Unveiled (9 page)

Christopher’s face tightened and he stared at his aunt pointedly. “I agreed to this plan, but not under the impression that you would choose my bride. I will, however, acknowledge your concerns. If I can’t convince Fan within the month to be my wife, then I will reconsider. Is that fair?”

Eunice nodded. “Yes. Just remember to keep our objective in mind. You are marrying for money, Christopher. Not for your heart’s desire.”

Christopher grimaced. There was truth in his aunt’s remarks. But Fan Pemberton promised much more than a monetary solution. And now he had less than a month to try.

“A perfect woman, nobly planned, to warm, to comfort and command; and yet a spirit still and bright, with something of angelic light.”

Katie burst into chuckles as she read the love note Christopher had given her. He stared at her in confusion as she smoothed the creamy paper and broke into renewed peals of laughter. “Whatever is so funny?”

“I’m sorry.” Katie grinned, wiping her eyes. “I guess I’m just not used to being courted so…poetically.”

She didn’t tell him she had never been courted at all, nor that the local brawling pub boys would hardly declare her angelic. And they both knew she was far from perfect. Still, the elegant note with its lacy borders was beautiful and the gesture touching.

Christopher looked amused, but a little bewildered. “You don’t like it? I believe it’s Wordsworth. Love letters are expected, as part of the ritual.”

Katie gulped, aware that she’d revealed her ignorance. Frantically she tried to recall what she knew of Fan’s past, and seized on that as a possible explanation.

“I’m sorry, I guess it’s just I’ve been away so long and never properly courted. And given the nature of our relationship, it does seem odd.”

That seemed to satisfy him, for he laughed in agreement. “Yes, we have come a long way from hiding my clothes.” Then his smile softened and he lightly touched her face. “But in this case, the poet is right. You do have spirit, though hardly the way he intended.”

Katie grinned, then sat back to enjoy herself. Seated in the front row of the theater next to Bertrice and Charles, dressed in a cream lace gown of such exquisite beauty that she couldn’t help touching the spidery intricacy of the material, she still couldn’t believe she was here. The play was astonishing, and Katie was entranced by the tale of a man’s ruin from drink and his wife’s noble belief in him. The whole experience was heady and exciting, and she never wanted it to end.

Best of all was the attention Christopher gave her. He’d greeted her at Ella’s house and immediately presented her with a jewel-encrusted fan; in honor of her name, he’d said laughingly. Still, it was beautiful, and Katie couldn’t help flirting with it and giggling at the result. Yet it was the little things he did, the way he held doors for her, the touch of his hand on her arm, the admiring glance he gave her when seated in the dim light, that made her feel special and appreciated.

She didn’t know what would come of all this and she didn’t ask. For this one brief shining moment she was no longer Katie O’Connor but Frances Pemberton. She’d been thrust into a perfect world, and although she knew it couldn’t last, she was enjoying it to the fullest. She’d decided to stop fighting this, to let fate take its course, and so far the trip had been delightful.

Only one thing dimmed her pleasure, and that was the longing she felt for her family and especially her son. Still, she had been able to send them funds, so they were well taken care of. She missed them terribly, but knowing she was helping them assuaged her guilt.

“Are you ready?” He stood aside for her and indicated the aisle. “We can all have a late dinner and then I’ll take you home. You must be starved.”

“I couldn’t eat a thing,” Bertrice declared, then reddened when Christopher looked at her in amusement. She was laced so tightly that she really couldn’t eat, though her mother had insisted that real ladies never did anyway.

“I’m famished,” Katie confessed. “It must be the weather here—I always want to eat.”

“Here’s the carriage,” Charles announced as they walked to the end of the line. “We’ll get some food in no time.”

Smiling, Katie entered the coach with Christopher and gave Bertrice an encouraging look. The young girl blushed, then glanced shyly at her companion. Please, Katie thought. Let this work out for her. Bertrice was trying so hard that she sometimes made Charles nervous, and Katie had to fill in gaps in the conversation.

Glancing out the window, Katie heard the crash of the sea, saw the bright glimmer of the moon on an ink-black ocean. The breeze was warm and sultry, carrying the scent of summer flowers and the unrelenting smell of the ocean. The sand wrapped around the water like the stole on a woman’s shoulders, and night sounds of crickets and shore birds mingled with the music of the waves.

They stopped at a small inn that was known for good food. The waiter led them to a small table clothed in white linen with a vase of fresh roses in the center. He took Charles and Bertrice’s order, then turned to Christopher. “Do you mind if I order?” When Katie shook her head, Christopher spoke to the young waiter. “Bring us the sea trout, a baked potato with cream, and whatever fresh vegetables you have. And a bottle of your best white wine.”

The waiter nodded while Katie glanced around the pretty room. Done in a stylish ornate wallpaper, it would have been oppressive like so many other houses, but the colors were all pastels. The effect was beautiful instead of gaudy, and the windows were open, allowing the soft breeze to billow the curtains.

“It’s so beautiful,” Katie commented, turning to Bertrice. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” Bertrice said. “I always thought this place was lovely.”

“Not nearly so lovely as you,” Charles said gallantly.

Bertrice turned even redder, then fanned herself quickly. Katie held her own breath as she saw Bertrice grab her chair as if for support, her color dropping alarmingly. Charles stared in confusion as the young girl gasped, her eyelids fluttering.

“No, Bertrice!” Reaching for her friend, Katie blushed in mortification for her as Bertrice slipped into a faint and tumbled to the floor.

“Waiter! Bring some water!” Christopher shouted, and together he and Charles lifted the young girl back to her seat.

“Damned stays!” Charles swore. “She always laces them too tightly. Women’s clothes these days are like torture chambers!”

Silently Katie agreed. She helped Bertrice sip the water that the waiter brought, then the young girl looked around the room, obviously disoriented.

“Where? Oh no, Fan, I didn’t…” Humiliated beyond belief, Bertrice looked up at Charles as if she wanted to die.

“You’re all right,” Charles reassured her. “You had the vapors. Would you like to lie down?”

“I can’t—” Bertrice staggered to her feet and raced for the door.

“I’ll go after her,” Charles volunteered, leaving Katie and Christopher behind.

“Do you think we should follow?” Worried, Katie still stared in the direction of the door. To her surprise, Christopher chuckled.

“No, I don’t think so. Bertrice’s problem has always been too much solicitous help. A few moments alone with Charles could do what would otherwise require two months of courtship. I have a feeling that our young friend isn’t as dim-witted as everyone thinks.” He gave her a grin. “Besides, that means I have you all to myself.”

Suppressing a smile, Katie hoped that he was right. Bertrice needed all the help she could get with her confidence, and if a faint helped, she was all for it. A thrill of excitement went through her as she thought of Christopher’s words. It was scandalous, dining alone with a man. Yet it was also…wonderful.

The waiter returned, bringing them wine. Katie sighed, drinking deeply of the delicate liquid. She could barely eat the food, for Clarise had insisted on lacing her tightly, so she had to be content with drinking and taking tiny bites of the dinner. The room took on a fuzzy hue and she felt a delicious warmth penetrate her toes. Christopher really was so handsome, she thought dreamily, admiring the way the gaslights shone on his black hair. And charming. And kind…

“Are you having a good time, Fan?”

He said her name softly, and Katie wished she could tell him the truth, have him look at her that way and call her by her own name. “I am,” Katie said, reminding herself that he could never know who she truly was. “I love the shore. It’s so pretty here.”

“There’s a legend about Cape May, that Blackbeard’s treasure is buried here.” He grinned at her incredulous expression. “Men come here and dig for it. Some of the locals even sell maps, all of them authentic, of course.”

“Of course.” Katie smiled, entranced by the prospect of treasure. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Here, anything is possible.” He appeared withdrawn for a moment, as if thinking to himself, then he glanced at her and shrugged. “Who knows?”

He was so good-looking. Katie nearly drowned in his eyes. Something in his grin told her she was revealing her thoughts, so she drank down the rest of her wine quickly, trying to sound intelligent, and as if his presence didn’t affect her in the least. “Can you imagine having all that money? A pirate’s treasure must be worth a fortune.”

He stared at her strangely for a moment, then sipped from his coffee cup. “Well, I should think you could imagine,” he said carefully. “After all, the Pembertons aren’t exactly broke. Your family has a good deal of money. I think you would know exactly what it was like.”

For some reason it was getting difficult to talk. “Yes, I know we Pembertons are rich. But the treasure just seems so much more romantic, or something.”

“Money is money, in whatever shape or form. And in this time and this country, it means everything. No one can do without it. It changes a bricklayer into nobility, a pauper into a prince. We worship a golden idol in America, that much is for certain.”

There was something odd about his voice. Katie shivered, wondering what made the fabulously wealthy Christopher Scott sound so philosophical. As if reading her mind, he continued. “Enough of that. I recall earlier you had some difficulty discussing Impressionist paintings. Were you skipping class on the days they lectured on modern art?”

His smile was so charming that Katie grinned back, unaware that her smile was slightly lopsided. She only knew that the world had taken on a special glow, and that it had something to do with herself and Christopher. She fought to remember what they were talking about, and not notice that his hair was even a deeper black than she had imagined, or that his muscles looked exceptionally well formed beneath his coat, like one of those statues…. Art! That was it. “I wasn’t very good at painting,” she admitted.

“I thought as much. I picture you more as a tomboy, interested in tossing snowballs and playing hopscotch, than as a bluestocking. Am I right?”

Katie nodded. “That’s it exactly. What about you?”

“I was a ne’er-do-well,” he confessed without approbation. “I thought life was a game for me to enjoy. It wasn’t until I grew up that I found out differently.” He shrugged as if the matter wasn’t worth much thought. “I think we’re all wise as children. It’s only later that we mess things up.”

There was something so appealing about him in this mood. Christopher’s brand of charm was all the more dangerous because it was uncontrived. She couldn’t imagine his childhood, filled with toys and pleasure, without any worry of the next meal. She closed her eyes as she thought of her son. God, what she wouldn’t do to have him grow up like Christopher—happy, carefree, and easy. Instead he would know nothing but work and poverty.

He smiled and something in his expression took her breath away. Maybe it was the wine, but for a moment she thought that he would kiss her, so intent was his look. Instead he signaled for the waiter and ordered coffee and brandy.

“Now this,” he said with a grin, “is the only way to drink coffee.” Taking up the snifter of brandy, he poured a liberal amount into his cup and an equal amount into hers.

Katie grinned back, then tried the concoction. The brandy added a unique flavor to the pungent brew and warmed her even more. Used to whiskey and beer, she knew how much of those liquors she could imbibe without trouble, but fine wines and French brandies were another matter. Katie drank down the coffee, barely aware that her brogue had deepened, or that she was gazing at Christopher with something close to adoration.

“Isn’t it wonderful, having money?” she asked, then hiccuped softly. She seemed surprised at the sound that emerged from her mouth and she shrugged, giving up on conjecture as to how it happened.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” Christopher agreed. “I think I should call for the check.”

“Oh, yes, let’s get our waiter back. He’s very nice, don’t you think?”

Amused, Christopher watched as Katie called the waiter, then greeted him with a dazzling smile. “Sir, I must ask you, what is your name?”

The waiter stared at her imperviously. “Cartwright, Miss. William Cartwright.”

“Ah, just like my old uncle Willy. He used to drink and sing from the rooftops. A chimney sweep, I believe.” Katie hiccuped again and grinned. “Do you have an uncle like that?”

“I believe not, miss,” the waiter said, though he struggled to remain stern. Understanding, Christopher indicated the check and the waiter produced a bill.