Charisma waved a hand in dismissal. “It wasn’t your fault the situation got out of your control.”
“Yes, it was,” Belle insisted, feeling remorseful. “I should have thought first, should have surveyed the company to ensure there were no tattlemongers present before I said anything. Now George won’t be able to show his face anywhere in town. It is too much.”
“Are you sure?” Charisma asked. “Perhaps you are blowing it out of proportion.”
“I don’t think so. Even Mr. Stanhope and Madame Aglaia are displeased with me . . . and they don’t even know I did it on purpose. What shall I do?” Belle wailed.
“That does sound bad,” Grace agreed. “But what can you do?”
“I must make it right.” Belle hit her pillow. “Darn it, whenever I try something clever or try to be beautiful, it misfires. But when I am myself, things seem to work out just fine.”
Charisma arched an eyebrow at her. “So what will you do to salvage this situation?”
Belle sighed. “As much I hate the thought, I shall have to apologize to George, and make sure I set the record straight with the town.”
“Apologize?” Charisma repeated in dismay. “After what he did to us?”
“Yes,” Belle said firmly. “After having the whole town discussing him last night and probably this morning, I think he’s been punished enough.”
“She’s right,” Grace said with a frown. “It went too far. An apology is the best way to correct it.”
Charisma sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But at least you did get revenge.”
And now she would have to pay the consequences for it. Reluctantly, Belle got out of bed to dress. She couldn’t ask Madame Aglaia or Alvina to assist her in such a delicate task. And Mama wouldn’t understand why Belle had to apologize. For this, she needed Papa.
Papa was in his study. At her knock, he called for Belle to come in. She did so, not sure how he would take what she was about to say. But she was sure her apprehension and reluctance were clearly evident in her expression.
“What’s the matter, Belle?” he asked kindly.
Tears filled her eyes. She could take any amount of yelling or condemnation, but let one person be kind to her and she turned into a watering pot. “I did something very bad,” she admitted. There. Blurting it out made her feel better already.
He nodded gravely. “Do ye want to tell me about it?”
Not really, but she had to. Haltingly, she explained what she had done, leaving out only that she had intentionally set out to punish George. “I—I think I misinterpreted what he said,” she explained. “And now he’s going to be ostracized by the whole town and it’s all my fault.” She stared anxiously at her father, hoping he could put it all right with a word, or tell her it wasn’t as bad as she thought.
But Papa wouldn’t lie to her. “That is a serious matter,” he agreed. “And ye came to me because . . . ?”
“Because I want to make it right. Papa. I want to apologize to Mr. Winthrop and set the story straight. Could you . . . escort me to his house?”
“That I can do.”
As Papa drove her to the Winthrops’ house in town, Belle worried about what to say, and if George would even agree to see her. But she needn’t have worried—Papa took care of the latter, insisting to the butler that Mr. George Winthrop would want to see them.
George came in with a hollow-eyed look and a haughty, distancing expression that showed more clearly than words that he hadn’t slept at all the night before and was prepared to thumb his nose at the world.
“You wished to see me?” he asked coldly.
He addressed his question to Papa, who nodded at Belle. “Me daughter has something to say to ye.” George raised an eyebrow at Belle, who felt even worse than she had before. “I-I wish to apologize,” she said, trying not to stutter. “I think I may have . . . misinterpreted something you said last night.”
Something unidentifiable flickered in George’s eyes. “I am certain you did,” he said stiffly.
She glanced at Papa, who nodded at her, clearly telling her to get on with it. “Then I fear I may have done you a great disservice and I would like to set it right.” She paused, swallowing hard when his stony expression didn’t change. “What exactly did you say to me?”
“I said Mrs. Palmer had a voice like a songbird in springtime,” he said with a fierce glare. “Not like a wounded cat.”
“Oh,” Belle said in a small voice, though she remembered what he had really said quite well. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I misheard.”
Apparently angry now, George said, “How could you mistake it so? They sound nothing alike.”
Belle hung her head. “I don’t know . . . there was so much noise all around us, so much chatter. I fear I must have heard two conversations and they jumbled themselves in my head as one.”
But George still looked angry, rightfully so. “You do realize I did not insult Mrs. Palmer?”
“Of course.” He was far too obsequious for that. “And in . . . in reparation, I shall visit Miss Mattingly and others of my acquaintance to set the record straight.”
Something like relief flickered in his eyes, but there was no forgiveness anywhere. “I would be obliged to you,” he said, though his eyes insisted it was more a debt than an obligation.
She nodded, knowing better than to ask for his forgiveness or friendship. He wouldn’t give the first and she didn’t really want the second. With another muttered, “I’m sorry,” she took her leave.
Papa said nothing once they were in the carriage about what had gone on. Instead, he merely asked for their next destination. With trepidation, Belle directed him to Miss Mattingly’s.
But when they were shown into the parlor, she halted in dismay. It appeared half the town was there before her. Not only were most of the guests present who had made up her party the night before, but so were Kit, Alvina, Madame Aglaia, and a few others she didn’t know.
When she was announced, all eyes turned to her, but she noticed only Kit’s—accusing and disappointed. Her heart sank at the sight. Would she ever get back in his good graces?
“Oh, do come in, Miss Sullivan,” Miss Mattingly shrilled. “And tell Mr. Stanhope exactly what Mr. Winthrop said last evening. He is trying to convince me that you were mistaken in what you heard.”
Avoiding Kit’s condemning gaze and Madame Aglaia’s concerned one, Belle murmured, “He is correct.”
“What?” Apparently, that was the last thing Miss Mattingly had expected her to say, for she appeared quite shocked.
“Yes, I realized later that I must have misheard what Mr. Winthrop said. He actually likened Mrs. Palmer’s voice to a songbird in springtime . . . but there was another conversation going on in the area about cats, and I’m afraid I confused the two.”
Miss Mattingly looked indignant. “Really.” But it wasn’t a question—more of an exclamation of disgust.
“Yes. I’ve just apologized to Mr. Winthrop and came directly here to set the record straight . . . and to apologize to you as well.”
Millicent seemed mollified by the offer of an apology. “Well, I’m sure it does you credit to admit to your mistake,” she said firmly, evidently unwilling to acknowledge responsibility for her own part in humiliating George Winthrop.
“Yes, it does,” Kit said.
Belle peeked at him and was relieved to see that he was regarding her approvingly.
He continued softly, “It does you credit and shows great courage. I commend you, Miss Sullivan.”
The relief that filled her was tremendous, and she felt tears pricking at her eyelids. She hadn’t done this to gain his approval, but to regain his regard was an unlooked-for bonus.
Madame, too, looked pleased with her, and Belle felt infinitely better. Especially since the fierce whispering occurring in the rest of the group assured her that the word would be all over town very soon.
Not knowing what else to say, and fearing she would start bawling in pub
lic if Kit continued to be kind to her, Belle took her leave.
Papa handed her into the carriage and gave her a hug. “Ye did a good thing there. I’m proud of ye, lass.”
Belle did burst into tears then. Everyone else might be pleased with her, but she was not at all pleased with herself. She should never have gotten into this situation in the first place.
Chapter Fifteen
A week after the debacle at the concert, Kit was glad to see that the furor and gossip had finally died down. A new scandal had taken its place, and George Winthrop was once more welcomed in drawing rooms around Little London.
Apparently, Kit was the only one who suspected Belle had intentionally embarrassed Winthrop, for he realized Belle’s social standing had never been called into question. Instead, she emerged as the heroine of the affair.
He smiled to himself. Belle was a heroine in his eyes as well. She had made the right decision without any prompting from anyone and refused to let people give her credit for it. It had taken a lot of courage to stand up in front of people like Millicent Mattingly and admit she was wrong, but Belle had done it without shirking.
Even if her original intent had been to embarrass Winthrop, she had made up for it by apologizing.
As a result, Kit had been more than happy to continue their lessons at Madame Aglaia’s. They had proceeded nicely, and Belle was fast becoming a model pupil. Today, he was demonstrating how to converse with diverse dancing partners.
To amuse her, he had played the roles of several gentlemen who might ask her to dance at the Founders’ Day Ball, such as a retired major, an avid horseman, and the genial founder himself, William Jackson Palmer.
Belle laughed at him throughout each impression, but still managed to maintain her poise and aplomb no matter what conversational ball he threw her.
Kit dropped his impression of a stuffy businessman and grinned at her. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem in this area, Miss Sullivan. You are doing quite well.”
Belle bobbed him a curtsey. Thank you, sir. But I have an excellent teacher, and it is all to his credit.”
“You flatter me. Really, you are becoming quite skilled in all your lessons.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you. And thanks to you, each day I’m becoming more and more confident in my ability to attend the Founders’ Day Ball without mishap.”
“Ah, yes, the ball—and the end of your lessons. I’m sure you can’t wait. I know I can’t.” It would be Belle’s triumph, the moment she brought everything she had learned together to be the belle of the ball. And it was less than a week away.
She gave him an odd look, one he couldn’t interpret. “Of course,” she murmured, then glanced into the parlor where her sisters were waiting. “But it is time for me to go. Mama is expecting me at home, and my sisters are here already to escort me.”
Kit watched her leave with a smile as Madame Aglaia came to stand next to him.
“She has certainly blossomed, has she not?” the dressmaker asked.
Kit smiled. “Yes, she has come a long way from the awkward girl I first met. It is odd how improving her appearance a fraction has increased her self-confidence tenfold.” She was truly a beauty now.
“You have done well there,” Madame said. “She is quite a young lady.”
“And I shall be sorry when our lessons are over.”
“You won’t see her any more after that?” Madame asked in surprise.
It was a shame, but . . . “No, she won’t need any more lessons.” In fact, Belle didn’t need them now, if she but knew it. “She needs to move on, to use her newfound confidence to find the man who will be right for her.” And, sadly, Kit needed to let her do that.
Madame regarded him oddly. “I was beginning to think you might be that man. . . .”
“I?” Kit said in surprise, though the thought had crossed his mind a time or two. Or twelve. “No, she is interested in another.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“She has said so repeatedly,” Kit reminded her. “And I have the impression she is harboring a secret from us. Do you not think so?”
Madame shrugged. “Perhaps. Many girls do.”
“I mean with regard to me.”
Madame Aglaia nodded wisely. “I see. You still suspect she is setting you up for revenge.”
Frankly, yes. Though he was surprised she had guessed his mind so accurately. “Do you think it likely?”
“Perhaps,” Madame conceded. “But you know her better than I. What do you think?”
“I hope not.” He hoped his friendship with Belle had progressed beyond that point, but from some of the things she had let slip, he feared she had something . . . devious planned for the ball.
No matter. Alter it was over, he would be able to get back to his own life, to continue pursuing his investment.
As if she had read his mind, Madame asked, “Have you had any luck in finding an investment?”
“Not yet.” And it was becoming rather frustrating.
“Well, instead of looking blindly for opportunities, perhaps you should concentrate on areas you are interested in,” Madame suggested.
Kit turned a questioning look on her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, what sort of things interest you? In general terms, what do you like to be a part of?”
Kit thought for a moment. “I have come to like this country, despite its rough edges, and to admire its citizens. I believe I would like to invest in its future, in good and honest men like Patrick Sullivan and General Palmer who are shaping this country into something noble and fine.” Though how he was to do that, he had no idea.
“And where do you see the future going?”
“West, of course.” Everyone knew that. The future lay in continuing to civilize the wild frontier.
“And how are people going to get there?”
What an odd question. “They have traveled by wagon train, on mules, horseback, however they could. And, to the more civilized areas, by train.” Wait—that’s it. The future of western America would depend on good transportation, and that meant more trains. And hadn’t Kit heard that General Palmer was seeking to expand operations on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad? It was perfect. Even his father would approve.
Suddenly enthusiastic, Kit took his leave of Madame with a hearty “Thank you” and hurried out the door.
Unfortunately, Daltrey was waiting for him on the other side. “I thought I might find you here,” the man said with a sneer.
“How very perceptive of you,” Kit said impatiently. Why did Daltrey show up now, when everything seemed to be going his way?
Kit tried to move past him, but Daltrey stopped him with the simple expedient of stepping in front of him. “I’d like a word with you,” he said in a menacing tone.
Kit sighed. He was becoming weary of this whole sordid blackmailing scheme of Daltrey’s, not to mention extremely annoyed. “I gave you money already,” Kit said in a low tone. “What more do you want? Blood?”
Daltrey scowled. “That is a distinct possibility, old man, if you don’t open your pockets.”
“I have very little left,” Kit explained impatiently. “You’ve taken most of my remittance.”
“But you have a bank account,” Daltrey said with narrowed eyes. “I overheard someone mention it. You’ve been holding out on me.”
Damn. Kit had mentioned his account to a few potential investors when they asked for references, but he had no idea the word would get back to his nemesis. He had set the money aside when he first arrived in Colorado Springs, never touching it, holding it in reserve for a potential investment. Now that the perfect investment was so close to becoming a reality, he didn’t want to give it up.
“There’s not much in the account,” Kit explained, hoping Daltrey hadn’t heard speculation as to the amount as well. “Just enough to get me home if I fail here.”
Daltrey shrugged. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s enough for me.” His eyes
narrowed. “No more excuses. I need that money and I’m going to have it, or I’ll make sure all of Colorado Springs knows of your secret—especially that Sullivan girl you’ve been spending so much time with. What would she think if she knew you had a reputation as a womanizer and a cad?”
Damn. What could Kit do? He didn’t want Belle’s ears sullied with this man’s lies and he needed to keep his name clean until he had established himself with his new investment.
Time. I need time.
Ignoring Daltrey’s comments about Belle, Kit lied, saying, “My funds are in New York. It will take some time to send for them.” Though Daltrey had somehow learned about his account, it appeared he wasn’t aware just how much money Kit had there. Perhaps he could placate Daltrey with a small amount, keeping the bulk for the railroad investment.
“How long?” Daltrey growled.
Kit thought furiously. If Daltrey wasn’t happy with the amount Kit was willing to turn over to him, he might be angry enough to reveal Kit’s secret immediately. If he did so before the Founders’ Day Ball, Kit would be obliged to forego the ball and Belle would be very disappointed. He needed to put Daltrey off until after that. “I’ll have to send them a letter because they won’t release the funds without a signature. It should take a week.”
“All right, then,” Daltrey said ungraciously. “I’ll be back in a week—and you’d better have the money then, or else.”
Kit nodded shortly and strode off, thinking furiously. The stalling tactic would gain him a little time, but would it be enough?
It would have to be. He couldn’t fail now when he was so close to getting exactly what he wanted.
Though it had taken a great deal of soul-searching, Belle had come to a decision and wanted to tell her sisters immediately, before she lost her nerve. So she asked them to come to her room after breakfast.
Grace breezed in as usual, setting things topsy-turvy, and Charisma closed the door behind her. “What did you want to see us about?” Charisma asked curiously as she calmly set things to rights in Grace’s wake.
Belle twisted her fingers together in her lap, uncertain how her sisters were going to take what she had to say. Well, there was only one way to do this. Get it over with, fast.
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