Gathering her skirt, Adele maneuvered around the chairs, making sure her steps practically floated with grace. Leaning one hand against the back of her chair, she turned and gave her aunt a charming smile. “Quite right. I was hiding. I’m afraid the stares of so many can prove a bit much. Mr. Conway understands, don’t you?” She allowed him to help her into her seat. His hand lingered on her wrist in a gesture undoubtedly noticed by Aunt Osbourne.
A trace of triumph—a point gained in her favor.
“Of course. Awfully exhausting for you, Miss Linley.” Mr. Conway took his own seat.
Amid the flurry of everyone relocating their seats, the curtain rose for the final two acts, semidarkness cloaking the theater once again.
Not caring that it would smell of cigar smoke and Aunt Osbourne’s overpowering lavender perfume, Adele inhaled deeply as the first notes struck air in a melody as triumphant and rousing and bright as her own future would become.
Just so long as she made it so.
No one could ever accuse Conway of embracing a Spartan existence. Drew’s eyeballs—traitors—fairly popped from their sockets every time he set foot in Conway’s lavish library. He had to crane his neck to see the very top row of books, ladders providing a way of gaining access to the shelves.
Funny though. Every book was equally aligned with the one beside it, as if not a one of them had ever been touched. Why would someone own such a quantity of books, if they had no desire to read them?
Blame it on his lack of education, but there were some things he would never understand.
The excesses of the rich stood at the top of the list.
“Admiring my collection, Dawson?”
Drew spun at the sound of Conway’s voice. Some servant must’ve done a bang-up job oiling the hinges. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Impressive.” And expensive. Not that Conway had to worry about scrimping and saving.
“I’m glad you received my message. My servant was afraid to enter that part of town to deliver it, but I gave him an afternoon off to compensate, and he’s happy as a clam.” Conway settled himself in a leather chair that would’ve comfortably fit Henry the Eighth, or two men of normal size.
“I don’t live in the slums by choice, sir.” Despite his fascination with the man’s library, Drew would breathe a good deal easier once this meeting was over.
“Don’t you?” Conway pulled a slim silver case from his waistcoat pocket and proceeded to light a cigar. “I thought your type of people preferred to congregate together.”
Drew ground his jaw against the insult and fixed his gaze on a massive painting of Niagara Falls hanging above the marble mantelpiece.
Conway took a long puff on the cigar, smoke clouding above his head. The man had the look of one who’d been lean a few years ago but was fast adjusting to the cushioned life of the upper classes. Was he handsome? Drew couldn’t say for sure, but the man definitely looked rich, from his perfectly tailored gray suit, to the gold ring adorning his pinky finger.
“What did you invite me here to discuss?” As children, Drew had imitated a grizzly bear, growls and all, to Hope’s giggling delight. What he wouldn’t give to throw in a growl or two for Conway’s benefit right about now.
“Business of course. We are on the verge of the biggest publicity campaign ever employed by a funum…er, high wire walker.” Though Conway had started off impressively, Drew suppressed a smirk at the man’s stumble over the word funambulist.
“I’m aware of that, sir.”
“In consequence, you will begin accompanying me to certain social engagements. Only select ones, understand. We need to get you before the public eye, so when the posters come up announcing you as the Gentleman Daredevil, those with the cash can further aid us in promotion.”
Perhaps a grizzly growl was insufficient. A full-on lion roar sounded much more appealing. Social engagements? Of course, Drew had accompanied Conway a couple of times before, mostly to meet men who would partner in investing in the venture.
His gut twisted, as if one of the guy ropes had coiled around it.
Promotional social engagements. Ones that Adele would most likely be attending. Ones where the truth, or rather, his lie, would surely come out.
He couldn’t think about it now. For now, the only woman occupying his energies should be Hope. No matter what happened, she was worth the sacrifice. Even if Conway trussed him up and hauled him off to wine and dine with every man jack of them.
“I understand.” Street kids didn’t survive without learning how to look subservient. “Just let me know where and when, and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll draw up a schedule and have it sent over. Posters go up shortly. It’s less than a month now, Dawson boy.” If Conway hadn’t been holding the cigar, Drew reckoned he’d have rubbed his hands together in delight.
“Yes, sir.”
“You have an appointment with the tailor tomorrow to be fitted for the clothes you’ll need. It wouldn’t do for the Gentleman Daredevil to look less than a gentleman. I’ll have a carriage waiting at your apartment.” At the word apartment, Conway’s nose twitched. As if Drew and Hope wallowed in mire like the pair of sows he’d cared for during his tenure as a farmhand.
Steady, Dawson. Take deep breaths. Smile and you’ll be shut of him soon.
“My valet will accompany you. He knows what you’ll need. Helped me choose this very suit.” Conway patted the lapel, ring glinting in the stream of sunlight coming in from the window.
“I look forward to it, sir.” Conway had already given him one decent suit of evening clothes, as well as the suit he wore during the day. But it was a constant chore to keep both pressed and ready to wear after every outing. Some extras would be helpful.
Watch it, Dawson. There was a time when you’d have thought a pair of shoes minus holes to be riches worth a king’s ransom.
“Of course you do.” Conway deposited the remains of his cigar into a conveniently placed ashtray. “That’s all for now.”
A gentleman worth the title would’ve stood and bid Drew a proper goodbye. But though Conway looked the part, he wasn’t a true gentleman, and Drew answered with only a nod before exiting the room.
As he entered the hallway, the thought occurred to him that he might owe Conway a bit of leeway when it came to his comments about the lower-class section of town. The man’s hallway was larger than the entirety of Drew’s apartment. What was with the tall ceilings anyway? Didn’t it cost a fortune to heat the place? And those chandeliers. It must take some cleaning crew to keep them free of dust and cobwebs.
Once he’d left Conway’s, Drew set off on foot down the street lined with fancy houses and perfectly spaced trees. He could have commandeered one of the man’s carriages to take him back to the apartment, but he preferred the walk. It gave him a chance to think, and the air always smelled better in this part of Buffalo—like fresh-cut grass instead of fresh-dumped manure.
A figure exiting a nearby carriage brought him up short.
Adele? He was about to call to her, but in the next moment, their gazes collided. She turned to a man wearing footman’s garb, said a few words to him, then crossed the sidewalk in Drew’s direction.
He wasn’t a sentimental schoolgirl. So why did his heart somersault in his chest at the mere sight of her?
Today, a dress of cream-colored fabric hugged her trim waist, accentuating those curves that could make a man forget the spelling of his last name. The wind played with the tendrils of her hair like ribbons on a child’s kite, and a smile curved her mouth as she stopped in front of him.
“We seem rather destined to keep finding each other.” A laugh tripped from her full, pink lips with as much ease as rivulets of water cascading over Bridal Veil Falls.
“That does seem to be happening, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t hide his own smile.
“What are you doing in this part of town? Do you live around here?” She turned this way and that, as if looking for his house.
“No.” Gratefully too, if men like Conway were who he’d have to contend with as neighbors. “Just visiting a business acquaintance. You?”
“About to do the same. A friend though. I don’t do much business.” She grinned, a delightful expression that somehow made her look feminine and mischievous all at the same time.
There was an ease about this moment, a naturalness that made the thought of her going onward to whatever event she was headed toward, a spiky dart of unbearable annoyance.
“What do you say about leaving your friend in the lurch and having coffee with me, instead?” Confound it, he wasn’t usually so forward. In fact, never. For one thing, he’d never considered coffee with a girl as a reasonable way to spend his money.
But then, no girl had ever made him want to do something a little bit crazy, the way looking into Adele’s eyes did.
She chewed the edge of her lip, as if contemplating the notion. Then gave him a smile brimful of carefree abandon. “Lead the way, Mr. Dawson. But I’ll have some pie with that coffee, if you don’t mind. I haven’t had luncheon!”
He mentally calculated the contents of his figurative purse. Rent was all up-to-date. Groceries to last a week. He counted every penny three times over before spending a cent, anything extra going into the fund marked “Hope’s Future.”
Guilt speared him. Conway hadn’t paid him since his previous tightrope stunt. The roll of banknotes that had seemed so vast at first had slimmed down considerably.
He couldn’t really afford to take a lady, no matter how stirring her emerald eyes, for coffee at any place remotely reputable. But if he went without dinner tonight, breakfast tomorrow, and finagled something to eat tomorrow while at the tailor’s, he just might be able to make do.
“Any word from your family?” They fell into an even step, him slowing his strides to accommodate hers, her not at all winded at their less-than-sauntering pace.
“A letter from Bridges came yesterday. Things seem some better. Tony, my brother, has been spending more time at home, or so Bridges writes.” Instead of dimming with weariness, her eyes sparkled. He let himself look into them, marveling at their varying shades of green. An impending lamppost coming straight toward him forced his gaze back in the direction of the street.
“That must be a great relief.” Carrying a load of bricks was less of a burden than worrying about the fate of a family member. Drew had done both. The former was heavy, but the weight did not press nor stifle. Did not threaten to suck air from the lungs, fear and faith warring on a battlefield paved in reality.
She nodded. “After reading that letter, I slept better last night than I have since arriving here. Although I’m not sure how long it will last. Tony is a restless sort. His contentment at home will wane, the lure of London increase. But any good news is a grand thing.”
“That it—”
Adele stumbled. Drew grasped her around the waist, breaking her fall. In the next instant, they stood face-to-face, so close her breath fanned his cheek, her chest heaving in startled breaths.
In his circus days, Drew had known a man with only half a hand. On that hand, Drew could’ve easily counted the women he’d been this close to. And with good reason. Hands spanning the slimness of her waist, senses awash in the fragrance of roses, it was an elixir far more potent than any doctor could prescribe. In that moment, there were no pedestrians, no carriages, not even the street they stood upon. Adele’s hands gripping his arms and the sea of her emerald eyes were all that remained in reality.
But it was enough. Sweet heaven, it was more than enough.
A shaky laugh fell from her lips, crushing the moment as surely as boots over autumn leaves. “Your button. It came off.” In the palm of her gloved hand lay one of the buttons off his suit sleeve.
He took a hasty step back, nearly tripping over the same loose flagstone she’d stumbled over, suddenly aware of just how close they had been standing. “So it did.”
“Quit blocking the walkway!” A corpulent man, with the longest walrus mustache Drew had ever clapped eyes on, bellowed like a foghorn. “How do you expect people to get through when you’re standing in their path?” He bludgeoned his way past them, walking stick swinging, obviously illiterate when it came to the language of chivalry.
“We’d best hurry before we infuriate the remainder of Buffalo’s pedestrians.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “There. Now I’m in no danger of falling.”
Though they’d entered a more middle-class part of town, the late-May air still smelled fresh and summer-sweet with expectation. He had a girl with a smile rivaling the sunrise on his arm, enough in his pockets for two cups of coffee and one piece of pie.
It wasn’t until later, undressing for bed by candlelight, that the question entered Drew’s mind.
What in Sam Hill had happened to his button?
Rain pinged against the roof, like discordant notes of a little-played piano. But inside the Dennings’ dining room, a snappy fire did its best to chase away the chill. Still, through the thin sleeves of her claret-colored silk, gooseflesh pricked Adele’s skin. Perhaps another bite of crème brûlée would warm her insides. Adele savored the bite of caramel-flavored custard, smiling at Mr. Conway. Either the man was best friends with every hostess in Buffalo or he possessed an adeptness to rival a London pickpocket. Every time they dined together, their place cards sat side by side like a pair of inseparable twins.
“Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?” Mr. Conway motioned for the footman to refill his wine goblet.
“I promised to take Dorothea to see the new exhibition at the Fine Art Academy. Why?”
“Care to bring along a fellow who hasn’t the foggiest idea about good art and bad?” Though he lacked many of the accoutrements valued by polite society, Mr. Conway never once bemoaned his loss. In fact, he rather seemed to revel in it—teasing her, saying that he needed her at his side to get through a dinner without offending half the guests present. She laughed right back, replying that she’d always favored hopeless cases, all the while wondering if something deeper lay behind the surface of his jesting. And hoping. Or did she hope? She ought to. There wasn’t a man in Buffalo with Conway’s dazzle and charm, self-deprecating though it sometimes was. And he was a gentleman too, or so he’d been to her. Always solicitous, never a misstep.
Whereas she…Well, she’d made a misstep all right, on the sidewalk and into Drew’s arms. He’d gazed down at her, a smolder in his chocolate eyes, hands strong on her arms. Though she’d come close to landing on her backside, the moment he caught hold of her, a rush of safety, of peace, had overwhelmed her heart, much as the scent of soap and peppermint filled her senses.
She’d taken his button. Even now, it lay in her top drawer, burning a hole in her conscience. What inane notion had possessed her to do so? It had happened so fast, one moment she was holding it in her hand, the next a man berated them for blocking the walkway. But she’d had an entire hour, while they’d had coffee and laughed over nonsense, to return it.
It remained in her possession nonetheless. She’d swirled it in her palm, sitting atop her bed, wishing she could delve into the depths behind Drew Dawson’s smile and listening ear as easily as she studied the round black disk.
“Don’t you have other matters to attend to?”
Across the table, Millie plied her advances upon Gordon Kirby. Harvard graduate notwithstanding, the man hadn’t yet been educated in what her cousin could achieve once she dug her heels in. What Millie didn’t have in looks, she made up for in persistence.
“Nothing I wouldn’t forfeit for an afternoon with you.” Dessert over, everyone headed in the direction of the drawing room. Mrs. Denning, young and fashion-forward, had declared the separation of ladies and gentlemen at the end of dinner, a ridiculous custom. Her husband, whether too old to deny his wife’s fancies, or in agreement, went along with it, and the couple led the way out of the dining room.
Adele chose not to respond to M
r. Conway’s words. Not that she didn’t enjoy the man’s company, but he seemed so often to wish to bestow it upon her. And she couldn’t deny that it taxed her.
Footsteps sounded on the marble tiles in the hallway. Adele glanced behind her, making sure Millie and her conquest followed. Aunt and Uncle Osbourne had declined tonight’s invitation, sending the three young ladies to make what they would of it. Though no directives had been given, it seemed natural for Adele to keep watch over the others. And though quiet Dorothea was no problem, chaperoning Millie kept her on her toes.
All of a sudden, Adele realized Mr. Conway no longer walked by her side. Instead, he stood near the front door, conversing with someone. Watching as the girls followed everyone else, she hung back. He was probably giving one of the footmen some instruction or other.
But when he stepped back, Adele’s heart sped up a notch.
What was Drew Dawson doing at the Dennings’? And in conversation with Mr. Conway, no less.
“Over here, Miss Linley.” Mr. Conway gave a little wave.
Swatting away her questions as if they were no more than troublesome flies, she crossed the hall. Reclaiming her arm, Mr. Conway turned toward Drew. Adele gave him a tiny smile.
A gesture he did not return. Rather than looking at her with familiar warmth, Drew’s expression had turned…guarded. Her own smile vanished. Was he angry at her? They had parted with a smile, though nothing had been said about future meetings. She’d done nothing to offend him. That she was aware of anyway.
Then why was his posture so stiff? And why, though his features were still sketched in the same lines: rich brown hair, eyes flecked with chocolate and hazel, the faintest hint of stubble on his firm jaw, did he somehow look different?
“Miss Linley, allow me to introduce you to one of my latest ventures, Mr. Drew Dawson.” Mr. Conway’s hand rested atop the fingers she’d laid on his arm. Nothing in his expression seemed out of sorts in the least.
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 6
