by Unknown
Seeing Dalton the next day was difficult, but she couldn’t have sent him away. Being near him felt more wonderful than the thought of avoiding him for the sake of her pride. He looked so handsome and boyishly charming as he struggled through his discomfort in the Winthrop home. If she had been discontent with her life before seeing him again, she was in complete misery now. Still, there was no reason for it. Dalton was a childhood infatuation, a worthy and wonderful man to pin her young heart on. He haunted her dreams, but she knew his appeal lie in what he represented.
Home.
Thoughts and dreams of him coaxed her back to a time and place where she felt the warmth of sisterly love and the independence of the west. His being in Boston shed bright, unmistakable light on how wide the gap was between who she used to be and who she was trying hard to become. In his eyes, she was a Brahmin, yet in the eyes of the Brahmins, she was a grasping ignoramus from the uncivilized west. Who was she and where did she truly belong? She had no idea, and it sapped all joy from her spirit. There was no more telltale sign of her listlessness than her failure on the stage this night. The energy from the crowd, the sense of purpose and resoluteness, were all lost on her, just as she was lost inside herself.
Though she relished her upcoming debut at the opera house, she was sad to leave the people of The Museum. She couldn’t risk Sarah catching her and cancelling. Marlena only had two weeks left at the venue before her true life took hold. It was becoming clear to Marlena that she’d pinned false hope on the debut, as if it being set would infuse her with all of the happiness she’d been craving. But the void was still there.
She sat at the vanity backstage and removed the mask she’d worn all night, grateful she wouldn’t have to spend an hour scrubbing greasepaint from her face. Her hair was still soft from its washing the day before and she plaited it over a shoulder. She sat on a stool in nothing but corset and bloomers until her body cooled and she tied a robe on. The reflection looking back at her was forlorn and empty.
Monkey approached and handed her a folded note. Even this nightly ritual failed to cheer her, but she took the paper with a wan smile. Her fingertips worked over the paper’s edge, and the words she read invited a small bit of warmth back into her heart.
Lovers ever run before the clock.
This time, her smile was real. Every woman wants to be admired, and here was a man who admired her without ever having seen her face. He saw something in her, something of her true self which she offered from the stage, something that had nothing to do with how she looked. That was a stronger pull than the sweetest of compliments.
After two days of a dark heart, this man had brought in light. She knew his effects should not be ignored. Like any warm creature lunges for the light, she scribbled out a quote for him in return.
Let’s go hand in hand. Not one before another. – I invite you.
She gave the note to Monkey and returned to the vanity, resting her elbows on the wooden top, hands folded beneath her chin. And that’s the position she was in when her eyes met his in the mirror. The heavy beats of her heart drummed in her ears before slowing to a quiet crawl. Her body went still, paralyzed and cold. If her hands hadn’t been holding her chin up, it would have fallen with her jaw in pure shock. Her eyes grew wide enough to hurt.
“Dalton?”
His face bore the same incredulity. “What in the hell…”
“What are you doing in here?” She spun in her chair. The part of her robe fell open, revealing her knees clad in white stockings. His eyes dropped to the sight and she quickly stood and held the scant covering closed over her body. His face had gone pale, his mouth agape and his eyes roved in a slow, stunned circuit of the room.
“Well?” she demanded.
He blinked in rapid succession and licked his lips before shaking his head clear of the confusion controlling him.
“Um…” he stepped forward, coughed a laugh, and held up her note. “You invited me.”
She gasped and covered her mouth with her palm. “You?”
He scratched his brow and laughed again. “My thoughts exactly.”
Nausea spiraled in her stomach and crawled up her throat. She spun away from him and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe this.”
He took a deep breath behind her. “Again, my thoughts exactly.”
Her head shook back and forth at the enormity of it all. Dalton! Sending her quotes from Shakespeare, making her feel like the most important and talented human in Boston, yet also responsible for the sadness gripping her the past two days. Dalton. There at The Museum, backstage, with her in nothing but a robe and undergarments. She ducked behind the mirror and peaked around it so only her eyes could be seen. He chuckled and anger boiled inside of her.
“What are you doing back here?” she asked, her voice tight. He held out a palm and peered sideways at her, as if he didn’t understand why she was asking such a question and she huffed. “I didn’t mean for you to come back here.”
“You didn’t?”
“Of course not! You don’t think I invite strangers to see me half-dressed, do you?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, obviously I should have been more specific in my note.”
He placed a hand on his hip and used the other to rub his forehead. “Yes, you might have been. What, exactly, did you mean when you wrote ‘I invite you’?”
Heat flooded her cheeks and she was glad the mirror hid her crimson-colored skin. “I was inviting you to…to…well, what were you suggesting in your note to me?”
Dalton stopped pacing and laughed, his blue eyes boring into hers with a new level of intensity. “Honey, I doubt you and I had the same thing in mind. If you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll wear the dress in your next play.”
His meaning seeped into her, creating an inferno deep in her belly that turned to anger as it reddened her cheeks. Her spine stiffened. “I am insulted you would think to earn that from me with only a handful of Shakespearean quotes.”
“I wouldn’t have if I had known it was you,” he said, gesturing toward her. “I expected a more…worldly woman.”
“So sorry to disappoint you,” she drawled.
“I’m not disappointed,” he said, and his lips began to curl slightly at the corners as his eyes roved slowly around her face, igniting shivering tingles over her skin.
She tightened her fist around the fabric of her robe. “You’re…you’re not disappointed it’s me?”
He chuckled. “The young girl I met at the restaurant? That was disappointing. But the woman I’ve watched on the stage these past weeks…definitely not disappointing.” He shook his head with an incredulous huff. “Damn sure shocking, though. I’ll tell you that.”
She found herself relaxing and giggling along with him. “I imagine so.”
His Adam’s apple twitched over his swallow before he asked with trepidation in his voice, “Are you disappointed it’s me?”
Her eyes met his and she shook her head twice.
He smiled and took a deep breath. “So, this is where you perform three nights a week, then? Not at the Boston Opera House?”
She grimaced at the revelation of her deceit. “Not at the Boston Opera House. Although I wasn’t lying about the show three weeks hence. I am set to debut then.”
“And I take it your darling Winthrop family has no idea you’re here?”
Her head shook slowly back and forth and he burst into laughter. She sighed and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so amused.”
“But I am amused. I am thoroughly pleased to know this side of you still exists.”
“What do you mean still exists? What side of me are you talking about?”
“The bold side,” he answered. “I always admired that part of you, the fearlessness, the lack of intimidation, the part of you that ran away out into a desert thunderstorm at thirteen.” She chuckled and scrunched her face skeptically. He shrugged with a smirk. “I said it was brave, not smart. After our
lunch, I thought it’d been conditioned away by the strictures of high society.”
Marlena’s gaze fell to the floor. He had no idea how close he was to the truth, for that part of her had almost been stripped away. If she hadn’t found her way into performing at The Museum, that part of her would have melted into oblivion under the Winthrop household.
“I’m sure it bolsters confidence in the movement knowing Elijah Winthrop’s very own ward is here campaigning against him,” he continued.
She folded her bottom lip between her teeth and peered sideways at him. “Uh…actually…”
His eyes scrunched as he squinted at her in study. “The people here don’t know who you are either?”
Her insides twisted. These were the people she felt guilty deceiving. They’d become good friends, but they still believed her to be the daughter of an innkeeper. While she agreed with Dalton that her identity would strengthen the morale of the cause, it would also risk her future as an opera singer, and she wouldn’t jeopardize the objective she’d worked so hard to attain. She looked at Dalton and shook her head yet again.
“And on that note, please keep your voice down,” she said. “I don’t want to cause any upset around here, especially when I only have two weeks of performances left.”
His brow fell into worried grooves. “What do you mean?”
“My debut is set for the first of the month. I won’t do anything to risk it, so the performance in six days will be my last.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s a shame.”
Guilt and defensiveness warred within her. “Dalton, my life here is much more complicated than you realize.”
“I can see that,” he said with a laugh. “But there is something I don’t understand, Marlena,” he said as he took a step forward. “You’re amazing out there. Why on Earth haven’t you been performing at the Boston Opera House?”
She smiled at his compliments, at the sound of her name rolling off his lips, but when the reply to his question was admitted out loud, it brought reminders of her frustrations.
“Sarah wouldn’t allow it before. Even now, she claims I am not ready to grace the stage, though she’ll let me do it.”
His face scrunched in disgust. “She’s jealous, simple as that. And she has every reason to be. She’s a canary to your nightingale.”
Marlena laughed softly as heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thank you, but you’re wrong. Sarah Jeanne has the most beautiful voice in the country.”
“No. No, she doesn’t,” he returned with a shake of his head. “When you sing…Marlena, there’s nothing more beautiful in the wide world than your voice.”
They locked eyes and Marlena forgot to breathe. The room was hot and humid, and so were her insides. Neither spoke and she could only hope his thoughts and body were as frantic and frenzied as her own.
Finally, he grinned. “But I can hardly hear your voice when you speak. It’s hard to believe you can belt notes when you sing.” She laughed quietly. “And still so shy. You can come on out, you know. You don’t have to hide back there.”
“I’m not decent, Dalton. Would you mind waiting for me in the alley?” She had to gain control of herself. Thoughts were whirling and racing as quickly as the blood in her veins and her heartbeat pumping it along.
“Of course,” he said before striding halfway across the space. He stopped and turned a smirk onto her. She studied his eyes, the slight crinkle of skin at their corners and the translucent blue that seemed to see right through her, as if he knew she stood trembling behind the mirror. “I’ll be damned, Marlena,” he said. “Of all the things I expected walking through that door…” He shook his head, chuckled, and left her alone, trembling at the wonderful sound of her name upon his lips.
She sank into the chair with a heavy sigh and rested her head on the vanity. Life was about to become either very good or very bad. She’d been discovered, and by none other than Dalton Cunningham, the man who first captured her heart in Virginia City and still held it in her dreams. When she stepped out into the alley to meet him face-to-face as her true self, what would happen?
Marlena looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the simple dress she’d made for traveling to and from The Museum on performance nights. The white bodice buttoned up to the base of her neck where a blue lace collar laid over it. The same lace folded as cuffs at the end of her long sleeves. She looked like an innkeeper’s daughter, more like the kind of woman Dalton would be used to seeing in the west. She felt more like herself, too, or rather more like her thirteen-year-old self, jittery with excitement knowing the man with whom she was wholly infatuated stood right outside her door.
Chapter 7
I’ll be damned.
The thought chanted through Dalton’s mind over and over and as he paced the alley. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had expected to find a woman of mature sexual appetites, one who would return his desires for a week or two, sending him back to Virginia City well sated. His experiences with female artists had proven this opinion time and time again, but Marlena was definitely not that kind of woman if her cowering behind a vanity mirror were any indication. Not that he could partake of her charms if she were that type of woman. She was Little Miss for crying out loud!
There was a strange clash of thoughts in his head. It had been refreshing to see Marlena as a passionate woman of many layers as opposed to the formal primrose he’d encountered, but that shouldn’t be significant. He’d always preferred life to laws that inhibited life. But the sting of disappointed hopes smarted through his body, especially his groin. He sighed, knowing he’d have to wait until Virginia City to scratch that itch with Rosa.
He never entertained the idea that his feelings for the woman on stage had truly gone beyond physical, but there was no denying Marlena’s performances had reached into a deeper part of him and created an effect he couldn’t name. Maybe some part of him had known it was her, had detected some bit of familiarity and tried to make it known to his mind? There was no telling why he’d felt so drawn to her, but it had proven a comedy he was sure they’d look back on fondly. He chuckled again, remembering the astonished look on her face when they’d locked eyes in the mirror.
When he turned around, the burly watchman, Monkey, was eyeing him with a suspicious slant of eye.
“You know that girl won’t be going anywhere with you alone,” the man announced.
Dalton admired his protectiveness while laughing at the absurdity of it. “You needn’t fear me or my intentions, good man. The lady and I go back many years since she was a wee thing.” Monkey didn’t seem amused or convinced, so Dalton went with the ruse he’d used at Marlena’s house. “In fact, I’m her cousin.”
Before Monkey could object, Marlena squeezed through the portal and out into the night. “It’s true, Monkey. He is my cousin from…New Mexico.”
Monkey sent her a reproachful look. “Penny, you and your cousin have been exchanging love notes?”
Dalton raised an eyebrow. Penny? So, that’s what they believed her name to be. Marlena laughed and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head.
“Can you believe such a prank?” she said through giggles. “Dalton, here, was putting up the greatest jest. He wanted to surprise me with a visit, and he certainly did. He’ll see me home, Monkey. No need to worry.”
The man seemed less than convinced, but his scowl relaxed when Marlena went to him for a hug. “We’re sure going to miss you around here, girl,” Monkey said.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Marlena replied. “More than you’ll ever know.”
They parted and she glided over to Dalton’s side and wrapped her hand around his offered arm. Dalton tipped his hat to Monkey and they strode down the alley toward the street. He stole a glance at Marlena and found her face drawn down and sad. Once out of earshot of the watchman, he nudged her with an elbow.
“Penny, eh? How many names do you have?”
She laughed. “Just the thre
e you know: Marlena, Helene and Penny.”
Helene was the name she’d used when she and her sister moved to Virginia City in disguise, but even back then he’d never called her that. “You forgot one,” he said, and she looked askance. “Little Miss, of course.”
She grunted in frustration. “That is not my name,” she insisted. “Just because you refuse to stop using it doesn’t mean I accept it.”
He laughed until he noticed her eyes darting to and fro along the length of the street. “What are you looking for?”
“We ought to hire a carriage,” she said. “It’s late.”
“You don’t have to worry when you’re with me. I’ll protect you.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I don’t want to be recognized.”
His eyes traced the outline of her hooded profile. “You’re sure going about it the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?” There was a hint of curiosity mingled with offense in her sparkling violet eyes, and he smiled.
“You’re wearing a full cloak in the thick of summer,” he answered. “That will draw more attention than anything else.” He reached over and removed her cloak, folding it under his arm. She fidgeted with her collar before pulling her long braid over a shoulder. Her gaze stayed pinned to the cobbles and he rolled his eyes before stopping their promenade.
He stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Look up,” he commanded and she did so slowly. The light of fear was brightening her eyes. “If you don’t act suspicious, you won’t look suspicious. You’ve already donned a plainer dress. Your hair is not primped and pinned in some elaborate coif. You don’t look like a member of the Winthrop household.” His eyes scanned her features, realizing how close they were to the ones he’d envisioned before he knew she was the actress. Porcelain white skin, ripe red lips, long fluttering lashes. “But you do look lovely.”