An Unlikely Suitor (24 page)

“Was he as angelic as his name?”

Lucy shook her head. There was little angelic about Angelo, except . . . “He loved me.”

“But that wasn’t enough?”

The complications of her relationship with Angelo blurred. Lucy didn’t want to go into the details. “I had to put my family first. He didn’t understand.”

“So he didn’t love you enough.”

“Or I didn’t love him enough.”

Rowena sighed. “How does one know when they are in love?”

Lucy didn’t have enough experience to offer an opinion. “Are you in love with Edward?”

“I hope to learn to love him.”

“Is that possible?”

“My mother learned to love my father.”

“Did he learn to love her in return?”

Rowena seemed to have no answer to that. Instead she said, “Father has instructed me to love Edward. He says girls like me must not be fussy or choosy.”

Lucy took offense on her behalf. “Girls like you . . . that’s not very kind.”

Rowena moved awkwardly across the room to retrieve a rag. Even with her slow gait there was evidence of her infirmity. “Girls with my impediment are tainted.”

“Tainted?”

“We are imperfect and therefore not worthy of a marriage of high esteem.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re more worthy than a thousand women with perfect legs. Your kindness and loving heart overshadow any physical irregularity.”

Rowena lifted her arms wide, palms up. “You are too kind, Lucy, but look around you. My clothing, this house, the grounds, the area around Bellevue Avenue in its entirety . . . it’s all about perfection, about attaining something above and beyond what’s ever been created before.”

“But it’s false. It’s a dreamland. Life’s not like this for most people.”

“Which is the point.”

The words of Lucy’s father interrupted her thoughts, and she shared the phrase.
“Non è tutto oro quello che luce.”

“That’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“All that glitters is not gold.”

Rowena considered this a moment. “Perhaps the reverse is also true? All that’s gold does not glitter?”

Lucy loved how their conversations made her think. “You are very wise.”

Rowena left her perch to study Lucy’s progress. “And you are ridiculously talented. Are you certain you’ve not painted before?”

Rowena sat on her stool, cleaning their brushes. She’d sent Lucy up to her room to ready a dress for a formal dinner they were having that evening. But in truth, it was an excuse to study Lucy’s painting against her own.

Unfortunately, she found her own lacking. Where Lucy had captured the sea, sky, and lawn with deft strokes and splashes of expertly mixed color, Rowena’s attempt looked like a five-year-old’s dabbling.

Was there nothing Lucy couldn’t do well? She designed clothing and constructed it, and now was an artist with paint. Creativity flowed out of her with a fresh clarity like water from a spring. Rowena wouldn’t be surprised if Lucy could sing like an angel and play Chopin like a virtuoso.

What flowed out of Rowena? She had no ability on any musical instrument, and sounded like a screaming seagull when she sang. Her needlepoint was lumpy and her tatting always got tangled. As for her painting ability?

Rowena loaded her brush in deep blue and painted a large X on her canvas, then another and another, until her feeble attempt was obliterated. She tossed the painting in the bushes on the other side of the balustrade. Her breathing had grown ragged, and she felt her heart beating in her throat. A heat more stifling than anything summer could summon tightened like a shroud around her, making her claw at the smock, needing it off, needing air.

“Rowena!”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rowena froze with one shoulder of the smock hanging precariously at her waist and the other side caught upon the volume of her dress sleeve. A hank of hair fell across her face.

“What is going on here?”

“Help me get this off, please.”

Mother pulled the smock free. Then she spotted the painting. Her face washed with pleasure. “You did this?”

Rowena wasn’t sure what to say. It was the first time her mother had given any indication of pleasure upon seeing her paint—

Only it wasn’t
her
painting. But she couldn’t reveal the truth just yet. Had she been right in thinking Lucy had talent?

“Do you like it?”

Mother moved right, then left, trying to capture the best light. “I insist you enter it in the art show next month. And if Mamie Fish doesn’t award you a first-place ribbon, I’ll deny her entrance into this house.”

Rowena couldn’t withhold the truth any longer.

“Lucy will be thrilled to hear that.”

“Lucy?”

“Lucy Scarpelli? It’s her painting. I thought it showed true talent, but now to hear your opinion . . . she will be thrilled to hear it merits a place in the art show.”

Mother whipped toward Rowena, her cheeks a blotchy red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Rowena felt her own cheeks grow hot. “But you said—”

“I thought it was your work.”

“But talent is talent. If the work is good enough to be entered, then it shouldn’t matter who—”

Mother went back into the house, the train of her dress sashaying wildly across the floor to keep up.

Rowena was left to mull over the status of her own insipid talent and the inequities of her world.

“Sofia, get me another box of pins.”

Sofia looked toward the storeroom with trepidation. She’d been avoiding going back there all day, and so far had managed to tag her need for supplies onto someone else’s errand.

Dorothy repeated herself. “Sofia? Pins?”

Mamma stood. “I’ll get them.”

Mrs. Flynn looked up from the order she was writing. She eyed Mamma, then Sofia. “We aren’t dumb, little girl. We’ve all noticed how you’ve avoided going in the back today. I’m sorry about what happened to you, and I’ve talked to Mr. Standish, who’s going to talk to the police. We’ve done all we can do. But you have to do the work required or I’ll dock your pay.”

“Baby Sofia,” Tessie whispered.

“Scaredy cat, scaredy cat,” added Leona.

“You can have your mamma do your work for you,” Ruth said.

Sofia flushed with anger and embarrassment. She’d like to see one of these ladies handle Bonwitter as she’d done the night before. See if they wouldn’t be scared too.

But even Mamma nodded toward the back, indicating she should go.

“Fine,” she said, pushing her chair away from the sewing machine. As she walked toward the door, her arms tingled and she got a creepy feeling up her back. Logically, she knew he wasn’t there, but . . .

She walked into the storeroom and let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Maybe if she kept her gaze straight ahead and walked very quickly, she could get back before her courage left—

She turned toward a tapping on the alley window. There, with his nose pressed against the pane, was Bonwitter!

Sofia ran back into the workroom. “He’s at the window! He’s come to get me!”

Dorothy and Mrs. Flynn shook their heads in disgust and entered the storeroom while Sofia ran into Mamma’s arms.

“Are you sure you saw him?” Dolly whispered from the next worktable.

Sofia nodded with her head against Mamma’s shoulder. She let go when Dorothy and Mrs. Flynn came back into the room. “Did you see him?”

“There’s no one there. No one in the alley either,” Dorothy said.

“I even walked down to the street and looked both ways. He wasn’t there,” Mrs. Flynn said. “It’s your imagination run wild.”

“But I saw him!”

Mrs. Flynn shrugged. “I can’t have you screaming at every fly on the wall, girl. Get yourself under control.” She nodded to the room. “Everyone, back to work.”

They didn’t believe her? “But why would I make that up?” she asked anyone who would listen.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Leona said under her breath. “Perhaps so you can go home early? Or have time to go read one of your silly books.”

Sofia looked to Mamma for support, but even she pointed toward the sewing machine. “Best get back to work.”

“Surely you believe—?”

Mamma’s shrug was a wound to her soul.

There was a knock on the dressing room door. Good. Dinner. Lucy was famished.

She went to answer it. “I’m glad you’re here, Sadie. I was about to wither—”

“Hello.”

At the sight of the man she’d accosted because of his dirty boots, Lucy took a step back.

“Your dinner, mademoiselle?”

She collected herself enough to ask, “Where’s Sadie?”

“I intercepted her in the hall and asked where she was going.” He pressed past her into the dressing room and set the tray on the ottoman. “I think it’s time we were properly introduced. I am Rowena’s younger, but oh-so-handsome, brother. Hugh is the name. And you are the Lucy I’ve heard so much about.”

“What have you heard?”

He leaned toward her and made his eyebrows dance. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“What secrets?”

He ignored her. “So this is where you’ve moved.”

“Not here, but next—” She stopped herself from mentioning her actual sleeping quarters, hidden away as it was. “Yes, your sister wanted me close.”

“Good for her.” He winked. “And me.”

His very presence made her nervous—and oddly, a little angry. “Thank you. That will be all.”

He looked at her askance. “Is this how you dismiss all your servants?”

“I . . . no, of course, I just . . . I’m just hungry. So if you don’t mind?”

He strolled along the rows of dresses, letting his fingers skim every one. Did he know about her room? If not, she didn’t want him to discover it. He was coming distressingly close to the break in the dresses. He’d see the door and—

She tried to divert him. “So, Mr. Langdon. Are you in college or are you being groomed to take over your father’s business?”
Whatever that is.

He stopped within inches of the opening in the dresses, took a quick glance, then looked at her. “Both.”

She sat beside the tray and took a roll, breaking it in two, desperate to divert him. “Would you like to share?”

He grinned, came forward, and took her offering. “Thank you.”

Lucy regretted her gesture, in that it prolonged his presence. “Won’t your family be waiting for you at dinner?”

“They’re used to me being late.”

Lucy could imagine they were used to Hugh exhibiting a myriad of faults.

“So, Lucy,” he said, “how are you finding life at
Porte au Ciel
?”

“Very well, thank you. I’m glad to be of service to your sister.”

He snickered. “Rowena needs all the help she can get.”

Lucy felt her dander rise. “Why do you say that? She’s extremely sweet and charming. She’s a good—”

“All traits that
sound
enticing, but traits that bore most suitors.”

“You don’t like women who are sweet, charming, and good?”

His eyes held an intensity that made her stomach tighten. “There are other traits more to my liking.”

It was her own fault for asking, and Lucy wanted him gone. “Your sister possesses traits most men would covet—beyond the ones I mentioned. She is courageous, determined, and—”

“And broken.”