Before Anne could protest that she was not ill in the traditional sense, Clara said, “Come. Let us go sit on the bench over there. You must have some shade and some rest.”
Anne nodded and followed their lead, grateful for the concern as well as for their literal support on both sides of her. “Everyone is watching me,” she said under her breath as they reached the bench and sat on it, Anne still in the middle. “They’re staring at me as if they know I don’t belong with folks like you.”
While in many respects, this moment was something out of a daydream, and she didn’t want it to end for that reason alone, she also knew she couldn’t bear the stares and shocked faces much longer.
For a moment, none of them said another word. Then, “Hmm,” from Clara.
Davis leaned forward to look around Anne’s form and asked Clara precisely what she was thinking. “What, pray tell, does that mean?”
“Oh, I don’t think you could tolerate hearing my thoughts.”
“I am a grown man, dear cousin, and older than you are. I believe I can withstand an opinion.”
“Very well,” Clara said. “I was going to tell Anne that I believe I know the reason for most of the stares, and I am quite sure it has precious little to do with Anne’s position.”
“Or lack of one,” Anne said quietly.
“I believe,” Clara said, gazing about the square as if taking in every glance and stare of every passerby, “that all of those women see you on the arm of my cousin, someone I have been told is considered to be quite handsome, debonair, and attractive, though he pales in comparison to my husband, of course.”
Anne appreciated the gesture of loyalty, while Davis chuckled at it.
“I believe,” Clara continued, “that most of what you are seeing is envy, and that, if given the option, they’d quite happily exchange places with you.”
If Anne had felt flushed and weak before, she felt nigh unto fainting now. She kept her gaze on Clara, absolutely unable to look at Davis to see his reaction to the speculation. She expected him to laugh off the idea as a ridiculous notion.
He did laugh, but this time, it came out as a nervous, stuttering thing. He cleared his throat—twice—before saying, “Let’s discuss something else, what say, dear cousin?”
Clara looked at Davis, then shifted her focus to Anne, grinning. “I do believe we’ve embarrassed him. Or I suppose I have. Though every word I said is true. They envy you, and not only because you are with him. You are far prettier than I believe you know.”
Staring at her lap, clasping and unclasping her fingers, Anne said, “You are very kind, but I know quite well—”
“Clara is right.” Davis spoke the words—just three—quickly and quietly, as if self-conscious, but also sincerely.
In surprise, Anne turned to him, mouth half open, unsure what to say.
Davis pressed his lips together as if in thought, then lifted his gaze to hers. “I don’t mean about anything to do with me,” he said quickly. “I mean the other part. Too many women with all the means in the world dress themselves up yet lack the very inner beauty that makes a truly beautiful woman glow from the inside. You, on the other hand, I must say, are the reverse: a diamond wrapped in a dress far below what is suited to your beauty.” He tilted his head to one side. “To mix metaphors.”
“Th-thank you.” Anne had no idea what else to say, or if she could say another word at all. Her day had shifted once more into something entirely unexpected. A sliver of doubt inside her wondered if this was all part of an elaborate daydream she’d concocted. She’d blink and come back to the present at any moment, only to find herself icing a cake or drizzling images of fireflies on the cold marble slab. For a few seconds, a moment that felt suspended in time, she looked into Davis’s eyes, felt their warmth, and let that warmth flow through her down to her toes. He meant the words he’d said.
He thinks I’m beautiful. She would definitely remember this day.
Clara’s voice pierced the bubble of the moment. “I suppose we should tell her why we came today, don’t you think?”
They hadn’t come to walk with her about the square? Embarrassment snaked through Anne like a finger of ice, dousing the previous warmth. Of course they hadn’t come to take her for a turn about the park and some lively conversation. They had some sort of other business. Perhaps they wanted to order a cake or another ice. This was a business transaction. Why had she thought otherwise for even a moment?
“What can I do for you?” she asked, hoping to return to her typical businesslike self. She prayed her face and voice would not betray her disappointment.
“It is not what you can do for us,” Clara said, “but rather, something Davis here has already done for you.”
Her head spun seemingly one direction and then another. Clara and Davis had surprised her several times already and were about to do so again. What could Davis have possibly done for her—bought her a copper bowl? She turned back to look at him, her brows raised in silent question.
He licked his lips before answering, seeming nervous suddenly. “Those stable workers will never again bother you. I made sure of that.”
Anne’s eyes narrowed in confusion. She looked back and forth between Davis and Clara. “I don’t understand.”
“After what he witnessed in the stables, Davis came to the reception at the hotel visibly upset.”
“He . . . he did?” Covering her mouth with one hand, Anne was almost too scared to hear what was coming next.
Clara nodded, looking pleased at being the bearer of such splendid news. Davis gave Anne a sheepish smile and a one-shouldered shrug. “I could not bear the thought of those scoundrels bothering an innocent woman again. Especially not you. It did not take much to convince the hotel to find other stable hands. They have much to gain by maintaining a good relationship with the United States, and the manager knows that Peter and I have some sway in the government back home.”
He shifted on the bench to look at her better, and his face was one of sincerity and gravity. “It is wrong for any woman to have to fear simply while going about her work. I pray that whoever replaces those boys will be kinder and gentler. That they will treat you with respect. And if they don’t, say a word, and they will be dismissed.”
So many questions swirled in Anne’s head, like colored sprinkles falling from a jar, tumbling into a jumbled pile.
Davis rested his hands on his knees. “That’s what we came to tell you today. Those boys have been dismissed, and you need no longer fear them.”
How precisely did one tell one’s rescuer that he’d overstepped his bounds? That he might have ruined the lives of those poor, if annoying, stable hands? That they might struggle now simply finding food to eat and might never secure another position of employment? To have been dismissed from a position at a place as respected as the Millennium Hotel would be a disgrace. They would not have letters of recommendation to take to prospective employers. They might wind up on the streets, surviving by committing deeds far worse than teasing an old maid.
But Davis does not know any of that. Goodness, life in America must be different.
He’d done only what he thought was the right thing to do. He was a good man, trying to protect and help.
“That was very kind of you,” she said. “I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe.” She stood, then clasped her hands once more—they were trembling but for entirely different reasons now, and she couldn’t well explain to them that it was due to an unease in her middle at the thought of Hank and Eric’s dismissal. “I am sure the shop will be expecting me. Thank you for taking me out to experience some fresh air. And for the pleasant conversation. This was most enjoyable.”
Chapter Six
That evening, Anne opened the front of the oven. Protecting her hand with a thick dishcloth, she took out the last of tomorrow’s breakfast scones—these ones made with blueberries and lemon zest. They smelled delicious, making her stomach rumble. As if one of the fates knew how tempti
ng they were, Anne watched, first in dismay but then with a little glee, as the smallest scone, one at the corner of the baking sheet, slipped off and landed on the dirty floor. She slid the baking tray onto the wood counter, then picked up the hot scone. She blew on it several times, inhaling the deliciousness, then set it aside. That one wouldn’t be able to be sold; aside from any dirt that might have gotten on it, the scone had broken apart. Blueberry filling marked the floor, and the flaky pastry was dented.
What a shame. It would serve as her supper. She hadn’t managed to find the time to eat this evening, but more than that, having food she didn’t have to pay for meant she could stash the saved pennies into her saving jar. With every coin that pinged as it fell into her jar, she imagined what she could purchase with it. A whisk, a wooden spoon, a tablecloth, a table. One chair, then two. An apron. And on and on.
With the scones cooling, she turned to the ice cream mold that she’d set to harden earlier. It was another order for foreign officials gathered this week in Grosvenor Square. Soon enough, she had the ice cream basket completed and prepared to make the walk as quickly as she could to the Hampton mansion, which was in Grosvenor Square proper. She didn’t have to go walking through the mews behind the hotel. That meant a more pleasant walk but also a slightly longer one. She’d have to hurry, or the detail on the ice cream would become blurred as it melted. She carried the treat in a pail and locked the back door of the shop behind her.
She’d long been used to walking alone in the dark; she’d had to do so most months of the year thanks to the distance to the boardinghouse. Sometimes she could afford to pay for a ride, but she rarely did, and even when she could, she preferred to stash the pennies into her jar. This walk was more comfortable, however; while her boardinghouse didn’t sit in the worst part of London, it wasn’t the best area, either. Thieves, robbers, and ladies of the night were known to take up there. But the Mayfair district was one of the best. This was where the upper crust of Society spent their time. Poorer folk couldn’t afford to eat, let alone live, in Mayfair.
This district had a greater number of streetlamps, for which she was grateful, as they provided fewer shadowy places for unsavory individuals to hide in. Tonight, the nearly full moon brightened her surrounding all the more, almost as if she carried a lamp. Of late, her imagination had gotten the better of her, and she’d envisioned horrible things hiding in the darkness, waiting to pounce on her. She rounded the corner that put the Millennium Hotel stables in sight. A faint lantern glowed from somewhere inside, reminding her of the night earlier that week. Where was Davis now? Would he remember her in six months? She’d remember him, no question. He was forever bound to her daydreams.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind her, and a slight jolt went through her. Anne increased her pace, trying to make no sound so she could instead hear whatever—or whoever—was behind her, all the while keeping her chin up and her shoulders back to make a show of confidence. Only silence met her. She continued walking. There it was again. She stopped altogether and whirled about. The sound had stopped again. She saw no one. Heart pounding, Anne turned forward again, determined to make her delivery quickly and get to the boardinghouse right away.
There it was again. Or almost the same sound. A gentleman appeared ahead, moving her direction with purposeful steps. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the pail handle tighter. The man, however, simply acknowledged her with a slight nod, started whistling, then bounded up the steps of a townhouse, which he entered without the slightest to-do.
My blasted imagination, she thought, moving ahead once more. She breathed out heavily, hoping her nerves would exit with the air. She hummed a folk tune to help keep her distracted and to prevent her from hearing imaginary and innocent noises.
At last she reached Grosvenor Square. Stepping onto one of the manicured paths made her relax and let out a sigh of relief. She checked the address on the order and headed to the row of grand mansions facing the square. Upon finding the correct door, she mounted the front steps, feeling nervous as she always did when delivering to the main door rather than a servants’ entrance. That was the request, so there she was. She used the heavy knocker hanging from the center, then stepped back and held the pail handle with both hands as she waited. When the door remained unanswered, she rapped with the knocker a second time, but with more force.
Leaves on the bushes and trees behind her moved.
Someone followed me, she thought, but once more chastised herself for being so sensitive as to border on paranoia. After all, a slight evening breeze could have easily created the same whispered flutter.
At last the hinges creaked, and the heavy door opened. On the other side stood Davis Whitledge. His eyes widened, surely matching her own, though she felt quite sure that hers were larger than tea saucers.
“I—I thought you were staying at the Millennium,” she said lamely.
“I am,” Davis said. “I’m here with Peter and Clara—”
“On government business,” Anne finished. “Of course. How silly of me.”
“Not precisely.” Davis smiled at her apparent confusion. “Peter was invited to this ball. It isn’t necessary for his duties, but he felt certain that important businessmen would attend, so he brought me along. I came in hopes of being introduced to some of them, but the prospects so far are minimal.” He gestured toward the pail, which in her nerves, she’d almost forgotten about entirely. “I imagine that is for the guests?”
“I suppose.” But her brow furrowed. “Seems like an awfully small refreshment for a ball.” She handed over the pail.
Someone important stayed in this townhouse, likely the minister from another government, but she could not recall who it might be, or whom the ice was intended for. Befuddled at having Davis answering the door—what rich man does such a thing instead of allowing the servants to do their jobs?—she couldn’t formulate another coherent sentence.
Someone came up from behind Davis, calling his name—a woman. She sidled up to him and slipped a hand through the crook of his elbow. “There you are,” she said, stroking his coat sleeve with her free hand. “I’ve been looking for you. Never imagined I’d find you performing the butler’s duties.” She laughed, a tinkling noise, like crystal.
“I was just trying to be helpful. It didn’t appear that Mr. Oaks heard Miss Preston knocking on the door.”
“Oh, you know each other,” the woman said, leaning her ringlet-bedecked head to rest on Davis’s sleeve.
“Yes, we do,” Davis said, straightening. Perhaps pulling away from her slightly. “Miss Hampton, this is Miss Anne Preston. Miss Preston, Miss Eliza Hampton. She is the daughter of Mr. Hugh Hampton.”
The famous tea merchant. Rich, indeed. No wonder Davis had come in hopes of being introduced. He clearly hadn’t anticipated the attentions of Hampton’s daughter.
Eliza laughed again, this time a brief staccato thing that sounded only a shade away from a scoff. “I do believe she’s awestruck,” Eliza said, looking at Anne but speaking to him as if she weren’t right there. “Quick, let’s let her be on her way before our wealth and prestige overwhelm her entirely and she faints right there on the front step.” Another tinkling laugh floated out the door.
Anne’s face flushed hot, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably. At least Davis hadn’t laughed, too. “I should go now. Thank you.” Anne curtsied and turned.
“Wait,” Davis called to her.
She stopped but daren’t do more. She could not bear to see Eliza’s amused, patronizing expression again, nor Davis’s look of pity.
“Have you been paid?”
Upper-class folk never paid in advance. Gunter’s made sure to collect payment separately. On the other hand, deliveries such as tonight’s typically did garner her tips, something else she hadn’t received—and noted only now, when Davis alluded to the subject.
His footfall sounded behind her, and soon he stood at her side on the step, which barely had room enough for the two of th
em. He held out one hand, palm filled with coins as it had been the day they met. “Take what’s fair. For the ice cream, but also for your trouble.”
The girl seemed to have flounced off in a huff. She smiled softly at that realization, glad he’d left Miss Hampton inside. The coins glittered slightly from the light spilling out the door. “This appears to be becoming a habit.”
Davis held them out farther. “Please.”
“Mrs. Argus will be sure the correct amount is collected from the housekeeper.” She made a move to take the next stair, but Davis stepped in front of her and looked at her with pleading eyes.
“Please? For your trouble.”
Somehow, she couldn’t bear the thought of reaching out and feeling his hand under her fingertips again, though she felt mighty tempted. She was not, however, accustomed to others’ pity and did not plan to be part of such a thing now or ever. “I don’t need anything,” she said, meaning coins, of course, though even that statement was false. As soon as the words slipped past her lips, she caught her breath. She needed so many things, wanted more. She’d resigned herself to not getting most of them, or at least of dreaming she’d have them sometime in the future. She was tired of resigning herself.
“Here.” He reached forward, opened the mouth of one of her apron pockets, and dumped the entire handful of coins inside.
She gaped as they clinked against one another, and then she looked up, mouth hanging open. She simply could not comprehend the generous gift. “I—I don’t understand.”
“I wish I had more with me.”
She didn’t doubt his sincerity. At first, she doubted his understanding of how much money he’d given her, but the intensity of his eyes told her that he knew quite well what he’d given her. “Thank you,” she said again, somehow getting the words out through a tight chest and throat even as her mind flew through the many items such a sum could buy.
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 13
