by Laura Parker
The vulgar ogling was all that any jewel merchant could have hoped for, Philadelphia noted in growing irritation as she reached up to touch the diamond necklace. Was Senhor Tavares already contemplating a hefty price for his jewels? More and more she felt his eyes on her back as he remained at the back of the box. When she could endure it no longer, she stole a glance at him.
He stood ramrod straight before the curtains with his arms folded high across his chest and his eyes closed. She had mulled over the incident a thousand times until she was no longer certain who was to blame for the intimate moments of luxuriating pleasure that had left her shaken and awkward in his presence. Her only consolation was that he seemed unaware of the difference in her. She would remember that in future. He was playing the part of her servant, no more, no less. His feelings were of no personal interest to her.
Though she couldn’t guess it, Eduardo’s thoughts were far from serene. He was weary of his disguise. His cheeks under the false beard itched from a rash caused by the sticking plaster. The makeup and lines drawn on his brow to age his appearance were easily smudged. He wished he’d chosen a less demanding disguise, like the one he’d given Philadelphia.
He opened his eyes and was surprised to find her gazing at him. It was a fleeting glance that scarcely met his before slipping away. At once, her expression stiffened. She set her mouth, pressing her lips slightly to keep them from appearing as full and soft as they were. The thought that he was to blame for the change pricked his conscience. Even in the semidarkness the translucent quality of her beauty shone through. Did she know how truly beautiful she was? He doubted it. There was nothing haughty or vain about her.
She was predisposed to take life a little too seriously. He had recognized that the instant he first saw her. He admired her reserve, though he suspected that the tight control she exerted over her emotions might easily turn into bitterness if she didn’t learn to release them. She was young, warm, and full of life. She lacked only joy.
He’d been unforgivably abrupt with her in a moment when she’d been most vulnerable. He’d been forced to back away from her just as she’d become aware of the passion he’d inadvertently aroused. No wonder she wouldn’t meet his gaze. The gaucherie of the mistake nettled his masculine pride. He liked women and they he. It was the fault of this ridiculous costume. He should never have made himself subservient to her. It was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
When the lights came up for the first intermission, Philadelphia felt headachy and thoroughly picked over by the stares of strangers. She rose from her seat. “I am in need of fresh air, Madame Ormstead. If you will excuse me.
“I won’t. Absolutely not. If you should set foot in the hall now, you’d be trampled by your admirers. We’ll wait here and allow Akbar to show in a few select visitors for an introduction. Sit down, dear. You mustn’t seem eager.
Philadelphia subsided into her seat with a sidelong look of recrimination at Akbar. It was his fault that she was in this situation. How, precisely, she wasn’t certain, but she felt an overwhelming certainty of his responsibility.
There was a knock at the box door and the corners of Hedda’s mouth curved up. “You may request the identity of our caller, Akbar.”
He nodded and disappeared behind the curtain only to return within seconds. “The gentleman gives the name Henry Wharton, memsahib.”
Hedda’s smile softened. “My nephew? Show him in. Herbert, my boy! Do come in.” She motioned impatiently to the tall young man in evening clothes who entered the box. “Where is your silly mother, Herbert?”
“It’s Henry, Aunt Hedda,” the young man answered, his well-featured face flushing slightly beneath a thatch of soft brown curls. “Mama’s fine.” His gaze moved eagerly to the beautiful young lady by his aunt’s side as he added, “But she’s not present tonight.”
“Thank goodness!” Hedda declared in frank pleasure. “I do so detest chatting with your mother. She’s quite stupid, really. I know one shouldn’t speak unkindly of the infirm, and I do not generally, but your dear mother refuses to acknowledge her disadvantage and will go on interminably in a most unenlightened manner about every subject. Well, don’t just gape, Delbert, speak up.”
“It’s Henry, Aunt,” the young man repeated with a rueful smile at Philadelphia. “I’m most pleased to find you here. The family had quite despaired of ever seeing you in public again.”
Hedda lifted her lorgnette. “And why is that? May a lady not keep her own company when society has nothing half so interesting to offer in its place? I daresay you spend a great deal of time being bored or boring your associates. By remaining in my own residence, I save myself the onus of one and the sin of the other.” She turned suddenly toward the door. “Akbar? I’m in need of refreshment. Three glasses will do nicely if Harold will stop lounging about like a drugstore dandy and take a seat.”
Akbar bowed. “As memsahib commands, so will I do.”
Hedda’s smile was smug as she turned to her nephew. “What do you think of him?”
Henry’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “He’s yours? I mean, he’s your servant, Aunt?”
“What else?”
“Well, though he opened your box door, I thought he was some sort of costumed usher.”
“In fact, he belongs to my houseguest.” Hedda acknowledged Philadelphia for the first time since her nephew entered the box. “Mademoiselle de Ronsard, I would like to introduce my least disliked relative, Horace Wharton. Horace, my guest, Mademoiselle de Ronsard.”
The young man drew up to his full height, then executed a very formal bow. “Pleased to meet you, mam’zelle. I’m Henry Wharton.”
“Didn’t I say as much?” Hedda demanded impatiently, then glanced at the door. “Where’s Akbar? The man’s amazingly slow unless he’s running an errand for you, mademoiselle.”
“I’m certain he’s doing his best,” Philadelphia answered and quickly turned her full attention to Henry. “I, too, am delighted to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Henri Wharton.” She gave his name the French pronunciation which omitted the H and softened the y to an i.
The effect of her voice on the young man was startling. His jaw went slack and his eyes widened. “I’ve always hated my name but after hearing you say it, mam’zelle, I’ll never feel the same way about it again.”
Had he not been so earnest, Philadelphia thought she might have laughed. “Merci, Monsieur Wharton, you are but too kind to me. I fear my English is sometimes incorrect.”
He took the seat beside her, leaning slightly toward her. “You can pronounce my name as much and as often as you wish, mam’zelle.”
Eduardo returned just in time to find Henry Wharton leaning toward Philadelphia; and though he hadn’t heard the exchange, he recognized the results of a feminine conquest. Philadelphia had completely charmed the boy within just moments.
Inexplicably piqued, he came forward and thrust his tray between the pair. “Refreshment, memsahib?” His tone was civil but the glare he gave the young American made Henry sit back.
“Serve Madame Ormstead first, Akbar,” Philadelphia said reprovingly.
“As memsahib requests.” He bowed and withdrew the barrier of the tray, but not before subjecting the hapless young man to a second more penetrating stare. “Would memsahib like me to remove this male person from her presence?”
“To the contrary,” she answered. “This is Madame Ormstead’s nephew, Akbar. Monsieur Wharton, Akbar is my faithful servant.”
Henry looked at the forbiddingly dark, bearded face and murmured something like an acknowledgment.
Only when Akbar had served them all and retired to the back of the box, did Henry lean forward and say in a low tone to his aunt, “Are you certain that it’s safe to have such a fellow under your roof, Aunt?”
“Never felt safer,” she declared with a chuckle. “The man’s a wonder. He’s unfailingly courteous but not a toady. He’s equally adept at driving my carriage and pr
eparing tea. In Delhi he ran a household with more than a hundred servants. One mistake among them and chop!” She made an appropriate motion with her small ladylike hands.
Henry Wharton wasn’t the only one with his mouth agape. Philadelphia, too, sat stunned by Mrs. Ormstead’s statement. Had any of them bothered to turn toward the back of the box, they would have noted Eduardo’s pleased smile.
Hedda’s smile was as impish as a child’s. “Gossip is one thing this town has in abundance, dear. Did you think my servants wouldn’t discover all when I sent them to collect your things?”
“But, of course, madame,” Philadelphia said as she cast an uncertain eye at Henry. “But I am afraid that even the best people will exaggerate the truth a tiny little bit, mais non?”
“Yes, of course,” Henry answered but he cast a suspicious glance in Akbar’s direction and received a penetrating stare in return. “But if the fellow’s not familiar with our customs, I mean, being a heathen and—”
“He’s a foreigner and a heathen, neither of which makes him a savage, Derwood,” Hedda said censoriously. “You should get about in the world more, nephew. Mademoiselle de Ronsard is French by birth yet in her short life she has nearly circumnavigated the globe.”
Philadelphia smiled sympathetically at Henry, whose guileless face was registering more awe than before. “I didn’t accomplish this feat myself, monsieur. Akbar did the rowing.”
For a moment there was complete silence while Hedda wondered in vexation if her nephew had inherited his mother’s stupidity, and Philadelphia regretted her failed joke. Then, Henry’s face split with a boyish grin of understanding. “I got it! You’re a great tease, mam’zelle.”
Philadelphia shrugged, without a thought as to where she’d picked up the gesture. “A small tease, monsieur. A lady must never be a great tease, non?”
Henry turned the most fascinating shade of pink. “No, of course not! Didn’t mean to imply.”
“Saints above!” Hedda murmured faintly and lifted her lorgnette to eye the other boxes. Henry wouldn’t do at all. He had made a fool of himself in less than two minutes. While the de Ronsard girl was doing her best to help him along, it was like watching a lame horse pull a heavy cart; the progress was slow and painful to witness.
Philadelphia maintained her part in light inconsequential chatter with Henry until, to her relief, the house lights dimmed and the curtains rose for the third act. She was surprised when the young man winced, then jumped to his feet. If she hadn’t thought it impossible, she’d have suspected his aunt pinched him.
“Well, I must be going. People waiting for me and all.” He looked longingly at Philadelphia, then turned to his aunt. “May I visit you on Sunday afternoon, Aunt Hedda?”
“Why? You never have before.”
“Perhaps he would like to see your horses, Madame Ormstead,” Philadelphia prompted, feeling sorry for him. “Until Sunday, monsieur?” She extended her gloved hand to him.
He took it, shook it for lack of another idea, and then fled the box.
“Henry hates horses,” Hedda pronounced. “That ninny of a mother of his put him on a pony before he could sit. She said it was a family tradition that the children ride early. He fell off onto his head.” She paused with a tiny frown. “I suppose that tradition might explain a great deal.”
Philadelphia abruptly turned her face away. Mrs. Ormstead was really too naughty.
6
“It’s quite thoroughly off-putting,” Hedda declared as she gazed with distaste upon the stack of invitations piled on the silver salver by her right elbow. “One can’t attend a single public performance without being inundated by requests for additional appearances.”
“You have many friends who were pleased to see you out in society again, Aunt Hedda,” Henry Wharton answered as he sat on one of the yellow silk chairs in his aunt’s drawing room.
“Rubbish! Half these people thought that I was buried in Woodlawn with my husband until Mademoiselle de Ronsard appeared beside me at the theater last week.” Philadelphia made a sound of protest. “There’s no need to deny it. It’s your society these invitations demand.”
“I am most entirely in disagreement, madame,” Philadelphia said with a small smile of embarrassment. “I am but certain these invitations come for the express purpose of your entertainment. I am, after all, but a poor orphan without rank or reputation in your exalted world.”
“I protest that assessment,” Henry said quickly and turned an earnest look on her. “You’re wellborn, and certainly without fault or blemish.” His cheeks pinkened. “What I mean to say is, you’re beyond reproach. Why, you’re related to royalty.”
Hedda’s silver brows registered surprise. “Royalty? Why should you imagine such a thing?”
“Akbar told me,” Henry answered, using the opportunity to speak to continue to address Philadelphia. “Well, he didn’t say you were royalty, he said that your family was very intimately connected to the Bourbons and that with the end of the Second Empire you lost a great deal more than your home and wealth. ‘Generations of breeding trod asunder,’ is how he put it.”
“Did he?” Hedda murmured darkly. “Akbar sought you out to say this to you?”
Henry cleared his throat as his aunt’s shrewd gaze pinned him, and as usual he felt at a disadvantage. “Actually, we happened to meet in the hallway when I came calling the other day.” His coloring rose as he continued. “I believe that he was waiting for me. He seemed most anxious that I be made aware that were she to regain her proper place in Paris, Mam’zelle de Ronsard would be courted by noblemen.”
Philadelphia’s laughter was light and pleasing. Akbar was going too far in his desire to impress. “I doubt that very much, monsieur. The nobility of France are no more different than men of rank in any country. They perceive marriage as the necessity that binds together position, land, and wealth. Enfin, I lack the requirements for a manage de convenance. As for the other, I am too proud to align myself in a mariage de la main gauche. Voila, I shall remain une vieille fille.” She looked to Mrs. Ormstead. “How do you say it in English, please?”
“A spinster,” Hedda supplied dryly.
“A spinster! Yes, that is me!”
Henry’s expression turned comical. He leaned forward, on the edge of his chair now, with eyes rounded in avid protest. “A spinster? My dear Miss Ronsard, nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Nor from your wishes, nephew?” Hedda offered dampeningly. Really, the boy was a noodle-noggin! “Do unpop your eyes and relieve the strain upon my upholstery. Mademoiselle Ronsard need not concern herself about becoming a spinster. Shame on you, mademoiselle, for provoking the poor boy.” She stood up abruptly. “Good morning to you, nephew. The mademoiselle and I have a fatiguing number of things to attend to. If you must, you may accompany us to the Montagues on Saturday, but only if I don’t catch a single sight of you in the meanwhile. Do I make myself clear?”
Henry had never before objected to the fact that his aunt always addressed him as though he were a boy of eight. But now it rankled that she spoke so peremptorily to him before the mam’zelle, whom he was determined to win by means as yet unconceived. “Really, Aunt Hedda. I’ve scarcely the time to linger about. I’ve only been doing my part as a member of the family to see that your guest feels at home.”
“You usually visit me three times a year. You’ve been here that many times this week,” she replied irrepressibly. “Surely something needs your attention, Horace.”
“My name is Henry, Aunt. Henry,” he said in exasperation. “A simple name.”
“Simple is as simple does,” she answered. “Until Saturday evening.”
Defeated, Henry made a bow to the ladies and left.
“Well, now,” Hedda began when he had departed. “We must go through these invitations together. We won’t accept most of them. If one appears in society too frequently, the element of novelty will fade.”
She picked up the first of the gold-edged invitations in the pile and lifted her lorgnette to examine it. “We’ll accept the Montagues’ invitation. They’re Newly Rich, and as such what you might expect. Yet, I hear they give some of the most costly and handsome entertainments on the street. The husband made a series of fortunate speculations on Wall Street and so speedily came into possession of great wealth. The gothic mansion on the corner opposite mine is theirs. A vulgar display of piled stones, don’t you think? I’ll accept in both our names. That should boost their stature on the street considerably.”
“Madame,” Philadelphia began in smiling protest. “You’re most kind to include me in your plans but I cannot accept.”
Hedda turned a sharp eye on her. “Why? You don’t care to consort with inferiors?”
“Mais non. I would never feel that way about people gracious enough to invite me, a stranger, into their home. I am only—how do I say it?—not equipped with the means to do you justice.”
“Do me justice?”
“As your companion.” Philadelphia looked away from the gray-blue eyes that regarded her steadily and removed an imaginary speck of dust from the skirt of her blue serge gown.
“Oh, I see.”
She glanced up and saw that Mrs. Ormstead was still looking at her but with less scrutiny in her gaze. “Poverty is always a misfortune, child. In this city, it’s branded a crime. You were frank with my nephew just now though I doubt he understood you. I’ve been aware of your circumstances since the day you entered my house. Your luggage was slight: only two cases and a small trunk, they spoke for themselves. A fashionable woman must have as many dresses as she has places to wear them. You’re not prepared.”
“No, madame.”
“At least you don’t attempt to hide anything from me. Have you come to New York in the hope of marrying well?”
