by Jen Turano
After what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, she finally managed to reach the end of the stairs and cautiously made her way to the dining room.
“Miss Sumner,” Mrs. Watson exclaimed, appearing at Eliza’s side. “What took you so long?”
“I apologize, Mrs. Watson, but I had a bit of difficulty maneuvering down the steps.”
Eliza couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw Mrs. Watson’s lips quiver.
“Oh dear, that gown is worse than I imagined,” Mrs. Watson declared as she took Eliza by the arm and peered into her face. “I must say, those spectacles are the perfect accessory. They make you look eccentric, which will go far in explaining the gown.”
As Eliza was trying for inconspicuous, the last thing she wanted to hear was that she’d managed “eccentric.”
“This is a horrible idea,” she mumbled.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Watson said, steering Eliza through a crowd of people and coming to a halt in front of an incredibly long table.
“How many guests did you invite?” Eliza sputtered.
“Only fifty-two, well, fifty-three now that we’ve had an unexpected guest show up.”
Hope blossomed.
“That’s wonderful,” Eliza exclaimed. “Now you won’t need me to attend.”
“I still need you, seeing as how the unexpected guest is a gentleman. Mr. Zayne Beckett, to be exact. The family is railroad money, so please, be polite when you sit next to them at dinner.”
“I’m sitting next to Mr. and Mr. Beckett?”
“I know, it’s a bit unseemly to have someone of your station sitting next to my most honored guests, but I didn’t have time to rearrange the seating chart, and I’m hopeful we can use this to our advantage.”
“I’m afraid I’m not following,” Eliza said slowly.
Mrs. Watson’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I have high hopes of the elder Mr. Beckett and my Agatha forming an alliance. All you need to do to assist me is bring Agatha into the conversation often and speak of her in glowing terms.”
Eliza blinked. “Mrs. Watson, I barely know your daughter, and I’m not certain I’m equipped to discuss her with gentlemen I’ve never met. What would I say?”
“You can tell them how sweet and demure Agatha is and how she would make the most biddable of wives.”
Eliza arched a brow. “Are we discussing the same Agatha who made up a case of the spots to escape your dinner party?”
Mrs. Watson ignored Eliza’s statement. “Good heavens, old Mr. Sturgis is sitting beside Mrs. Costine. That will never do. They loathe each other.” She spun around and darted away.
Eliza squinted at the table, unable to see the writing on the small place cards set on each plate. She tipped her glasses down the bridge of her nose and moved slowly past the chairs, looking for her name. She sighed in relief. There she was, just two chairs down. She shifted away from the table and didn’t even have a moment to gasp as her feet got tangled and she lost her balance. Falling toward the table, cutlery sprang ever closer and the strange thought came to her that Mrs. Watson was definitely going to relieve her of her post after she wrecked the table, but before her face found purchase amongst the china, an arm snagged around her middle and pulled her to safety.
She stood still for a moment to allow her nerves a chance to settle before she forced her gaze upward to acknowledge the gentleman who had saved her from a most unpleasant fate.
All the breath left her in a split second as his features swam into view.
He was the most compelling man she’d ever seen, possessed of sun-kissed brown hair and blue eyes the exact shade of the sky. His face, with sharp angles and a strong jaw, was rugged in a manner quite unlike the faces of the gentlemen she had known in England. His lips were firm and unsmiling at the moment, but from the small creases at the corners, she could tell he was a man who was accustomed to smiling. Her eyes traveled over his broad shoulders, but then the promise she’d made to herself regarding the avoidance of handsome gentlemen sprang to mind, which had her pushing her spectacles back into place. His features turned hazy as resolve straightened her spine.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“You’re very welcome,” the man said, his voice causing the hair to stand straight up on her arm. “May I assist you into your chair?”
“That will not be necessary,” Eliza replied as she stepped past the man to take her seat.
She heard a sudden telltale rip of fabric and realized her skirt was stuck around the legs of the chair. A yelp escaped her lips before she plunged to the floor.
2
Mr. Hamilton Beckett blinked and then blinked again as his gaze settled on the lady who was currently sprawled at his feet, her unfortunate choice of a gown spread out in a billowing cloud around her.
“What did you do to that lady, Hamilton?” Zayne sputtered, causing Hamilton to jolt out of his momentary stupor and realize the poor woman might be in need of his assistance. He crouched down next to her.
“Excuse me, miss, are you all right?”
The lady stirred and started to nod, but then stilled and emitted a sharp hiss.
“Have you been injured?”
“Pins,” the lady muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m being stabbed by pins.”
“What did she say?” Zayne asked.
“I think she said she’s being stabbed by pins,” Hamilton replied as the lady’s eyes shot open, and he encountered lovely blue eyes. “May I help you to your feet?”
Her eyes closed, and she shook her head.
“Is there some injury, other than the pins, you’re suffering from at the moment, Miss . . . ?”
“Sumner,” the lady said. “I’m Miss Sumner, and no, I’m not suffering any other injury, well, except to my pride.”
Hamilton bit back a grin. “Well, Miss Sumner, it’s a pleasure to meet you, although not a pleasure to meet you under this dire circumstance. I’m Mr. Hamilton Beckett, and this is my brother, Mr. Zayne Beckett.”
“Of course you are,” Miss Sumner murmured.
That was an odd response. He chanced a glance at Zayne and found his brother grinning back at him. There would apparently be no help from that end. “Please allow me to help you from the floor, Miss Sumner. I fear, given the fact that there are numerous guests milling around, you’re in danger of being trampled.”
A muffled snort met his request before Miss Sumner began to mumble something undetectable under her breath.
“Do you think she’s been . . . drinking?” Zayne asked.
The mumbling stopped as Miss Sumner’s eyes flashed opened, and she glared at Zayne.
“You’re not helping matters,” Hamilton said, even though he was rapidly coming to the same conclusion. He’d never dealt with an inebriated woman at a dinner party before and, quite honestly, he had no idea how to proceed. “Let’s get you to your feet.”
“I prefer to remain here.”
It would seem she was a stubborn drunk. “I don’t think that’s a viable option considering dinner is about to be served,” he said.
Miss Sumner released a dramatic sigh, her face turning an interesting shade of purple, which was at complete odds with the color of her gown. “The pins have come out of my dress. I fear if you lift me up, it might stay behind.”
Perhaps he was mistaken regarding her sobriety or lack thereof, given the fact that her speech was somewhat eloquent.
“We can’t have that,” he finally said, relieved when a pair of women’s shoes appeared next to Miss Sumner’s head. He looked up and discovered Mrs. Watson peering down at them.
“Miss Sumner, may I inquire as to why you’re lounging on the floor?” Mrs. Watson asked.
Miss Sumner uttered something which sounded very much like “it should be obvious” before she lifted her head. “You really must compliment your staff, Mrs. Watson. This floor is remarkably clean.”
Hamilton choked back a laugh, got to his feet, and s
miled at Mrs. Watson. “I believe Miss Sumner tripped on her hem, and she’s currently suffering an unfortunate dilemma.” He lowered his voice. “It would seem she’s in imminent danger of losing her gown due to some unruly pins.”
“Oh . . . dear,” Mrs. Watson said before she looked at Miss Sumner. “Perhaps it might be best to see if you can sit first without any repercussions before you attempt to get to your feet.”
Miss Sumner gave a brief nod, pushed herself up to a sitting position, and then winced and pulled a pin out of the neckline of her gown. Hamilton stifled another laugh when the lady calmly shoved the pin back into the bodice of her gown as if it were an everyday occurrence to have pins popping out of one’s clothing. His amusement increased when she rooted around under her voluminous skirts, pulled out a pair of sadly mangled spectacles, and pushed them onto her face, her eyes blinking behind the lenses.
“Ah, Mr. Beckett, so good to see you could make it,” a jovial voice said behind him, drawing his attention.
Hamilton turned and recognized Mr. Watson beaming back at him. Beaming, that is, until the gentleman shifted his gaze to Miss Sumner.
“Miss Sumner, what are you doing here, and why are you on the floor?”
Hamilton noticed a trace of what could only be described as unease cross Miss Sumner’s face, which was rather unusual considering Mr. Watson was known to be a likeable sort, if somewhat overly ambitious. He cleared his throat when he realized Miss Sumner seemed to be at a loss for words.
“Miss Sumner suffered a small accident, Mr. Watson. I was just about to help her to her feet.”
“But . . . what is she doing here?” Mr. Watson asked.
Mrs. Watson stepped forward, placed her arm on Mr. Watson’s, and seemed to give it a good squeeze, since Mr. Watson emitted a grunt.
“Miss Sumner graciously offered to take Agatha’s place this evening, dear,” Mrs. Watson said.
“Should I ask why?” Mr. Watson questioned.
“It would be better for your digestion if you didn’t know all the pesky little details,” Mrs. Watson said before she smiled at Hamilton and Zayne. “It’s so lovely to see you both here, Mr. and Mr. Beckett. I do hope you’ll enjoy your dinner. Thank you for seeing to Miss Sumner, and now, Roger and I must take our seats. I wouldn’t want to incur Cook’s wrath by allowing the meal to grow cold.” She sent Hamilton one last smile before pulling Mr. Watson rapidly away.
“This is turning out to be a very strange evening,” Zayne said.
“Indeed,” Hamilton replied before he bent down next to Miss Sumner, who was still blinking furiously behind her spectacles. “Shall we try to get you off the floor?”
Miss Sumner gave her neckline a sharp tug and nodded. Hamilton took her arm and carefully hoisted her to her feet, keeping his hand on the top of her back to allow her a moment to ascertain her gown would stay in place. When it became apparent the lady was in no danger of standing in the dining room suddenly dressed only in her undergarments, he dropped his hand and pulled out her chair, grimacing when his foot trod on her gown and Miss Sumner tilted to the left.
“This dress is a menace,” he said, steering her into her chair and pushing it into place. A loud ripping noise met his efforts, and he was surprised to see a flicker of a grin tease Miss Sumner’s lips. He took his seat, waited for Zayne to sit down on the other side of Miss Sumner, and then turned his attention to the servant who was waiting patiently by his side, a bottle of wine in his hand.
“May I offer you some wine?” the servant asked.
Miss Sumner lifted her head. “That sounds delightful.” She reached for her glass, but instead of picking it up, her hand somehow landed on the mold of butter shaped like a dove, and to Hamilton’s amazement, her fingers tightened around it before her mouth dropped open and she stilled, apparently in a quandary about what to do next.
Hamilton raised his hand to stop the servant, who was about to start pouring the wine. “Would you happen to have some lemonade instead?” he asked.
“I do not care for lemonade,” Miss Sumner proclaimed as she pulled her hand out of the butter and promptly dropped it to her lap.
Hamilton was fairly certain she was wiping the last vestiges of butter on her skirt, although why she wasn’t simply using her napkin was beyond him. He reached over and handed her his napkin, earning himself a cheerful smile from her in the process.
“Oh, there it is,” she said as she took his offering and promptly wiped her hands with it. “I wonder if butter leaves a stain,” she said to no one in particular.
“About that lemonade?” Hamilton asked the servant.
“I prefer wine,” Miss Sumner stated.
“Apparently, but I’m not certain it prefers you,” he muttered.
Miss Sumner looked up and tilted her head, studying him for a moment before she released a breath and whipped off her spectacles. “I’m not drunk.” She held up the glasses. “I decided to wear these this evening in order to detract attention from this truly repulsive gown I’ve been forced to wear, but unfortunately, the lenses are incredibly powerful, and instead of allowing me to remain unnoticed, they’ve caused me to draw undue attention to myself, given the fact that I’ve been less than graceful.”
“Why were you forced to wear that gown?” Hamilton asked as he nodded to the servant, and the man began filling their glasses.
“It’s complicated,” Miss Sumner mumbled before she bit her lip, the motion drawing Hamilton’s attention to her mouth. His gaze lingered as the thought came to him that her lips were lovely, especially the way they were pouting at the moment. A loud cough from Zayne caused heat to flood his face.
What was wrong with him? He was fairly certain his brother had caught him gawking at Miss Sumner, and he was beyond disconcerted to realize the lady had somehow garnered his interest—interest he found downright alarming, given the fact that there was an air of mystery surrounding her and he’d sworn off mysterious women forever. He took a sip of wine and forced himself back to the conversation at hand.
“You were saying?” he asked Miss Sumner.
“I wasn’t saying anything,” she replied before her gaze darted around the table and then returned to his as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “If you must know, I’m not actually a guest.”
“You’re an imposter?” Hamilton asked.
Miss Sumner laughed, the sound somewhat delightful. “I’m the governess.”
“You’re a governess?” Zayne asked loudly, which caused several of the surrounding guests to stop their conversations and stare at them.
“Shh,” Miss Sumner whispered, “I don’t believe Mrs. Watson wanted that to become common knowledge, but I didn’t see the harm in letting you two know.” She sighed when titters began running down the table. “It seems the secret’s out of the bag now, or whatever that American expression is.” She sent Zayne a smile. “That’s why I’m in this gown. I was pressed into service when Agatha . . . well, best not get into that at the moment, except to say Miss Watson was indisposed, and Mrs. Watson did not have time to secure another guest. I do hope the two of you won’t be too disappointed you’re stuck with me.”
Instead of being disappointed, Hamilton found he was intrigued. The longer Miss Sumner spoke, the more obvious it became she was no mere governess. There was something about her manner, something about the way she enunciated every word while tilting her chin with an almost haughty attitude, that made him realize she was more than what she seemed.
For some odd reason, he found himself longing to discover her secrets, including exactly why she was attempting to pass herself off as a governess.
Eliza suppressed a shiver when she realized Mr. Hamilton Beckett was watching her as if she were a bug caught under the glass. Was he doing so because she’d admitted to being a governess? Was he appalled by the fact that he had to share a meal with her? She bit her lip. No, Mr. and Mr. Beckett did not lend her the impression they were snobs.
Why wouldn’t he drop his gaze?
>
Her thoughts were distracted when a bell rang out and a handsome gentleman stood up, introduced himself as Reverend Fraser, and proceeded to deliver the blessing.
“Tell me, Miss Sumner,” Hamilton said after the blessing was finished, “how long have you been in this country?”
“Not long,” Eliza admitted, thankful the conversation came to a halt when servants appeared and began placing platters of food around the table. She didn’t care to discuss her situation, especially not with Mr. Hamilton Beckett, who seemed to find something very interesting about her. It set her nerves to jingling, as she could not afford to attract anyone’s interest.
She took a bite of salmon, swallowed, and then directed the conversation to the city of New York, pleased to discover Mr. and Mr. Beckett were extremely knowledgeable regarding their home and the people who occupied it. She was relieved when Mr. Hamilton Beckett stopped watching her and settled into his meal, seemingly content to spend the dinner telling her about the many guests sitting around the table.
“You need to watch out for that lady over there,” Hamilton said with a discreet nod to a woman sitting six guests away. “Her name is Mrs. Hannah Morgan, and she’s a wealthy widow with high social expectations.”
“I don’t believe I’ll have much of an opportunity to socialize with the woman, Mr. Beckett,” Eliza said. “I’m the governess, not a guest.”
“Your manners are very fine for a governess,” Hamilton said.
Apparently she’d been mistaken in thinking he’d stopped watching her.
She set down her fork. “A governess is responsible for teaching her charges proper deportment, Mr. Beckett. Mrs. Watson would not have hired me if I was less than proficient at the dinner table.”
Hamilton leaned forward, causing an odd tingle to race down Eliza’s spine. She scooted back in her seat, ignored the sound of ripping fabric, and returned her attention to her meal.
“I wasn’t accusing you, but complimenting you,” Hamilton said softly. “I didn’t mean for you to take offense.”
