An Unlikely Suitor (29 page)

He looked from Sofia to Mamma, then back again—and smiled. “Well, now,” he said. “I see the resemblance to Lucy.”

Mamma pulled free of her arm. “I assume you mean that as a compliment, young man.”

“Oh, I do. And the name’s Haverty, ma’am.” He lifted their carpetbags as if they were filled with air. “How many other bags do you have?”

Haverty made quick work of collecting their luggage and helped Mamma into the seat of the cart next to him. Sofia didn’t mind sitting off the back of the cart, her legs dangling. She regretted not hearing any commentary from the driver, but also liked observing this new place on her own.

She was immediately impressed with the streets. Unlike New York, once away from the harbor, they were little congested and lined with trees. There were neighborhoods with small houses close together, many with shop signs hanging near their doors, but as they drove farther to the east, the streets widened, the lawns broadened, and the buildings became massive. Were these the government buildings for the town? The offices and courthouses?

But then she saw two little boys playing with hoops on a lawn near a front door, with a woman accompanying them, warning them not to get grass stains on their knickers.

These weren’t government buildings. These were homes.

She remembered their first letter from Lucy, where she’d written about the Langdon home, but Sofia had been too deep in the throes of jealousy to pay it much attention. What Lucy had and Sofia didn’t have held little interest.

Until now. Until being here and seeing these mansions fit for kings.

She passed a couple walking on the sidewalk, the woman’s hand around the man’s arm, the other hand holding a lacy parasol. She waved.

They both looked downward.

Suddenly, Sofia regretted her fine perch on the back of the cart, for certainly no lady had traveled this grand street in this particular way.

Luckily her discomfort was short-lived as she heard Haverty say, “Here we are.” He turned up a long drive.

The house was not as grand as some, but magnificent nonetheless. It rose three stories tall—which was short in comparison to the buildings in New York, but somehow, perched on top of a vast lawn, it seemed taller, and certainly more regal, as if it chose its height for its own purposes and was neither too tall nor not tall enough. Somehow Sofia knew that inside this house, everything would be just right.

She was disappointed Haverty didn’t drive them to the front door. Although she sensed her entrance there wouldn’t be proper—nor anyone’s entrance who arrived via a cart—she would’ve liked to experience it.

The thought that she would never go through the front doors came, and went. But instead of feeling bad about it, Sofia accepted it. She guessed the number of people who went through the grand entrance of this house was limited. That she was not among that number was tolerable, and even a relief. Although she often thought more of herself than she should, she was no dummy. The world had always been inhabited by the rich and the poor—and everything in between. That she was getting to experience a bit of the former was like walking into a scene in one of her novels. It made her happy. For didn’t every one of those stories have a happy ending?

The cart veered away from the house to an outbuilding, a smaller one-story structure nearer the stables than the main house. Haverty stopped the cart there and helped Mamma down. Sofia hopped off the cart a bit reluctantly. Surely they hadn’t traveled this far not to see the mansion? Not to stay in the mansion?

Haverty knocked on the front door of the little cottage, and an old woman who looked as though she enjoyed eating very, very much opened the door. They exchanged a few words, then Haverty explained. “This is Mrs. Oswald, the groundskeeper’s wife. You’ll be staying here.”

“And working here,” Mrs. Oswald said. She offered no more introductions, but exited the house and directed them around its side. “Many an hour has been spent clearing out the back room so you can use it as a sewing room and sleeping quarters.”

Sofia had had her fill of back rooms. . . .

“That’s very kind of you,” Mamma said.

Sofia looked toward the main house and wanted to pull both ladies to a halt and say,
“But I want to be up there!”

At the back of the cottage was another door, and Mrs. Oswald led them inside, to a room slightly larger than their main room back in New York. “Mrs. Langdon insisted we clear this room for you, and we found some spare tables and chairs for you to work on. And there’s a bed for each of you too.”

Sofia looked in the direction she’d pointed and was appalled to see two skinny cots shoved against the wall. Less than two feet separated them from the main worktable.

“See here,” Mrs. Oswald said, “the Langdons even found you a machine for sewing. That’s how special they think of you.”

Sofia wanted to laugh. The minimal nature of the space screamed exactly how special the Langdons thought of them.

“Where’s Lucy sleep?” she asked.

“Oh, your sister’s up in the main house. I hear she has a room right next to Miss Langdon’s.”

Of course she does.

“I’ll send her word you’re here.”

Summon the queen. Her poor relations have arrived.

Lucy raced across the lawn toward the groundskeeper’s house. She couldn’t wait to see Mamma and Sofia.

Mamma must have spotted her from the window, for the back door opened and she ran out, her arms wide. “Lucia!”

Lucy fell into her arms. “I’m so glad you’re here. So glad.”

The feeling of Mamma’s arms holding her close made Lucy feel like a child again, dependent and safe. Cared for and protected.

It didn’t last long, for Sofia came out of the house and said, “Come down from the big house to visit, have you?”

Mamma swung around and said, “
Silenzio
, Sofia!” To Lucy she offered a smile. “We are very glad to be here. For one thing, Bonwitter’s been causing more trouble.”

“Causing me more trouble,” Sofia said.

The shelter of Mamma’s arms faded and Lucy found herself thrust into the position of protector again. “What has he done?”

An assault, a face in the window, a threat, a torn book taken from the apartment . . . Menace enough for Mr. Standish to change the locks. “Why haven’t the police arrested him?”

“They’ve tried, but he’s too quick for them. Too determined to hurt us.”

“Hurt me,” Sofia said. “Since you left, I’m his target.”

A wave of guilt washed over Lucy. Bonwitter wanted his revenge on
her.
Had she been remiss in leaving her mother and sister behind?

She decided to change the subject. “How was your trip? Weren’t the furnishings in the train cars luxurious?”

“Luxurious?” Sofia laughed. “Hard benches are hardly luxurious.” She put a hand to her lower back. “And it was so crowded. . . . I had a fat lady sitting next to me the whole time, taking up half of my place and—”

Lucy was confused. “You didn’t travel first class?”

“Not at all,” Sofia continued. “And I don’t think it’s fair you got all the frills and we got some dry bread and a thin piece of cheese, and loud babies crying in our ears, making it impossible for me to read , and—”

“So-fi-a!” Mamma said, making her name a full three syllables. She turned to Lucy. “We are here, and glad to be here, and that’s the end of it. Now tell us about the costumes we are to make.”

Gladly.

Rowena tried not to hold on to Edward’s arm too tightly, but she was glad to be with him again, and wary of the massive steps leading upward to the neighbor’s music room. She held her dress with one hand, and Edward with the other, but unfortunately her bad leg was on the outside and—

The toe of her shoe caught in her dress, and she slipped down one step—

Edward’s free hand grabbed her closest arm and his inner arm found her waist. But too late. She fell to the step, landing with a hard
oomph
on her knees. Off-balance, she turned on her side to sit.

Even more unfortunate was seeing her skirt raised on the bad leg, exposing its smaller length and twisted angle.

Forgetting the pain from her landing, she reached forward to adjust her dress, only to have Edward do it for her.

Which meant he’d seen; he knew the awful extent of her injury.

Rowena felt her face grow hot and saw in a blur a throng of onlookers stairstepped around her, their eyes drawn to her leg and her awkward position on the steps, their mouths agape or in conversation with each other, certainly discussing the poor crippled Rowena making a fool of herself.

But then . . .

“I’m so, so sorry, Miss Langdon. It was my fault completely,” Edward said as he helped her up. “My foot slipped and I brought you down with me. I am a clumsy man of the highest order.”

Rowena regained her footing and further smoothed her skirt. “Not the highest order,” she said. “At least not yet. We’ll save that designation for a future honor.”

There were a few titters of appreciative laughter, and Hattie Tremaine said to her husband, “Actually, I think you own that honor, don’t you, Conrad?”

Conrad pretended to be appalled and gave his view of the past incident. “I assure you, I did not mean to make the entire centerpiece disintegrate. It was a design defect, I tell you.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “I stand by this limitation of my guilt.”

It was enough to defray the moment and get people moving again. Once Rowena and Edward were merely one couple among many, he whispered, “Are you all right?”

“Bruised of body but not of spirit,” she whispered back. “And thank you for taking the blame. You didn’t need—”

He put a finger to his lips, ending the matter.

And adding to her delight in him.

Edward was a marvel. Not only had he taken the blame for her fall, but when it came time for the professional musicians to step aside and open the event to the amateurs among the guests, he’d stepped forward to perform, leaving it unnecessary for her to decline any polite invitation to sing or play. Of course those gathered were well aware of who had talent and who did not, but of the dozen assembled, only Rowena and Oscar Dudley were known for their nonparticipation.

Not that everyone who performed should have performed. Hattie and her husband, Conrad, had ears of tin and voices just as thin.

But Edward . . .

Upon volunteering, he consulted the hired pianist, who nodded at his choice and presented him with an arpeggio to set the key. Edward put a hand in the opening of his vest, stood straight as a statesman, and began to sing.

“ ‘Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee. Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day, lull’d by the moonlight have all pass’d away. . . . ’ ”

Rowena was astounded by his mellow voice, and blushed when he looked in her direction to continue the song.

“ ‘Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, list while I woo thee with soft melody. Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng, beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.’ ”

Rowena’s heart caught in her throat.

Was this what it felt like to be in love?

If so, dear Edward, sing on.