An Unlikely Suitor (31 page)

Good for her.

Lucy knew she’d reached a stopping point when her thoughts strayed from sewing to Dante. Had he gone to their hiding place and found her note? Had he left another?

As these questions demanded attention, Lucy decided to fulfill two needs with one act. She set down her scissors and declared, “It’s time for a break. I have a special place I want to show you.”

Sofia finished the seam she was sewing. “I vote for anyplace but here.”

Mamma swept up the fabric scraps and put them in a pail. She rubbed the back of her arm over her forehead. “I too am ready for a change of scenery. Where are you taking us?”

“To the Cliff Walk.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Mamma said.

“It can be. But it’s also stunning.” She pointed to the hat tree. “Gather your hats and let’s go.”

Sofia ran ahead toward the beckoning sea. “Look! It’s gorgeous!” She stepped off the path, from rock to rock, drawing closer to the waves below. She flung her arms wide, wanting to capture the sea in her embrace. “I have never smelled such air!”

The others came up behind and immediately Mamma called to her. “Get back here, Sofia! The rocks aren’t safe.”

Sofia knew Mamma was right, yet she felt just the opposite, as if the rocks, which had been washed by the waves for eons, were as stable and eternal as the ground a mile inland.

She looked around to see her mother hugging the land side of the narrow pathway as she’d hugged the middle of the steamer when they’d traversed the bay.

“Come, now,” Lucy said. “I want to show you my favorite place.”

Lucy led the way, with Sofia taking up the rear. Mamma was so uncertain with her footing that when the path was wide enough, Sofia took the outside position and held her arm.

“Here we are.” Lucy stopped beside a hip-high stone wall. She pointed out to sea. “Isn’t it spectacular?”

Mamma eagerly sat on the wall, but Sofia found a boulder to stand upon. “I like the other place better. The waves aren’t as violent here.”

Mamma crossed herself, then removed her hat and used it as a fan. “I’m not used to such a hike.”

Sofia turned around to say something but saw Lucy, sitting next to Mamma, reaching down and pulling at a rock.

Lucy was absorbed in her task, so Sofia pretended she hadn’t noticed. When she looked again, Lucy was pressing the rock back into place.

There was something in her hand. . . .

Secrets? Her sister had secrets? That wasn’t like Lucy.

Sofia raised her eyebrows when Lucy looked at her.

Her sister adjusted her skirt over the wall, pretending . . . Then she stood and, with her opposite hand, pointed toward a mansion behind them. “See this mansion? It’s called Vinland after some Norsemen—or is it horsemen?”

Her attempt at distraction was almost comical and revealed Lucy’s inexperience in deception.

Mamma looked toward the house, apparently at the end of her tolerance for sightseeing. “I’d like to go back now,” she said.

“Of course,” Lucy said. “Sofia? Would you lead the way?”

Absolutely not. Sofia wanted to watch her sister carefully. “You first, sister,” she said with a sweep of her arm.

Lucy couldn’t refuse without argument, and when she stood, Sofia saw her slip something into her skirt pocket.

Lucy, Lucy, what are you up to?

“Mr. DeWitt is here, Miss Langdon.”

Rowena looked up from her thank-you note to the hostess of the musicale. Edward had come to visit her? Unannounced?

She rose and glanced in the mirror on the wall of the morning room. “Show him in, Timbrook.”

Edward entered, dressed in a light-colored suit, so appropriate for the heat of the Newport summer. He kissed her on the cheek and took the seat she offered.

“How nice of you to come, Edward. I didn’t expect—”

“I was out taking a jaunt this morning and decided to stop by to check on the state of your bruises.”

“Sore but surviving,” she said, though she had an enormous welt on her knee.

“Good for you.” He rose and began strolling around the room. She’d already taken him for a man who couldn’t be sedentary for long.

She would have liked to ask him about his plans for the day, but to do so would be asking for an invitation. She was due to see him tomorrow night for dinner. . . .

Suddenly, he reached low and pulled up a painting she’d set on the floor beside a table. “And what’s this?” he said, studying it. “This is absolutely beautiful.” He raised his gaze to include her. “How dare you keep your talent hidden behind the furniture. This should be hung above the mantel, at the very least.”

Unfortunately, it was Lucy’s painting he lauded. For a brief moment she was tempted to take credit, for how would he ever uncover her lie? But then, the truth forced itself into words. “Lucy painted it.”

He blinked once, then twice. “Lucy?”

“I think I told you I’d befriended a talented seamstress in New York and brought her here. She’s sewing our costumes for the Vanderbilts’ ball.”

“Lucy,” he repeated.

Rowena nodded. “Lucy Scarpelli. Isn’t that a marvelous—”

Edward looked again at the painting, then set it down in its original place. “Well, then. No matter who painted it, the artist shows true talent.”

Rowena sighed. “Which is further proof that it is not mine, for I possess no talents of any kind, neither of music, of yarn or thread, and certainly not of paintbrush.”

The look on Edward’s face made her ache to take back the words. “I shouldn’t have . . . I mean . . .”

He smiled politely, then made his way toward the door. “I really need to go. I just wanted to stop by . . .”

She rose. “Of course. I appreciate your kind visit.”

And then he was gone, and with him went the strength in Rowena’s legs.

She sank into a chair, her head shaking against the memory of her words. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she said aloud. “What was I thinking, listing my absence of talent? I’m supposed to impress him, not shove him away!”

She pressed her hands against her face. “Dear God, what have I done?”

If Mrs. Oswald says “bless your heart” one more time, I’ll throw the green beans in her face.

Being forced to eat their meals with the Oswalds was like being wrapped in a grandmother’s shawl—and having it tied up tight in a large knot. Sofia liked old people—Mamma was old and was her favorite person in the entire world. But to be around them twenty-four hours a day . . .

At least she wouldn’t have to sleep there anymore. Mrs. Langdon had given her permission to stay with Lucy. That one fact had helped her endure the work of the day.

On many occasions she’d wanted to mention it to Lucy and ask how to go about it. After the meeting with the rich ladies, Sofia had expected Lucy to take her upstairs immediately. Even if her sister detested the idea, Mrs. Langdon had ordered it, and so Lucy had to obey.

Didn’t she?

Mrs. Oswald was finishing yet another tedious story about her daughter. “And she never said another word, bless her heart.”

Sofia leaped into the pause between stories. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Mrs. Oswald looked surprised, as if she’d only then remembered Sofia was even at the table. “Of course, dear.”

Sofia avoided meeting Mamma’s gaze and exited to the workroom.

Now what?

It was getting dark and would soon be time to go to sleep. If she stayed here and Mamma came in, she would be stuck here for the night. The only way to get to stay in the main house was to take matters into her own hands.

She wrote a quick note to Mamma—
Gone to stay with Lucy
—and put it on her pillow. Then she quickly packed their smallest satchel and slipped outside.

Walking up to the main house in the half dark of sunset, she chose the least obvious path so she could enter the back way, where Lucy had taken them that morning. She paused at the door, uncertain whether to knock or just go inside. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so . . .

She opened the door and went in. To her left she heard voices and movement coming from the kitchen, dishes clattering as they were washed. To avoid meeting anyone, she hurried up the stairs to the first floor. But two steps from the top she paused behind the newel-post to verify her course.

The stairs continued to the second floor, leading to new territory. It was odd to think she’d seen the grand dining and morning rooms but not her own sister’s room.

Voices coming from the main part of the house propelled her upward. She took each tread on her toes, hugging the rail side, which was more apt to be without squeaks.

On the second floor she was faced with a long hallway and many doors.
This was a bad idea. How am I ever going to find Lucy’s room?

Maybe if she walked slowly and listened for Lucy’s voice . . .

She moved forward, listening at a door to her left, then her right.

Suddenly a door opened and a young man in evening dress pulled up short.

“My, my, a stalker in the hall. Friend or foe?”

Sofia stepped away, more than a little taken aback by his . . . his . . . dashing appearance.

She’d never even thought of that term before, and had only seen it within the pages of her novels. Yet there was no other way to describe this man. Light brown hair parted in the middle, hazel eyes . . . but it was the package of the whole that made the impression. Sofia had a quick thought: Wouldn’t any man, dressed in a tuxedo, be as dashing?

His eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger for emphasis. “I know who you are. Lucy’s sister. Part of the reinforcements from home.”

She didn’t like the designation. “I’ve come to make a costume for Mrs. Langdon, her daughter, and—”

He smiled. “My mother and sister.”

Sofia took another step back. This was the Langdon son? The heir?

He laughed. “Do I suddenly smell offensive?”

“Of course not.” He smelled wonderful. Of musky spice.

“Then why do you back away from me?”

She purposely took a large step forward. As she did so, she noticed a stain on the white of his shirt. “Your shirt is soiled,” she said.

He looked down. “Oh my. Cook’s gravy has done me in again.” He turned back to his room, then faced her fully once more. He clicked his heels together. “Thank you, Miss . . . ?”

“Sofia.”

“Thank you, Miss Sofia, for saving me from excruciating humiliation at the casino tonight. How can I repay you?”

Sofia delighted in his attention and regretted the conversation was coming to an end. “You can point me toward my sister’s room. I’m to stay with her.”

He reached for her satchel, then held out an arm and said, “Come. I will be your personal escort.”

Sofia had never taken the arm of any man but Papa, much less a gentleman, but slipped her hand into the space he’d created.

He began to stroll down the hall. “Actually, your sister’s room—the lovely Lucy—is to our right here, directly next to mine, as it were.”

Sofia felt the fool and started to pull her hand away. “I’m sorry, I—”

He drew it back. “But as you see, there is no access from this charming hallway and so we must find another way. This next door goes to my sister’s dressing room, which is full of delightfully excessive fashion, and this . . .” He stopped before a second door and knocked.