“So clumsy, I do apologize.”
His arms were still around my waist, so I pushed back, and he released me. There was a look that I did not like on his face as he smiled down at me. It was like he thought I did it on purpose. I had, but from the look in his eyes, snatching the letter was not what he thought I was after.
“You must be Miss Martin,” he said, and I curtseyed. “I hope you do not find me too forward, since we have not been properly introduced, but would you do me the great honor of dancing with me?”
“Why, yes, thank you, Mr...” I looked up at him expectantly.
“Mansfield. Nicholas Mansfield.”
“Allow me but a moment to fetch my fan.” I turned away from him in the guise of searching for my fan but tucked the crumpled letter into the bosom of my dress. Thankfully it was not too low cut; my mother thinking the lower cut fashions scandalous.
“It is here,” Edith said. She had picked it up from the table.
Nicholas offered his arm to me and politely offered his other arm to Edith. The man had some manners at least.
He escorted Edith to a chair, then he and I joined the dance.
The dance passed as all others––with little conversation and utterly forgettable. After our dance, I sat between Edith and Miss Clark in one corner of the room.
“Your brother is very charming,” Miss Clark informed me.
I looked into the woman’s eyes and was not sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Jack had made as much of an impression upon her as she clearly had upon him.
“Yes, John is a dear.”
Miss Clark looked at Edith and her lips quirked up. I followed her gaze. Edith was looking anywhere but at Miss Clark. That Edith was not acting her cheerful self surprised me and made me wonder whether there had been some disagreement between the two. Miss Clark appeared to be a pleasant enough young woman, and she had clearly won Jack’s good opinion.
“Do you ride, Miss Clark?”
“Yes, whenever I get the chance.”
“Then perhaps you would care to join Edith and me one afternoon.” I looked at Edith and noticed her face had paled an entire shade.
“Why that would be delightful,” Miss Clark said, adding, “and perhaps your brother would accompany us.”
“Mr. Martin does not care for riding,” Edith informed her sternly.
I sat between them, my gaze going from one to the other while they stared at each other. Miss Clark smiled rather roguishly.
“Perhaps he would change his mind, if the temptation were enough.”
The look Edith cast Miss Clark was full of so much scorn that I quickly changed the subject.
“I have heard that you reside with a chaperone.”
“Why, yes,” she said before looking toward the foyer. “There she is dear woman.”
I followed her gaze and had to keep my mouth from dropping open. It was the robust woman with the unnaturally yellow hair from the Inn. She could be perfectly respectable, but she wore a bright orange gown that she was well-nigh bursting from, and a yellow turban was perched atop her yellow hair. She looked like a Thanksgiving decoration. The woman beckoned Miss Clark with the wave of a large hand.
“Pray, excuse me.” Miss Clark joined her chaperone at the door.
Edith and I were soon surrounded by a group of young men all on the hunt for a rich bride. Edith’s fortune was larger than my own, but she was so shy around gentlemen, that it took some encouragement for her to choose a partner among all the offers. Thomas arrived, and she gave her hand to him. He was the least threatening to her, as it was well known that Thomas was not in the market for a bride.
As there were more men than young ladies, I had seven gentlemen vying for my attention. I listened to their witticisms with an air of interest until I heard someone grunt.
Behind the wall of men, someone’s head was bobbing up and down. When it appeared again, I realized it was Dudley, and he was jumping. The men were holding their shoulders against one another to keep Dudley out of the circle. It was a game with them, but I did not see the humor and was about to say something cutting, when Dudley dropped to his knees and climbed through a gap between one of the men’s legs. My mouth hung open, but I could not help it.
Creaking and grunting came with Dudley’s ample form that almost did not fit between Henry Clay’s legs. Henry’s arms flapped, and he grabbed onto Ephraim’s arm. Ephraim jerked his arm away and bumped into another man who went sprawling to his side, right onto Mrs. Campbell’s lap.
She shouted and moaned, while beating him over the head with her fan.
Dudley was immune to everything going on around him as he knelt before me. I was covering my mouth with my hands as my laughter bubbled forth. I was not sure what I should be feeling, for hilarity, mortification, and endearment all surged within me. Dudley had committed a social blunder, but hearing his corset creaking was too hilarious, and having him create such a scene to approach me was oddly touching. When he begged me to dance with him, I agreed so I could get him away from the other men before they started a brawl. I helped him to his feet and took his proffered arm.
After our dance had ended, Dudley and I were standing together across the room from the men casting Dudley scathing looks, when Jack joined us.
“What have I missed?” he asked, but I only shook my head, unable to tell him all lest it made me laugh again.
Jack’s eyes settled on Hannah where she stood across the room. I watched as she tossed him a saucy smile; one meant to entice.
“Is everything all right?” I asked near to his ear.
“Deceit springs from within whilst lies touch her lips, shadows dance within her eyes, no mercy can eclipse.”
I glanced toward Hannah again. She was smiling up at Nicholas Mansfield, and it all started to piece together.
Hannah was not only some self absorbed society minx; she was in some way connected to Nicholas and I was sure, Levitas.
Chapter 8
Bess
The morning after the ball was spent seeing the house put to rights. Mrs. Beaumont, Mother’s housekeeper, had a book that detailed each room and what went where. I was holding the book while she directed the footmen where to place the sofas in the drawing room when I realized that there were some effects missing––figurines from the mantle and ormolu clock that had belonged to my father. When the room was set how Mrs. Beaumont liked, I followed her into the dining parlor.
“Mrs. Beaumont, you do know that some of my mother’s possessions are missing.” It was a statement since she had every list memorized.
She kept her back to me as she worked at straightening something on the sideboard. She did not respond, so I laid the book on the table.
“You would tell me if there was something that I needed to know?”
Her face was strained as she turned. “Yes, miss, of course.”
My eyes focused on her green ones for a moment. She had been with our family from the time we first became Phantoms. My father had hired her to be my etiquette teacher, but she quickly became so much more. Mother started to confide in her, and when we moved to Philadelphia, Mother took Mrs. Beaumont on as housekeeper. I did not know her background, nor did I ever ask. If my father, who was an untrusting individual while he lived, trusted Mrs. Beaumont, I had no qualms about trusting her. She knew of my gift of observation. If she lied, I would know it.
“To where do we hail this evening?” Jack asked from behind, and I turned away from her.
“We are at home this evening. Mama feels we need time to recover from the party.”
Jack and I went into his library. A tray was on the low table that was placed on a large rug before the fireplace. Jack poured me a cup of coffee then one for himself. Coffee had quickly replaced tea in our favor, as sometimes it was all we had to drink while on the trail.
Jack sat on the sofa and picked up the stack of letters lying there. He sliced through them with his silver letter opener, and I sat across from him so I could watch his f
ace. At the third letter his brows knit together.
I was feeling anxious; I needed a diversion. Leisure and I never agreed. Work had always kept my mind occupied; kept the memories away. “Is there anything for me to do?” I asked.
“Eager to be at work? Your admirers must be doing an atrocious job of keeping your thoughts engaged,” he replied, without looking up from his letter.
Disgust rose within me. “Admirers,” I scoffed. “If I were destitute they would not be such admirable gentlemen. Animals at heart, every one.”
Jack refolded his letter then picked up his cup, smiling, his dark brows arching. “Even Dudley?”
I had a fondness for Dudley; he was like another brother, but it did not go beyond that. Even so, I was both flattered and amused after his actions at the party. “I will have you know that Dudley secured my hand for two dances,” I said.
“Your admirers must have left a gap in the circle surrounding you.”
“Nothing of the sort,” I informed him. “He climbed between poor Henry Clay’s legs.”
Jack’s head went back against the sofa as he laughed, the sound filling the whole room.
I tried to look stern. “You may laugh but it was very shocking.”
“I can believe it, but at least he achieved his goal.” Jack’s eyes were at their bluest when he laughed.
“After such a display of eagerness I could not deny him,” I said, smiling, but inside I felt weary. It was like I was traveling through a maze with no end, forever to be lost and with each wrong turn the sides were quickly enclosing upon me.
“What is the matter?” Jack asked softly.
He was the one person that I could tell my feelings to and know that he would not judge me for them, but I did not feel myself able to confess that I was tired of a life of lies.
Instead, I leaned forward, picking up a leather bound novel from the low table. I grimaced when I opened it. “How you can read this drivel I do not know.” I hated poetry with a passion that Jack found comical. He did not know from whence my hatred came, so he usually teased me about it. He would not tease me so if he knew the truth. That Ben used to read poetry to me. My hatred was not from the words so much as a guard against hearing anyone else recite it to me. I did not want someone else to take Ben’s place in my memory.
“It is not as bad as that,” Jack retorted.
“Indeed? Allow me to demonstrate my point.” I flipped through the book until I found a sonnet that always made me laugh. “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever,” I broke off, casting him a haughty look, “though there we agree.” I went back to the poem. “One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.” I closed the book with a snap, shaking my head. “If a man quoted that to me, I would laugh in his face.”
“You would not if he were the right man,” Jack replied as he swiped the book from my hand.
“Trust me, Jack, if he quoted poetry to me, he would not be the right man.”
Jack smiled but wisely changed the subject. “Have you plans this day?”
“Nothing pressing.”
“Would you like to call upon Miss Clark with me?”
I sat up straighter. “Yes, I would. Thank you. It will give me an excuse to be away should anyone call upon me.”
Jack laughed.
***
At one that afternoon, we were standing on the brick sidewalk before Miss Clark’s house on Pine Street. It was a two story row house like all the other houses in the neighborhood; shabby genteel and not at all the kind of house that most members of society lived in. From the happy look on Jack’s face, it mattered naught to him where she lived as long as she allowed him to visit her. He was smiling up at the second story windows. I followed his gaze and saw a flash of auburn hair move away from the window.
Jack used the small brass knocker to sound our arrival. I hunched down into my long coat as a cold wind whipped against us. May had been unusually frosty this year.
After only a moment, the door swung open, and Miss Clark’s chaperone stood there smiling at us. “Welcome, Mr. and Miss Martin. Please come this way.”
Jack followed the woman, but I moved slower, examining the foyer. It was narrow enough that I could have touched both walls by stretching out my arms. There were three doors that led off the foyer and a narrow staircase. The stout woman never offered to take our hats or gloves before she bustled out of the parlor with the promise to fetch Miss Clark, and wiggled up the stairs
“Well, she is certainly an oddity,” I said, watching until the woman disappeared from my sight.
Jack was not paying the slightest heed to me. His eyes were fixed on the stairs.
The parlor was a small square room with bare walls and little furniture. The small fire burning in the grate was the only thing to make the room quaint.
Voices floated down the stairs, the deep voice of the stout woman, then a melodious sound that could only be Miss Clark. Hearing her voice, Jack sighed, and I stared at him agape. I wanted to slap some common sense into him. What was there about her that could possibly make him sigh? It was so out of character for him that I briefly entertained the notion that he had been bewitched.
As she entered the parlor, she was smiling at Jack as if it had been longer than last night that she had seen him. For a painfully awkward moment, they would only gaze at each other. I cleared my throat.
Miss Clark was the first to look away. “Martha should have taken your hats. I do apologize.”
Jack had his off in seconds, holding it out to her, but I removed mine with more decorum. She asked us to be seated. There were only two chairs and one sofa in the small parlor, so I sat beside Miss Clark while Jack angled his chair to face us.
Their eyes locked again, and I was forgotten. I allowed this to go on for a full minute, but no more.
“Miss Clark, is Martha your guardian?”
She was not in the least shamefaced about ignoring me to stare at my brother when her eyes met mine. “Oh, no, Martha is my chaperone. My guardian does not yet have a house in the city, so I am living here with Martha until he acquires one.”
Her words brought a memory back to me, of a different person saying something similar.
“In truth, my guardian is Richard,” she said.
Jack’s eyes widened, but he did not take his worshipful gaze from her. My chest grew tightly. It was as I feared. This delightful girl was going to steal my brother’s heart. Especially now that we were in a way connected.
“I am surprised that he did not tell you himself. He may not have wanted it known. I give him plenty of trouble; I assure you.”
I do believe that. “Well, this is unexpected,” I said, but I was not heeded.
What was it with those two that made them want to gaze longingly into each other’s eyes? It was enough to make one sick, or vexed.
When Miss Clark finally looked at me, she said, “I have heard that you are a great horsewoman, Miss Martin. Perhaps when we take that ride, we could pit our skills against one another.”
“Perhaps we shall, Miss Clark, but I assure you that my skill has been exaggerated. I am nothing above average.”
“Can we count on you to join us, Mr. Martin?”
The look she cast Jack was full of the right amount of pleading without looking ridiculous. I was beginning to believe she had bewitched him, and when he agreed, I knew it for truth. It was known that Jack did not like to ride, another mask to hide the truth, but one that protected our secret. This was not something I could agree with, but I would save that for home.
Jack and Miss Clark began to converse easily, about books of all things, when I thought to ask, “Miss Clark, do you know Mr. Mansfield well?”
Jack scowled at me, but Miss Clark replied, “Unfortunately, yes.” She made a face of dislike. “He was the captain of one of Richard’s merchant ships until recently. Why he
has moved to Philadelphia, I do not know. I would have thought he would have gone home to England.”
“England?” I asked with great interest.
“His mother owns a theater or some such thing, and Mr. Mansfield was known to tread the boards before joining the fight.”
“He fought for the British?” Jack asked, doing a convincing job of sounding incredulous. It was humorous considering that we were born in England.
“As I said, unfortunately, yes. He defected at the end when the fighting is nearly over.”
“You are forthright,” I said with a laugh.
She inclined her head. “A rule that I live by.”
When half an hour was coming to an end, we rose to take our leave. As she walked us to the front door, she mentioned riding again.
“What day do you suggest?" I asked kindly.
“At the moment, I am unsure. Shall I let you know?”
“Please do. We look forward to it. Do we not, John?”
“Indeed we do,” he said as he bowed.
We left the house, and as our carriage had not yet returned, we decided to walk down the street together. We had reached the street corner when we heard a man shout from behind us.
“What do you mean she will not see me?”
I looked over my shoulder then turned completely around. Nicholas Mansfield was standing before Miss Clark’s door facing Martha. I could not hear her reply, but she started to close the door in his face. I half expected him to shove his way into the house, but he did not. Grabbing Jack’s arm, we turned so that our backs were to him as he marched toward us. He passed us without a look and crossed the street. I waited until he was half down the next row of houses before following.
“What do you think you are doing?” Jack demanded.
“Pursuing. Now come along,” I said, picking up my pace.
Nicholas walked toward the river and turned down Front Street. I looked over at Jack. Jack was not at all surprised.
Nicholas turned down an alley that led to a row of bandbox houses, and we stopped at the corner. Nicholas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, placed it over his nose and mouth, then tapped on the door with the end of his walking stick. When the door opened, he went in. I did not wait for Jack, but moved down the alley, hunching low to move beneath the window and then rose to my full height. I leaned against the front of the house beside the door. Jack came up beside me shaking his head in amusement. Even dressed as I was to make morning calls, in a white gown, and long blue pelisse fastened tight to protect me from the cold, I was not above venturing into the unsavory parts of the city if it would provide useful information.
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