Glamorous Illusions (19 page)

PART III:

THE CONTINENT

CHAPTER 22

~Cora~

I didn't know if Will knocked on my door and I slept through it, or if he never knocked at all. Only that the next morning, it was Anna's knock that made me sit upright, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I was still fully dressed, having decided that I'd hear whatever Will had to say. But I'd obviously fallen asleep.

Anna set down a tray of scones and a small teapot, then looked me over, hands on her hips. Consternation and suspicion flashed through her eyes. “So, miss. Is that what you'll be wearing, then, or would you like a fresh suit?”

I rose and ignored her judgmental look. “A fresh blouse, Anna. That'd be lovely.” I pulled off my jacket and the rumpled blouse beneath and took the new one she offered, slipping it on and buttoning it up while she swiftly saw to my hair. Afterward, she wordlessly offered me a summer cape, balling up the rumpled jacket I'd worn all night. I accepted it, buttoning the huge crystal clasp at my neck.

“Did you ever get the opportunity,” I asked, “to see your aunt?”

“No, miss,” she said, refusing to look me in the eye. She conjured up a smile. “She was away, then…” She shook her head. “Perhaps next time through.”

I'd messed up her plans, getting us tossed out of Syon. All the moving and resettling had obviously made it impossible. “I'm sorry, Anna.”

“Oh! Never you mind, miss. My auntie will still be here next summer.”

“You're certain?” I asked, waiting until she met my gaze.

Her face softened and she nodded. “Yes, yes. Now off with you, then. You look respectable again.”

Within minutes, we were finished and out in the cars that would take us to the train station. To France.

That was something I'd never ever thought I'd be able to say.

We traveled for several hours on the train to Dover, then boarded a small sailing vessel for the crossing of the Channel.

I'd been assigned a cabin with Vivian, but I consoled myself with the news that it would only be for one night. We'd make our crossing by evening, settle into the harbor, and make our way up the Seine River tomorrow. As we drew away from England, I could see the towering white, chalky cliffs of Dover disappearing into a steel-blue sea. The weather was beautiful, if somewhat chilly, now that we were out on the water. Men dressed in crisp white pants and striped shirts trimmed sails and adjusted ropes all around us.

Holding my hat so that the wind wouldn't steal it from me, I watched them climb to dizzying heights and balance across beams to do their work high above. It was far different from the sprawling steamship that had carried us to England from America. This smaller vessel felt more visceral, as if we were a part of the sea rather than simply traveling upon it.

Will joined me and looked up to see what had caught my attention. “It takes a crew of thirty to man her.”

“I can't imagine being up there, and in such waves!” I said. “They are like monkeys.”

He smiled. “They've known it all their lives. Think of something that you did on the farm, before joining the Kensingtons, that they cannot imagine.”

I laughed. “Mucking stalls. Milking cows. Butchering chickens.”

His face broke out in a huge grin, and I thought again that he was quite handsome in a warm sort of way. His was a quiet sort of masculinity, ever present but arising in turns so suddenly that it surprised me.

“Will,” I dared, “what was it that you wanted to say to me last night? Over tea?”

“Ah,” he said, looking down at his feet. “I thought better of that. Forgive me for not knocking. Did you stay up waiting?”

I considered him, wondering what the secret was. “It's all right. And no, I went right to sleep.”

“Good, good,” he said, clearly wanting to move on.

I decided to let him be. He'd tell me when he wished. “Have you been aboard a great many ships, Will?”

“A fair number. But my favorites are those like these, sailing under nothing but the wind's power. Unfortunately, they're hard to come by. Steam is taking over the seas. Uncle likes his groups to travel this way so that we can observe the sailors work while we can.”

“I suppose steam is a bit more reliable.”

“Indeed. But in the Channel, they're hardly ever without wind, so it's a good bet to run a vessel like this here.”

“I think I could watch them work for hours. Watch them capture the wind, harness it. It's an art, really.”

“Well said. However, if you stay out here much longer, you'll continue to distract them from their work.” He gestured toward a lanyard high above us where two sailors, seeing they'd been spotted spying on us, hurried to resume their work. “Come, Cora,” Will said, merriment in his tone. “I'm about to give the group a lesson on wind dynamics and the history of the English Channel.”

He offered me his arm, and as I took it, a shiver of excitement ran down my back. I loved the feeling of strength in his muscles beneath the smooth silk, and I couldn't resist glancing up at him again.

He smiled back at me, and I quickly looked ahead. I was in no place to take a suitor. And a romance with one of our guides was forbidden. Wasn't it? At least, that was what the younger girls spent a great deal of time chattering about, along with whispers of Will's handsome face, the strength of his shoulders, the kindness in his eyes…

I slowed, and he gave me a quizzical look. “Cora?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, picking up my pace.

By the time we reached the door, the sails were taut with wind, the waves tossing us back and forth. I clung to Will's arm, and he reached out to open the door for me.

The bow of the ship rose at that moment, and just as I stepped to move through the door, the boat tilted downward again, sending me swinging around, midstep.

Right against Will's chest.

“Whoa!” he said with a laugh, letting go of the door and putting his big hands on my shoulders. I could feel the warmth of them through my thin summer cape. “We're hitting high seas now.”

“Truly,” I said, embarrassed, trying to step away from him.

The ship swung upward again, and he took a lurching step toward me, catching himself with both arms to the wall beyond the door, with me between them. Worse, my hands now rested against either side of his waist.

He paused, looking down at me, but an inch away from my face, and the flash of heat I saw in his eyes made me lose my breath altogether. I stared back at him, trying to confirm what I thought I'd seen.

Passion. Hope. Desire.

But he'd already shoved off and was moving away. “Quickly now, Cora,” he said politely, “or we're liable to fall overboard.”

In more ways than one
, I thought, slipping inside.

CHAPTER 23

~William~

Will groaned as he struggled to wake. Between the rough seas and thoughts of Cora, so close, so open, he'd barely slept. He rubbed his face. “Help me, Lord,” he muttered. “Take away these wild imaginings of the heart.”

He'd wanted to kiss her, God help him. Bend and claim those lush lips. Pull her close. Give in to the tidal force he felt within him, drawing her in. Was she attracted to him? He only knew that over the last two years, these tours had been full of insipid, superficial, mindless females. Cora Kensington was the first woman of substance, depth, that he'd met in a long, long while.

He glanced over at his uncle's empty bunk. The old man rose before the sun and usually retired with it. So, often, watching over their clients in the evening fell to Will. “It's a young man's sport,” his uncle would say. But Uncle would not bless any pursuit of Cora, and Mr. Kensington—Will doubted he'd ever bless Will's courtship of his daughter, whether during or after the tour. Will had not finished his education, nor had he anything more than partial employment and a flat in his uncle's attic. Hardly enough to offer a bride.

Will rammed the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Stupid, stupid,” he berated himself. How could he have let it happen? His guard had been as far down as hers had been. Yet she was still roiling in the tornado created by the Kensingtons and Morgans, trying to find her place. All she needed from him was friendship. Protection. Leadership. Encouragement. Nothing more.

“No confessions of some sort of heartsickness,” he reminded himself in a growl. He'd stood outside her door their last night in England, about to knock, but could see how it would transpire. He'd wanted to confess that seeing her thrown from the saddle made his heart stop. That watching her wade into social situations far beyond her experience, with nothing but grace and poise, left him in awe. That witnessing others be less than kind to her made him long to defend her. But in the end, he couldn't see it through. It would've left them with nothing short of disaster and, quite possibly, with him on the next steamship home.

And now this. All he could see in his mind were her lips. That open invitation in her eyes, the innocent surprise and wonder that he longed to turn into understanding…

He sighed and swung his long legs over the edge of the narrow cot and glanced at the clock again. He was late. He rubbed his face, hard, as if he could rub away every thought of Cora Kensington. He needed to review his notes and gather the group for a brief lecture on French Impressionists.

Quickly, he rose and shook out a fresh shirt. There was barely enough room to move in the cramped cabin, let alone dress, but at least the seas seemed calm this morning. He bent over a small basin, added some water from a pitcher, lathered his face and, after a long look in the mirror, gave his cheeks a quick shave, leaving a bit of a beard and long sideburns. He figured that France was the country in which he could experiment some with his facial hair. Perhaps he could use it as a way of reminding himself—rub his beard whenever he got the urge to kiss Cora Kensington.

He ran his fingertips over his cheeks, checking for stubble. He was glad he had a strong chin—it wasn't as if he needed a beard to give him what God had not. But perhaps it would make him appear more mature, established. Maybe it would lend him greater authority with his clients.

He laughed at himself. At least it couldn't hurt.

Will washed and wiped his skin clean, then pulled on his shirt, trousers, tie, and jacket. The suit was a few years old and tight around the chest, but it was one of only two summer-weight suits he owned. He had to get a little more use out of it. If all went well with the tour, the promised double pay when the Kensingtons and Morgans went home come fall would not only help him come up with a semester's tuition, it might update his wardrobe. With luck, he could find a part-time job to pay for the next semester, and then take another tour to fund his final year. If Uncle would let him guide on his own, he'd be that much further ahead. He knew the old man pocketed three-quarters of what they brought in. And increasingly, lately, he'd elected to take his leisure while Will took over. Will struggled not to let it rankle him. The old man had earned it over the years. Established himself within the family business, as he expected Will to do now.

Will tried to knot his tie, but when he checked the mirror, it was off, so he untied it and tried again. And then again. Groaning, he stood with both hands on the small table and studied his image in the mirror.
This isn't about Uncle Stuart
, he said silently to his reflection.
Get hold of yourself, man. And get your mind off her.

He took a deep breath, then slowly, steadily tied his knot perfectly. Then, with one last, stern warning look at himself, he turned and left his cabin. The passageway was narrow, and so was the stairwell, so when he reached the top, he exited with some relief. He blinked several times in the sudden bright light. When his eyes adjusted, he noticed Cora right away, her hat off, her hair streaming in waves on the wind. She was leaning against the edge, holding a rope that secured a lanyard to a cleat, eyes closed, as if feeling the rise and fall of the ship. Her face was a mask of pleasure. It reminded him of that night aboard the
Olympic
when he'd spied on her.

He heard Hugh behind him, making a lewd remark about her to another passenger. He whipped around to face them. “Keep your voices down, gentlemen,” he said with a scowl, “and I ask you to keep your minds out of the gutter.”

Hugh gave him a scoffing laugh. “Get off your high horse, Will.” He dropped his voice. “Even a priest couldn't ignore the comeliness of such a creature.” Will glanced over at another group of Frenchmen who were clearly appreciating the view too.

Knowing he was making a terrible mistake and yet unable to stop himself, Will looked her way again. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. She wasn't his to protect as a beau. Only as his client.
My client.

Hugh's mouth dropped open. “The apprentice is falling for her,” he said, slapping his newfound friend on the back in wonder. “Would you look at that!”

Will grimaced and stepped forward to grab hold of Hugh's arm. “Excuse us for a moment,” he muttered toward the stranger, as he hauled the smaller man around the corner of the cabin, out of Cora's sight—and potential hearing.

“Let me go!” Hugh wrenched his arm away and straightened his jacket. “What do you think you're doing?” He edged up against Will, chest to chest.

“Maintaining order,” Will said. “I know Cora's new to the family, but you will treat her with respect. I insist on it as your guide.”

“First of all, she's not part of
my
family. And is your interest in her only that of guide or as something
more
?” He raised his eyebrows.

“As your guide,” Will gritted out, “we are not to fraternize with our clients. Nor allow our clients to fraternize with each other. It leads to…difficulties.”

“I bet,” Hugh said, a smile edging out indignation. He stepped away. “What of Andrew and Vivian?”

“They were previously courting. An exception.”

“I see,” Hugh said. “But there's no harm in eyeing the goods if you don't touch, is there?”

“I think there is.”

Hugh pounded him on the shoulder playfully, as if they were pals. “You're putting too much heart in it, man. Keep it light. Take in the flowers; just don't pluck the petals. It'll relieve some of that pressure building.” He leaned forward and whispered, “That is, unless you're so inclined.”

Will clenched his fists. “I'm not.”

Hugh gave him a long, appraising look. “Right,” he said, clearly not believing him. He pulled a pocket watch from his waist and looked from it to Will. “Isn't it time for your meeting?”

“Indeed.”

“Excellent. I'll just go and fetch our Cora—”

“I'll fetch her. You go on.”

Hugh nodded knowingly. “Sure you will.”

“Go, Hugh.”

He raised his hands. “I'm going. I'm going.”

Will waited until the man moved away, toward the deck beside the main cabin where the others were already assembling. Then he ducked around the corner and stopped a few feet away from her. She was sitting now, apparently oblivious to what had gone on. Her eyes were closed, her face to the wind as if she were posing for a painting. And indeed, she was a worthy model.

“Cora,” he said, wanting it to be soft, low, so he wouldn't startle her. But instead it came out strangled, with an awkward squeak.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she brought a hand to her throat. “Oh, Will. Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” he said, swallowing hard, embarrassed. “We're gathering. Ready to join us?”

“I am,” she said, turning, “though it's difficult to leave this.” She glanced over her shoulder at the riverbanks lush with green grass. Will looked beyond her to the landscape at large. They'd entered the mouth of the Seine in the wee hours of the morning. He'd felt the waves diminish and smelled the shift from salt to freshwater, but he hadn't taken in the lovely surroundings. “I never expected to love the water so,” Cora said. “There's something about it that reminds me of the prairies of home.” She shook her head. “All those miles of swaying grass aren't so different from waves of the sea.”

“Except the prairies cannot swallow you whole.” He offered his arm.

“You'd be surprised,” she said. “Many who've put years of toil into the ground might tell you that it swallowed them.”

“An astute observation,” he said. She took his arm, and they began walking. “Cora, about last night…”

She paused and looked up at him. Was that a flash of hope, interest, in her eyes? Ignoring his dry throat, he pressed on. “I apologize. It was an accident, falling against you as I did.”

“Oh, I know that. Such things happen.” But she waited there, as if she wanted him to say more.

He turned more fully toward her. “Still. It was… I apologize if I offended you in any way.”

Her blue eyes searched his for a moment longer, then stilled, her brow lowering. “Not at all, Will. Don't fret over it any more.”

His heart seemed to pause and then pounded. “Thank you,” he muttered, leading her forward again.

Had he disappointed her? Did she actually want something to happen? No, he told himself. He'd confused her. Complicated matters. Crossed his own well-established line.

“What shall you teach us about today, tutor?” she asked, following behind him in the narrow passageway.

“Monet and Manet, French Impressionists.”

“Ahh. Painters of idle garden parties and picnics.”

“Oh, and far more. For instance, Monet painted important works in Venice and London. And he often painted his wife—with their son, in a Japanese costume, working at her tapestry, and even on the occasion of her early demise.”

“In her deathbed?” Cora said, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Whose deathbed?” Lillian asked as they entered the small parlor.

“Camille Monet's,” Will said. He moved to the front of the group, assembled in chairs in the only sitting room on the ship. “Cora asked if French Impressionists painted only garden parties,” he said with a nod to her. “But Monet often painted his wife, Camille. And when she died of tuberculosis, in the midst of his grief he painted her on her deathbed. It's an intriguing work that captures the moment when the body remains but the spirit has departed.”

“Will we see that here in Paris?” Vivian asked.

“Perhaps. We'll certainly see many of Monet and Manet's works in the city, but I'm not certain where that particular work now resides. We'll be taking a painting class one afternoon, doing our best at emulating the Impressionist style—”

“That ought to provide a laugh or two,” Andrew said.

“Or allow some budding artists to emerge,” Will said benignly. His uncle had wisely found some years ago that nothing helped young people remember particular lessons like actively engaging them—constructing one of Da Vinci's models, sketching the Eiffel Tower from beneath it, learning how to bake pastries from a French chef. On some trips, he'd even brought in a magician to teach a few tricks, and a gambler to teach the gentlemen how to play a proper game of cards. It was Will's favorite part of the tour—far better than his droning lessons.

His blood surged with excitement as he told them of the plans, and in turn, he saw their faces come alive with interest. He knew he was keeping his eyes purposefully off Cora. Glancing past or over her. He didn't dare to hover there for long, fearful that everyone, including Cora, would soon guess his interest as Hugh had. His only defense would be to make it appear that Hugh was totally wrong; then the others would come to Will's aid, passing his teasing off as Hugh's imagination run wild.

After teaching for a while, Will noticed his uncle standing beside Antonio in the back, hands on the head of his cane as he observed like a proud parent. Will wrapped up his last statements, and his uncle nodded to the window. “Think you all ought to come on deck,” the old bear said. “We're just beginning to sail past the outskirts of Paris.”

The group moved out the door, the women chatting excitedly, the young men jostling one another good-naturedly. Outside, they all gathered on the leeward deck, from which they could see the most buildings. Charming cottages lined by gardens, orderly farms, milking cows out to pasture… It had the same pastoral effect as Provence, where they would eventually sojourn.

Once they were assembled, his uncle began a lesson in French, reminding their clients of useful phrases and words they would likely need. As with other lessons, Uncle Stuart and Will found that clients were far more engaged in learning once they had the land in sight and knew they'd soon be encountering native speakers. Listening to them, it soon became apparent that Andrew and Felix were nearly fluent, probably having studied it in college. Hugh and Vivian's French was passable, but the younger girls and Cora had much to learn.