All Dressed in White

by Charis Michaels

  “Stoker and I came to Vauxhall often as boys,” Joseph said. “Sometimes we had money to buy tickets, sometimes we navigated the river on a skiff and slipped over the wall. Now that I’ve the means to avail myself of any meal or entertainment in London, it’s difficult for me to return.”

  “But is this the way you view every simple thing you enjoyed as a boy? Do you eschew sunrises, for example? Or puppies? These were available to you, then and now.”

  “No. Not sunrises or puppies. I’m happy Vauxhall rages on for the masses, and it is my pleasure to escort you, but I’m dubious of attractions that charge less than four shillings at the gate. That was my old life, you see, before I made myself over into . . .” He struggled to find the correct word.

  “A rich man?” she provided.

  “I was going to say man of means, but it’s clear you take my meaning. Vauxhall was the purveyance of Joseph the servant. Joseph the—”

  “Rich man,” she cut in, laughing.

  “Man of means,” he emphasized, “prefers the opera.”

  She made a little noise of understanding, neither judgment or affirmation, and they crunched down the path, weaving around couples and families and a man with a large snake coiled around his outstretched arms.

  “I’ve a question,” she announced. But she said nothing for another four or five steps. “At Berymede,” she finally went on, “you spoke often about an ambition to run for Parliament. Is this still your plan?”

  Joseph looked at her. This, now? he wondered. He said, “Yes, in fact. It is. But I admit it knowing full well that Parliament is an unlikely ambition. I may pass my entire life in pursuit of it. But it’s not impossible, is it?”

  They turned a corner and a food stall came into view. It was a rolling cart stacked with wheels of cheese, baskets of fresh bread, assorted fruit, and paper cones of warm chestnuts. Joseph raised his eyebrows, an invitation, and Tessa nodded with enthusiasm. He bought a block of cheese, two loaves of the aromatic bread, and a cone of nuts.

  “Ale?” he asked the vendor, but the old man shook his head and pointed to a half barrel stacked with bottles of wine. Joseph held up a finger. “One bottle, if you please.”

  They carried the meal to a wooden bench, Tessa pulled off her gloves and carefully unfurled the cone of paper, nudging the chestnuts into a little pile and arranging the bread and cheese. Joseph used his knife to open the wine and then stabbed the point through the paper with a whack. Tessa gave a satisfying jump and then laughed.

  “Now I wonder,” she began, dislodging the knife and slicing the cheese, “can a man who is too lofty for Vauxhall Gardens properly advocate in Parliament for poor children? This was your goal in running for office, was it not? Resources for children without means?”

  Joseph took up a loaf of bread and tore it in half. “Yes, well—for schools.” He’d often wondered at Berymede if she’d been listening when he spoke about his Parliamentary dream.

  Tessa nodded and selected a slice of cheese. Delicately, she sniffed it and nibbled a small sample. Her tongue darted out. She licked her bottom lip.

  Joseph’s own mouth watered. He reached for the bottle of wine and took a swig. “I believe I take offense to the notion that I am too lofty for Vauxhall. It’s not loftiness. More like . . . unease.”

  “You are afraid of the Gardens?”

  He choked on the wine. “Ah, no.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Returning to the fixtures of my youth—Vauxhall, for example—feels a bit like going back in time. I have this feeling that the very space might reclaim me in some way. Swallow me up. As if all that I have accomplished has been a dream and here is where I really belong.”

  “But you are not uncertain of your station, Joseph, surely.”

  He shook his head. “Not uncertain, merely—forward-looking. No looking back.”

  “Except for the poor children.”

  He laughed again. Her wit was so very quick. He’d seen this at Berymede, although not applied in this way. Not insightful. She had gushed over his every comment in those weeks; now, she challenged. He had the thought that he could talk to her all night.

  “I fell into the path of education out of chance. But it’s so very rare for a serving boy to happen into the generous employ of an earl willing to hire tutors and cancel chores so he could learn calculus and French. I believe the education of children should not be left to a one-in-a-million chance. If primary school in England was standard—a school in every village—imagine what talent we could discover.”

  “But have you given thought to seeking out lower-class boys who show some potential? Boys you could sponsor, as the earl sponsored you?”

  “I believe every child in Britain can be taught to read and write and do sums. No one should be singled out. Potential can be hidden, and even those without any particular potential should enjoy literacy. It’s ambitious, I know. But if I could win a seat in the House of Commons, I might effect real change.”

  “So this is why you dress so finely and ride such an expensive horse. This is why your matchbox is silver and you never seem to wear the same boots twice?”

  “If you’re accusing me of loving the finer things in life, I’ve no defense. Conveniently, these finer things also fit into my larger plan of running for public office. So the answer is both yes and no. I both enjoy and require fine clothes and horses. A good meal and other luxuries.”

  “And a wealthy gentleman’s daughter as your wife . . .” Tessa said.

  Joseph went very still. He replaced the bottle on the bench. “No, Tessa.” His tone was harsh and she flinched, but on this point, he could not be misunderstood. “That is not the reason I wanted a wealthy gentleman’s daughter.” I lived and breathed you, he thought.

  But she had known this at the time. He’d never been vague about his affections for her. He had concealed nothing. She had been the concealer.

  “Forgive me,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I . . . I’ve consoled myself with the knowledge that my father’s wealth and connections would be a boon to you. Marrying you saved two lives. I wanted you to gain from it as well. Of course, now—”

  “My interest was solely in you,” he said quietly. The truth. It made him angry that she would suggest otherwise.

  She stared at the food. After a long moment, she said, “I understand your tenuous relationship with your old life—when you were a servant—and the way it is now, with your wealth and refinement. When I . . .” She paused and glanced up cautiously. Joseph refused to soften his gaze.

  She swallowed and continued, “When I think of the idle, vapid, featherheaded girl I was before I moved to London, I cringe. I am loathe to ever slide back into that . . . that . . .” She picked up three chestnuts and then replaced them in a line, one by one.

  She finished softly, “May I never entertain such a pointless existence ever again.”

  “Your existence was not pointless at Berymede,” he said. Another true statement. Your existence thrilled me.

  She shrugged and picked up a piece of bread. “My existence at Berymede is not like it is now.”

  Joseph’s stomach dropped. “No,” he said. “I suppose it is not.”

  Now, her life contained a baby, it contained a newfound interest in business. Now she was beginning to explore London.

  Also now, Joseph was not part of her life.

  Tessa took a deep breath and brushed the crumbs from her hand. She gestured to the wine bottle. “May I?”

  She brought the bottle to her lips, laughing a little. He watched her struggle to drink and grin at the same time.

  “I’ve compelled you to drink wine straight from the bottle,” she said. “I would understand your wanting to leave this habit behind.”

  “Drinking from the bottle is one of the few habits I carry over from youth. There was precious little crockery in Barbadoes. Life at sea, and all of that.”

  “Stop,” she teased. “I cannot imagine you drinking wine from a bottle as a matter of course. In
fact, I can’t imagine you drinking to excess at all. You were rather temperate at Berymede, I recall.”

  “I nearly drank myself to death,” he said, “in Barbadoes.” All pride seemed to have left him.

  “Oh.” She looked over her shoulder at a bed of moss and rock. “I’m glad you did not.”

  He watched her profile, soft and perfect in the waning light, and she felt his gaze and smiled. Something warm and soft flowed between them.

  I’m glad you did not.

  It was hardly a declaration, but it was better, he thought, than wishing him dead.

  He stood, grabbing the bottle of wine by the neck. With his other hand, he gestured to the path. “Come on then. There is more to see.”

  He saw her eyes trace the tall, solid line of his body, saw awareness and playfulness and something more flit across her face. Her cheeks pinkened, but he didn’t look away. Slowly, he cocked one suggestive eyebrow.

  She rose as if in a trance. He had the overwhelmingly welcome thought that she would walk to him, walk right into his arms, but instead she reached for his outstretched hand. He’d only meant to point the way, but she closed her fingers and tugged.

  Joseph allowed her to lead him, following her down the trail. By the next turn, she had coiled her hand around his bicep and leaned in. His heart went very still for two beats but he strode on, escorting her with a nonchalance borne of a thousand female encounters with a thousand women all over the world, and thank God. It would not do to stumble now.

  “What would you like to see?” he asked.

  “Everything.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The spectacle of Vauxhall Gardens was an entertaining diversion, but Tessa found it inconsequential compared to the conversation.

  Ultimately, her talk with Joseph did very little to raise the topic of her departure from Belgravia, but it had been gratifying in a more intimate, personal way. She learned things about him that she’d not known. She’d been treated to the sight of him drinking wine, straight from a bottle. In all honesty, she’d been loath to leave their quiet bench for the next footpath, but his mood had shifted, and he held out his hand, and the only thing better than talking to him had suddenly seemed like touching him.

  It was no mystery why his mood changed. She’d made the suggestion that he’d married her to enhance his collection of fine, expensive things—that she was one of these fine things—and he had objected. It was a ploy reminiscent of the Old Tessa, and she’d made the suggestion for the sole purpose of hearing him deny it—which he did, with an emphasis that sent a small shock down her spine. The heat of his denial made her realize how much she’d been waiting for him to make some . . . claim. To her. To offer his arm, or to rest his hand on the small of her back, or to say something.

  But then the conversation had gone a little off, and she’d lost her nerve, and the New Tessa was out of her depth as how to salvage it. Never fear, the Old Tessa had danced back in and taken his hand, slid close, and leaned against him as he led them down the path.

  In all honestly, the New Tessa did not hate walking down dark paths on his arm. The New Tessa wanted a night out at Vauxhall Gardens with Joseph Chance just as direly as the old one. But she had to be careful, so very careful. If Joseph rejected her, every incarnation of herself would be shattered.

  “I’ve heard there will be fireworks,” she said, glancing at him on the dim pathway.

  “Indeed,” he said. “There is also a small replica of a palace and formal grounds, with an orchestra and dancing. We’ve somehow managed to bypass it so far, but it is worth seeing.”

  They turned one corner and then another, less able to find their way in the dusk. He allowed her to choose the route, and she wandered with no real direction, enjoying the feel of his bicep beneath her hand, his warmth, the intimacy of tucking herself so closely beside him. They passed one food stall and then another, but when they came to a cart selling fragrant fruit tarts, Tessa paused.

  “Will you take a sweet?” Joseph asked.

  She was just about to point to a strawberry tart when laughter burst from around the next bend. She raised her eyebrows at him and drifted to the sound.

  The path opened to a clearing where a crowd had gathered around an informal theatrical performance. Actors in bright costumes had taken over an expanse of exposed rock and they portrayed some manner of domestic melodrama with exaggerated aplomb. A young mother and father fussed over a bundle of cloth meant to be an infant while a disapproving grandmother looked on.

  Tessa grinned, immediately taken in. “Do you mind?” she whispered to Joseph, stopping at the edge of the crowd. “Surely I’ve not truly experienced Vauxhall without live theatre?”

  “‘Theatre’ in the loosest sense of the word,” he whispered back. She chuckled and moved closer, watching drama unfold.

  The actress who portrayed the mother was squinting at the actor-father.

  “Are you certain he likes that, dearest?” the mother said in flat, long-suffering tone. The actor swung the baby to and fro in a mad sort of rocking motion that bordered hysteria. Somewhere offstage, another actor mimicked the sound of a baby crying. The audience roared with laughter.

  The next scene depicted the baby falling to sleep just as the sun rose; another showed the father heaping the baby with blankets before a stroll on a snowy day. Each scene played off the exaggerating drollness of the mother, the ineptitude of the father, and the reliably interfering advice of the grandmama.

  “They’ve almost got it right,” someone whispered in Tessa’s ear. She jerked her head to see a middle-aged woman sharing the edge of the crowd. She was flanked by a grinning companion, likely her husband, and the two nudged each other conspiratorially.

  Tessa nodded. “Oh yes, they are quite good.”

  “You two young people know something of family life, I’ll wager,” said the woman. She pointed back and forth between Joseph and Tessa.

  Tessa shifted uncomfortably. She smiled tightly, meaning to end the conversation.

  The woman was not deterred. “Newlyweds?” she guessed. “I can spot them from a mile.”

  “She can spot them,” confirmed the man.

  Beside Tessa, Joseph went tense.

  “We married in December,” Tessa rushed to say.

  “Oh, God bless you,” the woman crooned. “Is there a happier pair than a couple just wed? Good for you . . .” she gestured to the lantern-lit park “. . . for taking in a bit of pleasure while you can. When the babes come . . .” She trailed off but gestured knowingly to the actors on the stage.

  Tessa struggled to form a pleasant expression. Joseph took a step back.

  “When the babies arrive,” repeated the woman, “the two of you will fare better than this lot. My advice? Be honest in all things. And allow for mistakes, large and small.” The old woman chuckled and gave Joseph a knowing wink.

  Tessa glanced at him. He had the pained expression of a man waiting for a tooth extraction.

  “Do you mind if I go back for the pasties?” he whispered to Tessa. “What would you like?”

  Tessa searched his face. “Whatever smells good. Thank you.”

  He nodded once, glanced at the woman, and then disappeared down the path. Tessa stared at the shadowy spot where he stood. She was cold, suddenly. Darkness had fallen in earnest, the mild September day dissolved into a cool autumn night. She searched her reticule for her gloves and tugged them on, returning her attention to the stage.

  Another domestic blunder unfolded, evoking peals of laughter from the crowd. The young wife reclined downstage with a fan and a tray of biscuits. She devoured the sweets with loud, sensual abandon. The husband, meanwhile, clutching the infant in his arms, darted round the stage, voicing his desire to find some place to safely rest the child so that he might steal a few amorous moments with his wife. As he clamored and tripped, and the actor off-stage wailed louder, affecting the sound of the crying baby.

  The audience laughed, and Tessa supposed there w
as some humor to the stolen moments of the wife, stuffing herself with biscuits. The husband was particularly adept at looking hopeless with a crying baby. But something about the scene struck Tessa as distressing and sad rather than funny. Suddenly, she felt a little like crying herself. When the audience roared again, Tessa looked away, tears stinging her eyes.

  Joseph had not returned, but she felt an urgent compulsion to get as far away from the fake crying as she could. She took two steps back, and then three, and then she spun and hurried to the path.

  The noise of the crowd had attracted more onlookers, and she was forced to dodge left and right to weave her way through the stream of revelers. All the while, the droning cry of the pretend baby followed her. She was swamped with thoughts of Christian, left at home with Perry. The nursemaid was perfectly capable, and her son loved Perry, but suddenly Tessa wanted the baby in her arms, she wanted to feel the weight of his warm, pink body and smell his baby smell and see for herself that he wasn’t crying like the baby on the stage.

  Breathing over a painful lump in her throat, Tessa reached the main path and looked left and right. From which way had they come? She was jostled by a painted-cheeked woman who bumped her from the side. Tessa spun and staggered.

  “Sorry, love,” the woman called, and her friends snickered. Behind them, the audience erupted into another wave of laughter. Underlying it all, the persistent wail of the stage baby droned on and on.

  Go, Tessa ordered in her head and she turned left on impulse. Her skirts tangled in her haste, and she stumbled and hitched them up to run. Her hat sagged and she reached up and yanked it from her head. The trail curved left and then right, eventually giving way to a small clearing dominated by a square pergola. The wooden structure formed a high grid that hung heavy with wisteria vine.

  Tessa came up short, her attention caught by the thick vine climbing each pillar like a serpent. The leafy canopy was a natural ceiling of green and autumn gold that obscured the night sky.

  An outdoor room, Tessa marveled, spinning a little. A yew hedge surrounded the little square, with an opening for the pathway in and an opposite pathway out. Glowing lanterns hung at the corners of the pergola, four adjacent swinging orbs of yellow light. Best of all, the thick vines had a muffling effect on the mix of sounds of the park, and the wail of the infant could no longer be heard.