The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  He frowned. “I can understand that, but why does he stand around outside my building while you’re here?”

  Winnifred drew a deep breath. “I think he’s been stalking me.”

  “Stalking you? So, I take it that you do not like him?”

  Like? Oh no. I left liking behind long ago. But, feeling that Holmes desired a favorable response for himself, she decided to take a risk and go off script a bit more. “I’ll admit that he caught my eye at first, but he was entirely too inquisitive.” She gave a little laugh. “I don’t fancy being placed on trial every time I step out with a gentleman, so I thanked him and sent him along his way.”

  A slow smile spread across his features. “Very well. Just as long as you haven’t lied to me. If you need me to step in and tell him to leave you be, I will.”

  She dipped her head, her panic rising at the thought that Jude had been found out. Either he would have to wear a disguise or someone else would have to be placed as her protector. “Thank you, but it is quite all right. He is harmless enough, and soon he will tire of watching for me.”

  With a bow, Holmes kissed her fingertips. “I would never tire of watching you, Miss Swan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to attend to.”

  At the sound of his steps descending to the basement, she sagged with relief and returned to the kitchen, hands clasped as if she were praying. “Thank you, Auntie Ann. I—”

  “I don’t want to know what on earth you think you were doing down there.” She waved her off with her spoon. “But you should know that Mr. Holmes has fired or evicted every soul who has trespassed down there beside me and Joe. He says he needs some privacy and his boarders don’t pay to go down in his basement. I suggest you heed my warning, lest you wish to be fired.”

  He’s fired or evicted every soul … or worse?

  The grip car ride home was uncomfortable. Instead of Winnifred’s usual informative dialogue, they rode together in silence. She kept her gaze averted, seemingly lost in thought, as they passed a throng of people milling to the fair. Jude hoped that it was only exhaustion that was keeping her from speaking to him and not resentment over what had occurred yesterday, but he knew he would be a fool to think it was about anything but the kiss. Was it really only yesterday? It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had held her in his arms and created this chasm between them. If only he were free to offer Winnifred all that was in his heart instead of crushing her by saying his kisses were all for the sake of protecting her. He hated that she might think him a cad who went about stealing kisses that didn’t belong to him.

  In a low voice, he said, “Winnifred, I don’t want it to be like this. Can’t we at least attempt to move beyond what happened on the train?” Even though I think of it constantly. “We have to try or your time at Holmes’s building will be for naught.”

  She clenched her reticule. “I’m fine. What happened on the train is forgotten.”

  “Please, tell me what happened today.”

  Clearing her throat, she responded without looking at him and informed him of the letter from Georgiana before relenting and glancing at him. “But, most importantly, Joe Owens mentioned to me that he and Holmes moved another trunk.”

  “Another one? That makes three since you’ve been there, and he’s only been on one business trip.”

  “Yes. I went down to the basement to see if I could break into it, but the lock is old. I need Father to teach me how to use a lock-picking kit. I can open simple locks with my hairpin, but I need different tools for this one.” She slipped off her gloves and fanned her face with them.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  She returned her gaze to the street. “Dinner and a book.”

  Her brief answer proved that she was far from fine. He longed for the ease of old, but he had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He pulled a small leather roll from his coat and handed it to her. “I can teach you tonight. A good detective should always carry a lock kit.”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll ask Father.”

  He knew as well as she did that her father lacked the time to teach her. “It’s no bother.”

  She shrugged. “If you insist, Detective Thorpe.”

  The car reached their stop, and he offered her his hand. She touched it as if it were a snake, briefly, and with veiled disgust. He gently took her by the elbow. “Winnie. We at least need to talk. We cannot keep going like this.”

  “I can’t talk to you. It’s too difficult.” She jerked her arm away from him, cutting him to the core. “I can’t spend every evening with you and pretend like nothing has happened. You kissed me and then apologized for it. It doesn’t matter if it was for keeping our cover or not. You still kissed me.” She strode faster when her house came into view, as if she could not wait to rid herself of him. “You may be able to lie to yourself, but I cannot.” Opening the iron gate, she stepped inside and closed it between them.

  “Winnie.”

  “You best be calling me Miss Wylde from now on, Detective Thorpe,” she whispered, gathering her skirts in one hand before climbing the red brick steps.

  Her aunt appeared in the window and threw open the door, holding her hand out to Winnifred and nodding to Jude. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you two didn’t dally today. Come on inside, Winnifred, a new dress has arrived, and I want you to try it on for dinner tonight. I’ll be hosting the Covingtons at my home next week, and I want to be sure you are dressed properly this time.”

  “Have a good afternoon, Detective Thorpe.” And without so much as a glance over her shoulder, Winnifred shut him out of her life.

  Chapter Twenty

  “All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

  ~Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Winnifred glanced at the small clock above the carved mantel, counting the minutes until dinner. She shifted in her elegant ivory dinner gown trimmed with yards of extravagant lace and woven with even more pearls than her sapphire damask gown. Aunt Lillian had insisted she wear it for a practice dinner with her and Father and, seeing no reason to argue, Winnifred obliged. With a sigh, she returned her focus to the novel at hand when she heard a plink on the windowpane. She drew back the pale blush curtains and fairly pressed her nose against the glass to find Percy below with his hat in one hand and a bouquet in the other. She lifted up the time-worn window with a laugh and leaned out with her hands pressing on the windowsill, the ivy brushing her fingertips. “Why such clandestine behavior when you can knock on the front door?”

  He spread his arms wide, and in a dramatic stage whisper replied, “Because this is more romantic.” He cleared his throat and began to sing the ever-popular tune, “The Sweetest Story Ever Told.”

  Winnifred blushed at the tender lyrics as passersby paused at the sound of his baritone filling the evening air, but she couldn’t help but be touched by his gesture. After overhearing Jude’s declaration to remain single along with his refusal of his feelings toward her, and after her father’s warning against her marrying anyone in the field, it was nice to have someone who so openly desired her. To have such a handsome man serenading her acted as a balm to her stinging pride.

  “ ‘Tell me that you love me, for that is the sweetest story ever told,’ ” he finished and knelt upon the brick sidewalk, holding the bouquet over his heart. “Can you ever forgive me for cancelling our luncheon Sunday, my darling Winnie?”

  Winnifred sent him a smile, still aglow from his sweet song. “Of course. Now, won’t you come inside and join us for dinner?”

  “What kind of suitor would I be if I did not take you out for dinner after being so rude?” Standing, he stuck thumb and forefinger into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. At his signal, an open barouche draped in a garland of red roses with lit lanterns on all four corners pulled up to her front gate. “My lovely Miss Wylde. Would you do me the honor of joining this lonely heart for
dinner?”

  She bit her lip, thinking of Jude. Percy was so kind, and she didn’t want to lead him on, not when she knew she couldn’t give him what he deserved, not yet anyway. Not when her heart was still aching for someone she could never have. “I wish I could, Percy, but I have work tomorrow.”

  “Please? I will make it worth your while to come with me.” He gave her that winsome grin. “I had my chef make your favorite dessert, and your family has already approved, so you say the word and the evening of a lifetime will begin.”

  She now understood why her aunt had made such a weak excuse to get her to dress so prettily for a simple evening at home. I can’t believe I bought that. At the hopefulness in his eyes, she was again reminded of Jude’s refusal to even contemplate a future with her. She had to try. “Who needs sleep?” She returned his grin, took up her dinner gloves, and headed for the stairs to find Aunt Lillian at the bottom with her hand pressed over her heart.

  “Isn’t it romantic?” Her eyes glistened. “I remember when one of my beaus sang to me beneath my bedroom window.” Draping her own opera cloak about Winnifred’s shoulders, she smiled. “Now, I want you to forget all about that Holmes nonsense and have a grand time.” She pressed a kiss to each of Winnifred’s cheeks, holding her face between her hands. “You look like the picture of your mother.”

  Winnifred laughed at her aunt’s scheming. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Thank me, of course, for finding you the perfect man.” She pulled a golden curl over Winnifred’s shoulder before nudging her out the door. “Go have fun while you’re still young.”

  Picking up her skirt, Winnifred trailed down the steps to where Percy stood holding open the iron gate. Her cheeks flushed at the tableau before her. This is the exact scene from Percy’s novel, The Bride’s Hidden Past. The scene where Permilia’s suitor declares his love in a rose-covered carriage, unaware that he is proposing to a reformed criminal. She grinned, feeling a bit giddy at the thought that they were acting out the romantic scene.

  “Your carriage awaits, my lady.” Percival bowed, laying his coat on the sidewalk before the barouche draped in roses. There wasn’t a puddle, but the gesture was just as romantic as it was in his books. And yet, she was surprised to feel a bit guilty for stepping on it in her silk dinner slippers. It seemed rather foolish to soil a coat and make unnecessary laundry for the hired help to clean.

  Swiping up the coat, he extended his hand to her, assisting her into the carriage. The flames licking the lamps cast a glow in his eyes, causing her starry-eyed heart to flutter at the thought that he was bringing to life scenes she and Danielle had swooned over. She didn’t know if it was her nerves or the heat of the evening pressing down on her that made her curls stick to her neck. Whisking out her silk fan, she prayed, Dear Lord, please don’t let him declare anything, not tonight. Not when I’m weak and may say yes for all the wrong reasons.

  Out of habit, she glanced down the street, catching sight of a man standing beneath a streetlight, his gaze directed her way. Jude. Straightening her shoulders, she turned from him as the carriage rolled away. Tonight, she would be Percy’s heroine. Tonight, she would lay aside all feelings for Jude and never pick them up to examine again. He didn’t desire a wife. She wanted an adventure, and maybe Percy would be her new adventure that would last a lifetime.

  She studied him in the lamplight, admiring the curve of his jaw, his straight nose, and the ever-present smile beneath that horrid mustache. He was kind and would make a good husband. Husband. She had only ever thought of one man in that role as of yet, and that man wasn’t the one beside her. Winnifred pressed out a wrinkle in her skirt and determined to enjoy her evening. She turned to Percy and gave him another brilliant smile before asking him a torrent of questions.

  In twenty minutes, the carriage pulled into the drive of his castle. Atop the turrets rising on the four corners of the stone estate, she spied lit torches. She smiled in anticipation. “Am I to play Lady Permilia tonight?”

  He returned her grin. “I’m so thankful to finally have someone by my side to bring to life these dreams that have only happened in my mind.” He hopped down and extended his hand up to her. “Come, my lady. Your dinner is awaiting you atop the world.” He quoted the hero and led her inside and up a set of never-ending stairs.

  When Winnifred reached the top, the sight before her chased away her remaining breath. Nestled in the rear turret, overlooking Lake Michigan in a glowing pink-and-russet sunset, was a small table draped in the finest of cloths set with her mother’s grand china. Winnifred pressed her hand to her mouth, overcome with emotion to finally see the china as it was meant to be used.

  He reached for her cloak, slipping it from her shoulders. “I thought that borrowing your mother’s china would make you feel at home in a place where I want you to feel at home the most.” He reached out and grasped her hand in his as the delicate strings of the quartet she hadn’t noticed in the shadows began to caress the night. Percy swayed, gently pulling her into his arms in a waltz. The stars spun overhead, and she felt herself quite giddy over his attention as her white skirts swirled. At the end of the song, he twirled her into her seat with both of them laughing with the ease of it all.

  Her hands shook as she sipped her water from her crystal goblet. Even though the quartet was present along with several servants, Winnifred felt quite alone with Percy. She wasn’t sure if it was fitting, but she took comfort in the fact that her aunt would have surely halted his plans if she thought it was anything but proper.

  Course after course composed of only her favorites flooded the table, and once again she was touched by the preparation that had gone into this meal. Before taking a bite of her meat pie, she asked, “So, how did your afternoon of writing go on Sunday?”

  “I am nearly finished. I only need to write the final chapters, which I’m hoping will be inspired by tonight.” He set aside his fork, his blue eyes piercing hers.

  Her brows wrinkled at his odd statement. “Do you need to discuss possible endings to see which is a better fit?”

  Percy gave a nervous laugh and knelt beside the table, popping open a velvet box and revealing a dazzling gold ring with the largest ruby she had ever beheld cushioned between two large pearls. She pressed her hands to her heart, shocked. For all the pride she placed in her powers of deduction, Winnifred had not foreseen an actual proposal coming, not tonight. At most, she thought he would declare his affection for her, but a proposal? She should have seen it, with her father pushing her toward Percy and away from Jude. Jude. Any future she had imagined with him had been denied not only by her father but also by Jude himself. Is this what love is supposed to be like? Serenades and candlelight dinners atop a castle with a quartet playing in the background?

  Percy scooped her hand in his. “Miss Wylde … Winnie. I have never met anyone like you before. You inspire me to be better, to be braver. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life at your feet, listening to your tales, capturing your light, and writing it down for the world to enjoy. I know we have only been courting for a few weeks and this may seem a bit rushed, but I received word that my proposal for my next work, a Parisian tale, has been accepted. So, the moment I send in this novel to the publisher, I need to travel to Paris to research The Bride of Notre Dame. I would be most honored if you would join me … as my wife.” He slipped the ring out of the velvet box and held it up, the moonlight catching on the jewels. “Let’s start our greatest adventure. Will you marry me, my love?”

  Winnifred’s hands shook as she closed the front door behind her. The ring box in her reticule weighed heavily on her mind and on her heart.

  “There’s my girl!” Father greeted her, giving her cheek a tender peck before examining her left hand. “Why, where is your ring?”

  “Now, Randolph, we mustn’t rush her. She obviously has a lot to think about, and I’m sure she will tell us all about it when she is ready,” Aunt Lillian interjected, taking Winnifred’s elbow and
guiding her up the stairs. “I’ll help you undress. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow with all your work.”

  Winnifred dreaded Aunt Lillian’s cornering her, but there was hardly a polite way to refuse her kind offer even though it oozed with ulterior motives. However, when they reached her room, Aunt Lillian was uncharacteristically silent as Winnifred sank onto her cushioned vanity chair, pulled out her hairpins, and reached for her comb. Aunt Lillian grasped it instead and ran it through Winnifred’s waist-length hair.

  Winnifred retrieved the box and warily removed the ring, studying the ruby’s alluring hue in the candlelight. “It’s beautiful, is it not?” she asked, surprising herself by initiating conversation on such a delicate topic. But her heart was warring within her, and she had to speak, else risk imploding.

  “Exquisite.”

  Spying a faraway look in her aunt’s eyes in the mirror, Winnifred twisted in her chair and looked up at her. “You mentioned a beau. What happened to him? Why didn’t you marry if you had a suitor whom you liked?”

  “I should have said yes to the first man who asked me,” Aunt Lillian said, running the brush through Winnifred’s locks and catching on a wind-tossed curl.

  “You had a beau propose?” Winnifred grunted under her aunt’s tug through the knot.

  She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “Two of them, actually, but only one that really mattered … the only one I should have said yes to marrying.”

  “You were engaged?”

  She nodded slowly. “I used to be like you and your mother, always reading to fulfill my thirst for adventure and romance, but those poets and novelists made me chase after the dream of a man I thought I wanted. Someone dangerous, someone who was always surprising me.”