Nothing on Earth & Nothing in Heaven

by Susan Fanetti

  “It’s Labour,” asserted another young lord, whose name William didn’t care to know. “They’ve been agitating since they lost the budget two years ago, and the vulgar fools are using Bertie’s death as an opportunity to make trouble.”

  Bertie—King Edward VII. William was surprised that such uptight people would call their recently buried royal a name like that in public, but no one seemed to mind. Lord Tarrin was unhappy with the whole turn of the conversation. He tried several times to find a chance to cut into the talk, but the young men around him were engrossed.

  So was Lady Nora. Her bright eyes fixed on each speaker and burned, soaking up their words. William saw that she, too, wanted to join in, but she didn’t. None of the ladies spoke.

  And then she did. Her eyes landed on him, and she leapt into a narrow space between remarks. “How about you, Mr. Frazier? Do your politicians squabble and scheme like ours?”

  A ripple ran around the table, as all the other young ladies turned to each other. At the corner of his eye, William saw Lord Tarrin set his head in his hand—for a second only, but the point was made.

  William should have answered the question simply and turned the conversation away from her. He knew that these lords and ladies didn’t want to hear from her. In truth, it wasn’t much different in America. At least not on the East Coast. California was a different place, though, wild and raw. San Francisco had been founded by the Spaniards around the time that the British colonies to the east asserted their independence, but the city had flowered in the Gold Rush, built up with pioneer sweat and blood. It still had the rough spirit of the frontier.

  It wasn’t so unusual for a woman to speak her mind in San Francisco. In fact, his mother was a warrior in the fight for women’s suffrage and had often shared a podium with Carrie Catt. Yet she still managed to be one of the luminaries of San Francisco society.

  He smiled and answered her question. “I think all politicians squabble and scheme, Lady Nora. But California is a different place from London, or New York or Washington, for that matter, so I don’t know if I can speak for American politics.”

  “Different in what way?” Chris asked that question, and William glanced at his friend, surprised. Lord Tarrin was surprised as well. And far from pleased.

  “Well, it’s young. We’re not too far removed from the pioneers and prospectors who built it up. We remember the hard work.” He turned back to Lady Nora and smiled. “My father inherited his fortune, but my grandfather made it. He came from Scotland with nothing. He crossed the ocean, and then he crossed the country. All the way across three thousand miles of water and three thousand miles of land with nothing but a strong back and a stronger will. He made our family’s money digging into the ground with his hands. Then, when my father was young, my grandfather put him to work on the railroad line swinging a hammer, so he’d appreciate the toil that gave us all we had. My father did the same for me. So in California, there are those of us who remember where we came from and who made us.”

  The table was absolutely silent, and William turned right and left, considering his audience and seeing a vast array of shocked faces—more than shocked. Appalled. Only two showed any other expression than contempt. Chris, whose amused smirk was at the others’ expense more than William’s, and Lady Nora, who seemed frankly dazzled.

  “So you support Labour, then?” she asked, her voice soft with awe.

  “Nora, sweetling,” Lady Collington muttered.

  When Lady Nora seemed unmoved by her aunt’s gentle reproof, William answered her question. “I don’t know much about English politics, my lady, so I couldn’t say.” That was a lie, but he knew better than to come right out for Labour at this table. He was already waltzing over thin ice, having all but outright called the people sitting at this table with him, including his host, lazy and out of touch. Normally, he was far subtler than this, but Chalford had been a pompous ass throughout the meal, and William’s hackles were up. “But I support the workers. My father as well. When a union rep came to talk to our workers, my father made him welcome. They voted not to unionize because they didn’t need it.”

  “Really,” Chalford sneered. “You Americans and your pioneer mania. You have no history. You’re all children, playing in the woods.”

  Ass. William was a guest here who’d already overshot his welcome, and he’d broken his promise to Lady Collington not to draw too much notice to himself, so he ignored the barb. He kept his attention on the lovely face across the table. Her fair cheeks had taken on a rosy flush of excitement that crept toward her jaw.

  “And women? Have women won the vote in California?”

  “No, my lady, they haven’t.” She looked so suddenly crestfallen that he hastened to add, “But there’s a move to put an amendment to the state constitution on the ballot next year.”

  “Will you vote in favor of that amendment, Mr. Frazier?”

  “My dear friends,” Lord Tarrin finally cut in, his voice weary and tense. “I must ask that we end this wholly inappropriate talk. This is not the place. Think, please, of the ladies in the room.”

  Lady Nora blinked and twitched, as if her father’s words had lashed her. She ducked her head and picked up her fork again.

  Despite her father’s reproach and the silent censure around the table, William answered the question she’d asked. “Yes, my lady, I will.”

  Pretty turquoise eyes peered gratefully up at him, and he was inordinately pleased to have eased her embarrassment and her mind. He wanted to tell her about his mother, but that bit of news might give her father a stroke.

  Her abashed, suddenly bashful expression made her youth and innocence all the more clear. Lady Nora was not at all what he wanted, just as he was not at all what she needed. It was utterly absurd to think of her as anything but his friend’s young sister.

  But William gazed upon the lovely, lively young lady across the table and thought he’d found himself in some difficulty already.

  THREE

  Nora had made a hash of her dinner, all before the remove was served. The rest of the meal carried on awkwardly, with her father and aunt making valiant attempts to find topics of safe interest. Nora herself, the hostess of the evening, and thus burdened with the obligation of conveying the conversation, didn’t bother. She burned with shame, and her father’s words carved into her mind. Think of the ladies in the room, he’d said. In response to a question Nora herself had asked. As if she weren’t to be considered in the group he named ‘ladies.’

  Well, she didn’t want to be a lady, did she? No, she did not, not while ladies were expected to do little more than make heirs and wear clothes, both well. Still, at the table, in this company, her father could hardly have made a sharper rebuke, save calling her a tart. And she’d only asked questions! She’d tried hard not to directly express an opinion. Apparently, even curiosity made her an embarrassment.

  She kept her eyes on her meal, except when they strayed of their own volition across the table, where they always seemed to find and meet Mr. Frazier’s eyes. They were hazel, those eyes, a greenish, golden brown—just light enough that they couldn’t be mistaken for ordinary brown, and just dark enough that their true colour was indeterminable unless one really looked.

  A wealthy man who supported the worker. A powerful man who supported suffrage. A refined man who knew hard labour. He was a unicorn among men—why, he was even Scottish after all, only two generations removed. But he was removed. He was an American. She could hardly consider a man with no title, who made his home thousands of miles away.

  At this table full of men she was meant to entice to propose to her, only three men were out of bounds—her father and brother, and the American who was the only other man whose company she thought she might enjoy.

  After dinner ended, Aunt Martha led the ladies to the drawing room, while the men went to the library, where they could smoke and drink and discuss politics in earnest. Meanwhile, in the drawing room, the ladies sat mostly quietly, murmur
ing to each other and casting sidelong glances in Nora’s direction.

  She wanted to go home. Her true home—Kent. Christopher could have London; he seemed to enjoy it. She would content herself marrying a country doctor or a vicar and become a sturdy wife who gardened.

  Nora stood alone and peered out an open French door, her back to the room. She could just make out the clamor of London where it passed the entrance to the Square. All those people, all that noise, everyone rushing everywhere.

  Aunt Martha sidled beside her and hooked her arm with Nora’s. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but tonight of all nights, you must try. Once you’re wed, there are ways you can make room to unfold your wings. But you must be wed first.”

  “I should like to take your path, Auntie. Marry an old man and wait for him to die.”

  The moment the words left her tongue, she understood their offense. That was the way with her mouth—it ran off and did what it wanted and then felt instant, but too late, regret. She turned to Aunt Martha and saw the impact of her unkindness. “Oh, Auntie. Please forgive me.”

  Her aunt was resilient and even-tempered, and she quickly mustered a smile. She patted Nora’s cheek. “There is much you don’t know, little dove. Like you, my life was shaped by what was expected of me, regardless of what I would have chosen for myself. So I know what I speak when I tell you that there are ways to find freedom even in a gilded cage. The trick is to know that and stop fighting before they make the cage so small there is hardly space to breathe. If you seem to do what they want, they won’t notice that you do anything else. You can’t keep on as you’ve been, Nora.”

  “I know.” It wasn’t the first time Aunt Martha had counseled her to simply submit, marry well, wait until her husband had settled into complacency and her reputation as a proper married lady was established, and then use all of her abundant free time to have the life she wanted. She understood her aunt’s wisdom. But she didn’t want to sneak and skulk. She didn’t want to comport herself as though her interests in the world were akin to adultery. She wanted to be respected for who she was and what she thought. She wanted a man who wanted a woman like her.

  Quiet commotion behind them indicated that the gentlemen had joined the ladies, and the next, and last, phase of the evening had commenced. Now, there would be clusters of socially appropriate conversations, punctuated by sly cuts masked as compliments, as the young ladies and gentlemen jockeyed for favour. There would be whist as well; two tables were set up for matches already.

  It was Nora’s responsibility to encourage gamers to the tables. She meant to do it; she even opened her mouth. But the words wouldn’t come. She felt too bleak to pretend to be anything else.

  “Oh, dove,” Aunt Martha muttered with a last squeeze of Nora’s arm. She turned to the guests and spread her arms out. “Who’ll have a game with me? Christopher, will you be my partner?”

  Christopher stood with the altogether too distracting Mr. Frazier. He grinned at Aunt Martha. “Of course, Auntie! Will, do you know whist?”

  “I don’t. Is it difficult to learn?”

  “Not at all.” Lady Beatrix Boltborne, a tall, voluptuous lady with unblemished alabaster skin and lush auburn hair, stepped forward with a smile at Mr. Frazier that made Nora’s fists clench. “I’ll be your partner and show you how to play.”

  Lady Beatrix was also having her first Season, far more successfully than Nora. Mr. Frazier smiled at the beautiful redhead and—after what Nora was almost sure was a quick glance in her own direction, but she might only have wished it to be true—held out his arm for Lady Beatrix.

  “I’m at your service and your mercy, then,” the unicorn among men said.

  “Lady Nora, would you like to play?” Chalford strode to her and held out his arm. Mr. Frazier didn’t seem to notice that.

  No, she didn’t want to play, but if she continued to behave as she had all night, she might as well pack her bags and run off to a traveling circus. Step right up for a sight that will dazzle the eyes! Tuppence for a glimpse of the strange and stupefying Unweddable Lady!

  She smiled up at Chalford. He really was a handsome man. “Yes, Your Grace, I would be delighted.”

  Nora was good at whist, and despite her dejection, she played well. Chalford was also good at whist, and they played well together. After a round or two, her attention was sufficiently captured by the strategy of the game that she found herself having a good time. She even laughed, sincerely, at Chalford’s humor. He was quite good, she discovered, at disrupting their opponents’ thinking with a well placed, playful barb.

  When the game was over, with the other table still involved in their hands, and the rest of the guests settled into conversations, Chalford put his hand at Nora’s elbow. “I wonder if you might take a turn with me, Lady Nora.”

  Did he mean to announce his intention? Nora’s heart stuttered and sped. What she felt wasn’t excitement, exactly, though Chalford’s proposal was the most coveted in London. Her heart raced more from trepidation and uncertainty. Would she accept? She should, certainly. Her father would be pleased to the point of bliss. She would be the envy of all the women in London. Including Beatrix Boltborne. But did she like him? Not much. Until tonight, he’d shown her nothing but a nicely arranged façade. With a dismissive comment about her family’s staff, he’d started the misguided conversation at dinner. He was little better than any other lord, only handsomer and wealthier.

  But she had enjoyed his repartee during whist. Perhaps there was something more to be made of that. And she did have to marry. After the turmoil of these weeks in Society, it would be a coup to land an engagement at her own dinner.

  Offering him the best, most proper and attractive smile she knew how to make, Nora inclined her head. “I would enjoy that very much, Your Grace.”

  Beaming smug victory, Chalford hooked her arm over his and led her toward the open doors and the loggia beyond.

  The day had been hot and muggy, and the night remained warm. The new electric lights in the house, though harsh, were at least cooler than the gas lamps had been, and the French doors had all been open to let as much fresh air as possible into the drawing room, but Nora sighed when they stepped onto the flagstone floor of the loggia. Even the still midsummer night was a relief from the close air of the room just behind them. She walked away from Chalford’s hold and crossed to the stone balustrade, looking over the moonlit garden below.

  She filled her chest full of night air and let it go. “It’s a lovely night.”

  “Indeed.” He was back at her side, taking her arm again. “Walk in the garden with me.”

  Nora looked over her shoulder to the open doors and the bright room beyond, where her guests mingled and seemed not to have noticed the absence of their hostess or her most important guest.

  “It’ll be fine, Lady Nora. There’s no risk to your honour to walk in the gardens with me, outdoors and in full view. Not that such things seem to concern you.”

  She turned sharply back to glare at him. “I care very much about my honour, Your Grace.”

  He bowed subtly. “Forgive me. I was coarse. I only meant—you seem not to care what people think.” When he led her away from the balustrade to the steps leading down, she didn’t resist.

  “What people think and what is true seem hardly related. I simply don’t think that the former should be more important than the latter.”

  They were at the base of the steps, standing on the path, its white pebbles glittering in the moonlight. Nora took a step forward on that path, but Chalford led her onto the grass, pulling her into the shadowy space against the foundation of the loggia. Here, no one would see them. Here, everyone would wonder where they’d hidden themselves away.

  “Your Grace, the garden is just ahead.”

  He leaned in, pushing her against the stone wall, framing her head with his hands. The stones rasped over the silk of her dress. Her heart beat wildly now. What did he intend? To molest her at her own father’s house? Did he
think because she was loose with her tongue she was loose with the rest of her body? Well, he was wrong.

  “You are very beautiful, Nora.”

  He dared address her familiarly, refusing her her title. Her father had separated her from the ladies at dinner, and now this duke did the same. Nora had never felt so offended in her life. But he was Chalford. She bit down on her lip and tried to keep back all the vicious words that had leapt forward, and resolved to handle this like a lady.

  “Your Grace, please stand back.”

  He ignored her, except to shift his weight from one hand and brush a fingertip over her cheek. Nora flinched away from his touch, and his sly smirk faltered into a frown, then restored itself.

  “I think we would make a good match, you and I.”

  He did mean to announce his intention. Did he believe, then, that she would find this conduct flattering?

  “I will speak to your father tonight, only I need a solemn promise from you first.”

  “What is that, Your Grace?”

  “You must promise to keep your mouth closed and your tongue still, Nora. From this moment forward.” His smirk spread across his whole face. “Unless I wish otherwise, of course.”

  Nora could see that he meant his words as a double entendre, and though she didn’t fully understand the layered meaning, she understood its lascivious intent. From her head to her feet, she trembled with rage. Chalford clearly thought her quivering meant something different, for his smirk became a bright smile, and he leaned close until his lips nearly touched hers. She’d never been kissed on the mouth before, and she meant not to be kissed on the mouth tonight—or by Chalford, ever.

  “You will breed me perfect children, Nora. A houseful of them. But you must hold your tongue.” He tried to close the last inch between their lips.

  With all she had, Nora shoved him back and forced him to stumble two whole steps away. “Breed? As if I’m a mare? Would you like to check my teeth to be sure I’m of good enough stock—or would that leave my mouth too much open?”