Downtime Page 18

  “Slashing your wrists isn’t the answer," I remarked as I wrapped a towel around his hand. “What have you got to be so nervous about, anyway? It’s a done deal. You’ve asked, she’s accepted. All that’s left is to tighten the noose and let you drop.” I pulled over the makeshift chair he’d provided for me during my shaving lesson. “Sit.”

  “Oh no—“

  “Even you can’t properly shave one-handed. Now sit.”

  There was a certain tactile quality in shaving with a straight razor that I’d never noticed with my own electric. I eased the naked blade along, until his skin was smooth under the brush of my thumb. It was a slow process and a mesmerizing one as I occasionally met his patient blue gaze, then concentrated on another glide of the blade. Wiping away the last wisp of cream, I inadvertently grazed his lower lip. His lashes had drifted down as he relaxed under my ministrations; but at that touch, his eyes met mine with silent trepidation—and something else. Something that made me want to do it again, deliberately, tenderly, to see that blue darken with the same hunger I was feeling. He exhaled a warm breath against my hand. “You’ve finished?”

  I heard the regret in his quiet baritone. “I’ve hardly gotten started,” I murmured and leaned in to kiss him, acutely aware that he was doing the same. We might have actually achieved contact if someone with a death wish hadn’t chosen that moment to pound on the door.

  “Ezra, you aren’t the only one in this house, you know.”

  Ezra hastily took the razor out of my hand and told Henry he would be out in an instant. We heard him stomp off down the hall and the humorous light in Ezra’s eyes faded to rueful frustration. “We really must dress.”

  Damn Henry to hell. “Sure you don’t want to give me back the razor? It’d be a quicker death for him than the one I have in mind.”

  “Please don’t kill him just yet.” Ezra smiled at me in the mirror as he took a small jar out of a cabinet. “If Charlotte casts me aside, I may need a good word from Henry to regain my position at the museum.”

  I had the feeling if any casting aside was done, Charlotte would not be the one doing it. Ezra scooped an oily goop out of the jar with his fingers. I grimaced at the smell. “Please tell me that’s not aftershave.”

  “Hair oil.” He offered me the jar and laughed at my expression. “You must have something similar in the twenty first century.”

  “Oh, we do. It’s just not this nasty.” I caught his wrist before he could put the sludge into his hair. “You don’t need that stuff.” I finger-combed the soft, curling strands back from his forehead. “Stick with the look you’ve got. Trust me, it’s hot as hell.”

  The smile still on his lips, he put the jar down and washed his hands. “I don’t trust your judgment particularly, considering the attire you arrived in, but I suppose it will save us time. I shall just have to hope that looking ‘hot as hell’ doesn't mean I will be consigned to that location any time soon.”

  “Don’t worry. Charlotte will love it.”

  “Charlotte.” Apprehension all too rapidly dissolved every spark of amusement from his face. “Yes. We really must dress.”

  We did, making it downstairs before Derry gave up and raided the icebox. Cheered by the sight of us, he bellowed down the hall for his sister to come along. Someone appeared in the doorway and I had to take a second look to make sure it was Kathleen. She might be a tough cookie, but she knew how to dress. Embroidered lace and small pearls brightened the deep blue of the gown draping her trim figure. Pearl studded combs gleamed in the upswept cloud of hair, escaping wisps softening her angular face. She looked remarkably handsome and I wasn’t the only one who thought so, because the others went quiet at her appearance, including her brother.

  She was the only one who didn't know how good she looked. “What is it? Is there something wrong?” She pressed a gloved hand to her waist and looked herself over.

  Derry chuckled. “Bonny Kate,” he said with a kiss on her cheek. “Sweet Kate. The prettiest Kate in all Christendom.”

  The faintest smile tugged at her lips. “Spare me your butchered Shakespeare, Derry Neilan, and let us go, or Mr. Blanchard will not forgive us.”

  Hannah lingered in the doorway, all smiles, and I nudged her. “What about you, Cinderella? Not invited to this one?”

  “I ain’t never,” she said, eyeing me as if she thought I was a little nuts.

  I leaned over and whispered, “You’re going with us next time, kiddo, so practice your curtsey.”

  I must have scared her, because she stared after me as we went out. The night had turned crisp and the streets were damp but the sky was clear and starry. We climbed into the carriage Ezra had procured, all five of us, and there was room to spare. I noted Ezra had taken a seat as far from me as he could get. Hannah wasn’t the only one I’d shaken up tonight. And it was early yet.

  Chapter Twelve

  We kept up cheerful chatter along Oxford Street for the longest distance. At some point, everyone fell into a solemn quiet and I guessed we must be nearing our destination. I was feeling a little like Cinderella myself as we rolled into streets crowded with cabs and other carriages and our ride slowed to a walking pace. Gardens bathed in moonlight filled the view to my left. What lay to our right I didn’t get a good look at until we’d stopped and someone stepped up to the carriage to open the door. The last one out, I smoothed down my coat tails and took a look around. Mansions, as far as the eye could see, and the spires of a church hovering over it all as if God had given his stamp of approval to the conspicuous consumption.

  God might have approved, but Kathleen didn’t. She looked out from under the hood of her blue cape with a pensive eye until Derry offered his arm and we started in. I knew the main thing on Derry’s mind was getting to the eats. It occupied my mind too, up the stairs and into a plush alcove that was all crimson velvet and towering plants. Other guests greeted each other in hushed voices, throwing glances my way as I walked in. A servant appeared from behind a drape and held out white-gloved hands for my coat and hat. The old feeling of walking through a vivid dream came surging back. This world, it was theirs, not mine. While I could passably behave so that they would hardly notice a difference, I would never belong. I didn’t want to think about spending the rest of my life here.

  So I wouldn’t think about it, for now. There were enough distractions to keep me going for a little while. Things had livened up and they promised to get even more interesting in the next few days. Hell, the next few hours.

  I wondered how Ezra was doing. Scanning the alcove for him, I realized I’d gotten separated from everyone. The only thing for it was to follow the crowd. That took me into a ballroom to rival any swanky shindig I’d ever attended back home. Lights blazed from half a dozen chandeliers and twice as many gas lamps running along the two long walls. The arched ceiling had been painted light blue, rosy cherubs flitting among drifting clouds. Every wall and door seemed gilt edged and the pale wood floor shone with all the reflected light, to dazzling effect. Sofas and chairs discreetly buffered by plants ranged around the room, out of the way of the dancing, and a number of guests had already made themselves at home. Among them, I couldn’t find a familiar face, until I bumped in Charlotte.

  “Mr. Nash! I’m so glad you could come. I was worried you would have to run back to America before I got the chance to know Ezra’s dear friend better.” She leaned in with a confiding air. “Please do tell me, how does your wife bear for you to be away so long? I think if I were her, I should be quite frantic to let such a dashing gentleman wander so far from home.”

  “There is no Mrs. Nash, apart from my mother—” Ah damn. I wanted to kick myself. It was too late to take it back. Charlotte produced a dance card and, beaming from ear to ear, effortlessly drew me to the nearest sofa and the sumptuously gowned young ladies poised on it like so many butterflies.

  I was in deep shit.

  The dance card was close to full by the time rescue came, in the form of Charlotte’s father,
a round, shy man with snow white hair. He spirited Charlotte off, leaving me to hunt for a hiding place. Before any of the bolder women could make a beeline for me, Ezra, Derry, and Henry appeared.

  “Where the heck have you three been? Charlotte's got me hooked up with nearly every unmarried girl in the vicinity.”

  Derry’s eyes twinkled. “Can you blame the dear souls? A dashing chappie from faraway America in their midst. What could be more romantic to the feminine mind?”

  Ezra, perusing the card, muttered a quiet, “Indeed.”

  Henry snorted in disgust. “I suppose it is possible to dance every dance, but I don’t think I should like to try.”

  Aw hell. “How many dances are there?”

  “Twenty two tonight, I believe.” Henry looked way too pleased to be delivering that information. “There’ll be no supper for at least an hour but you may want a glass of lemonade and a piece of cake before you undertake the better portion of this list.” He’d already gotten a thick, fluffy slice of white cake, as had Derry.

  “Perhaps we can steal a dance or two on your behalf,” Derry suggested. “When your lumbago begins to trouble you, you know,” he added with an impish grin.

  Ezra laughed, then quickly tried to choke it back as I glared at him. “We did try to find you,” he protested. “We’ve been all around the room and out on the terrace. We would still be searching if I hadn’t spotted you off here on your own.”

  “Looking so endearingly out of your element,” Henry added with a smirk.

  Startled, I caught on that he was quoting someone else--someone who’d gone deservedly red in the face. “I will have the lemonade after all, I think,” Ezra said, resolutely avoiding my gaze. He fled with what dignity he had left, while I tried to keep a smile off my face. Though I knew he was as attracted to me as I was to him, it was nice to hear it put into words. Even if he hadn’t meant for me to hear them.

  “Good show, Henry,” Derry said in exasperation.

  Henry put on a wounded look. “He would do well to be more careful in what he says.”

  “In front of you, yes, there’s no doubt of it,” Derry agreed.

  “I’ve been a good deal more tolerant than many others would be," Henry said with a sniff.

  "Whoa, hold on a second," I cut in. "You know?"

  Derry looked after Ezra’s retreating figure and his face softened. “That he fancies the blokes? Oh, indeed.”

  “Anyone else know? Kathleen?”

  Derry grimaced. “Heavens, no.”

  "She would turn him right out," Henry said.

  I had to think Henry was right about that. "By the way, where is Kathleen?"

  Kathleen was dancing, with no less than Jem Montague. That surprised me, since my first impression of him had left me thinking he seldom roused himself to do anything that didn't promise benefits of the most tangible kind. But there he was, whirling Kathleen around and chatting her up like they were old friends. The sight piqued Derry's concern as well. His uncharacteristic frown said it all as he strode along, trying to keep an eye on her. "What the devil is he about?"

  "Kathleen can take care of herself, Derry."

  Derry grabbed my arm. "Give her a dance, won't you? I don't trust that fellow."

  "For heaven's sake, she's a grown woman." He looked so beseeching, I had to give in. Overprotective brothers made me glad I was an only. "Okay, okay. Just tell me where to fit her in." I handed him the card. "Better yet, get rid of the rest of them for me and I'll give her as many dances as she wants."

  "Poor lad. I'll ask Ezra to have a bit of a word with Charlotte."

  The bit of a word proved to be largely unsuccessful, as a parade of women sought me out over the next hour or so and I was forced to fake it as best I could. Fortunately, a good many of the dances were waltzes or some variation thereof. By the time supper was announced, I had that particular dance down pat. I followed the crowd into an adjoining room and located Derry sitting comfortably with a plate of oyster croquettes. He let me know that Charlotte and Ezra had wrangled me a breather by asking three of the ladies if they would do the great favor of honoring Jem Montague with a dance. Apparently Jem was quite a draw and after finding out I could use a little help, offered his services. Derry grudgingly remarked that Jem possibly wasn't the rogue he'd first thought him.

  "Though I still find his poetry a bit queer," he confided.

  I suppressed a grin at the variety of definitions a word could have over the ages. "Yeah, well, at least he admits to being a poet," I said with a pointed glance. "Going to let me read your stuff?"

  He looked embarrassed. "Don't know that you'd care for it. Romantic hogwash, it's been called."

  "Yours is a romantic era. Didn't you know that?" I grinned at him. "And I haven't seen you dance yet."

  He waved a dismissive hand. "Nor will you, when there are so many handsome young lads here to keep the ladies company." He looked past me, smiling, and I turned to see Kathleen coming our way. She sat down between us with a relieved sigh and folded her hands in her lap.

  "I trust there will not be too many invitations to such events after Ezra is married," she said with a touch of her old severity. "I'm quite worn out."

  Derry snorted softly. "This from a woman who keeps house for six men."

  "An entirely different thing," Kathleen dismissed. "Have you seen Ezra about, anywhere?

  I'd been wondering myself where he'd gone. Derry shook his head. "He was dancing with Charlotte, but I've not seen him since. That was well nigh..." he checked his watch, "...forty minutes ago. Will you have some supper, Kath?"

  "No, thank you. I'm much too over-heated."

  "An ice, then."

  "That will do."

  I waited until Derry was gone before asking Kathleen what she and Jem had talked about. Her eyebrows lifted at the question. "Jem Montague? We touched on all manner of subjects. Why do you wish to know?"

  "Just curious. A necessary trait in my line of work. Derry doesn't seem to care for Jem that much."

  "A charming manner, he has, but too--knowing. It makes one uncomfortable." She shook her head. "He did inquire rather oddly after Ezra, asking me about the nature of any visions Ezra has been having."

  "I guess Ezra is asked that sort of question all the time."

  "I imagine so. But why Mr. Montague would believe I should be able to report on it, I cannot think."

  "Did you ask him why he wished to know?"

  A small smile curved Kathleen's lips, a flash of tolerant humor in her gray eyes, making her resemblance to Derry for an instant more pronounced. "No, I did not. I am not on such familiar terms with the man nor do I intend to be."

  "Are you on familiar terms with me?" I returned the smile. "You'll have to call me Morgan, then. If you don't mind."

  She contemplated that. "Morgan," she agreed. "I owe you a debt. One that I mean to repay."

  "I think you already have, in more ways than just room and board. But if you want to do me another favor, just go easy on the kid when you can. It's a tough world and you're just about the only one in her life who gives a damn about her, you and Derry."

  "And you," she said, unruffled by my language.

  I decided she didn't look all that worn out. "Do me the honor of a dance, Miss Neilan?"

  "Kathleen," she said, and offered me her hand. Allowing me to lead, she at the same time managed to guide me through something she called a mazurka. It left us breathless and ready for another sit. She escaped unhindered back to dinner, but I was brought down at the door by the ever-charming Mrs. Petrova. Bagged and hauled off for another dance, I wondered if burning my dance card would do any good. But all the women had one too, with my name emblazoned on it. There was no escape.

  Several dances later, I was mentally calculating whether I had the strength left to sneak off and walk back to Bloomsbury. The room had gotten warmer as the evening progressed, even though at some point the servants opened the doors leading onto the terraces to let in the night air. I took t
he first opportunity I could find to slip outside, into the cool peace and quiet. It was a welcome relief and I wondered that more people weren't taking advantage of it. Victorians had way too much energy for their own good.

  Ducking past an arch overgrown with vines, I went down a few steps to another terrace with a good view of the other houses and the church in the distance. There I spotted a wicker bench under an arbor creaking with roses. The perfect hideout. But no sooner had I dropped onto the bench than I discovered I wasn't alone. On the other side of the terrace, lost in the view, lingered the wayward groom. I thought I'd never seen anyone look so miserably resigned to the forces directing his life.

  "What a soft-hearted idiot." Emerging from the sea of cushions, I crept up behind him, sure he was bound to sense me at any instant. I kept my voice low. “Who are you hiding from?”

  He drew a startled breath, then let it out with a laugh. “I’m not hiding,” he asserted without a whole lot of conviction.

  “No?” As a defensive gaze turned to meet mine, I snorted, “Well, I sure as hell am.”

  His lips twitched. “You are? And from whom?”

  “Everyone.” I tossed the dance card on the ledge, hoping fervently a good stiff wind would take it off. “Who came up with this barbaric method of assigning dancing partners in advance? It bites.”

  Ezra’s eyebrow lifted inquisitively. “Bites?”

  “Yeah, bites. Sucks. Is no fun. And I can’t bloody dance,” I finished off in disgust as the strains of music began again in the ballroom.

  “Of course you can.” His hand found its way into mine. "Commence with your right foot, slide forward and step, and one, two, three..." He raised our clasped hands above our heads as we stepped toward each other, meeting under the arch of our arms.

  "Oh. Like the minuet."

  "Exactly so. A waltz minuet. Now, back, and one, two, three, bending your knees like this." He bent his slightly as we stepped back and I did the same. "We walk around each other." We circled around and he let go of my hand. "Bow to the lady and take her hand again." He took my left hand this time and we repeated our forward and back step. "Now bow, and then the waltz, sixteen measures."