Kissing Comfort (23 page)

She wished he'd never put the question to her. She tried to recall if there'd been a hint of amusement in his tone. It seemed that there had. If there was concern, then it had been the pitying kind. Because she'd agreed to support Bram's lie, she'd been trapped into making an admission she would have rather avoided.

What would Bode make of it now, assuming he remembered the exchange at all? She smiled, but the shape of it held more derision than humor. It seemed he remembered everything, and in light of the kiss they'd shared, it was just as likely that he'd ask her about it.

No man had ever kissed her as Bode had. None of the men who had proposed to her had done more than press the back of her gloved hand to their lips. She had been shown more in the way of physical affection from her cat. Thistle, at least, sometimes nuzzled her under the chin. Bram was more demonstrative, but always in a familial way, a brother to his sister. He bussed her cheek, occasionally her forehead, and was fond of using his forefinger to tap the tip of her nose when she'd amused him. Afraid of what he might glimpse in her face, she was careful never to turn her head into any of his kisses.

She hadn't shown that caution with Bode, but then what he would have seen in her eyes was curiosity, not affection, and certainly not love. Curiosity, she now believed, made for an extraordinarily satisfying kiss, and judging by the dream she'd had, it would be equally satisfying upon repetition.

If
she were inclined to repeat it. Which she was not.

Comfort pressed her fingertips to her lips. At least she didn't think so. But then that was the nature of self-deception.

 

 

Samuel Travers straightened the covers all around Bram except where the winch, weights, and crank interfered with his efforts. The contraption that kept Bram's leg raised off the bed reminded Sam of a ship's windlass, and he supposed the comparison was close enough. Bram's splinted leg hung in the air as still and heavy as an anchor hoisted up from the sea.

“Careful,” Bram said when Sam inserted an extra pillow behind his back. “I swear, Sam, I'll pay you fifty dollars in gold to cut me loose of this thing.”

“You don't have fifty dollars. Gold or paper. And I wouldn't do it if you did. I'm more afraid of your mother than I'm bothered by your sour looks.”

Bram sighed. He'd heard it before. “Go to the window and see if she's coming.”

Sam pretended to misunderstand. “Your mother?”

“No, damn it, Miss Kennedy.”

“You're in a mood, aren't you?” Sam crossed the room to the window and stood in a way that gave him the best angle on the street. His view was still limited. “I don't see a carriage.”

“She might be walking.”

“There's no one on the street. No, wait. There's someone.” He shook his head. “Chinese girl. Looks like she's going to the Jenner place with her basket. Probably selling shrimp to the cook.”

Bram ordered him back from the window. “Go on. I don't need you any longer.”

“Feeling better, are you? Must be those drops.” Samuel looked around, made certain everything was in order, and went to the door. “Have a care you don't take too many. They'll wither a man's mind.” He left before Bram put his hands on something to throw. He hadn't stepped cleanly into the hallway when he saw Miss Kennedy turning the corner. “You go right in,” he told her. “Bram just asked after you.”

Comfort paused on the threshold when she saw the hoist attached to Bram's leg. Her eyes widened a fraction as she took it in. “I didn't know,” she said. “When did the doctor do this?”

“First thing this morning. Harrison says it's to keep my leg from shortening as the bone knits. I didn't know that could happen, but the way he explained it convinced my mother, and Travers limping in here with that brace on his leg was enough to convince me.” He gestured to the system of weights, chains, and pulleys. “It's supposed to keep the bone aligned. I have to trust him about that. What I know is that since he put my leg in traction, I've had less pain.”

“I'll have to take you at your word. It looks awful.”

“I know.” He patted the side of his bed. “Come here. I've been looking forward to seeing you all day. Don't stand on the other side of the room as though you're afraid. It depresses me.”

Comfort untied the ribbon under her chin and removed her bonnet. She laid it aside and unbuttoned the black jacket she wore over her daffodil yellow dress.

“You look like a bumblebee,” he said. “It's very becoming.”

“I don't vaguely understand how that's possible, but I'll accept that you think so.” She took off her gloves, laid them beside her bonnet, and crossed to his side. When he put out his hand, she took it in hers and squeezed lightly. “You're warm. Are you supposed to be?”

“I have no idea. I feel fine.”

Comfort glanced at the bedside table. In addition to a folded newspaper, a book, a carafe of water, and a lamp, there was a small brown bottle with a black stopper. “Laudanum?”

Bram had followed the direction of her gaze. “Yes, and do not lecture me about its proper use.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“Good.” He released her hand. “Will you sit? Did Travers say he would bring tea?”

“Would you like some?”

“No. I meant for you.”

“I don't want anything, thank you.”

Bram cocked an eyebrow at her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don't know. You sound oddly formal.”

“Do I?” She didn't offer an explanation. “What are you doing to amuse yourself?”

“Planning our wedding.” Her horrified expression made him chuckle. “
That's
what I've been doing to amuse myself. You rarely disappoint. My mother and Travers are made of sterner stuff. It takes something truly outrageous to move them to a reaction.”

“I'm sure you appreciate the challenge.”

He smiled. “I do. Tell me what you did today, unless there were numbers involved. If that's the case, make something up.”

“I saw Mr. Donald Winstone today. He came to the bank with his mistress on his arm and inquired about setting up an account for her so she can withdraw funds without alerting his wife. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, I can imagine, but I'm not sure I can believe it.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “You made it up.”

“Well, everything else was about numbers.”

“Lord, but you're a breath of fresh air. You have to promise that you'll visit every day from now on. Otherwise my leg will grow long and it's my life that will be shortened.”

“Perhaps not every day,” she said. “But more often than once a week, if you'll want me, that is.”

“Want you? Didn't I just say that I do?”

Comfort took a steadying breath. “I've been thinking, Bram. And I—”

“That will shorten your life.”

“What?”

“Thinking.”

She didn't smile. “I need to speak to you. It's important.”

“Very well. In the event it escaped your notice, I'm not going anywhere.”

Comfort realized there was no way she could preface her remarks. He would turn whatever she said back on itself. She thought of something Newton said about Bram not tolerating unpleasantness and knew beyond any doubt that her uncle had spoken the truth. She always allowed Bram to divert her. No longer.

“I can't cooperate with the pretense of an engagement. It's wrong, Bram. You were wrong to make the announcement as though it were fact, and I was wrong to go along with you. I told myself I didn't want to embarrass us or our families, but what would have occurred then is nothing to the embarrassment we face now when the truth becomes known.” She paused just long enough to catch her breath. “Do you understand what I'm saying? It's done, Bram. All of it's done.”

He rested his head back, briefly closing his eyes. “What if it wasn't a pretense?” he said finally. “What if I made the proposal in earnest?”

Comfort offered no reaction except disappointment.

“I'm not trying to amuse myself,” he said.

“Are you certain? It's not always easy to know with you, but it doesn't matter this time. I don't want to marry you.”

“You don't mean that.”

“I do mean it.”

“But you're in love with me.”

Before Bode's birthday party, the carelessness with which Bram spoke would have pierced her heart and struck her dumb, if not struck her down. Now she didn't flinch. “I think I might have been,” she said slowly, feeling her way. “I'm not sure. If I was, it's not true any longer. And I'm quite certain about that.”

“I don't understand.”

“Again, it doesn't matter.”

“You're wrong.”

“We can remain friends,” she said. “I'd like to believe that doesn't have to change.”

“But if you're not in love with me . . .” His voice trailed off.

He was like a child, she thought; a child who had just discovered an often-neglected pull toy had lost its string. He wanted it fixed so his whims would dictate if it followed him or was left behind. It seemed to Comfort that she had loved him for so long, she'd never asked herself if she liked him.

“I don't want to discuss marriage,” she told him. “On that, we have to agree to disagree.”

“You promised eight weeks. You gave me your word.”

“I know. I thought I could do it. I can't.”

“What changed?” He looked from her to his leg and back again. “Is it because of the accident? Because I broke my leg? I can't escort you anywhere. You won't be seen on my arm.”

He still had the capacity to take her breath away, but it was no longer accompanied by a stutter in her heartbeat. “Is that how you assess my character? So petty? So small-minded?”

“I thought I could depend on your promise.”

“That's no trifling matter to me either. I'm sorry.”

Bram shook his head, still trying to understand. “This has something to do with Bode.”

Comfort almost reared back at the accusation in his tone. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Dr. Harrison saw you with Bode at
Rigoletto
. He said something to you. I know it. You fainted.”

“He invited my uncles and me to share your family's box. It had nothing at all to do with me fainting.”

“I'm telling you, Comfort, Bode hates the idea of our engagement.”

“Then he will be overjoyed. We're
not
engaged
.
”

Frustrated, Bram shoved his fingers through his hair. “If I tell my mother our engagement is ended, she'll believe it's because you don't want to be with a cripple.”

“Not if you tell her there never was any engagement. That's what I expect, Bram. I expect you to tell her the truth. I'll sit with you, if you like, and we'll explain it together. She will help us determine what we must do next. I would value her advice.”

“We can't end it,” Bram said. “We can't.”

She frowned. “I don't believe that, but if you do, you'll have to explain.”

Bram's lips parted. He was aware of Comfort's frank regard. It silenced him.

“Very well,” she said at last. “Shall I ask your mother to join us?”

He shook his head. “I'll tell her myself.”

“Will you do right by me, Bram?”

“It pains me that you think you have to ask.”

“It pains me also.” She put out a hand and touched the back of his. “And you haven't answered my question.”

He snatched his hand away. “I'll do right by you. Of course I will.”

There was nothing for her to do but accept him at his word. “Do you want me to leave?”

Bram was a long time answering. “No. Stay. A little longer, I think.” He looked sideways at the bedside table and reached for the laudanum.

Comfort had the oddest feeling that he wasn't taking the drug for the pain in his leg. She stayed with him until he fell asleep.

 

 

John Farwell jumped out of the way as a wagon loaded with casks of liquor lumbered dangerously close to where he was standing. He put out a hand to make sure the gentleman he was escorting to the
Demeter Queen
stayed well out of the dray's path. It was late, nearing dusk on a summer's evening, and the activity on the wharf hadn't slowed appreciably since early morning. John looked side to side and then glanced up before he stepped out again.

“This way,” he said. “Before they set those crates down.”

The gentleman followed, but his eyes were on the bulging cargo net hoisted high above them. “What are they delivering?”

“Tea probably. That ship just arrived from China. Could be anything.”

“Is it part of the Black Crowne fleet?”

The clerk shook his head. John Farwell was a small, tidy man often dwarfed by those around him. While he lacked height, he carried himself with a certain air of self-importance that did not go unnoticed. His demeanor could have made him the subject of ridicule, except that it was widely acknowledged that he
was
important. Smooth operations up and down the wharf depended on him. Only the harbormaster held a position of more responsibility, but not even the harbormaster could create a bottleneck in the bay like John Farwell could with the Black Crowne fleet. It was understood that he acted on Beauregard DeLong's orders, but he carried out those orders with such precision, even enthusiasm, that it was better to give him a wide berth.