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Chapter 29

C HAPTER 29

Success is a science: if you have the conditions, you get the result.

—Oscar Wilde

"I need to consult with Isabella," was Marigold's excuse for Cab to escort her back to the ballroom. If there were society secrets to be spilled about the Endicotts, Isabella would know.

She urged Cab on a circuitous promenade of the room, meeting and greeting the members of the Ladies' Cycling Club as well as other guests Cab knew while keeping a sort of maternal eye on her charges and also on George and Julia Endicott, the latter of whom bore an expression that Marigold recognized as akin to her own crocodile smile—she was all tight lips and anxious, lying eyes.

Daisy, on the other hand, seemed to be handling herself with perfect aplomb, being gracious and lovely and glowing with happiness by Tad's side—the very picture of elegant grace under pressure. "Why, Mrs. Endicott, I should love to come stay for a visit with you!" The smile Daisy bestowed upon Julia Endicott was calibrated to please, being open and guileless and grateful all at the same time.

Marigold was deeply relieved. And inordinately proud.

She brought her attention back to Seviah, who, she noted with some satisfaction—as well as trepidation—was surrounded by a group of young ladies of Pride's Crossing, who had somehow escaped their chaperones. Trepidation, because Sadie and Annie were among them. And because what Seviah required was quite different from what his sister needed—definitely not a marriage to a local beauty. And because Seviah was showing a side of himself Marigold hadn't fully recognized before—he was carrying himself with the innate confidence of the matinee idols he lionized. But Seviah was even more adept a student than his sister, because he had needed no tutor to learn how to show himself to best advantage.

They found Isabella deep in animated conversation with a distinguished older gentleman. "Marigold, darling, do let me introduce you to my dear friend Ben Keith."

And there it was—she saw her opening for Seviah as clearly as if it were a play upon a stage. Isabella might have addressed him familiarly, but Marigold was sure he must be Mr. Benjamin Franklin Keith of Boston and New York and the Keith-Albee circuit of vaudeville revues that toured up and down the New England coast.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir. But will you be so kind as to excuse me for a moment, Isabella? Cab?" Marigold made her hasty apologies before she made her way through the bevy of beauties surrounding her cousin and steered him and his coterie toward the elegant grand piano set up in the wide foyer just outside of the ballroom. "Why don't you favor your new friends with a song, Seviah?"

His assurance fled. "I've never sung in public."

"But we're not in public—we're at a private party, where you just made a lovely splash with your impromptu serenade of your sister, and as the orchestra seems to have taken a break so people might congratulate the happy couple, some small entertainment would be delightful. Also"—she slipped behind the keyboard—"I need someone to accompany my poor playing."

"Didn't know you played," he countered, as if she had hidden this from him.

"There is no instrument at Hatchet Farm," she demurred. "And I think of myself as merely good enough to accompany a far more gifted performer—in this instance, you. I do know the melodies of most of the popular tunes of the day, so why don't you pick a nice up-tempo piece, or perhaps a ballad, to delight the young ladies. You know ‘After the Ball,' don't you?"

"Do I? By heart!"

Marigold quickly ran through an introductory arpeggio before she launched into the melody.

Seviah joined right on cue. " After the ball is over, after the break of morn, after the dancers' leaving, after the stars are gone. " His rich tenor filled the room. " Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all. Many the hopes that have vanished, after the ball. "

The young ladies were enthralled. As was Mr. Keith.

Marigold felt that telltale tingle all the way to her fingertips, and she had to concentrate on her playing lest she do less than her best for Seviah.

" Long years have passed, child, I've never wed. " Seviah sang to his swooning damsels, raising his arm dramatically as he came to the coda. " That's why I'm lonely, no home at all. I broke her heart, pet, after the ball. "

And there was Cab, behind the ring of clapping young women, looking at her with that wry, knowing, very nearly disapproving smile on his face. Managing , he was saying without words.

Accompanying , she mouthed back.

But why should she need Cab Cox's approval of her actions? Which progressed quickly when Isabella immediately brought Mr. Keith over to the piano to speak to her.

"I must congratulate you on your very accomplished playing, Miss Manners."

"Thank you, Mr. Keith." Marigold tried for an impromptu air. "Are you enjoying your evening?"

"Indeed, I am, I thank you. More so now." His eyes swiveled to Seviah, who was basking in the glow of Annie Farnsworth and the rest of the bright young things' adoration.

"Such a pleasure to get to show off my cousin's singing voice," Marigold enthused. "We live removed from the town some ways, and he doesn't often get such an opportunity."

"Do you think he'd like more opportunity?" Mr. Keith knuckled his mustache in contemplation. "I am a theater man, Miss Manners, always on the lookout for new talent. Your cousin seems to have what it takes to fill seats in spades."

Elation and satisfaction filled her being in equal parts—two triumphs in one night seemed even more success than she could have hoped for. "A strong voice that will reach the back of a theater?"

"A strong set of shoulders that fill out an evening jacket and appeal to the fairer sex," Mr. Keith corrected on a chuckle. "We men may think we make the world go round, but in my business, it pays to give equal attention to the needs of the ladies. The matinee seats must be filled, and handsome young men fill them quickly."

"Very astute, Ben," Isabella approved.

"And Miss Manners is an astute young woman to present her cousin's talents so well—don't think I don't see what you're doing." He chuckled. "I have half a mind to ask if you'd like to make the leap to the stage yourself, my dear, for you're uncommonly pretty and have a great deal of presence that could fill the evening's seats just as well as that young man will fill the matinees."

"You're very kind, sir, but my ambitions don't run in that direction."

"Marigold is sure to become a famous archaeologist," Isabella put in loyally.

"Alas. That will be my loss." Mr. Keith lifted Marigold's gloved hand to his lips for a courtly kiss. "But I'll remain hopeful that your cousin's ambitions do run in that direction?"

"I think, sir, that you should ask him."

There. That wasn't manipulating or managing. Seviah could say no to Mr. Keith if he chose—though she doubted he would. He was more likely to leave without a backward glance at Great Misery Island. This cursed rock.

Mr. Keith and Isabella moved on to speak to Seviah, but Marigold hung back, not wanting to influence her cousin one way or another. But Cab saw it another way.

"You're at it again," Cab said at her ear. "I saw that gleam in your eye the moment you recognized it was Ben Keith with Isabella."

"I shall have to work on my poker face."

"Your poker face is already spectacular, Marigold. I live in fear of it becoming any more formidable."

"Come, now." Marigold was done fencing. "Why this concern with what I'm doing? Why this double standard? When you were given the chance to help your family, you came all this way to do so. And you continue to—you aided Tad tonight, despite your uncle's opposition. Why should I not do the same?"

"Because I let the facts of the case guide me to the logical conclusion, even when it wasn't to my family's benefit."

"Do you think my plans illogical? Do you think that Daisy and Tad are not meant to be together?"

"I don't believe in ‘meant to be,' Marigold," Cab countered. "I told you, I don't believe in predestiny any more than you do—we make our own fate by our choices."

"And that is how you might know this is their choice, not mine. I choose to be archaeological—the word logical is right there in the name of the profession. I would never have chosen marriage ."

Cab absorbed her words like a blow—his head tipped back before he let out a breath. "So noted." He squared his shoulders within his evening suit and looked away for a long moment before he said, "Then let me congratulate you."

Marigold was not yet ready to make peace. "All I want is the chance for them to find out—to have time together, without any outside interference."

"Fair enough. But that means without any interference from you too."

"You have my word." But she also changed the topic to a more pleasant subject. "You know, we never did finish that dance I promised you."

"No," he mused. "We didn't." He took her hand and drew her from the salon out the terrace door and down onto the narrow walk along the shore that was clearing of partygoers now that the orchestra was striking up a tune. He took her into his arms and led her into a slow, lazy, close waltz, swaying gently side to side.

The press of his hand at the small of her back was just shy of seductive. "Cab?"

"Do you mind?" he asked quietly. "I fancy having you to myself."

"No." Perhaps he was finally ready to take a few well-warranted liberties. "I'd like that."

He answered by fanning his thumb along the line of her jaw, looking down at her in that way he had of scowling and searching and seeming to understand everything and nothing about her all at the same time. "I'd like to kiss you."

"Would you?" she managed to breathe.

"Would you?" he countered, his voice a slow whisper that managed to insinuate itself deep inside her.

"Yes. Yes, I would," she found herself answering, as any young woman of sense and panache would. "Rather desperately."

He smiled, that low melting smile that did delicious things to her insides. His hand around her waist tightened, and he picked her up and snugged her up against the seawall.

"Someone is coming out. Quiet," he instructed. "Not a sound."

Another secret. But this one she would gladly keep.

Against her back, the constraint of the wall was freeing. And encouraging.

"Kiss me," she whispered, raising her lips to his.

He lowered his head to hers slowly, glacially, incrementally, until at last they were nearly touching. She could feel the warm whisper of his breath, and she wet her lips that had gone suddenly dry.

But he did not come any closer. Did not kiss her. Did not explain why.

In another moment, he eased away from her and looked back toward the house. "They're gone." His thumb caressed along the edge of her jaw. "We ought to take better care. We can't have the inimitable Miss Manners looking all flushed, with swollen lips and hair mussed as if she's been kissing in the shrubbery, when she's meant to be chaperoning the belle of the ball."

"I suppose not," she answered, trying not to let her disappointment color her tone. "The secret is in never letting on. But I do have to say—I wish it were otherwise."

"Me too," he said. "I wish I could kiss you. And do other things that would put a glow in your cheeks without roughing them up."

"What other things?" she heard herself saying in a voice that all but pleaded to be shown.

"Let's just say that we'll have to take a rain check on the dancing and the kissing and the other things until we can find ourselves in a less public setting."

"Cab." She finally found her aplomb. "Are you by chance propositioning me?"

"What if I were, Marigold?" Cab's smile didn't falter, but his tone had gone serious. "What if I wanted a whole lot more than you seem prepared to give?"

"Cab." Marigold was astonished into silence. "You don't seem to understand—"

"I understand plenty." He smoothed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Think about it, Marigold, while you're arranging everybody else's life but your own." He stepped away. "Think about what you might have, if you'd only let yourself ask."

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