Perfect Stranger

by Duncan, Alice

  How dared Somerset FitzRoy offer a proposal like the one he’d offered? Had he honestly believed she would be so overcome with gratitude that she’d snap up his offer and thank him for it? He’d spoken no words of love, or even of admiration. He’d not said he’d been swept off his feet, although he did mention that he feared she’d be swept off hers by some cad or other. Was she that pathetic in his eyes?

  Evidently.

  Well, that was just too bad, because Isabel Golightly was no man’s pet. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, frowned at her still-swollen eyelids, pinched her cheeks to give them color, straightened her shoulders, threw on a dressing gown, and marched downstairs and into the kitchen, where Eunice took her breakfast before school.

  Her daughter looked up and smiled with genuine pleasure when she saw her mother. “You’re awake!”

  Laughing gently, Isabel said, “More or less. I wanted to tell you all about my premiere last night.”

  “Oh, good! I want to hear about it.” Eunice scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, brown sugar, and cream and stuffed it into her mouth. Her large brown eyes sparkled like gemstones. “And I want to show you something I read in the Chronicle.”

  Isabel loved her so much in that instant that she very nearly succumbed to tears again. It was only by the grace of God, and with a little help from Somerset and Loretta, that Eunice was eating so well. If Eunice had been living alone with her mother in this new land, she might well be starving to death, Isabel’s only skills lying in the realm of the terpsichorean.

  But she didn’t want to think about that right now. God apparently had a plan for Eunice and her because they weren’t shivering on a street corner somewhere in New York. They were here, in Loretta’s magnificent home, and Eunice was eating porridge and cream and brown sugar for breakfast.

  Eunice continued to eat, but she listened with gratifying attention as Isabel told her about the dances and the hotel and the glittering chandelier and everything. “And Miss Linden and Miss MacTavish and Mr. FitzRoy and Dr. Abernathy all came to lend me their support, too,” she finished, buttering a piece of toast for herself that she didn’t want. She was attempting to put on a good show for her daughter.

  “I knew they were going, of course,” said Eunice. “It was nice of them to stay till the end. It must have been a comfort for you to have your friends there.”

  “It was.” Again, she had a sudden and burning urge to cry. Again, she didn’t give in to it. “I think I’m going to enjoy my job. My feet hurt.” She tried for a hearty laugh, although it came out sort of thin. “But I don’t mind.”

  “I think you’ll find that having your feet hurt from dancing is better than having your hands raw and bleeding from doing char work.”

  Ah. So Eunice remembered her mother’s hands, did she? Isabel was sorry about that. “Yes, indeed. My poor hands still hurt when I think about it.”

  “I’m glad you don’t have to do char work any longer, Mama.” Eunice picked up the Chronicle that lay folded neatly beside her cereal bowl. “Look at this, Mama. It’s about a dancing contest.”

  “A dancing contest?” Interested in spite of her gloomy mood, Isabel took the newspaper and began reading aloud as her daughter picked up her bowl and glass and walked to the sink to rinse her dirty dishes.

  “‘Attention ladies and gentlemen interested in the modern social dances. A contest will be held at San Francisco’s famous Palace Hotel on August 15, 1912, beginning at one p.m. The winning couple will receive a $5,000 prize.” Isabel felt her eyes widen at the amount of the prize. “Dances will include the foxtrot, the waltz, the schottische, and the tango. Couples must dance to the music provided.’” She stared at the announcement. “My goodness.”

  “I thought perhaps you and Mr. Savedra could enter. You’d have to share the prize, but it might help you in earning money, which I know you’re eager to do.”

  “It might, indeed.” Isabel’s head filled with visions of a dance studio run by none other than her very own self. The Amazing Graciousness Dance Academy. Yes. That was it, all right. Amazing Graciousness. “Thank you for showing me this, Eunice. I can hardly wait to ask Mr. Savedra about it.”

  “You dance beautifully together, Mama. And if you danced that well when you’d never even met each other before, by the time the contest arrives, it will take a tremishously skilled couple to beat you.”

  “Tremishously?” Isabel asked, puzzled. “Um . . . do you mean tremendously, sweetie?”

  Eunice thought about it. “I guess so, yes.”

  “Thank you.” Isabel smiled at her daughter, wondering if it was love guiding Eunice’s opinion, or if she might be right. As a rule, Eunice didn’t succumb to emotion, except in the middle of the night when sleep conquered her resistance.

  “I’m not only saying that, either,” Eunice assured her, as if she knew what was on her mother’s mind. “As you know, I don’t often allow emotion to influence my opinions.”

  “Yes. I know it well.” God bless the child. “When do you have to leave for school, sweetie?”

  Eunice looked at the clock on the kitchen shelf. “In about fifteen minutes. I always try to give myself plenty of time.”

  She would. Little Miss Responsibility, Eunice. Didn’t have a single spontaneous trait in her, which was a good thing. Spontaneity was what had led to Isabel’s own downfall.

  “I’m going to run upstairs and change, and I’ll walk you to school. Will that be all right, dearie?”

  “Oh, yes, please! That would be very nice!” Since her eyes gleamed and her smile extended from ear to ear, Isabel believed her. Sometimes, since her daughter was so unlike most children, Isabel needed concrete signs to remind herself that Eunice was, after all, only six years old.

  Isabel was as good as her word. It didn’t take her long to throw on a day dress and some shoes and stockings, top it with a sweater, and to wrap her hair into a knot and pin it at the back of her head. She plopped a hat on top of everything, jammed in a pin to hold it on, and when she hurried downstairs and into the kitchen again, Eunice had just received a luncheon pail from Mrs. Brandeis, who always prepared a noon meal for her to take with her to school.

  Eunice reached for her mother’s hand, they both thanked Mrs. Brandeis, and the two Golightly ladies headed out the front door. The day was glorious, with no fog or smut to clog the air and people’s lungs, and Isabel felt a sense of contentment that she hadn’t expected.

  If her heart ached a trifle, and if she wished Somerset FitzRoy, the hero of her life, had offered her a slightly more heroic proposal than the one he had, well, she still had Eunice. Eunice was more important than men or proposals or anything else in the world.

  And she couldn’t help but wish Somerset had told her that he loved her madly and couldn’t live without her.

  Foolish, foolish Isabel.

  Chapter Twelve

  “You did what?” Jason Abernathy squinted up from his cluttered desk, upon which sat several wilting bouquets of flowers that he’d bought from street urchins, and a variety of beauty creams and lotions, teas and herbs, he’d bought from different Chinese herbalists whose businesses he tried to help to propitiate.

  “I proposed last night.” Somerset was sprawled in a hard-backed chair on the other side of Jason’s desk, hands jammed into his pockets, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. From the expression on Jason’s face, Somerset presumed he didn’t look like a happy bridegroom-to-be.

  “Um . . . this is just a stab in the dark, you understand, but I get the feeling it didn’t go quite as you’d planned.”

  “She refused me.”

  “She did, did she?” The good doctor didn’t seem awfully surprised.

  Something cynical twisted inside Somerset. In his rational brain, he knew it wasn’t Jason’s fault that Isabel had refused his proposal, but he felt ill-used by the man anyway. It was, after all, Jason who’d suggested Somerset be prompt in his attentions to Isabel. If he’d waited and cou
rted her a little longer, he might have had better luck.

  Then again, given his scholarly turn of mind, he’d probably have forgotten all about it and Isabel would have been wooed and won by somebody else. Somerset sighed heavily. Relationships between men and women were very confusing to him, which was the reason he’d avoided them thus far in his life.

  Frowning, he decided it had been the train that was at fault. If he hadn’t had the time to come to know her on the stinking train, he wouldn’t have this aching hollow feeling in his chest from having lost her.

  “I’m sorry about that, old man. I thought for sure she favored you.”

  “Apparently she does not.”

  “Ah . . . when did you spring this proposal on her?”

  “When I drove her home last night.”

  “I see. And did you preface the proposal with words of love and admiration?”

  Somerset sat bolt upright. “Did I what? No! Of course, I didn’t do that! I barely know the woman.”

  “I presume you didn’t get down on one knee and tell her that you would climb the highest mountain to win her or that you’d shoot yourself or join the French Foreign Legion if she didn’t accept you.”

  “Of course not! What kind of idiot do you think I am?” He resented it when Jason rolled his eyes. “Now see here, you’re the one who told me I had to hurry up and propose or I’d lose her, you know.”

  Very softly and slowly, as if he were instructing a particularly dull student, Jason said, “What I meant was that you might want to increase your attentions to the lonely widow, man, not that you should grab her by the hair and drag her into your cave.”

  “I didn’t do that! My home is not a cave! What do you think I am?” His outrage propelled him out of his chair and around the room, taking large steps that were loud in the doctor’s cluttered office.

  “I beg your pardon,” Dr. Abernathy said soothingly. “Please sit again. I didn’t mean to rile you. I only meant that perhaps you were the least little bit hasty.”

  Somerset stood still and scowled at his friend. “I thought I was supposed to hurry things up. You said so, don’t forget.”

  “Yes, I did. And I still believe some forward motion on your part will prove to be a good thing. I didn’t think you’d take it to mean you had to propose instantly. It might be a good idea to court her a little. Take her places. Show her things. You know, perform in the time-honored way men are supposed to court women. Broaden her horizons. She hasn’t been in the United States long. Show it to her. Find out what her interests are and cultivate them.”

  Cultivate. Good word, that. Somerset understood it. Judiciously, he said, “I suppose we must have some interests in common.” He couldn’t think of any offhand, but that could be remedied.

  “I’m sure you must.”

  Somerset gazed suspiciously at Jason, but he detected no sign of sarcasm on the doctor’s face.

  Jason went on, “Courtship doesn’t have to be a burden, Somerset. It should be enjoyable.”

  Great. Easy for Jason to say. Somerset hadn’t a single clue as to how men courted woman. “Right,” he said, since to admit the truth would be too humiliating. “You’re probably right.”

  Jason’s head tilted slightly. “Would it help if I jotted down a few suggestions for you? I know you’re more accustomed to paying attention to books and the science of horticulture than to females.”

  Because he felt heat creeping up the back of his neck from embarrassment, Somerset turned and walked to Jason’s office window. Pulling back the curtain, he gave a casual shrug. “That’s not really necessary.” He cleared his throat. “However, I don’t suppose it would hurt.”

  “I don’t suppose it would.” The doctor’s voice was dry.

  Defeated by the truth, Somerset slumped and walked back to the chair he’d vacated. He sat with a whump. “I’m no good at this courtship nonsense.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Somerset. You haven’t even tried it yet. Besides, no man’s good at courtship, mainly because he only gets to practice the art once or twice in his life unless he’s a total cad. But I’ve been down that road once, and I can tell you a few of the things that my late wife found endearing when I was courting her.”

  Somerset’s eyebrows arched. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”

  Jason sighed deeply as he wrote. “Yes. It was a short but happy union. She died of consumption not long after we were wed.”

  Amazed, Somerset said, “I’m surprised you were allowed to marry. I thought they had passed laws to prevent consumptives from marrying.”

  He watched as the doctor’s mouth thinned into a grim line. Jason didn’t look up from his notations. “Not anymore, they don’t. Besides, ‘they’ don’t care what happens to the Chinese, my friend.”

  Even more amazed, Somerset said, “Your wife was Chinese?”

  “Yes.” No elaboration.

  “Ah.”

  “However, people are people, no matter what color their skin, and I think that if you gave these few little suggestions a try, your luck might change.” He held out the paper.

  Somerset leaned toward the desk and took it. “Thank you.”

  “One other suggestion I have is that you include that astounding child in your courtship as much as possible. I know you probably want to spend your time with the mother, but there’s not much hope of separating them, and you’ll gain her favor much more successfully if you get along with the kid.”

  Somerset felt a small surge of triumph for having figured that out on his own. His enthusiasm increased as he read down the list Jason had written. “I’ve already asked them to visit Golden Gate Park with me.”

  “Good. See? You’re not completely hopeless.” Somerset’s quick frown made the doctor laugh.

  “It’s not funny, Jason. This means a lot to me.”

  For the first time since Somerset had met the man, the planes on Jason’s face relaxed and he appeared something other than sardonic. “Of course, it does. Marriage is a big step.” Eyeing him quizzically, Jason asked, “Do you love her?”

  “Love?” Frowning more seriously, Somerset pondered the word. He’d pondered it before and had tried to put it out of his mind. “Do you think love is a necessary ingredient to marriage?”

  “Yes. I do. I suggest you be sure you love the woman before you begin a more advanced courtship. If you don’t love her, there’s not much hope that you’ll be happy together.”

  “I was under the impression that love doesn’t last,” Somerset said stiffly. “I should think a good, solid friendship based on shared likes and dislikes—” He stopped speaking, remembering that he and Isabel had so far not established that they shared any mutual likes or dislikes. “Well, I should think a mutual liking and respect would be more important to a happy marital union than so transitory an emotion as love.”

  Jason’s head tilted the other way. “Have you been taking elocution lessons from Miss Eunice? I’ve never heard such a formal sentence filled with such infernal claptrap in my life.”

  After thinking about objecting and deciding not to, Somerset said, “Well, look at you. You say you loved your wife.”

  “Very much.”

  “And it’s unfortunate that she died—but wait a minute.” He sat up straighter and his eyebrows dipped again. “I thought it was against the law for a white man to marry a Chinese.”

  Jason shrugged. “It isn’t, although some people wish it were. However, even if it were, some laws are bad and need to be ignored.”

  A short pause preceded Somerset’s next words. “I don’t wonder that you and Miss Linden are such good friends.”

  With a broad grin, Jason agreed. “Absolutely.”

  Determining not to lose track of his purpose, Somerset said, “But do you honestly believe that you and your Chinese wife would have been happy if she had lived?”

  “Blissfully.”

  That was short and sweet. “You don’t think that your dissimilar backgrounds would have led to event
ual misunderstandings and, perhaps, unhappiness?”

  “Have you ever read Jane Austen, Somerset?”

  “What does Jane Austen have to do with anything?

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “According to Miss Austen, happiness in marriage is largely a matter of chance. But no, I don’t believe that Mai and I would have been unhappy. I can’t imagine it. There’s a difference between short, passionate attraction and deep and abiding love, Somerset. Love is what you have left when you’ve soared into the atmosphere and been thrown to earth with a crash. It’s what’s left after the infatuation fades. After the initial fever cools, if you have love left, you’ll be a happy man.”

  Somerset couldn’t think of a thing to say to that. He regretted having reminded Jason of sad times. Although . . . He pondered whether or not to ask what he’d just thought about, and then decided why not? Jason was prying into the most intimate aspects of his own life; why not return the favor?

  “What about Miss MacTavish?”

  Jason’s eyebrows soared above his glittering blue eyes. “What about her?”

  “It seems to me that there might be more to a successful courtship than constant teasing.”

  A grin once more spread itself across Jason’s face, giving him a devilish aspect. “Oh, the type of courtship depends on the people involved and their intentions. Don’t you think so?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Somerset demanded. “I had until now presumed your intentions were honorable.”

  Spreading a hand on his chest, Jason said, “My intentions are always honorable, old fellow.”

  “Oh?”

  “Miss MacTavish needs to learn to open up to life. I’m only trying to help her do that.”

  “I doubt that she appreciates your way of doing so.”

  “Not yet, she doesn’t, but I know there’s a sense of humor and warmth under that ultra-orthodox facade. I can tell.”

  Somerset couldn’t, but he didn’t argue. Anyhow, he didn’t care that much. He had his own problems to deal with.