Chapter 9

nine

“ B race yourself, Mother. It’s time to feed the wolves,” Alex murmured as they paused at the entrance of the Imperial Hotel’s grand ballroom.

It was the first dance of the season and every guest over the age of sixteen was sure to be in attendance. Beside him, Daisy smiled with eagerness in a shimmering ivory gown, Ellis smoothed his carefully combed hair and straightened his necktie, while Finn tugged at his collar and twitched uncomfortably in a borrowed tuxedo. Alex’s mother, of course, surveyed the crowd in front of them imperiously as if they were her unruly subjects.

Inside the vast, mirrored room gasoliers and candlelight competed for the brightest glow while on the dance floor, ladies, resplendent in their pastel silks and jewel-toned satins, twirled around the dance floor led by attentive tuxedo-clad swains. The air around them seemed to swirl as well, thick with the strains of a Viennese waltz, the cloying scent of expensive French perfume, and the undeniable sparkle of expectation. Hugo Plank certainly knew how to host a ball.

“I told you we should’ve come downstairs earlier,” Alex’s mother said. “Breezy has already set up court. Now I’ll have to catch up.”

“Or,” Daisy suggested, “since you two are friends, perhaps you could stand next to each other and share the court.”

“Share?” His mother arched a brow, clearly finding that suggestion both preposterous and demeaning. Sharing was the purview of children and charity workers, not the likes of Constance Bostwick.

With a subtle shake of the head toward Daisy, Alex held out an arm to escort their mother into the fray, hearing her subtle tsk, tsk, tsk at the bandage wrapped around his fingers. His accident had embarrassed her, as had his dismissal of Dr. Prescott—an action which had all but drowned out any other aspect of his spectacular fall. Apparently, in choosing to be treated by some random woman instead of the hotel physician, Alex had bucked protocol and tradition. And Mrs. A.J. Bostwick was nothing if not a traditionalist.

“You look very lovely tonight, Mother,” Alex said, hoping to steer the evening toward pleasantry in spite of her ever-present disdain.

“Of course I look lovely,” she replied, the barest hint of a smile playing around her mouth. “I spent an exorbitant amount of your father’s money on this Parisian gown. I’ll be the most exquisitely dressed woman in the room.”

Her tone was tinged with humor, and Alex considered that a victory. A tiny one, yes, but a victory, nonetheless.

“I’m sure you will be,” he agreed. “You always are. Shall we take a turn about the room to show you off and make the other women envious?”

“Naturally.”

As they descended the staircase leading into the crowded ballroom, Ellis leaned toward Daisy.

“You must introduce me to all your pretty friends,” he said. “I intend to dance every dance.”

“Not me,” Finn said. “I don’t intend to dance at all, but I do see a table of food over there I’d like to get better acquainted with.”

“Oh, but you must dance, Finn,” Daisy replied. “There are so many more young ladies in attendance than there are young gentlemen, and there’s nothing so disheartening to a girl in a new dress than to not be asked.”

“Only the homely girls don’t get asked,” Ellis remarked. “That’s why I said introduce me to your ‘pretty friends.’”

The younger boys laughed, but Daisy was not amused. “Shame on you both. Now, I won’t introduce you to a single girl.”

“Fine,” Ellis responded with indifference. “I can manage well enough on my own.”

“No, you cannot. You can’t dance with anyone you haven’t been properly introduced to,” Daisy argued. “But if you promise to dance with all my friends, not just the pretty ones, then I shall introduce you.”

Alex glanced over at his cousin who appeared to be weighing his options.

“You’ve already met Coco Hart,” Alex said pleasantly. “I’m sure she’d be happy to dance with you,”

Ellis smirked. “I’m sure she’d be happy to dance with you , cousin.”

“Coco Hart?” Constance whispered. “Surely you’re not referring to one of Breezy’s homespun nieces. You must stay far, far from the clutches of those girls.”

“Mother, why would you say that?” Daisy asked.

“Because they’re all on a determined husband hunt, that’s why. Breezy told me so herself, but no self-respecting man would accept a bride who has so little to offer. And certainly not a Bostwick man.”

Alex was only partially surprised by this news since Daisy had—thankfully—alerted him to Coco Bostwick’s aim of enticing him down the aisle (which was absolutely not going to happen) but he hadn’t gotten the impression that either Lucy or Trudy were similarly focused on finding a husband. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. He wasn’t in the market for a wife, and the Hart sisters were certainly not the only young ladies at the Imperial hoping to make a successful match this summer. His cousin, however, seemed disheartened by Constance’s declaration.

“What do you mean, ‘so little to offer?’” Ellis asked. “I thought Albert VonMeisterburger was rich as Midas?”

“He is,” Constance quipped. “But the Hart girls’ mother is Breezy’s sister, so Albert VonMeisterburger is their uncle only through marriage, and their father is nothing but a simple country doctor in Springfield. I can only imagine how he’s paid. Probably with rhubarb pie and chickens.”

“The Harts are very nice, though,” Daisy said, rising to their defense.

“So are most shopkeepers, but that doesn’t mean you want to marry one,” Constance stated, effectively ending that conversation.

They moved onward, through the throngs of well-dressed guests, and Alex began to relax as one acquaintance after another greeted them cordially. While not all the exchanges were warm, per se, neither were they cold, and he wondered if perhaps the cloud of scandal that had been lingering over the Bostwick family was finally beginning to dissipate. Or perhaps it was merely that his flight over the handlebars into the dirt yesterday had earned him some sympathy if not outright pity. Whatever the reason, he was glad for their hospitable reception.

Eventually, Finn left their group to explore on his own and Daisy—somewhat reluctantly—led Ellis toward a cluster of her own acquaintances while Alex guided his mother in the direction of Breezy VonMeisterburger. En route, they encountered a spirited yet playful debate between Mrs. Alvah Roebuck and Mrs. Richard Sears regarding which of their husbands was the true genius behind the success of their mail-order watch company, and Alex saw his chance to escape. His mother could easily fend for herself in this environment so under the guise of ensuring Finn wasn’t making a beast of himself at the refreshment table, Alex took his leave.

In truth, he wasn’t worried about Finn. He simply wanted a moment to himself. He hadn’t attended a dance since before Isabella’s death and the atmosphere of this one was stirring up a myriad of memories, both pleasant and painful. As he wound his way around the periphery of the room, one song ended and dancers left the floor, but just as quickly another melody began, and the floor filled again. Like a gentle wave lapping at the shore to and fro, this familiar motion filled him with nostalgia.

He’d always enjoyed this sort of ambiance in the past. In fact, in earlier days, he’d loved the communion and commotion of a complicated quadrille, or the joyful hop and skip of a lively polka. But, ahh…nothing could surpass the enchanting thrill of an intimate waltz. To have a woman in his arms, to spin and sway together as one to a lilting melody that stirred the senses. He missed that.

His wife had been an elegant dancer. He might even go so far as to say he’d fallen in love with her during a waltz at a ball very much like this one—at the Palmer House Hotel in Chicago last March. A memory rose unbidden in his mind of the first time he’d kissed her—it was that very same night. He’d proposed the next day and thought himself the luckiest man in the world to have won the affection of a woman such as Isabella Carnegie. Their rapid engagement had been the talk of Chicago. A love match, people had said, albeit a well-funded one. A case of good fortune coming to those in possession of a good fortune , and Alex had laughed at the seemingly harmless turn of phrase.

Now that all seemed decades in the past but, he realized with a start, it had been barely over a year ago that’d he’d met Izzy. How drastically things had changed. And how strange to find himself suddenly missing her so acutely, even after all that had occurred.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t Izzy he was missing so much as he was missing the idea of her, and the way she’d made him feel in those first few weeks. He missed the promise and the potential of what they’d had. Or at least, what he’d thought they’d had. He missed being joyful. He missed being in love—although he could not imagine ever trusting in that emotion again.

“Mr. Bostwick! Oh, Mr. Bostwick!”

His jaw clenched reflexively at the enthusiastic call, and he turned to see Coco Hart virtually careening his way. His bittersweet memories evaporated like the misty fog of a lovely dream. The kind you weren’t yet ready to awaken from, leaving him doubly annoyed by her arrival. He was in no mood to navigate her adoration, especially after what Daisy had told him that afternoon. He wondered if he might melt into the crowd and disappear, but there was no escaping her. She’d obviously spotted him.

“Good evening, Miss Hart,” he said as she reached his side, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She giggled, batting her lashes as if a cinder had just landed in her eye.

“And good evening to you, sir. I’m so pleased to see you here. Daisy said you might not be in attendance.”

“I had considered a quiet evening of solitude, but encountered Mr. Plank at luncheon, and he insisted I put in an appearance. (That much was true.) It seems there’s something he wishes to discuss with me. (Also, true.) In fact, I just spotted him across the room and am on my way to join him now. (Not remotely true.) So, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Hart.”

“But wait! Mr. Bostwick?”

He halted with an audible sigh. “Yes, Miss Hart?”

“You do intend to dance with me this evening, don’t you?” Her eyes looked up at him imploringly.

“Alas, my injured hand has rendered me an incapable dance partner.”

“Then… perhaps next Saturday? Or perhaps we could go for a buggy ride tomorrow? Oh, but silly me. Of course you cannot hold the reins. A walk, perhaps?”

Alex lingered for a moment, pondering how best to respond to this list of activities in which he had no interest.

Coco Hart was a pretty girl and might even be sweet if she received the copious amounts of attention she so desperately craved, but dancing with her at any time, or going for a buggy ride, or taking a walk together, would only give her a false impression of his intentions. Worse than that, it might give others a false impression. He had neither the energy nor the inclination to stir up more gossip.

With those poignant memories of Isabella still hovering in the recesses of his mind, he knew he needed to be honest with this impressionable young girl. Perhaps if he’d been more honest with his wife, things might have turned out differently. He took a step closer toward Coco and her smile brightened, only serving to make him feel worse. But he knew he was doing the correct thing.

“Miss Hart,” he said quietly. “I do hope I have not in any way misled you. You are a delightful young woman, and I am certain there are any number of fine, eligible gentlemen here at the hotel who would be easily captivated by your smile and would love to dance, or ride, or walk with you, but alas, I am not such a man. Therefore, I must beseech you to direct your attentions elsewhere. I do wish you every happiness, but I must bid you a good evening and be on my way.”

With a curt bow, he strode away feeling every inch the heel. His words had sounded far harsher to his ears than he’d intended. He should have chosen them more carefully. Or perhaps he should have just danced with her. But… no. The truth was the truth and allowing her to think he had any designs on her whatsoever would be the true injustice.

“My goodness, Coco. Whatever is the matter?” Trudy asked as her sister stumbled toward the corner where she and Lucy had been enjoying their glasses of champagne.

“He’s despicable,” Coco cried. “Detestable, even. I never met such a horrible brute.”

Alarm propelled Trudy forward. She wrapped both arms around her sobbing sister, and pulled her farther into the corner, away from prying eyes.

“Coco, darling,” Lucy murmured. “Who is despicable?”

Coco snuffled and hiccupped against Trudy’s bodice before blurting out, “Alexander Bostwick.”

“Alexander Bostwick?” Trudy replied.

“What did he do?” Lucy asked.

“He said he isn’t captivated by my smile,” Coco wailed, and Trudy pressed her lips together tightly to prevent her own smile from showing.

“Despicable,” Lucy said, her eyes meeting Trudy’s, their collective distress easing.

This was hardly the first time they’d consoled Coco over some hinted slight or perceived offense, and while it was certainly possible Alexander Bostwick may have been unduly rude, Trudy knew it was equally possible her sister was overreacting. Coco was prone to melodramatics, after all. She’d been inconsolable just a few days ago because no one had complimented her new hat, and last month, when her music teacher suggested she had not practiced the piece he’d assigned, she’d wept for an entire afternoon. No matter that virtually no one had even seen her new hat, or that she had not , in fact, practiced her music.

“What exactly did he say, dear?” Lucy asked, patting Coco’s back.

“He said he didn’t want to dance, or ride, or walk with me, and that I should direct my attentions elsewhere.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Coco wailed, pressing her face back against Trudy’s décolletage.

“Yes, of course, it is,” Trudy murmured as she felt the heat of her sister’s tears soak into the fabric of her gown.

When Coco was on a tear, it was usually best to go along. Pointing out her own errors, or her potential misinterpretation of a situation only served to add fuel to the fire of her discontent. Letting her cry it out was typically the most expedient solution. Perhaps they could discuss the matter more rationally tomorrow.

Hugging her sister close once again, Trudy gazed across the ballroom, spotting the offender in question. Alex was standing some twenty feet away and staring at them, an expression of bemused dismay splashed across his face.

He took a step in their direction as if in hopes of rectifying the situation, but Trudy held up a hand and gave a tiny shake of her head. She’d confer with him later.

“Coco?” Daisy Bostwick asked breathlessly as she joined them. “I saw you rushing this way. What’s wrong?”

Coco sniffled again, and lifted her face from Trudy’s now thoroughly tear-stained gown.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Coco said. “Only that your brother is a cad.”

“Coco, you can’t say that to Daisy. She’s his sister,” Lucy chided gently.

Fortunately, Daisy appeared nonplused by this news.

“Well, respectfully, I disagree, but if you think he’s a cad, isn’t it better for you to know now instead of wasting an entire summer pining for him?”

Coco considered this comment with a tearful hiccup. “I suppose.”

“Of course it is. So that’s settled then. Now quickly, wipe your face and smile. I cannot imagine why four such beautiful woman are loitering over here when there is music playing and dancing to be done. No gentlemen will find us in this corner, though. We must promenade so the men will covet us as partners and come running.”

Trudy pulled a linen napkin from a nearby table and handed it to Coco so she might dry her eyes—on something other than Trudy’s dress.

“Perhaps the three of you could promenade without me,” Trudy said, once Coco had regained her composure. “I must repair the stains on my dress before I can mingle.”

“Oh, goodness, Tru,” Coco giggled, her mood already brightening, “How did you stain your dress already? We’ve hardly been here an hour.”

“Really, Tru, how did you?” Lucy whispered wryly, winking as she looped her arm through Daisy’s, and Trudy watched as the three of them moved toward the dance floor. She sighed with familiar resignation.

Dear Mother and Father,

It seems Coco’s dreams of ensnaring Alexander Bostwick in holy matrimony have crumbled like day-old teacakes. She won’t be coming home with a proposal of marriage after all. I, however, will be returning home with a ruined dress.

Perhaps the tear marks on her bodice weren’t that noticeable. The ballroom was shadowy enough. She might pretend they weren’t even there. No one should be staring at her bosom anyway. She brushed her hand against the fabric. To no avail. Looking down, she wondered what to do, and when two finely buffed men’s shoes came into her field of vision, pointing directly at the hem of her gown, well, she wondered what to do then, too.

Looking up slowly, she found herself staring into the sapphire blue depths of Alexander Bostwick’s eyes. He was standing directly in front of her, the inky blackness of his finely cut tuxedo in stark contrast to the starched crisp brightness of his shirt. He’d grown tan over this past week and his darker complexion only served to make those eyes of his that much deeper a hue.

Not that any of this mattered, of course. As a physician, she was trained to notice such things. It was simply an observation.

“I sorry, Trudy. I didn’t intend to make your sister cry,” he said, brow furrowed with consternation.

“I know you didn’t.”

“Do you? I’d hate for you to think I’d been careless with her feelings.”

“I don’t think that, but whatever you said to her, I’m quite certain she won’t be nipping at your heels any longer.”

“I’m…” He sighed. “I only asked her to direct her attentions elsewhere. I’m in no place to entertain the idea of another wife.”

“Another wife? How did you…?Oh, Daisy told you.” She felt a wave of both annoyance and relief, followed quickly by embarrassment.

“I’m sorry Coco has been such a pest. I do hope her impetuous nature doesn’t influence your impression of the rest of us.”

“Of course it won’t,” he said with a chuckle, seeming relieved at her response. “You know I hold you in the highest esteem. I should think that much is obvious.”

Trudy gazed back at him. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. The highest esteem was… rather high, and his words flustered her even though she knew he only offered them in friendship . There was nothing romantic in his tone or his expression, so why did she suddenly feel so… vulnerable?

“You didn’t always hold me in the highest esteem,” she heard herself say.

“I didn’t? What are you talking about?”

“When we were children.”

He frowned. “When we were children? I didn’t know you when we were children.”

Oh, good gracious, Gertrude!

Why had she just said that? Why mention it now? She had well and truly forgiven that ten-year-old version of Alexander Bostwick and dredging up this story served no one. She laughed self-consciously as her vulnerability seemed to multiply. Perhaps she could blame her mindless blathering on his finely cut tuxedo. It seemed to be causing some sort of fluttery business to her insides—and apparently forcing stupid words from her mouth.

She waved her comment away with a gloved hand. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just a silly misunderstanding. Are your brother and his wife here this evening? I’d love to visit with Jo.”

“They were planning to attend but I haven’t seen them yet. What misunderstanding?”

Trudy’s brain began sifting through various scenarios, ways in which to cleverly change the subject but his gaze had turned curious and intense, and for better or worse, she had never been one to shy away from stating the facts. Although, at this moment, she wished her skills of obfuscation were more adept. She also wished her smile didn’t feel so strained as she replied, “You hurt my feelings once, when we were children, but I assure you, I’ve long since recovered.” (Long since? Not exactly, but it had been at least a few days.)

“I hurt your feelings? I’m terribly sorry. What did I do?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

“Tell me.” His tone was determined, almost bossy, and all that fluttering business inside her body made it hard for her to breathe. What to do? What to do? Nothing to do but tell him, she supposed.

“Oh, very well. Do you recall the time several of us children went swimming at my aunt’s house?” she said.

“I don’t,” he replied. “Chase mentioned that to me the other day, but I have no recollection of it. He said we swam in our underclothes and that our mother tanned our hides because of it, yet somehow the memory has escaped me.”

Trudy felt an ironic chuckle bubbling up at her own expense. All those years she’d spent feeling wounded by him from a distance and he didn’t even remember it. There must be a lesson for her in there, somewhere, but she’d have to decide later what it might be.

“Yes, we swam in our underclothes,” she replied after a pause. “I was thirteen. A late bloomer in every way except for my height, and when I came out of the water in my wet chemise… you called me… a scrawny scarecrow.”

She said it with no heat because there was none to be had but confusion and discomfort co-mingled in his expression as he tried to bring forth the memory while contemplating what he’d allegedly said.

“I called you a scrawny scarecrow?” he repeated quietly.

“You did.” Her nod was matter-of-fact.

“How terribly unkind of me. I can certainly understand why that would’ve hurt your feelings. Please tell me I apologized at the time.”

Her smile slowly turned genuine because, now that she was an adult, it all seemed rather funny. In retrospect. Especially since she now knew him to be kind. But since she had waited fifteen years to confront him, perhaps she’d be justified in enjoying his dismay, just a little.

“No, you did not apologize,” she said, tapping her chin as if to remember. “In fact, you pointed at me and laughed and then if I recall correctly, you danced a little scarecrow jig.”

His face blanched even as she smiled. “Say it isn’t so,” he said solemnly. “You’re teasing me right now, aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “I’m not. You were positively beastly to me that day, but I’m happy to see you’ve outgrown such ungentlemanly behavior.”

“Have I?” he asked, more earnestly than she’d expected. “I just made your sister cry.”

Oh, goodness . She hadn’t meant to make him feel worse. She’d meant to make him snicker at an awkward boyhood blunder.

“Did you call her a scrawny scarecrow?” she asked in mock seriousness.

He shook his head—in serious seriousness.

“Then whatever you said to her was probably something she needed to hear but didn’t want to. Coco is obstinate and willful, but she’ll recover. Probably by the end of the evening if enough men ask her to dance.”

Trudy nodded toward the dance floor where her sisters were already laughing their way through the steps of a lively polonaise, attentive partners by their sides. The sight was charming but caused Trudy’s heart to twitch with the tiniest sense of unexpected longing.

She never felt that much older than Lucy and Coco, but she’d spent so much time studying medicine and working at the clinic with her father, she’d missed out on many evenings such as this. Now, at twenty-eight, with no intention of getting married, society had placed her firmly on the shelf. Her dancing days, brief as they were, seemed far behind.

Oh, she might be asked to dance by the occasional neighbor or kindly old man, but few would seek her out. She was already relegated to the periphery of the activity, left to tap her foot to the music and watch others having fun.

Perhaps that was why her sister had suggested they sip their champagne here in this corner. Because Lucy knew she’d likely be asked to dance, while Trudy wouldn’t. It was meant to be a thoughtful gesture, but the notion of it stung like a needle prick. Trudy didn’t want anyone’s pity.

And since when had she cared about dancing, anyway?

Alex gazed out over the dance floor but must have noticed something wistful in her expression.

“Once my hand has mended we must take a turn,” he said.

“Mm, perhaps,” she murmured.

No, she didn’t want anyone’s pity.