by Unknown
“Look at me,” he said softly as the music began. “Not at my tie. Not at my shoes. Not anywhere but at me.” Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and he smiled. “There. That’s better. I’m not like all of these other people here. Whether you like it or not, I see you.”
He swept her in a circle and she frowned at his words. “What do you mean?”
“You never look a person in the eye, you know. Or if you do, it’s not long before you seek out the floor.”
“I do not.”
“What color are Harrison’s eyes?” he asked.
She frowned in thought, completely clueless, baffled more by the fact that she’d known the man for five years and couldn’t answer the question. But she knew the color of Dalton’s eyes. Bright, cornflower blue.
“They’re brown,” he answered for her as his head shook and he chuckled sadly. “Why don’t you talk much, Marlena?”
She took a deep breath and released it through her nose before she shrugged. “When you have people telling you to keep your mouth shut all of your life, eventually you do it. The only person who ever wanted to talk to me was Jess, and for seven years she was the only person I spoke to. People don’t want to hear me talk, Dalton. They want to hear me sing. And I’m fine with that.”
Dalton’s lips formed a thin line as he studied her face. They spun in time with the music, reminding her of their first dance together five years ago. She’d been enraptured then, but his hold was different this time. It was possessive and protective. No one else in the room existed, and she was fine with that, too.
“I know why you’re so good and comfortable at The Museum and why the idea of a concert terrifies you,” he finally said.
She started but said nothing. Fear and curiosity held her tongue at bay.
“You’ve spent your life either pretending to be someone else or trying not to be seen. You thrive in the theater because you are not you on the stage. You can pretend to be whoever you want, and you’re most comfortable being someone else. Helene, Penny, Puck, anyone but Marlena. In a concert, you expose yourself. You must be seen for who you are, and in the past that has either resulted in pain or fear…or thoughts of inadequacy.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, less at what he’d said and more at the realization she’d never reached the conclusion on her own. As much as she’d pondered her insecurities and emotions, it’d never come together as clearly and plainly as Dalton stated it. But her own memories confirmed it, even now as she thought back on the day she’d accepted Sarah Jeanne’s proposal in Virginia City. She’d wanted, more than anything, to be Sarah Jeanne.
Jess had always claimed the attention, the good and the bad, for she was superior to most women in many ways. Marlena never faulted her for it. She was as much in love with her sister as everyone else. But there was one thing Marlena had that was her own. Her music, her way of communicating and hiding, her contribution of beauty to the world.
Yet as she’d continued to grow into her own thoughts and feelings as a mature woman, she realized she wasn’t ready to set herself before the world for judgment. To sing as herself and from her own heart would bare a part of her soul, and she didn’t want to share that part of her. She’d never intended to be a solo songstress, but had planned a life in costume.
But she had signed the contract, given away her free will, and it was her second greatest regret in life, the first having been leaving Virginia City at all. Life in the Boston aristocracy was not what she wanted, but too many sacrifices had been made to afford her the opportunity. There was nothing left but to see the thing through. She was miserable and unhappy in her choice of life, and if she showed the people Marlena Beauregard, that is what they’d see: an uninteresting, unhappy pretender.
That Dalton had discerned all of this in so short a time mortified her. His eyes were intense, imparting some depth of emotion into her. It was such a strong feeling that she wished he’d look away, but he continued to hold her gaze, reading the emotions moving through her.
“The truth is that you, Marlena, don’t really want to be seen,” he said. “But I see you.” She swallowed over a gulp. “And I like what I see.”
The song ended and they stood still, remaining in hold, but Marlena couldn’t take the heat and conviction in his gaze, nor the way his pronouncement sent her heart into a frenzy. She broke away and hurried to the dressing room, wishing she could run from the ballroom, from Boston, from Dalton. But she couldn’t run, and now with Dalton, she couldn’t even hide.
Chapter 11
Dalton smoothed his collar down the sides of his neck and tugged the lapels of his day coat to straighten the wrinkles. The park was teeming with faces he’d seen during the events he’d attended with Marlena. He was anxious to speak with her. Four days had passed since the ball, since his and Marlena’s solemn parting. After their waltz, they’d spent the rest of the evening apart, and the full carriage on the way home robbed him of the opportunity to discuss what he’d said during their dance. The hour was late when they’d arrived at the Winthrop home so he had not been invited in.
He’d been told by Elijah, in no uncertain terms, that the ladies would be occupied for the following four days, heading the committee for an annual charity furniture auction to benefit the widows and orphans of the Civil War. He’d asked the innkeeper about the event and had learned that Boston’s richest families donated a piece of furniture from their homes and each was auctioned off and bought by another Brahmin family, with all of the proceeds going to the local orphanage.
The idea seemed ridiculous to Dalton. They basically traded furniture amongst themselves. Why not simply keep their furniture and donate money to the orphanage anyway? He supposed the public fair and display served more to testify to the generous nature of the wealthy. Still, the four-day stretch between visits with Marlena proved a trial and Dalton put his restlessness to work at the local woodworker’s shop.
He’d rented the space and tools, laboring day and night to produce a piece worthy of the Winthrop home, at least in his estimation. The result was an accent table, octagon in shape, with three legs and the most attractive feature: a burl top, a natural cherry wood of delicate grain patterns. He’d worked carefully to bevel the edges without sacrificing the grain, and then left the beauty of the burl to radiate itself. Most of his time and attention had been spent on the legs, giving them the correct amount of bow before etching fine leafy patterns along them until emboldening them into bun feet. A coat of lacquer gave the table a beautiful sheen. His only hope was that it would fetch a high enough price to benefit the orphanage.
“Mr. Cunningham,” he heard Elijah’s voice and turned, hoping to see Marlena with him, but was disappointed.
“Mr. Winthrop,” Dalton said, holding out a hand to be shaken.
“Follow me, if you please. I have some business I’d like to discuss with you.”
Dalton dropped his unshaken hand and raised a curious eyebrow. “Lead on.”
Elijah strode to a line of parked carriages and held a door of one open for Dalton to climb inside. Once they were both inside, they sat face-to-face in silence until Elijah lit a cigar and filled his lungs with smoke. The air thickened with wisps of gray and Dalton studied the man through them.
“What did you want to discuss?” he asked.
“I have need of your services,” Elijah said.
“Services?”
Elijah squinted through the smoke. “I’m well aware of your line of work, and I’m sure you’re well aware of mine. You can understand how someone like me would have need of someone like you, can’t you?”
Dalton crossed his arms over his chest. “You require protection?”
A snake-like smile spread across Elijah’s thin lips. “Not of my person, but of my policies.”
Dalton’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t follow you.”
“There are some…opponents, you might say…who have managed to gain momentum among the rabble. Naturally, this poses a problem
for me. I’m hoping you can help me find them and their meeting house.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and opened it. It was a sketch of Monkey and Maggie from The Museum. “You may kill the brute if you’d like, but I need the woman alive. She must be made an example of.”
Annoyance coupled with anger and Dalton fought to keep his composure. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“I don’t expect you to work for free,” he said. “I will pay you…handsomely.”
“No, thanks. That’s not my line of work. I don’t kill people for their politics.” Dalton climbed out of the carriage to the sound of Elijah’s laughter.
“A shootist with a conscience, is it?”
He turned and fixed Elijah with a glare. “That’s exactly it.”
“I had hoped my charity toward your cousin would sway you,” Elijah called to Dalton’s retreating back. He stopped and faced the man again. “Perhaps I shall have to be less charitable. I think it’s time she start compensating me for my years of stewardship. After all, I’m an unwed man with…certain needs.”
Dalton could have snapped metal with the clench of his jaw. Calmly, he returned to Elijah’s carriage. “You trying to blackmail me? That just irritates me,” he said with a shrug before his voice turned deep and menacing. “But threatening Marlena? Now, that makes me angry.” He leaned forward until their noses nearly touched. “And you don’t want me angry. Understand?”
Elijah’s eyes lost some of their boldness beneath Dalton’s glare and his skin turned white, but Dalton didn’t move until Elijah nodded his head once.
“Very good,” Dalton said before leaving the man to quake in his carriage.
As he moved through the crowd, he shook his arms and hands out, trying to rid himself of the last vestiges of anger. Once he’d finally calmed down, he surveyed the festival. Musicians played lively music from the auctioneer’s stage. Vendors erected stalls and advertised their wares. Foods and brews were peddled to each passerby, but that’s not what he was interested in.
His eyes roved in a continual scan until he found Marlena amidst a sea of faces, beaming in a bright blue bonnet to match her dress. She spoke with a few other ladies as they scanned the display of furniture. He made his way to the group, his heart thumping hard in his chest at the thought that she might be upset with him after their last conversation, but she rewarded him with a bright, full smile.
“Dalton,” she exclaimed, before introducing him to the ladies at her elbows. “We were just browsing the pieces up for auction.” Her fingers grazed delicately over the bowed back of a rocker. “It’s become a yearly tradition for ladies to stake a claim on their neighbor’s property.”
Dalton grinned. She said the words in jest for the sake of her companions, but the light in her eyes told him it was her true opinion. Just then, one of the women plopped onto a chaise and relaxed against it.
“I’ve been dying to claim this chaise ever since I saw it in the Hamilton’s home last year,” she announced. “I’ve told Charles I’m to have it, no matter the cost.”
“Be prepared to drop a fortune, then,” the other lady said. “Maryweather has been eyeing it, too.”
As the women began to squabble about who would carry the seat home, Dalton went to Marlena’s side. “What about you, Marlena? Which piece do you have your eye on?”
She snorted softly. “I don’t need any furniture, but Elijah gives Sarah and me a certain amount to spend, and I put it to good use. Though it’s really his purchase, the ladies always do the bidding. I must admit to a very wicked habit.” Her grin was slight and conspiratorial. “I always find a piece to gush over, and usually it is one that will fetch a high price. I adore bidding wars.”
He knew why. She didn’t have to say it, but he let her.
“This is for the orphanage, and any bit of politicking I can do to raise more money for them, I will happily do. After all, I, too, am an orphan.” Before he could comment, her brow wrinkled as her eyes focused on something beyond his shoulder. “But this is something new.”
She wandered over to his table and he swallowed thickly as she ran her fingertips over the top, following the spiral of the grain pattern. “I’ve never seen this one before. It must have been in someone’s private rooms.”
The other ladies joined her in admiring his handiwork. Marlena sank into a squat and pointed out the detail of the legs, caressing each surface area, just as his hands had over the past four days. Her chest expanded in a deep inhalation.
“It’s been freshly lacquered,” she announced. “This is a new construction. It’s exquisite.”
“It’s a breach,” a lady said with a huff. “Someone has gone and commissioned a piece for this auction. Now, we shall all have to do the same in subsequent years if we’re to compete.”
Marlena shrugged as she came to her feet. “Perhaps someone has tired of seeing the same furniture passed from house to house and thought to donate something new. I find it refreshing. In fact, I shall bid on it.”
One of the ladies puffed her chest and pointed her nose in the air. “Well, what if I had designs on it?”
Marlena raised a challenging brow. “Then I would say you have marvelous taste, and may the best woman win.”
The lady’s eyes narrowed before she turned on her heel and stormed away. The other soon followed, leaving Marlena to chuckle with Dalton.
“That got rid of them,” she said as she came to his side.
“Was that your intention?” A sudden sense of deflation swept through him. “You don’t really like the table?”
“Yes, it was my intention, and yes I do really love the table. It has a different appeal, a sort of rustic charm with high-end craftsmanship. I feel like I’ve seen the etch work before, but I can’t quite place it.”
He felt like a grinning idiot, knowing she’d seen the same handiwork in his mother’s furniture back in Virginia City, though she hadn’t known then that he’d built all of the brothel’s furnishings. She accepted his offered arm. “Shall we walk?”
“Yes.”
They carried on in silence until their stolen glances grew nervous. She must have felt the same tension as he, for they spoke in unison.
“About the ball…” he said.
“My debut is…” she said.
They laughed and he stopped their promenade to face her. “Your debut is?”
She nodded. “Is coming along nicely. The music and wardrobe have all been prepared. I can’t believe it’s only three days away.”
His swallow was lumpy. He left in four. “That’s…that’s great, Marlena. I’m really happy for you.”
“I’m so nervous,” she admitted, looking around to make sure nobody heard the admission. “You were right about me.”
He sighed. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I was so stupid to say something like that right before your debut. I didn’t mean to upset or offend you.”
“You didn’t,” she said hastily.
“But you ran off so quickly…”
“Not because you offended me. It’s…it’s hard to explain or admit. One thing about hiding in shadows all your life is you learn to truly see others. Unfortunately, the talent does not extend to myself. I had no idea I felt that way about myself until you said it, and that bothers me as much as the fact that what you said is true. I don’t know if I will be successful as a concert artist. Maybe I’m meant for back alley plays instead of grandstanding.”
“Marlena…” he took her arms in his hands and pulled her away from the crowd. “We all have fears, but one thing I definitely know about you is that you never let your fears get the best of you. Plus,” he added with a grin. “You’re the best damn singer I’ve ever heard, and that’s coming from a man who attended concerts in London, not just some backwoods whoreson from the desert.”
She scowled. “Dalton, don’t talk about yourself that way. I have never thought of you like that.”
He laughed. “My point is you will do great.”
She took a deep, wavering breath. “I’ll feel more comfortable knowing you’re there. You’re the only one who can help me.”
The words, the trust, warmed him. “I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. “And I’ve got something for you.”
He removed a box from his coat pocket and handed it over. She raised a questioning brow before opening it to find a gleaming ruby pendant suspended on a gold chain. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she gasped, running her thumb along the shiny gem.
“Dalton,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“My grandmother gifted it to my mother in London before she died, and my mother gave it to me to bestow on the woman of my choosing, and I can think of no better woman than you.” He took the necklace from the box and went behind her to secure the clasp around her neck. “I like to think of you as a ruby,” he said. “Overlooked in a world of diamonds, yet more beautiful and colorful, more real and valuable.”
Her cheeks bloomed into rosy circles that had nothing to do with the pendant.
“I’ve always held a special fondness for rubies,” he continued. “They are the only gems made perfect by their imperfections. See here?” He lifted the stone before her eyes and pointed at a series of cracks running through it. “A jeweler will know a counterfeit by the lack of fissures. The more cracked a ruby is, the more valuable it becomes. A real ruby needs no polish, for these natural seams absorb, reflect and refract the light on their own, creating beautiful throws of color. See?”
He held the ruby into the sunlight and turned it side to side, watching speckles of pink flash across Marlena’s skin. A small smile crept along her mouth as she watched the glittering stone dangle before her.
“Thank you, Dalton. For the necklace and the compliments. I shall treasure them always. Like the horse.”
