by Joanna Shupe
“And the most unattainable.” Kathleen’s brows rose. “I would be bragging up and down Ladies’ Mile for months if I’d landed him.”
“Except your mother would kill you first,” Anne told her, then turned back to Nora. “Amongst the mothers, Mr. Hatcher was always off-limits. Definitely in the ‘look but do not touch’ category whenever we saw him in public.”
“But, oh . . . to touch,” Kathleen said on a dreamy sigh, her hand over her heart. “The mere thought has me perspiring.”
Nora couldn’t help but laugh. These two were amusing . . . and refreshingly honest. “He is quite handsome. And intelligent.”
Anne waved her hand. “No one cares if a man that pretty can hold a conversation.”
Kathleen lowered her voice. “Indeed. I hear his skills reside in other important areas.”
All three broke out in laughter, though Nora’s face felt as if it were on fire. “Are all New York debutantes so bold?”
“No, the rest are bores,” Kathleen said. “We are the fun ones. Our fathers say it’s because our mothers were raised by wolves.”
“They weren’t really,” Anne explained. “But they are first cousins.”
“So you two are second cousins?”
“Yes, and thick as Five Point thieves,” Kathleen confirmed. “So tell us. How did you manage it?”
“Manage what?”
“You and Mr. Hatcher,” Kathleen said. “He’s never circulated in polite society and my mother would die if I approached him.”
“He spends most of his time with his mistress, Poppy Desmond.” Anne put a hand to her mouth. “Unless you didn’t know?”
“I had heard the two were acquainted, yes,” Nora confirmed. Everyone in Manhattan knew Miss Desmond and Julius had been lovers. So was he still seeing her? A strange heaviness expanded behind Nora’s ribs, one that she ignored.
“I cannot imagine she fancied the idea of him marrying someone else.” Kathleen shared a look with Anne. “She bragged quite openly about how they’d marry one day.”
“Really?” Nora wondered over that. Had Julius promised the woman a future together? Not that it mattered. Once Nora had her ten weeks and a summons home, Miss Desmond was welcome to him.
Anne nodded. “Yes. No one believed her, though, even if she is one of the most beautiful actresses in the city.”
“Women like that aren’t for marrying,” Kathleen said. “Besides, she’s not nearly as beautiful as your ladyship.”
“Thank you. And I’m just Nora among friends.”
Kathleen beamed and clapped her hands. “Annie, you hear that? She called us friends. You know what that means? Bridesmaids!”
Anne grabbed her cousin’s arm. “Good heavens, it’ll be the event of the season. I can hardly wait.” She turned to Nora. “Have you set a date yet? You simply must go to Paris and let Mr. Worth design your gown.”
“Well, about that.” Nora cleared her throat. “We haven’t discussed the details. I’m still awaiting word from my father regarding his schedule.”
“Isn’t he an earl?” Kathleen asked. “How exciting. You are the luckiest woman in New York.”
“The woman who tamed Julius Hatcher!” Anne beamed. “The two of you will be on every guest list.”
Nora’s brain tumbled over the first statement. “Wait, tamed? What does that mean?”
Kathleen’s brows flattened, her mouth turning into a pretty frown. “Oh, everyone is talking about it. Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“That you’re the one who has brought Julius to heel. Everyone is starting to wonder if they were wrong about him.”
To heel? She hadn’t wanted him tamed. She needed him scandalizing New York society. Creating a ruckus. Outraging her father. Not winning everyone over. She ground her teeth together.
He’d wanted to find his way into New York society. And he has now accomplished it.
No. She refused to believe Julius no longer needed her. They had a deal. He’d given his word. Shaken her hand.
She forced the lingering doubt away and bid farewell to her new friends. As much as she missed the companionship of girls her own age, she had a more important agenda tonight. This new, stronger Nora was tired of waiting. It was time for Julius to live up to his end of the bargain, for the two of them to set tongues wagging.
And if he wouldn’t do it, then she certainly would.
Julius had one furious fiancée.
Even as he congratulated himself for smoothly suggesting the gentlemen follow him to a quieter place for conversation, he knew—deep down, he just knew—Nora would not take this delay kindly. She struck him as the sort of woman with little to no patience. She’d accosted him during a scandalous party at Sherry’s, for God’s sake.
Still, he couldn’t worry on that at the moment. While mingling, he’d encountered two men near his father’s age. They were discussing poor investments from the last few years. Stocks that had crashed. Businesses that had failed. Promises made and broken. Hopeful, he’d pressed the two for more stories. What else did they remember?
“What about you, Hatcher?” one of the men asked as they moved into the portrait gallery. “Where did you lose money in the last few years?”
Julius shrugged. “I haven’t.”
The other man, Mr. William Young, narrowed his eyes. “Come now, no one gets it right every single time. There must have been one or two investments you’ve regretted.”
“Not a one. Not since I started investing at age seventeen.”
“I don’t believe you,” Young said, his voice crisp. “The hiccup with the Allegheny Railway in ’86? Everyone I knew nearly lost his shirt.”
Julius remembered it well. The price-to-earning ratio on Allegheny had been shit. He’d cleaned up in the aftermath on the exchange. “I pulled out two weeks before. Thought the stock was overvalued. Turns out, it was.”
Both of the men gaped at him. “What system do you use to evaluate them?” This was from Mr. Van Allen, the other member of their trio.
“Ah,” Julius said with a sly smile. “That is a secret of the trade.”
Young’s gaze turned speculative, as if he were seeing Julius in a new light. “They said you were some kind of wizard on the exchange. I hadn’t believed it until now.”
Julius sipped his whiskey and fought the urge to lob a sarcastic remark. How did these men think he’d acquired his wealth? A gift from the gods? Investing took guts, intelligence, and foresight. Most of these Knickerbocker men couldn’t lay claim to any of the three.
“What is your family’s background, Hatcher?” Van Allen asked. “Am I familiar with your father?”
“He died some years back.” He purposely kept the answer evasive. If someone offered more in-depth information, that could be telling.
Young snapped his fingers. “Wait, I seem to recall—”
“Mr. Hatcher! There you are.”
Julius’s stomach sank at the interruption. What had Young been about to say? Something about Warren Hatcher? Damn it.
Clenching his jaw, he turned to find Lady Nora descending upon his trio. His fake fiancée’s sense of timing left much to be desired. “My lady,” he greeted and bowed over her hand. “Perhaps you could allow us a few more moments to conclude our conversation?”
She ignored him. “Good evening, Mr. Young. Mr. Van Allen.”
“My lady,” they each said and bowed over her hand as well. Julius ground down his back molars and waited for her to come to the point.
“I do apologize for interrupting,” she started. “But I wonder if I might steal Mr. Hatcher for a dance?”
“About that,” Julius said. “Why don’t I meet you in the ballroom after I’m done here?”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Van Allen said. “If a pretty lady wants you to dance, Hatcher, you hop to it.”
Young lifted his glass toward Nora. “Yes—and an earl’s daughter, no less. You cannot leave your fiancée wanting for your time. We shall see both of
you later on.” He sauntered away, heading toward the card room for gentlemen.
“Indeed. Enjoy your dance. Perhaps later you’ll recommend a few stocks, Hatcher.” Van Allen inclined his chin and hurried after Young, who was already halfway along the gallery.
Julius watched them go, his muscles tight with annoyance. He slapped his glass down on a side table. “Are you out of your mind? A dance, Nora? That couldn’t wait ten minutes?”
The flecks of gold in her irises sparked in the dull electric light. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour. You’ve been ignoring me most of the evening. How long was I supposed to stand around and wait for you to notice me?”
Notice her? He’d done hardly anything all night but notice her. Having her in the vicinity distracted him. Her expressions, her laugh . . . the exquisite bow shape of her upper lip. His obsession with watching her had been part of the reason he’d asked Young and Van Allen to the portrait gallery. And such an obsession irritated him. He needed to remain focused on his purpose, which had nothing to do with wasting time on the dance floor with the loveliest woman in the room.
Sarcasm laced his words. “I know you are English, where the women are timid and meek, but in America, we prefer our women with a little more independence. Ten more minutes without me would not have killed you.”
Her lips flattened into an angry line. “And I know you are American, where manners were apparently hurled into Boston Harbor with all that tea, but English gentlemen do not abandon their fiancées.”
“A pity you were unable to locate a fake English fiancé, then.”
“You are odious and insufferable, Julius Hatcher.”
“Two qualities I believe you referred to favorably when selecting me as your partner in this venture—or am I wrong?”
Her shoulders drooped slightly and she studied the landscape painting on the wall. “I need you to be odious and insufferable to everyone else but me. If we are truly partners, then you cannot dismiss me the instant we arrive.”
Fair enough. She had a point. He felt himself relax, his own anger dissipating. “I apologize. I was involved in an important discussion and did not wish to cut it short.”
“An important discussion about what?”
“Nothing,” he lied.
“You’re lying. Why don’t you want to tell me?”
Because it’s private. Because I’ve never told anyone. “We were talking about investments.”
“Oh. Were you asking their advice?”
Julius couldn’t help it: he snorted. “Hardly. I don’t take anyone’s advice but my own, and if I did it wouldn’t be from those two. They’re still convinced telephones are a passing fancy.”
“That must be why Mr. Van Allen asked you to make recommendations. I suppose you get quite a bit of that, considering your reputation.”
Nearly everywhere he went. Men were desperate to acquire an advantage when it came to the exchange, where fortunes could be won or lost in a single day. But Julius did not play well with others. Likely a lingering effect of his father’s failures and subsequent death, but he didn’t trust easily—especially when it came to business. He preferred keeping his thoughts and ideas to himself, listening to his intuition on how to best proceed, never relying on anyone else.
“I do. I rarely answer, however.” Ready to put an end to the probing conversation, he held out his arm. “Will you honor me with a dance, Lady Nora?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She placed her hand on his sleeve. “Literally, I believed you would never ask.”
He started them toward the ballroom, the silk skirts of her gown rustling in the cavernous silence. “I would have asked eventually. I know my duties, Mrs. Hatcher.”
“Ha. I bet it feels strange to call a woman by that name.”
“Strange is indeed the precise word. Marriage is not on my list of items to accomplish before I die.”
“You might wish to inform Miss Desmond of that fact, then.”
He stopped short. “What did you say?”
“Miss Desmond. Your . . .” She waved her hand, her creamy skin turning a fetching shade of rose.
“Mistress?” he supplied, merely to cause her more embarrassment. She did not disappoint, blushing deeper. Even the modest area above her neckline changed color. How far had the blush spread over her body?
He shook away those thoughts. Nora was not the type of woman with whom one dallied.
“Yes, her. I hear she believes the two of you shall one day marry.”
Poppy . . . his wife? Had they ever discussed it? He couldn’t recall the topic even being raised. If it had, he would’ve let her know his feelings on the subject.
He took Nora’s elbow and began walking once more. “That will never happen.”
“Because she is an actress?”
“No. A woman’s profession makes no difference to me. If I loved her enough, she could be a shop girl, a debutante, or a prostitute. But I’ll not marry anyone.”
“Now, or ever?”
“Ever.” He glanced down to see Nora’s brows furrowed. “Does that surprise you?”
“Yes, it rather does. I thought every wealthy man wanted to see his legacy passed down.”
“Not this one.”
“Live only for yourself?”
So she remembered their conversation in the salon last night. He nodded once. “Exactly.”
They reached the doorway. Nora put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Wait, we forgot to discuss what we shall do out there.”
“I thought we were planning to dance.”
“Yes, dance. But what else?” He must’ve stared at her blankly, because she said, “How do you plan to cause a scene?”
And get himself thrown out? Barred from further events? He’d barely delved a toe into these upper-crust waters and now she wanted him to raise a ruckus? “I’m not planning to cause any sort of scene, Nora.”
She shifted to face him, leaning in so as to not be overheard. “My dear man, the entire purpose of engaging an outrageous fiancé was for you to be outrageous. Otherwise, how will we scandalize them?”
“I have no intention of scandalizing them, my dear lady.”
“But you agreed!”
“I did no such thing. I agreed to squire you about New York for ten weeks, acting as your fiancé. I never promised to ruin your reputation—or mine, for that matter.”
“You have no reputation to ruin. Everyone already knows you’re—” She cut herself off, closing her mouth abruptly.
Julius stiffened. He could fill in the rest of that sentence with a dozen different words, all of them unflattering.
And everything just became clear.
“I see. You chose me because you thought I wouldn’t fit in here. That they would never accept me, so I’d willingly thumb my nose at them.”
“No, that’s not entirely true.” Her voice was weak, not at all her usual decisive tone.
“Just mostly.” He heaved out a breath and took a moment to analyze the situation. In the end, he cared little for what this English rebel thought of him. What mattered was staying in society long enough to discover the connection to his father—and actually staying in society was paramount to the cause. Acting the obnoxious buffoon would not accomplish that.
Nora, he’d come to realize, was not a patient woman. Unfortunately, she was impetuous and quite stubborn when she set her mind to a task. If she decided to forge ahead with this scandal idea on her own, both of them might suffer social recriminations.
He had to stall her. Pretend to help while guiding her toward respectability. Keep her on the straight and narrow. Because no matter what, he would not allow her to get him thrown out of society two minutes after he’d found his way in.
He gave her a charming smile. “Let us dance, then, and discuss how we may best proceed.”
“Do you know most everyone here?”
Nora tilted her face up at Julius’s question. They were on the dance floor, twirling to the strains of St
rauss, and she’d been lost in thought, marveling over Robert’s short poem that had arrived in yesterday’s post. Twelve sweet lines that had tugged at her heartstrings and caused her to miss him terribly. Yes, he’d rhymed mine with spine—a shame, really, when one considered thine, wine, and fine—but she’d never had a man write her poetry before.
“Not everyone,” she answered. “I’ve met many of the older ladies and gentlemen, as they are the same age as my aunt and uncle. But the younger ones are mostly a mystery. What about you?”
“The men are somewhat familiar, at least those active in business. The ladies are a blur of petticoats, though. My path hadn’t exactly crossed with debutantes before tonight.”
Precisely why she’d asked him to pose as her fake fiancé. Mothers hid their daughters from men like Julius—unless the men were titled, of course. A title meant a man could act as idiotic or terrible as he liked and mothers still shoved daughters into his path. “Yet you were anxious to join society. Any idea when you’ll tell me why?”
A muscle flexed beneath the rough skin of his jaw. “I think I’ll wait a little longer, if it’s all the same to you.”
She did not press. A woman with secrets of her own had no right to pry. “So how shall we cause a stir?”
He shrugged slightly. “You know the rules far better than I. Perhaps you should offer up some suggestions?”
“Fair enough. What if we perform an exaggerated twirl and my skirts raise to mid-calf?”
The edges of his mouth turned down as he gave a small shake of his head. “Let’s refrain from dancing the cancan until all other options have been exhausted. What else?”
“You could hold me inappropriately. You know, wandering hands . . .”
“And risk your uncle tearing my limbs off? No, thank you.”
She thought for a moment. They needed to set tongues wagging, enough that someone either cabled her father or the gossip pages printed it. This whole thing started because she and Robert had been caught kissing during one of her father’s dinner parties. “We could sneak off together.”
“Would that be scandalous for an engaged couple?”
“Yes, in London, at least. I am assuming the same applies in New York.” Was a secret rendezvous scandalous enough? “Or we could kiss right here on the dance floor.”
