Man Most Worthy

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Having no idea where Alice would sit, he was forced to seat Miss Endicott first, where she indicated, and then take the place beside her. Mrs. Carlisle promptly took the seat on his other side. Alice took a seat too far removed for comfortable conversation and he wondered if it had been deliberate. Why was she acting so reserved? His jaw tightened with annoyance when Victor sat down beside her.

  Dinner proved long and tedious with Shepard dominating the conversation and Mrs. Carlisle addressing almost all her remarks in low asides to Nick. The only one genuinely friendly to him was Miss Endicott. To her credit, Alice did not seem on the same friendly terms with Victor as he with her. She spoke little and ate little. Only once or twice did he catch her looking at him, but instead of smiling, she quickly averted her gaze.

  What had gone so wrong?

  When at last they all retired to the drawing room, he didn’t know how to speak with Alice alone. If he singled her out, all eyes would be on them. He didn’t care what any of them thought, but how would Alice feel? This was her world, and once before he’d made the mistake of underestimating it.

  The two couples lit cigarettes and the room was soon filled with smoke. Miss Endicott sat down to the piano and began to play softly.

  Nick turned with relief when Alice came up to him but his joy was quickly tempered by her serious look. “If you wouldn’t mind going up to see Austen, I told him you would tell him a bedtime story. One of those you know out of your head.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Was there a tinge of sarcasm in the last words? Her tone sounded too polite. “Of course not. I’ll go now.”

  “He might have already fallen asleep. He was quite exhausted. If he is, please don’t wake him.”

  Although she seemed to be avoiding his gaze, he waited until she was forced to look up. “You can trust me. I won’t disturb him.” He made his tone deliberately gentle. She gave him a quick look before nodding her thanks and moving away from him.

  With a sense of relief at leaving the tense atmosphere of the drawing room, he walked up to the little boy’s room. He truly had enjoyed himself this afternoon, and only wished Alice had been a part of it. He’d wanted to tell her that if she’d given him the chance.

  Austen was already half-asleep and he remembered his promise to Alice, but at the sight of him, the little boy sat up. “I thought you’d never be done with dinner.”

  He took the stool beside the bed. “It was a rather long meal. Now, lie down. You need to get your sleep if you want to have more adventures.”

  Austen settled back down under his covers. “Will you tell me another story about when you were a boy?” he said through a yawn.

  “All right. Let me think.” He rested his chin on his fist, pretending to ponder. “Ah, here’s one. When I was—”

  “Did you know my father?” Austen’s brown eyes looked at him solemnly.

  Nick’s thoughts stilled. “No, I didn’t, but I have heard that he was a very fine gentleman.”

  Austen sighed. “I don’t remember Papa. I have a little picture of him. I’ll show you tomorrow if you like.”

  “Yes, I should like that. I’m sure he was a father you could be proud of. I don’t remember my father too well, either, but I know he was a fine man, too.”

  The little boy folded his hands atop the bedcovers, his thin wrists jutting out from his striped nightshirt. “What do you remember best about him?”

  Nick thought back. Ever since receiving news of his mother’s passing, he had thought a lot about his youth and childhood. “I remember someone dark-haired, like myself, and smelling kind of funny, like the coal that always covered his clothes. He worked down in the coal mine, you see. And then I remember the smell of soap, once he’d washed up and came to kiss me good night, just like your Mama does with you every night.”

  Austen picked at his bedcovers. “I don’t remember my papa at all.”

  The forlorn tone touched him. He reached over and covered the little hands with one of his own. “You were very young when he passed away. It’s all right. He remembers you. That’s what’s important.”

  Austen turned one of his hands around and took hold of Nick’s. Nick enfolded it in his own, feeling an odd spurt of emotion at the trusting gesture. The boy’s large brown eyes met his. “Do you think so?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. And you have your mama to tell you all about him, so you won’t forget the kind of man he was, even though you don’t remember the details yourself.”

  Austen nodded and smiled. “What story are you going to tell me?”

  Nick sat back although he didn’t let the boy’s hand go. “Let me see…where was I…” He pursed his lips, as if searching his memory, before beginning again. “This one is about a man who rode the rails. That means he’d hop on a freight car and go wherever he wished…”

  He hadn’t even gotten halfway through the story when Austen’s breathing slowed and his hold on Nick’s hand loosened. Nick fell silent and waited another minute to see if the boy would awaken.

  Assured that he slept peacefully, Nick slowly pulled his hand away. He got up from the stool and yawned, wishing for a moment he didn’t have to go back downstairs.

  But he wanted to see Alice. That thought alone propelled him back to the drawing room.

  The murmur of voices reached him before he entered the room. Miss Endicott had stopped playing and sat in an armchair reading. The others lounged on the sofas and chairs. After a pause when he stepped in, the low talk resumed. Cigarette smoke hung in the lamplight like thin cotton strands, its acrid smell reminding Nick of the gin mills in the lower quarters of San Francisco. His gaze roamed over the room, narrowing when he saw Alice on the couch with Victor sitting too close beside her. She looked up as soon as he entered. He half-expected her to avert her gaze, but instead she straightened and rose, excusing herself from Victor.

  She reached him before he’d taken more than a few steps into the room. “How is Austen?”

  He blinked at her lack of greeting. “I expect off somewhere dreaming of pirates and freight cars and—”

  “Frogs,” she finished for him.

  Was that the beginnings of a smile at the corner of her lips?

  “Yes, likely frogs figure in there somewhere.”

  “I wanted to thank you for spending the afternoon with him.” She knotted her hands, looking down, her tone low. “I just worried when you weren’t back after a couple of hours. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

  His hurt at her earlier coldness dissipated at her halting words. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but didn’t dare with the company around them. “I’m sorry we were gone so long. The time flew by and he didn’t seem tired. If I’d seen his energy flagging, I would have brought him back immediately, I hope you believe that.” He smiled. “Even if it’d meant carrying him.”

  She seemed to search his face but didn’t return his smile. “I appreciate that.”

  “What are you two up to with your private murmurings in the corner?” Victor sauntered over to them and draped an arm around Alice’s shoulders.

  A look of annoyance skimmed her features, and in a deft movement, she sidestepped his embrace. “I’m just asking about Austen.”

  “You’ll never let the boy grow to a man the way you coddle him.”

  Her face flushed.

  Nick eyed Victor. “I found him like any boy of his age.”

  Victor’s insolent gaze swept over him. He sported one of the thin mustaches beginning to be seen on young men both in England and America who fancied themselves swells. “How many seven-year-old boys are you acquainted with?”

  Nick’s ire rose. “I have nephews.” Whom he’d only just seen at his mother’s funeral.

  “As the father of two boys, I think I speak with more expertise than a bachelor.”

  Alice put a restraining hand on his arm. “Please, Victor. I think I know my son better than anyone.” She then took a step away from them. “I believe I shall retire for the evening.
Good night, everyone.” She gave him a fleeting look. “Good night, Nick. Thank you for taking care of Austen.”

  “Good night, Alice.” He’d hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when she was gone, almost as if she were running away from him.

  He hesitated a moment in the room, but not liking the stifling smell of cigarette smoke, and seeing Mrs. Carlisle eye him, he bowed to Victor. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He wandered back out to the porch and from there onto the lawn. Tomorrow they’d be leaving this country house, and he didn’t know what precisely had gone wrong. He hoped he’d have a chance to talk to Alice, but knew from the trip coming down that the train compartment would afford little privacy with Austen, Miss Endicott and the nursemaid along.

  Well, he consoled himself, he still had the endowment to her charity. Perhaps in London he could make another appointment with her at the Society to discuss the gift.

  “It was stuffy in there, wasn’t it?”

  He swirled around at the husky female voice. Mrs. Carlisle stood at the edge of the verandah, silhouetted against the light from the drawing room. Unlike Alice’s more modest gown, Mrs. Carlisle’s silk sheath had a low v-neck, leaving most of her shoulders and upper arms bare.

  He knew her type well. Bored and needing attention. As he debated how to decline her advances, she sauntered down the steps onto the yard where he stood.

  “A lot of hot air.”

  She chuckled, a low-throated sound and looked up at him, knowing undoubtedly how it showed her creamy neck to advantage.

  “I was on the point of retiring,” he said.

  “What a pity. The evening is young.” She eyed him. “You don’t like my husband, do you?”

  “Let’s just say I had a brief acquaintance with him in his youth.”

  “How droll. Sometimes he seems to be still in his adolescence.”

  Nick took a step away from her. “Well, if you will excuse me, Mrs. Carlisle—”

  “I shouldn’t hold out much hope for Alice, if I were you.”

  Her words stopped him. “No?”

  “I pity the man who fancies himself in love with her. She is the kind of woman who appears weak and will always have some poor gentleman in tow, but her heart will never be his.”

  He stood silent, unwilling to hear the words, but powerless to move away.

  “She’ll always hold up Julian as a standard, and the poor man will never live up to the dead paragon.” She gave a bitter laugh. “The living can never compete with an ideal.”

  The words, so like his own thoughts, chilled him. He merely inclined his head. “Good night, Mrs. Carlisle.”

  Her throaty laugh followed him. “Good night, Mr. Tennent, and sweet dreams.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alice reread the note in the masculine scrawl:

  Alice,

  Thank you for the weekend in Richmond. It was most enjoyable to me, not least for the time spent in your delightful son’s company.

  I hope that I can see both of you again.

  The reason for the present is to make an appointment to further discuss an endowment to the Society. I could come to your office or residence, or you can come to my office. I leave it up to you whatever is most convenient to you.

  I remain, as ever, your servant,

  Nicholas Tennent

  Her glance strayed to the bottom of the note where he’d written his address on Threadneedle Street. His business no doubt. Or, businesses. She remembered Geoff’s and Victor’s remarks and tried to push them away as merely masculine envy.

  She turned over the envelope that lay on the desk. The Savoy Hotel was embossed on the back flap. The image of the hotel as his residence conjured up a transient with no permanent home.

  Did Nicholas plan to remain in London or was he here only temporarily? How little she still knew of him.

  Her son had done little but talk of Nicholas since their return. Was she jealous of Nicholas’s success with Austen? The ugly thought lodged in her mind and she couldn’t brush it aside so easily. Was she such a terrible mother to begrudge her only son some masculine companionship?

  She’d always been protective of Austen, but now she realized how difficult it was for her to trust her only child to someone else. Julian would gently admonish her to trust their son to the Lord’s care. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the note before her. Despite her trust in other areas, she felt little able to relinquish control in this area. Austen was all she had left. All that was truly hers.

  She wiped at her eyes and picked up the note from Nicholas once more. When she’d first seen the envelope in her stack of mail, she’d felt a spurt of anticipation. Now, her confusion returned. And if she were honest with herself, did it not include disappointment as well?

  He’d written that he hoped to see both of them again. When Nicholas had bid them goodbye at Victoria Station the day before, he’d taken her hand in his and thanked her for the weekend. Then he’d stooped by Austen and shaken his hand.

  She’d watched, touched by their exchange. Nicholas treated him like a miniature adult. He’d promised her son they would be seeing each other again.

  Yet, here in the note he expressed only an intention to see her regarding a charitable donation. What did she want? Staring out her rain-spattered window, she chided herself. It was she who had pushed away any friendly overtures on Nicholas’s part.

  Shaking aside her own foolishness, she focused on the latter part of the note. The only reasonable thing to do was reply to his request and meet with him to discuss the particulars of the charitable donation.

  “Mama.”

  She turned with a smile to her son. “What is it, Austen? Why aren’t you with Miss Grove?”

  “I told her I left Moppet down here and had to get him.”

  “Of course. Then you’d better hurry up to your lessons. If you finish early, we can go to the park together.”

  “Is Mr. Tennent coming, too?”

  She turned away from him, feeling sudden guilt. Had she driven her son’s only friend away? Or, had Nicholas’s interest in the boy already waned? “No, dear.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Tennent is a busy man. I imagine he is at his office working right now.”

  “When is he coming to visit? He said he’d see me soon.”

  “I don’t know exactly when. We’ve only been home one day.” She glanced down at the note. Should she say anything to her son about the note? Or would that be raising his hopes unfairly?

  Austen located his stuffed rabbit behind a sofa cushion and came to lean against her. “Mama, will you write to Mr. Tennent and ask him to visit us? Tell him we could take my sailboat to the Basin.”

  She put her arm around his shoulders. “You and I can take it with us today. We don’t need Mr. Tennent for that.”

  “But I should like it if he came with us.”

  She touched the strands of hair that had fallen against his forehead. “You don’t want to be with just your mama?”

  “I should like it better if he came with us,” he repeated stoutly, unaware how the words cut her. Why did Julian have to die and leave Austen fatherless? There had been no confusion in her life then.

  “Very well, we shall see what we can do. I’m sure you’ll see Mr. Tennent very soon. Now, run along and finish your lessons.” She kissed his forehead and gave him a little shove.

  “All right, Mama.” He ran off, but at the door he paused. “Don’t forget to write to Mr. Tennent.”

  “I won’t.”

  When he left, she sighed and turned back to her desk. After rereading Nicholas’s letter, she picked up her pen and let it hover over her stationery a second more, debating her opening. Before she could decide, she heard the front door ring. Her heart began to pound. Could it be Mr. Tennent? Of course not, she scolded herself for acting like a silly schoolgirl.

  At the soft knock on the parlor door, she twisted around in her chair. “Yes?”

  The maid poked her head
in. “It’s Mr. Carlisle, madam.”

  Victor. She dismissed the slight annoyance at his unannounced visit so soon after seeing him the day before. He was her solicitor after all—at Geoff’s insistence. “Show him in.”

  Victor strolled in, presenting his usual dandified appearance in a black broadcloth coat and finely checked trousers. “Hello there, Alice.”

  She stood and smoothed her gown. “Hello, Victor, what brings you by today?”

  He leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek and she had to brace herself against flinching. His cheek smelled of bay rum, a scent she’d never cared for. Ever since he’d become her solicitor, he’d become excessively attentive.

  She’d spoken to Geoffrey about it, but her brother had pooh-poohed her concerns. “He’s like a brother to you! It’s nothing but a little harmless flirtation. Don’t be such a prude, Allie.”

  Victor glanced down at her desk, and she had to refrain from moving in front of it to prevent him from seeing the note from Nicholas. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and see how you made it back.”

  “How thoughtful of you.” She deliberately moved away from her escritoire and took a seat in an armchair, motioning for him to do the same. He sat down on the adjoining sofa and smoothed his brightly colored four-in-hand tie. “Been corresponding with that chap Tennent? You seemed a bit tight with him for such a short acquaintance.”

  Deciding silence was the best defense, she sat straight, her hands folded in her lap.

  Victor leaned back against the velvet upholstery and seemed to study the ceiling. “Curious how he suddenly popped back into London after all these years.” He shook his head and chuckled. “From lowly clerk to head of a company. Only in America does one see such things.”

  “I think it shows his talent and energy.”

  He lowered his face to gaze at her sidelong. “Or ruthless ambition.”

  Alice swallowed, wanting to refute the allegation. Instead, she asked through stiff lips. “What do you mean?”