down in the carriage, none of which she planned on following.
The small wooden tables near the stage were all occupied. Nora didn’t let that stop her. Perhaps she could convince someone to share.
A large man with streaks of dirt on his face rose at her approach, a shabby brown derby clutched between his hands. “Miss, would you like a seat?” He gestured to his table, where his friend was avidly staring at the women on stage.
“Are you certain?” she asked in her politest accent. “I would not care to disrupt your evening.”
The man kicked his friend’s chair. “No, we was just leavin’. You’re more’n welcome to the table.”
“Leaving?” his friend said without looking over. “I didn’t say nothin’ about leaving.”
The first man kicked the chair once more, gaining his friend’s attention. When he pointed at Nora, the second man shot to his feet. “I beg your pardon, miss . . . ma’am. Here, have our table.”
Nora felt Julius behind her, but she ignored him. “Thank you ever so much,” she told the two men. “I am visiting from London and this is my first time in the Haymarket.”
“Then you should have the finest seat in the house.” The man held out her chair.
She began to unfasten her cloak and the other man rushed to assist her with it.
“Do you mind?” she heard Julius snarl, now directly at her back. “I’m capable of helping my fiancée with her cloak.”
Biting her lip in an attempt not to laugh, Nora threw off the heavy outer garment. Julius gave a quick intake of breath, and the two men who’d given up their table gaped.
He told me I should blend in.
The red silk dress, procured by her maid earlier today, was edged in black lace and clung to Nora’s curves. The neckline was the lowest she’d ever worn in public, with so much of her bosom on display that she very well might catch cold. The tops of her breasts were thrust up, her waist cinched in tight, the dress designed to attract attention. To entice.
She lowered herself into the empty chair and sent a smug smile to Julius, who glared at her before reaching into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a billfold, peeled off a few bills, and handed them to the departing men. They traded handshakes, with Julius uttering a few words that had the men chuckling before they disappeared onto the dance floor.
“I hope you’re happy,” he grumbled over the ruckus as he sat. “Everyone in the place is staring at you right now.”
Excellent. “Let them stare. That is why we are here, after all.”
“You should not be dressed in something so . . .” He waved a hand in her vague direction. “Obscene.”
“I was attempting to not appear as an earl’s daughter. After all, isn’t that what you wanted?”
His lips flattened as he motioned to a serving girl. “Why, Mr. Hatcher, hello.” The girl’s fingertips trailed boldly over the fine wool covering his shoulder. “What would you like this evening?”
“Just a bottle of champagne for now.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair, closer to the girl, who stroked his jaw before turning and leaving.
The innuendo could not be thicker if it were molasses, Nora thought, her stomach clenching. If he were a real fiancé she would kick him right now. How dare he encourage that woman?
Even worse, why did she care what he did?
Nora forced the jealousy aside. Friends. We are merely friends. She studied him through her lashes. Such an interesting contradiction, this man. He appeared at home in the Haymarket, with his roguish features and elegant evening suit, yet he seemed equally comfortable in the throngs of polite New York society. How did he do it?
She angled closer. “How often do you visit this fine establishment?”
“Once or twice a month, I suppose.”
Frequently, then. One of the dancers openly grinned at him, trying to catch his attention, though Julius wasn’t watching her, his gaze trained on the surrounding tables instead. Was he concerned they might be set upon by roughs?
“But I usually don’t sit up front,” he continued.
“Why not?” Wouldn’t he want the best seat in the house?
His gaze darted around the room, almost nervously. But that was ridiculous. What would he have to be nervous about? He lifted a shoulder and said, “I don’t like crowds.”
The champagne arrived then and was quickly poured. He slipped the serving girl a few bills, and she bent to whisper something in his ear before walking away. Nora hadn’t been able to hear it but she could guess as to the nature of the remark. Probably something about services available upon request.
Julius handed over a glass and then retrieved the other for himself. He touched the crystal together in a toast. “To getting out unscathed.”
She frowned. Now what in heaven’s name had he meant by that?
The dance ended and applause broke out. Nora clapped, Julius adding in a few whistles. The dancers all bowed and fluffed their ski
rts, one even turning around and revealing her drawer-covered bottom to the crowd. Nora smothered a gasp, though the patrons roared their approval.
Julius leaned in. “If that scandalized you, we should leave right now. There’s no telling what else you may see tonight.”
“I am hardly scandalized, merely surprised—and we are not leaving.”
He sipped the champagne, his full lips a sharp contrast to the delicate rim. Dangerous, devil lips. She thought of how they’d felt on hers, the heat rolling off his body as he’d kissed her, rough bark at her back . . .
No, stop. She must not entertain a physical attraction to this man. With a flick of her wrist she opened her black lace fan and cooled her face.
Setting down his champagne, he asked, “What do you hope to accomplish this evening? Are you hoping reporters are lurking in the crowd, pen in hand, waiting for a story? Or perhaps one of the gentlemen unable to stop staring at your bosom will come over and whisk you away from me.”
Was that why he’d been studying the crowd?
“No one will try and whisk me away, Julius. Furthermore, you must stop complaining. The sooner we gain notice in New York, the sooner I’ll be called back to London. Then you may return to your Miss Desmond, the Haymarket, and outrageous parties.”
“I hope you realize you are threatening your position in society—as well as mine—with that dress and your presence here.”
She waved her hand and swallowed more champagne. “I am not all that concerned with what society thinks. You’ll soon learn to think the same.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I need to circulate in society, Nora. I cannot be unconcerned with what they think, not just yet.”
The way he said it, the choice of the word need, caught her attention. “Tell me, then. Why do you need to ingratiate yourself to them? It cannot be for the money or the status, because you have both.”
He tossed the rest of the liquid in his glass into his mouth, swallowed. “My father—”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” A tall, mustached man had come out onto the small stage. “We have a treat for you this evening. One of New York’s greatest actresses will perform a song from her new show. Please welcome Miss Poppy Desmond.”