Evergreen

by Marissa Doyle

  She watched while he crossed to the other side of the court, catching Alice’s eye and smiling at her as he took position behind the service line. She flexed lightly up onto her toes, waiting.

  “Cooler over there?” he called to Alice, and served.

  Did he even notice she was here on the other side of the net? Grace narrowed her eyes and returned his serve hard, just beyond his reach if he wasn’t paying attention enough to meet it.

  Alice laughed as the ball flew past him. “Oh, I’m quite cool. I think you’re the one who’s in hot water now, Mr. Rookwood.”

  He stalked off to retrieve the ball without replying, but by the time he returned, his smile was back. “I wish you would call me Kit. Every time you say ‘Mr. Rookwood’ I keep expecting to see my father.”

  “Very well, Kit,” Alice drawled. “And you may call me…Miss Roosevelt.” She laughed at his expression. “Oh, don’t be silly. Of course you may call me Alice.”

  “Your serve, Mr. Rookwood,” Grace said. He hadn’t asked her to call him Kit, after all.

  He hesitated and, for the first time that day, actually looked at her. She returned his regard steadily so that for a moment they stared at each other just as they had earlier that week, and again Grace felt that pull between them like an elastic band trying to snap them together. What are you doing? she wanted to ask him. Who are you, really?

  And then he served.

  The play that followed was fast and intense. Grace understood as soon as the ball crossed the net that he had no intention of letting her win, as he had Alice. And she’d been right: he was a good player. He hit hard and straight and controlled. But she was good too.

  She won the first furiously played game. Alice laughed and clapped. “There you go, Kit. Beaten by two girls in one day. What a comedown!”

  “It’s not over yet,” Kit replied lightly. “Best of three?” he said to Grace. She noticed that he was back to not quite meeting her eyes.

  “If you wish,” she replied.

  He won the next game, though not easily. Grace knew she was tiring but she guessed that he must be also; he no longer took time to smile at Alice but concentrated wholly on the ball. As they prepared to start their last game, she remembered what the maple tree had said and smiled. It had been right about men and tennis, hadn’t it?

  Her smile seemed to unnerve Kit. He’d been about to serve, but paused before swinging his racquet up and took a few seconds to resettle his feet. He was off-balance for the rest of the game, which Grace won easily.

  “Hurrah!” Alice jumped up. “I knew you’d do it, Grace!”

  “Glad one of us did,” Grace muttered to herself. She was hot and sweaty and her hair under her white straw boater felt like it was in danger of tumbling over her shoulders, but she couldn’t suppress the fierce surge of triumph that welled up in her as she walked to the net toward Kit. Beyond him, she saw the maple’s branches waving back and forth, as if an extremely localized gale was blowing around it. The sight made her smile again as she reached across the net to shake Kit’s hand. “Thank you. You play very well.”

  He didn’t offer his hand; in fact, he walked right past her as if he hadn’t seen her. Grace felt herself flush and followed after him, fuming.

  “Do all the girls in Boston play like her?” he asked Alice loudly. “Must be all the centuries of Puritan virtue. Cold baths and plain oatmeal and scratchy woolen long underwear.”

  Grace nearly came to a halt from sheer surprise. Why was he behaving so strangely? Surely not because she had beaten him…or was it?

  Alice giggled. “Grace doesn’t wear scratchy woolen long underwear. Her grandmother orders their underthings from France. Lyons silk and lace, you know.”

  “Alice!” Grace wished a crack would open in the beautifully manicured grass at her feet and swallow her up. Or maybe swallow Alice up. Why was she discussing Grace’s underwear, of all things, with him?

  For a fleeting second, an odd expression crossed his face. Then he laughed harshly. “Not such a Puritan maiden after all, then.”

  Grace followed the pair back to the clubhouse, still fuming and not sure which of them she was more cross with. A few moments later, though, she knew.

  “Thank you for the game,” Kit said to Alice as he prepared to leave them on the piazza steps. Alice had invited him to join them for iced tea, but he’d claimed a prior engagement. “I hope we can do it again soon.”

  “Next time I hope you won’t feel you have to play the gentleman and let me win,” she pretended to scold.

  “Who, me? I’d never do such a thing.” He turned the full force of his smile on her, and Grace could practically see her melt under it. Then he half turned toward her. “That is…most of the time I wouldn’t.”

  Before Grace could even sputter, he’d turned and started back down the path, whistling.

  Chapter Five

  Grace was determined not to dwell on Kit Rookwood’s appalling rudeness, though over the next days she couldn’t help remembering flashes of that morning. What had she done to make him behave so unpleasantly toward her? No one had ever been intentionally rude to her before. Especially no one to whom she’d at first felt so drawn; if she remembered his rudeness, she also remembered the looks they’d exchanged, both when they first met and during the horrible tennis game. That made it hurt even more.

  If only he weren’t so attractive and hadn’t let her see his kindness to the ball boy. Then she could have labeled him insufferable and forgotten about him. But she couldn’t—most especially because he was always underfoot. Whenever they went to the Casino (which was every day), he was there, playing tennis or listening to music at one of the daily concerts or lounging on the piazza, waiting to flash that smile that seemed to turn Alice into a blithering idiot.

  And dancing. Though she’d ruled out balls in deference to Mrs. Roosevelt’s wishes, Mrs. Rennell hadn’t had the heart to forbid their attending the Thursday night dances at the Casino theatre ballroom. “After all, they’re not really balls,” she said by way of explanation. “They’re simply friendly get-togethers where there also happens to be music and dancing.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, ma’am,” Alice agreed. “But I’m still determined that we’re going to get to at least one real ball,” she added under her breath to Grace.

  To Grace’s dismay, Kit Rookwood was standing inside the entrance to the Casino theatre when they arrived for their first Thursday evening dance. He looked as good in evening dress as he did in tennis flannels.

  “Goodness, somebody’s prompt,” Alice greeted him.

  “All the better to get first crack at your dance card,” he said, letting his gaze sweep appreciatively over the décolletage of the yellow muslin gown she’d spent all morning lowering.

  She blushed and tapped him with her fan. “I haven’t even gotten one yet, silly.”

  “Now you have.” He snatched one from a hovering usher. “I am nothing if not efficient.” He began writing in it with the tiny pencil attached by a fine white silk cord.

  Alice snatched it from him. “You’re also nonsensical.” She folded it hastily into her purse, but not before Grace had caught a glimpse of it. She looked away, not sure whether to laugh or be sick. Oh, really!

  Mrs. Rennell had seen it too. She giggled. “Now, Kit, be fair. Other young men must have their chance to dance with Alice too.”

  “I thought I was being fair,” he protested. “I only took every other dance. That’s quite generous.”

  Mrs. Rennell took two programs from the smiling usher and handed them to Grace and Alice. “No more than two, you young scamp,” she said to Kit.

  He sighed and shook his head, then took Alice’s program and signed his name twice. “I still think mine was better.” He handed it back to her.

  “And?” She glanced meaningfully from him to Grace.

  No. The last thing Grace wanted was to dance with him. She nearly put the dance program behind her back.

  “And?” K
it echoed. He barely glanced toward her. “I didn’t think Puritan maidens were allowed to dance. Oh, there’s Reggie Vanderbilt. You’ll excuse me a moment, won’t you? I’ve been needing to talk to him.” He threaded his way back into the crowd.

  “Well, that was odd.” Alice frowned after him.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back to claim his dances, dear,” Mrs. Rennell said soothingly. “Shall we find a nice place to sit? Not that I expect you’ll be sitting much. You both look very handsome tonight.” She gave her arch little smile.

  Grace let her direct them toward the row of chairs lining the room. Why was Kit insisting on continuing the silly Puritan business about her— But no. She was not going to let him ruin her evening.

  She’d barely had time to sit down and smooth the skirt of her white lace dress underlaid with blue satin and start to examine the theatre—all classical white with elegant plaster moldings picked out in gold—when a tall young man, looking even taller in his black evening clothes, appeared before her.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Rennell,” he said, but he was looking directly at Grace. “I wondered if I might be presented to your friends.”

  Mrs. Rennell was only too happy to oblige. Grace waited for the young man, whose name turned out to be Tom Livingston, to turn to Alice as soon as he found out which of them was Colonel Roosevelt’s daughter, but his gaze never wavered from her.

  “Would…would you care to take the next dance with me, Miss Boisvert?” he asked after they’d made a few minutes of polite conversation. His slightly prominent ears turned red.

  Alice’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t say anything. Grace glanced at Mrs. Rennell, suddenly unsure of herself. Of course, she’d been to a few dances at home, but those were all with boys she knew. Dancing with them had been like dancing with her brother, Sandy. Mrs. Rennell beamed and nodded at her.

  “Yes, thank you,” Grace said, because she couldn’t think of any other possible response, and let him take her hand and lead her out into the center of the room. She’d been asked to dance before Alice! Now all she had to do was get through it without tripping over her feet. Or his, for that matter.

  Mr. Livingston turned out to be an adept dancer, however, and after a moment she found that she could relax as he guided her across the floor.

  “How do you like Newport, Miss Boisvert?” he asked after they’d found their rhythm.

  “I like it immensely.” Thank goodness for Grand-mère’s drills in how to make polite conversation. “We went down to the harbor to see the Fête on Tuesday—”

  His warm brown eyes crinkled in enthusiasm. “I was there too, on my father’s boat. What did you think of it?”

  Grace tried not to grimace. They’d brought little Parker and Sarah and Miss Hamm with them to view the parade of sailors from the warships and Naval College and Spanish-American war veterans marching down the flag-bedecked streets. Parker had yelled himself hoarse, little Sarah had cried incessantly, overwhelmed by the noise and the crowds, and Alice had disappeared, only to turn up much later with Kit Rookwood in tow, both of them looking distinctly grubby. He’d taken her to the waterfront to watch the rowing races, she’d explained. Mrs. Rennell had scolded poor Miss Hamm for losing sight of Alice, which Grace thought unfair. If anyone should have been scolded for losing Alice, it was her.

  “The fireworks were spectacular, and everything looked so festive. Really, everything I’ve done or seen in Newport has been lovely,” she said. “Alice—er, Miss Roosevelt and I have greatly enjoyed playing tennis here at the Casino.”

  “That’s…well, actually, I’ve seen you playing,” he said as if making a confession. “You’re very good.”

  Grace felt herself blush with pleasure. “Thank you.”

  “I’d be happy to let you beat me any day if you ever need an opponent. In fact, I’d enjoy it. Will you be here all summer? The national championship is in late August, and I’d love to escort you to a game.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Livingston. It sounds exciting. But we are only here for a month.”

  “Oh.” He looked downcast for a moment but then brightened. “But you’re here for the Cup trials.” She must have looked puzzled because he explained, “The America’s Cup trials. Sailboat racing. We’re going out to watch next week on my father’s steam-yacht—make a bit of a party of it. Won’t you come with us?”

  Grace remembered her adorable yachting costume that she’d been dying to wear. “I’d love to—that is, if I’m not already supposed to be somewhere else,” she added conscientiously. “May I check with Mrs. Rennell before I accept?”

  “You’re not only the prettiest girl here, you’ve probably got the nicest manners as well.” He was looking at her with a…a melting sort of expression that made her feel somewhere between alarmed and amused. Was this what Alice had meant when she talked about boys as big, slobbering spaniels? Mr. Livingston wasn’t drooling, thank goodness, but it didn’t look out of the question.

  At the end of the dance he brought her back to Mrs. Rennell, wrote his name on her card for another dance, then stood talking until another young man appeared beside him, intent on dancing with her. This dance went almost identically to her first…as did the next dance with another young man, and the one after that. Grace wasn’t sure how she felt about it; it was fun to be able to dance every dance, but by the sixth or seventh she’d begun to lose track of her partners. Had it been Frank who’d chattered away to her at great length about his motor-car and how fast he’d made the trip from Stamford, or Bert? Or had it been Springfield and not Stamford?

  Grace smiled and fanned herself and made the appropriate responses, but realized with a small shock that she was bored. The dancing had been pleasant—the band was a good one, and all of the boys who’d partnered her had been good to excellent dancers—but she was still bored. Possibly it was because she was a stranger here and didn’t know people well enough…but she also couldn’t help thinking that these young men were all rather dull, for all their enthusiasm over sailboats and motor cars. Or maybe it was because of—

  Just then, Alice danced by with Kit Rookwood. She winked at Grace as she passed. Kit glanced back as well, and his expression darkened as he looked from Grace to the young man partnering her so that he almost glared. Then Alice said something and he returned his attention to her, his brow clearing as he did.

  Grace frowned at his back as he danced away. What had that been about? Oh, let her guess—maybe Puritan maidens weren’t supposed to dance with good-looking young men at Casino dances. Well, she was no Puritan maiden, and if she wanted to dance with twenty boys it wasn’t any of Kit Rookwood’s business.

  A few moments later, the dance ended. The latest motor-car enthusiast gave her up reluctantly as Tom Livingston returned for his second dance. “Me again, Miss Boisvert,” he said cheerfully.

  Hmm. Maybe it was time to see if she could follow Alice’s Captivation directions. She smiled at him but let her eyelids droop provocatively, trying for the sultry look Alice had demonstrated. “Why, it’s an old friend!”

  Her smile seemed to stun him for a second or two. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and took her proffered hand. He spoke less during this dance but kept looking down at her with a befuddled expression on his face, as if he weren’t quite sure of what he was doing. Alice had been right! It worked!

  “You’re awfully quiet,” she said after a long lull in conversation. “Am I boring you?” Keep them off-balance, Alice had said.

  “No! I’m…” He gazed at her for so long that she began to worry they’d dance into a wall. “I…I can’t stop looking at you. You’re… I wish there weren’t all these people here.” He paused and swallowed hard. “You wouldn’t care to step out for some fresh air, would you? They say the moon is up.”

  Even through her corset she could feel his hand, resting on her back while they danced, tighten as he spoke. For a minute she felt a quaver of doubt—what was she doing to this nice young man who reminded her of the boys she�
�d grown up with? But then the words Puritan maiden reminded her.

  “I’d love to.” She lifted her chin and smiled at him again.

  He nodded, and she wondered if it was because he couldn’t speak—his Adam’s apple under the collar of his shirt seemed to have taken on a life of its own. He danced them close to the entrance, then led her out into the cool, damp night.

  The moon was indeed up; it was peeking over the roof of the theatre, round and bright. Grace was relieved to see they weren’t the only ones who’d slipped out to enjoy each other’s company in cooler, quieter surroundings—at least a dozen other couples strolled on the grass or the covered piazza leading to the court tennis building or stood close together, gazing skyward. She thought she caught a hint of movement in the shadow of the theatre building as well but decided it was best not to look too closely at what might be happening there.

  Mr. Livingston steered her down the piazza, which didn’t offer as much of a view of the moon…but moon watching didn’t seem to be what was on his mind.

  “This summer’s been dull as dirt, till now. If only you’d arrived sooner—but you’re here now.” He caught up her hands and pressed them gently.

  Oh, dear. Did Captivation happen so quickly? “Yes, and it’s such fun!” she said enthusiastically, as if she hadn’t noticed him squeezing her hands. “I am looking forward to going boating. Thank you so much for inviting me—”

  “If I had my way, I’d just bring you.” His voice had grown husky. “We’d go all the way to Block Island, just the two of us…or Bermuda…”

  She stole a glance at him to see if he’d reached spaniel stage yet, and saw that he was staring down at her with an intensity that made her quail. Goodness, all she’d done was smile at him—

  And then she heard Mum’s voice in her head. “Humans do tend to be strongly drawn to us… I’m afraid some boy will fall at your feet…” Oh dear, was that it? Had she put on the dryad charm a little too hard? She hadn’t meant to do anything of the sort to the poor boy—

  “I’ve never met anyone like you.” He gripped her hands more tightly and pulled her toward him. He wasn’t going to try to kiss her, was he?