by Cate Masters
Marianne took Livvie’s hand and followed the clerk to a back room. She undressed as if readying for the gallows. The girl helped her try on the dress, buttoning the back. To Livvie’s disappointment, it fit almost perfectly.
Marianne clapped delightedly. “Wonderful. We’ll need just a few adjustments.” She circled Livvie. “Take it in a bit here.” She pinched the waist. “And the shoulders.” Her gaze met Livvie’s. “You are perfection in it. Wendell will be so pleased.”
Wendell! Livvie had liked her brother well enough growing up, even if he’d never paid her much attention. Always busy with schoolwork or his friends. Now, she didn’t want his attention, nor his charity.
Since arriving in New Orleans, she’d written every night, and had nearly finished a novel of her adventures, and had already written to several publishers inquiring of their interest. One would print her story, she was sure of it.
On the coach ride home, Livvie tried to muster some enthusiasm for the coming party, yet couldn’t help feeling she would be little better than a slave on the auction block, going to the one her brother and sister-in-law deemed best fit to improve her place in society. She blushed to think of the remark she’d made to Sam about improving his station in life, when she had no more desire to do so than him.
Marianne boasted about the guest list. “Wendell has invited an attorney new to New Orleans. Very debonair, Wendell said. Mrs. Farley said he was most handsome. And single.” At the last remark, excitement shook her voice.
Livvie forced a smile. How lovely. Another one to fend off.
Marianne’s face turned somber. “I do hope you don’t suffer one of your terrible headaches again.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She had to at least make a show of it this time. Marianne had been nothing but kind, and she couldn’t shame her sister-in-law.
“Good. It would be such a shame, after all the planning and preparations we’ve done.” She sniffed. “And all the gentleman callers you were unable to see.”
Livvie’s only defense was to feign another attack of femininity. “It’s all been so overwhelming since I’ve arrived. And after the terrible ordeal of the shipwreck….”
Marianne’s tone sounded less sympathetic than usual. “Yes, I’m sure. However, it’s time to put things in the past, dear. Time is of the essence.”
The hiss in her sister-in-law’s voice hinted Livvie wasn’t getting any younger. Men viewed her as the prime age for breeding. Producing heirs for their estates.
Suitors be damned. She would attend this ball, and afterward declare her intention to remain single. Until the publisher responded, perhaps she would seek employment as a nanny. A live-in nanny.
* * * *
The dress cut lower across Livvie’s bosom than she would have preferred. She supposed Marianne thought she had to show her wares if she wanted bidders to up their ante.
Marianne instructed her servant to take special pains fixing Livvie’s hair. Livvie sat without complaint for almost two hours while the woman washed and curled it, scenting it with a spicy-sweet fragrance.
When Livvie finally looked in the mirror, she gasped. “Oh, Nanette—it’s lovely. Thank you.” Swept up to one side, her long tresses cascaded down her shoulder.
Marianne burst through the room. “Olivia, are you nearly ready? Guests are beginning to arrive.” She halted at the sight of Livvie, and rushed to her, took her shoulders and embraced her. “My, my. If you are not engaged by evening’s end, I will be amazed. Now hurry downstairs.”
“I must finish dressing.” Livvie hoped her sister-in-law didn’t hear the defeat in her tone. Now the night was upon her, her devil-may-care attitude had abandoned her.
Marianne hurried away, and Nanette helped Livvie into her dress.
Nanette stepped back to assess her. “You are a beauty, miss.”
Livvie flashed her a grateful smile. “Due to your magic touch. Thank you, Nanette.”
In a curtsy, the girl blushed and then went out the door.
Music floated up the steps, conversation accompanied by waves of laughter. Each minute, more coaches sounded outside, bringing more guests. Tonight, if Livvie told her sister-in-law she felt overwhelmed, she would be speaking the truth.
Livvie sighed and strolled to the balcony. A group of men and women stood in the courtyard below. Their animated chatter made her lonely. She couldn’t continue isolating herself, waiting for something to happen.
“Time to move on, Livvie. Take hold of the rudder of your life.”
When one of the men looked up at her, a chill went through her. He hadn’t been at the other parties, she was sure of it. The soft glow of the lanterns provided too little light to see him clearly, though from what she could see, he was a man of means. Well dressed, his dark hair swept back, reaching to his collar, so he must not be so old, at least. Perhaps this was the new attorney in town, here to join in the gathering fray of suitors.
She might as well go downstairs. The sooner the night began, the sooner it would end.
Descending the stairs, heads turned in her direction. Mr. Orville smoothed his mustache, his gaze sweeping over her, leaving an invisible trail of slime across her skin that made her want to run to wash it off. Mr. Orville ogled her outwardly. The crimson dress acted as a beacon for attention. She wished she hadn’t worn it.
She fixed a polite smile on her face, no more nor less, strolling into the main room. Marianne stood with Wendell near two gentlemen, Mr. Orville and another man whose back was toward her. Marianne smiled at Livvie, an encouragement to join them. Returning her smile, Livvie sighed. In a few more steps, she would soon enough be in their midst.
Mr. Mitchell stepped toward her. “Good evening, Miss Collins. May I have the next dance?”
She turned. Dancers swirled past, two by two. She would have to muster up the energy for dancing—particularly for Mr. Mitchell, whose toes frequently landed atop hers on the dance floor.
She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, sir. I’m afraid I’m currently expected by my brother’s group. Perhaps later.”
A dejected look crossed his face. He gave a curt bow, and then walked off.
Her gown continued to draw glances, men indicated their approval by arching a brow or with a leering smile, while their women indicated their disapproval by their cold glares.
Marianne stepped forward, taking her arm. “Here is our lovely Olivia now.” Linking arms, she pulled her to the group.
Livvie fortified herself with a breath. “Good evening.” She smiled at Marianne, followed by Wendell, and Mr. Orville.
Marianne gestured demurely to Livvie’s right. “Olivia, this is Mr. Langhorne. Wendell is trying to woo him into his firm. Perhaps you can help convince him what a wonderful opportunity it would be.” Marianne’s laugh rang through Livvie’s head.
Langhorne? An electricity traveled across Livvie’s skin. She turned to the gentleman next to her. His outstretched hand was sleeved in an ecru linen jacket and a white cotton shirt. Time crystallized, moments stretching to infinity. She lifted her gaze to the smiling face of Sam Langhorne.
“Miss Olivia.” Hand extended, his dark eyes sparkled. “I’m delighted.”
She slipped her fingers into his instinctively. He brought them to his lips in a lingering kiss.
Her voice escaped in a breath. “Mr. Langhorne.”
His brows rose in amusement.
Unable to hide her astonishment, she asked, “You’re an attorney?”
Wendell rocked on his feet. “One of the foremost experts in shipping law. Graduate of Harvard University, isn’t that right, Mr. Langhorne?”
“Yes. Harvard.” While he held her gaze, his eyes taunted her with his secret.
Livvie seethed in anger. She tugged her hand from his grasp. Harvard! Why had he pretended to be nothing more than a wrecker?
Nervousness edged Marianne’s laugh. “Olivia, are you well?”
The tight dress dug into her ribs. She couldn’t breathe properly. “Yes. No.
I need a drink.” She could not restrain her agitation.
“Some punch, perhaps?” Sam teased, his expression innocent as a boy’s.
Only he knew that the last time she’d had punch—too much—she’d sickened herself, and in plain view of other wreckers. The evening haunted her still. Not because of the humiliation, but the heated memory of Sam’s mouth upon hers, his body wonderfully heavy atop hers.
Sam turned to Marianne. “Mrs. Collins, would you have any?”
“Oh dear, no. We have a wonderful selection of wines.”
Livvie said, “Yes, I’d love a Sangria, please.”
He fetched her a glass and one for himself. “Excellent.” He smiled at Wendell, and turned to Livvie. “Don’t you think?”
She gulped it down to quell her quaking nerves. “Yes. Very fine. I believe I’ll have another.”
He lifted the glass from her grasp. “First, would you care to dance?”
Her teeth clenched. She couldn’t very well refuse him in front of her brother, and Sam knew it full well. “Certainly.”
He extended his hand, and she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
He pulled her to him. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”
She knew he meant his tone to convey confusion and disappointment. She would only acknowledge his amusement.
“What brings you to New Orleans, Mr. Langhorne? The temptation of a law firm position?”
His gaze bored into hers. “Other temptations take precedence.” His low voice curled around her spine.
She feigned ignorance, but knew all too well what other temptations he succumbed to. “Such as?”
The playfulness left him. “Must you ask, Livvie? You left without even saying goodbye.”
“Oh, I did endeavor to say goodbye, Mr. Langhorne. When I went to your cottage that morning, you were otherwise engaged, so I thought it best not to interrupt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Millie,” she hissed. “She was in your cabin, not two days after poor Liam’s death.” How Livvie had wanted to comfort Sam, hold him close. Until seeing that hussy at his doorstep first thing the following morning.
He gave an incredulous laugh. “Is that what you think?”
His cavalier attitude stung. “It’s what I saw.” Livvie blinked away her frustration at sounding like a lovesick fool. She could not think straight when he looked at her like that. Such yearning in his eyes. Such love. False admiration.
“She was distraught, Livvie. She needed comforting.”
“Yes, and you were more than capable of providing it.”
“You must have come early. She left soon after she arrived, and I went to the Crowells to find you. You had already boarded ship.”
The missteps of that fateful day came back fresh as a bee sting. She held her head high. “Really, Mr. Langhorne, I would think an attorney of your measure would be able to devise a more plausible excuse.”
His tone sharpened. “It’s no excuse, Miss Collins. And as an attorney, I recognize my right to remain innocent until proven guilty.”
She kept her response light and airy, though her insides churned. So many unanswered questions remained. “Your innocence does not exist.” A great yearning filled her. If only he’d exonerate himself, prove worthy of her trust.
“You are a harsh judge.” His disappointment this time sounded real.
She couldn’t let him use it to his advantage. No longer would she allow herself to be weakened by his pretended affections. “Only in reaction to the harsh truth. I know what I saw.” How many other females had he fooled with his warm smile and tender whispers?
The violins screeched to a halt, and the song ended.
She stepped back, out of his embrace. Wobbling, she steadied herself. “Excuse me. I must take my leave.” She held a hand to her mouth; tears burned her eyes. If she revealed her despair, she did not care.
“Livvie.” He sounded in anguish.
Racing up the staircase, she heard no footsteps behind her. Of course not. Mr. Langhorne appeared the soul of virtue and grace. He would not betray society’s rules by making a show of himself.
No matter what promises she’d made to Marianne, she would not suffer through another minute of being in the presence of Sam Langhorne. The liar.
* * * *
Sam rented a horse and buggy at the livery. Livvie would hear him out, if he had to tie her to a tree. If she still rejected him afterward, he would return to Key West, to his life of owing to no one for his actions. The life he’d intended when he’d first chosen to stay there.
The horse’s owner assured Sam it knew what to do without instruction. It had been years since he’d held reins, and even longer since he’d navigated a buggy. Boats were much more predictable, and not given to protesting commands. Horses, on the other hand, had minds of their own, sometimes too little mind to make them worthwhile. He had no use for skittish animals unable to follow a command. Better to yoke an ox to a cart than a skittish horse.
This one appeared old enough to know what was expected of it, though Sam suspected animals smelled his own skittish nature around them and took advantage. He held the reins taut enough to assure the horse he was in control. The horse, however, took no notice as he pulled back to avoid another carriage in their path.
Sam yelled, “Whoa!” as the horse threw his head. He jerked the reins tighter. The other driver veered the carriage away within inches of a collision, saying something just loud enough for Sam to hear, but not his passengers. From inside the carriage, a man glared at Sam out the window. The lady arched her brow, smiling.
Grinning, he nodded an apology. “Sorry, folks. Temperamental horse.” To the horse, he muttered, “Another similar misstep, and you’ll be sent to the slaughterhouse.”
He drove to the Collins residence without further incident, halting the horse successfully, even if several feet beyond his target. Not trusting the beast to stay put, he called on a servant in the yard to hold the nag.
He placed a coin in the servant’s hand, and then strode the stone path to the front porch. His slacks and jacket had wrinkled during the drive, so he attempted to smooth them away, finger-combing the hair falling across his brow.
No use in prolonging the suspense. If she wouldn’t see him, he would leave.
His loud rapping on the door brought a wide-eyed servant within seconds.
“Good afternoon. I’m Samuel Langhorne, come to call on Miss Olivia. Is she here?”
The woman pulled the door open wider. “Come in, sir. Take a seat in the parlor, please, while I fetch her for you.”
Voices echoed through the hallway and dining room, probably the cooking staff. Up the curling iron-railed stairway, little girls’ laughter sounded from a room.
The servant gestured toward the front room, sweeping noiselessly up the stairs.
Sam paced across the parlor rug. Its Chinese design lured his eye across pagodas, to females in geisha attire, carrying petite umbrellas. Such rugs had been cargo on several doomed ships, hauled up only after great effort.
Outside, the servant stood holding the reins, looking toward the house, still as a statue. The formality of the city’s residents struck Sam as odious. Too similar to Philadelphia.
A swishing of fabric sounded. Marianne walked past the parlor entrance, her skirts hoisted to accommodate her hurried pace. She halted so abruptly, her skirts swung like a bell.
“Mr. Langhorne. I had no idea you were here.” Her surprise appeared severe enough to be akin to an ailment.
He bowed his head, affecting an airy tone. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins.”
She swooshed toward him. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I am hoping to entice young Miss Olivia out for an afternoon buggy ride.”
Her open-mouthed surprise shifted to delight, and she turned as Livvie descended the stairs. “Did you hear, Olivia?”
“Hear what?” Her gaze snapped from Mrs. Collins to him.<
br />
His pulse quickened when her face softened with longing. Quickly she pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes glittering hard as diamonds.
“Mr. Langhorne is here to bring you for a buggy ride. Isn’t it delightful?”
If Sam had doubted the outcome of his proposal, he no longer feared it. The lady of the house had removed any decision from Livvie in no uncertain terms.
Livvie’s voice fell flat, and she glared at him. “No. I hadn’t heard.” She held the rail and directed her question to her sister-in-law. “We planned to take the girls shopping this afternoon. I can’t let them down. They’ll never forgive me.”
Mrs. Collins conveyed her disapproval in her tilted head. Her light tone could not disguise the weight of her words. “Nonsense. We can go shopping tomorrow. The girls prefer to play in the yard anyway. You and Mr. Langhorne can go for a nice, long ride.” She emphasized long, smiling at Sam.
Livvie’s shoulders slumped. She pulled herself straight and descended. “Well, Mr. Langhorne, it seems I have no excuse not to accept your offer.”
Sam tried not to smile. Although Livvie might be an unwilling partner, she’d be a partner nonetheless. All his. He stifled his pleasure.
Mrs. Collins bustled to the steps. “Let me get you a hat, Olivia. The sun is unkind to fair young skin.”
“No, please, Marianne. I detest hats.”
“The surrey has a roof, if it’s any assistance,” Sam offered. Livvie’s sharp glance told him it was not.
“A shawl, then,” her sister-in-law said.
Livvie groaned. “It’s too warm for any coverings. I need nothing else, thank you.”
Mrs. Collins’ thinned lips and sharp exhale conveyed her dismay at her inability to control her inherited relative. She turned to Sam. “I know you will look after my dear sister.”
“Exerting the utmost care.” His tender tone drew a fiery glare from Livvie.
“Excuse me a moment while I get ready.” She strolled slowly up the stairs, her head held high.
Mrs. Collins gave a breathy laugh. “Please excuse her, Mr. Langhorne. The impudence of youth still affects her.”
