Katie Rose (6 page)

“I think you have business?” the young man asked. At Charles’s curt nod, he backed toward the door. “I’ll go freshen our drinks,” he said quickly, then disappeared.

“Charles? Is something wrong?” Gabriel straightened in the midst of lining up his next shot. Charles’s normally fair complexion was an angry red. His eyes blazed, and his jaw was tightly knotted. He seemed hard-pressed to inhale, and when he finally did, he thrust a document at Gabriel.

“Take a look at that!” he demanded.

Gabriel picked up the letter, vaguely aware of the soft scent of lilac water still clinging to it. He breathed the sweet smell, then, seeing Charles’s glare, quickly opened the note. The paper was feminine, trimmed in pretty flowers, but the contents were anything but.

“Dear Sir,” it began. “I have in my possession a letter sent to myself and my sisters on your letterhead. I cannot help but assume that someone less talented than yourself must have drawn up such a missive, for surely a man of your extensive legal experience couldn’t possibly make such ludicrous mistakes. I am happy to point them out to you and show you the errors of the writer’s ways. I am certain you will share in my incredulity and concern. If you care to discuss this further, please contact me at Twin Gables. I am sure that you don’t wish your illustrious career besmirched by publishing such a poorly written document, obviously meant to frighten three helpless women. Signed Cordially, Winifred Appleton.”

Gabriel scanned the attachment, a listing of Charles’s legal errors, but the language was too complicated even for his own businesslike mind to follow. Openmouthed, he turned back to Charles.

“But there must be an explanation! Could they have
hired someone to help them with this? I don’t even understand what she’s written.”

“There is no doubt someone helped them,” Charles said furiously. “I don’t for a moment believe that a woman wrote this. It would take someone very familiar with the laws of the State of New York to write such a response. Good heavens! You don’t suppose they have the backing of Horace or Shane? Only men of their stature could have composed this!”

Charles visibly paled, clearly concerned about his career. Gabriel sighed and shook his head, gesturing to the letter.

“Charles, you’re letting your emotions rule you. How could an insignificant tea-leaf reader afford such counsel! The very idea is ridiculous.”

Charles calmed somewhat, but he paced the floor of the billiard room, still puzzled. “Then what is the explanation? You don’t think they have the backing of the newspapers? She threatens publication.”

“No, I don’t think they have any backing at all. These girls are as poor as church mice. They don’t have any society connections, or we would have heard about them long before this. My mother claims they are of good parentage, but she is infatuated with the girls. Frankly, they are nobodies,” Gabriel said, but his own outrage grew apace with Charles’s. “Somehow, these women have obtained legal counsel, maybe some ancient lawyer who has been taken in by their mysticism and charm. They probably promised him a second life, or something, in exchange for the letter. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m going to confront Miss Winifred Appleton,” Charles said decisively. “I have an appointment with her next week. I refuse to be cornered like this by a mere woman. The nerve of her, threatening me! By the time I get through with her, Winifred will think my letter a mere pleasant introduction.”

Gabriel shook his hand, then cupped the eight ball as Charles stormed out. Tossing the ball into the air, he couldn’t help but grin.

Jennifer had brought the wrath of the law down on her head. He’d see who had the last laugh.

The Barrymores’ garden party was one of the season’s “must show” events. Held outside the city at the family’s summer house on Long Island, the party was well attended by the heat-weary Wall Street businessmen and their companions. The women, dressed in the height of fashion, never seemed aware of the weather, even though the heavy dresses they wore, coupled with petticoats, bustles, and panniers, made them swelter in the summer sun. The men were also garbed in their best, eager to show off glinting diamond breast pins, polished walking sticks, and jacquard vests. If, by noon, the women melted like frosted cakes and the men were deluged with sweat, one would only remark that they looked “rosy” or “dewy.”

Tables were piled high with food. Servants constantly refreshed the punch, the ices, the cake, and the meats, for food perished quickly in the heat. It seemed as if a continuous line of men carried out the silver dishes, while another line removed them in a meticulous circle. In the center of the table, scented candles repelled insects, while fabulous swan ice sculptures quickly became unrecognizable forms. Tents provided shelter from the sun, and even
they were swathed with flowers and chiffon drapes. No opulence was spared, for the Barrymores, like other Victorians, were determined to flaunt their wealth.

Gabriel stood amid a group of his associates, sipping a glass of punch. Allison Howe stood at his side, acting the part of the perfect socialite. Blond and pretty, with thoughtful brown eyes and a winning smile, Allison was much admired among the men and women of her crowd. She was now afire, discussing women’s rights with several of the other women, an occupation that the men found amusing.

A woman with a mind, Gabriel thought, silently acknowledging the sympathetic glances of his friends. Yet Allison, he knew, was interested in the suffragette movement because it was fashionable, not for any true beliefs of her own. Pampered from infancy, Allison had the supreme self-confidence that comes from a worry-free existence. She’d gone to the best schools, known the right people, and never experienced financial troubles. It puzzled him sometimes that he didn’t love her, but Gabriel didn’t believe in love. That was for sentimentalists like his parents. Yes, Allison was groomed to be the perfect society wife, which was exactly what Gabriel was looking for.

He sent her an absent smile, twirling his punch and admiring her social acumen. He couldn’t help comparing her to that Appleton creature, the one who’d been plaguing his thoughts all too frequently. Jennifer would be lost at such a gathering, wouldn’t even have been invited in the first place. Even now he was frustrated at how quickly she came to mind, and how easily he could picture those luminous eyes and pouting mouth. He chuckled silently, thinking again of Charles’s wrath the previous day. He now had a powerful ally in his determination to stop Jennifer Appleton’s thievery—the law.

Just as he grinned in smug satisfaction, the face that
he’d been envisioning came into view. For a moment, he was certain he was hallucinating, for there was no way someone like Jennifer Appleton could have entrée to a party like this. His hand jolted with shock as she moved closer, laughing prettily at something a swain said, and his punch swirled over the top of the glass.

“Gabe!” Allison said in surprise as his punch spilled ingloriously over Marybeth Stockton’s pale pink dress. “Whatever are you thinking?”

Flushed, Gabriel quickly offered his handkerchief, embarrassed at his loss of control. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, then moved toward the apparition, still unable to believe his eyes.

It was her. The devil herself, Jennifer Appleton. She was dressed in a pretty dotted-white-on-white Swiss chiffon, a pink sash tied just below her breasts. The dress was a little old-fashioned, but of good material and lovely styling. He had difficulty pulling his eyes away from her, for as he had supposed, her figure was magnificent. It was generously exposed by the light quality of her dress, and he surmised she wore little beneath the gown. Although the heat made such considerations practical, it was scandalous nevertheless.

When she finally lifted her face, he saw that she bloomed with color. If the fright of the lawyer’s letter affected her, it was not apparent in her easy manner, her full, lush giggles, nor her
joie de faire
as she swung a croquet mallet and deftly landed her ball just outside the wicket. She must have felt his observation, for her eyes met his and held him spellbound.

“Jennifer! You must come! Oh, please, they are asking for you!”

A beautiful woman approached her, and Gabriel identified Jennifer’s sister. Penelope led her away to a group of women clustered beneath a shade tree with their ices
and fans. Gabriel recognized Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Greyson, the Misses Billing and Miss Barry. He waited for their rebuff, but instead, they seemed genuinely pleased to meet “the Appleton.” Their talk grew animated, and Gabriel drifted close enough to hear the conversation.

“Is it true that you brought Mary Forester’s husband back from the dead? What was it like?” Eleanor Greyson asked, her stern face lit up with excitement.

“How do you do it? Can you feel the ghostly presence?” the normally reserved Margaret Merriweather questioned.

“Are you frightened, living alone, knowing that spirits have been in your house?” Jane Billing wanted to know, her voice pleading.

“How do you give such marvelous readings? I’ve heard of your powers from several sources!” Judith Barry gushed.

Stunned, Gabriel saw Jennifer wield her power like a queen deigning to speak with peasants. She answered their questions cleverly, making them curious for more. Idly he realized her intelligence outweighed her beauty, but more obvious was her formidable charm. That, Jennifer Appleton had in boatloads.

Incensed, Gabriel was about to accost her when Jonathan Wiseley stole up beside him, a glass of beer in one hand, a chocolate cake in the other. “Pretty girl,” he remarked, chomping on the cake. “I hear she’s taking New York by storm.”

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel blazed, and the young man nearly choked on his beer.

“Well, didn’t you know? The ‘bewitching trio’ has been seen everywhere. They had tea at the Billings’, lunch at the Swathmores’. I hear they’ve been invited to every major outing this summer. No one seems to know much about them, except that their parents, who were of good family, died. Poor dears! But there’s no doubt as to their success.”

Gabriel saw the truth of the man’s words as the women piled knee-deep to get a word with Jennifer. Far from being out of her element, she played the crowd like a conductor of an orchestra. Worse, she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, for she fanned herself prettily, letting the heat climb in her cheeks. Soon men surrounded her, and Gabriel could hear them fighting over who would bring her a glass of punch.

“As I said, poor little orphans. I, for one, would certainly like to adopt one of them. Say, do you think they are free lovers like that creature Woodhull? That would be terribly convenient, wouldn’t it?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to retort, but didn’t trust himself to speak. For some reason, he was furious with Jonathan’s comment, and even more furious with the men thronging around Jennifer. Turning rudely away from Jonathan, he approached her, and heard her trying to decide whether to attend the Esterbrooks’ ball, or the Chambers Street festival, a decision she seemed to enjoy mightily.

“Miss Appleton, I beg a private word with you.” Gabriel sent her a look that brooked no refusal. As the men booed, Jennifer shrugged her dainty white shoulders, then descended from the crowd. Gabriel took her by the arm and practically dragged her into the rose garden.

“Unhand me this minute!” Jennifer cried as soon as they were alone.

Gabriel released her, suddenly aware that he
was
still holding her arm. Jennifer Appleton stood in front of him amid the Barrymores’ prized Silver Lace roses, looking incredibly beautiful. Instead of appearing frightened by his confrontation, she held her chin up defiantly, as if prepared to defend her ground at all costs.

She looked so adorable, Gabriel had trouble staying angry. He had to remind himself of exactly who she was—and what she was. “Miss Appleton,” he managed sternly,
“what are you doing here? Is it common for tea-leaf readers, who bilk elderly ladies out of money, to entertain at garden parties in such a manner?”

“And what, sir, is your objection?”

He could have sworn he saw laughter lurking at the corners of her mouth. He gestured to her gown. “I think you know exactly what I mean. That you are here, dressed like that, flaunting yourself before the men! How did you get invited to this gathering, or did you just crash the gates?”

She was so close, he could smell her lilac water, so reminiscent of the letter to Charles. She was even prettier here than at a distance, for she seemed to emanate an energy and vitality that were intoxicating. His own thoughts drove him to distraction. Part of him wanted to put her over his knee and beat some sense into her; the other part wanted to kiss her until she swooned.

“I was invited by Madam Barrymore herself, thanks to a recommendation by the Misses Billing,” Jennifer said indignantly, although she didn’t seem entirely displeased with the situation. “As to my dress, it is no different than Sally Vesper’s gown, nor Marybeth’s. And I wasn’t flaunting myself; I find the company of this society very congenial. I also find
your
interest questionable, since you are here escorting a female.”