Twisted River Page 30

  Her stomach churned. Given an acceptable reference, it wasn’t unusual to encounter servants who moved position from time to time. She had shared a good many firsts with Derby, and despite his womanizer ways, there would always be a soft spot in her heart for him. He was there for her the night she learned her father died and kissed her goodbye the day she returned to Fontaine. He hadn’t loved her, and she never expected him to, but it was hard to forget the butterflies he once moved inside her.

  She breathed easier when the deep oak-paneled door opened and a footman bearing no resemblance to Derby ushered them into the foyer. Maggie barely crossed the threshold before a robust nanny appeared to wrangle Abigail into her waiting arms.

  “You will care for her properly, won’t you?” Reuben asked as he jogged up behind them. Maggie looked for Hugo, but he was still outside fighting to secure a trunk latch which a nearby footman insisted he could handle instead. Another one of many societal differences she hadn’t any chance to explain beforehand.

  “’Course I will, sir,” the nanny asserted. She gave a rapid series of nods with an energetic smile. “Excites me to no end to have three babies in the house. No need to worry ’bout this one. She’ll be safe with the others.”

  Reuben folded his arms, his brows wedged against the top of his nose. “You had better.”

  “Oh, Mr. Radford, always running away with your emotions. You’re worse than my mother,” Bianca reprimanded as she and Edith floated into the foyer, chiffon gowns swishing. Their necklines teased low with long strands of onyx beads to lead the eye exactly where they desired it. Not the type of evening attire usually worn for a simple soiree between friends.

  Bianca extended her hand to Reuben. He made no move to acknowledge her gesture, or her plunging neckline, in any way. With a flirty pout, Bianca turned instead to Maggie and pressed a kiss to her cheek while Edith did the same to Tena.

  “Where is Mr. Smith?” Maggie asked.

  “The gentlemen have gone to the country for the hunt,” Edith explained. She embraced Maggie and quickly released her. “The husbands are away so the ladies may play.” She pinched her sister’s elbow. “Bianca finds herself in disastrous trouble whenever I leave her on her own.”

  “And well I know it! Oh, Rookwood?” Bianca addressed the footman who had welcomed them at the door. “Do show Mr. Radford into the sitting room. We ladies will meet the others for dinner at eight.”

  With that they grabbed hold of Maggie and Tena, ushering them through the entryway and up the wide wood-planked and red-carpeted staircase. Even the delicate carpet pattern reminded Maggie of her time with Lady Alexander, although as a servant her presence upon the grand staircase was usually forbidden. She did remember racing down them the afternoon Reuben appeared out of the blue, a solemn force ready to crush her with news of her father’s death and then leave her broken in the cold.

  As they tugged her across the gallery, she caught a final glimpse of Hugo standing alone in the entryway, then Bianca pushed her into an upstairs room and closed the door.

  Quite clearly Bianca’s personal accommodations, the suite’s private sitting room was adorned with lush fabrics, feminine pastels, and prettily drawn paintings with a gilded mirror above the fireplace mantel. A low fire burned in the hearth, affording enough warmth to temper the cool breeze blowing through the adjacent bedroom’s high windows. Beyond that, a third doorway revealed the edge of a porcelain bathtub. The suite was alive with fragrance from gilded floral vases in varying colors and varieties. None of the purple flowers matched the Magdalena.

  “Now, darlings,” Bianca said. She pulled twice on the rope that rang for her lady’s maid, then threw open the doors to one of two wardrobes. There were gowns in nearly every color in sheens of satin and lace, the lamplight glittering off their silky folds. Tena sighed and Maggie for once understood. Although she had fought suitors tooth and nail, there was still a certain flattering joy in wearing such attire. It was nice to be fawned over and adored.

  Maybe someday someone would again, she thought. Maybe someday she would let them like she used to. But one glance at herself in the dressing table mirror and she dismissed the thought. Grey rings lined her eyes from an infant stealing her sleep and her cheeks appeared sunken without any rouge. She hadn’t fixed herself up in any way for too many months. Worse, she hadn’t noticed. Two months shy of twenty-one, and already her vixen days were far behind her.

  Although, Maggie reasoned as Bianca forced her into a sapphire gown too tight in the waist and revealing more of her milk-swelled breasts than was appropriate, perhaps for tonight she could imagine herself to still be a tiny bit coquettish.

  “That simply won’t do,” Tena declared, shifting Maggie’s attention away from her own reflection. “If it’s not plum or at the very least lavender, I’m not wearing it.”

  “Whyever for?” Edith asked. She held up a scarlet gown with a pale lace overlay. “This one would be striking on you.”

  “Because I’m in mourning, that’s why. Have some decency, Edith.”

  “This is 1913, Tena, not 1892. Stick with those outdated Victorian traditions if you’d like, but not on our watch. It’s been well past a year since your father died; you deserve a little enjoyment.”

  Maggie stole the dress from Edith and held it against her sister. After over a year in simple black garments, the stunning gown accentuated Tena’s golden eyes and added color to her static pallor. “It’s only a dress color, Tena,” she said gently, “and you would only break mourning one day early. What does one day matter?”

  “You of all people should know what difference a day makes,” Tena said softly, but she accepted the dress from Maggie and allowed Edith to help her into it. When the final button was looped, she was exquisite. If Maggie was correct about Reuben’s affections, that gown would leave him speechless.

  “Tena, I will never understand how I had all the suitors when you are clearly the pretty one.”

  Tena stared at the ground, a pale blush rising into her cheeks. “The shoes don’t fit.”

  “Wear your own. Trust me, sister dear, no one will care about your feet.”

  “Rella, Irene,” Bianca snapped at the two maids quietly waiting near the door. “Make our friends the fiercest beauties at dinner tonight.” The maid Maggie thought to be Irene, although Bianca hadn’t distinguished, gave a curt nod and immediately directed Tena to the dressing table. The one she had decided to call Rella settled Maggie on a second stool and began unpinning her hair with vigor.

  “How do you expect to woo your man looking half dead?” Bianca tsked. In the mirror, Maggie watched her scrutiny from over Rella’s shoulder. “No man will want another baby with you looking like this.”

  “I don’t want another baby,” Maggie said, although now that she considered it that might not be entirely true. Abigail was adorable, and she had come to love Hugo’s children like her own. She even found herself missing them in the week she and Hugo had been away. Maybe one day she would want another. After her contract was complete, perhaps then she would consider adopting and form her own family. She squinted as Rella brushed shadow across her lids, shocked at the direction her thoughts had wandered.

  “Moreover,” Maggie asserted, “I assure you that will never be a consideration for Mr. Frye.”

  In the mirror, Edith and Bianca exchanged a sympathetic glance. “Post-baby woes?” Edith asked. She nodded to Bianca. “We’ve both been there. You try everything to entice him, but with a baby around men run scared. All the crying and no sleep at all. Even with a nanny, it’s such a challenge. They would rather sleep down the hall than risk another go at it.” She pushed up on her cheeks, examining her features from either side in the mirror. “It took pots of cream to fix the mess motherhood made of me. I don’t blame Christopher. I truly was a sight.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Bianca. “Colin was simply too fickle. Either that or he couldn’t understand what I was asking for. Use these.” She handed Rella a strand of pearls for Ma
ggie’s neck. “The alternative was—well, I’m twenty, ladies. When you’re twenty and outshine a room simply by walking into it, I dare say the alternatives simply line up at your bedroom door.”

  “Bianca!” Tena exclaimed. “I swear, you never learned the meaning of modesty.”

  “I’ve learned how to take care of my own needs. Women do have them, you know.”

  “But you’re married.”

  “And you’re not, so please darling, don’t advise my life. I leave yours be, don’t I?”

  “No.”

  Bianca burst into a fit of giggles. “Too true! Why else do you think I invited you both tonight? Exciting one’s flirtations through friends is the next best thing to being saucy oneself.”

  Tena winced as Irene tugged another curl into place beneath a pearled comb. “I don’t need your favors, Bianca. I had a splendidly clever fiancé and enticed him all on my own.”

  “What fiancé?” Bianca turned to Edith. “Edie, do you recall our Tena being engaged? I believe we would have caught that in the society papers.”

  Tena’s grinding teeth were audible. “It wasn’t in the papers. I wrote you last year about my engagement to Charles Kisch. Both your heads are so full of your own demands you couldn’t even spare a moment to remember my letter, could you?” Tena attempted to stand, but Irene held her hair in a vice. She sank back onto the stool with folded arms.

  “Oh, darling, we get so many admiring letters, you can’t expect us to remember every detail. But, Charles Kisch, you say?” Bianca looked upwards, clearly injuring herself with the thought process. “No, I’m sorry, but his name doesn’t come to mind tied to yours. Of course, I do remember him from all those lovely Christmas parties. An excellent dancer, wasn’t he, Edie?”

  Edith gave a shy smile and nodded. “He was by far my favorite. Never would have pictured him with you though, Tena, especially given your mother’s prejudices.”

  “True, yes,” Bianca agreed. “Mrs. Archer was always so vocal about those German instigators, wasn’t she? I do wonder why. She never would tell the story there, but you know it had to be succulent.” She clucked at Rella who had begun painting Maggie’s lips a tint of light rose. “No, no, Rella, must I instruct you in everything? The brighter the better. That one.” With a smile that didn’t reach halfway to her eyes, the maid exchanged the rose color for the vibrant crimson Bianca indicated.

  “That color’s for a trollop,” Tena contended as Rella swathed the color across Maggie’s lips. “Besides, Maggie’s married. Who does she need to win?”

  Edith laughed, edging her way beside Irene to clasp a white sapphire pendant around Tena’s neck. “She’s winning back her husband. After tonight, he wouldn’t dare leave her wanting.”

  Bianca laid slender fingers on Maggie’s shoulder, displaying a clear shot down her ample bosom. “But if he does,” Bianca whispered, “I’ve conveniently placed Lloyd Halverson in the room adjacent your suite.”

  “What?” Maggie gasped, but before she could give the severity of the situation any attention, Bianca dragged her up by the arm.

  “Come, come dears, our admirers await!”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Descending the stairs one step at a time, her arm linked through Tena’s, Maggie’s inner turmoil quickly shifted to an unusual sense of girlish pride. Hugo waited at the foot of the staircase, watching—no, correction, staring at their approach. He smiled at her and in that honest expression, Lloyd Halverson’s suite adjacent was momentarily forgotten.

  I have a husband now, she reminded herself, her wedding ring firmly situated under her elbow length white gloves. Hopefully that would be enough of a deterrent from Lloyd’s advances.

  “Like what you see, Mr. Frye?” Tena laughed. She nudged Maggie’s ribcage with her elbow.

  Hugo shrugged, although there was a noticeable rosiness to the space between his white collar and crimson hair. Someone—probably Reuben—must have insisted he wash up before dinner. Maggie hadn’t seen his cheeks so smooth or his goatee trimmed with such precision since their visit to the photography studio in November. He had smoothed back his hair, thankfully not as grotesque as on their wedding day, however, enough to tame it into something resembling manageability. Even with his threadbare suit and scuffed oxfords, he was handsome. How queer that she never noticed before.

  Maggie removed her arm from Tena’s and pressed both palms to her stomach. Her corset stays must be drawn too tightly. Perhaps the house fires burned too hot, but heavens was she warm.

  Instead of answering Tena’s question, Hugo shifted his attention towards the twins. He gave a slight wave, uncertain whom of the identical women to address. “Good evening, ladies. Hugo Frye. I would like to thank you for your kind invitation tonight.”

  “My word indeed, would you listen to that accent, Edie?” Bianca splayed her fingers against her bosom. “When we caught sight of you out on the drive earlier, I said to Edith, ‘Why Edie, our girls brought their own traveling footman.’ You must forgive us, Mr. Frye, for mistaking your unrefined apparel for servant’s garb.” She stretched her dainty fingers outward. “Mrs. Bianca Smith. It’s your pleasure, I’m certain.”

  Hugo bestowed her waiting hand with a limp shake rather than a low bow as was customary, and Maggie hid her smile by scratching her nose. Bianca must be seething inside. It served her right to meet a man unwilling to fall at her feet.

  After Edith introduced herself with the good sense to offer a handshake, the twins led the way to the dining room. The butler announced their entrance with unnecessary enthusiasm and noted where each guest was assigned seating during dinner. Tena had been placed between Reuben and young Matthew Troughton whom she had noted as a rather fine dancer at the Winchesters’ Christmas party. Her sister gave a pretty smile and an even more becoming blush when Mr. Troughton not only gave a low bow, but also a kiss to her hand. Reuben stood behind his chair and glowered unnecessarily.

  The final seat on the nearer side of the table was occupied by one of Maggie’s holiday dance partners, Peter McCoy. Across from him, conveniently separating her assigned place from Hugo’s was Mr. McCoy’s new bride, Vivian, and beside her as promised sat the grey-eyed, dusty-haired, self-serving grin of Lloyd Halverson.

  Ah, thought Maggie, so that was the true reason why Reuben’s hand currently clenched as though he held a dagger shaft. Honestly, after all that had been done, who was to blame him?

  Hugo held out Maggie’s chair for her, unaware that it was polite to stand until the hostess was seated or that half the room silently judged him for not doing so.

  Bianca sniggered. Very well, perhaps one not so silently.

  Maggie’s heart burned for her partner. She walked behind Bianca’s chair and fought the urge to kick it as she passed. Across the table, Reuben’s grimace turned even lower. With the insatiable stare of a wild dog, Lloyd followed her path until she stood beside him with what she hoped was a smile directed only at Mr. Frye, yet the effort left her face oddly contorted.

  Finally, Edith and Bianca accepted their places at either end of the table and welcomed everyone to sit. Easing Maggie’s chair in, Hugo claimed his seat between Mrs. McCoy and Edith. Rookwood gestured to the footmen, and the first course, an asparagus cream soup, was served followed by a second of boiled salmon in hollandaise.

  By the fifth course—roast lamb forequarter—most of the table was engaged in a conversation surrounding suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst’s recent sentence, and Maggie could finally address Lloyd. “You’re unaccompanied this evening.”

  He chewed his lamb. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Couldn’t find anyone who would have you?”

  “You should know well that plenty of women will have me, Maggie. But I’m afraid no one ever captured my attentions quite like you did.” Her head whipped up when the back of his fingers slid along the outside of her thigh. Annoyance flaring, she found only an invitation in those eyes that often mirrored the color of her own. She grabbed his hand, intending to thr
ow off his prying fingers. It would have worked if he hadn’t locked his pinky around her own. Without a care what anyone else in the room assumed, he pressed closer until his forehead rested mere inches from hers. “Mrs. Smith was kind enough to allow me to remain the night. The bed is far more comfortable than the one we shared, although there are some other details from that night I wouldn’t mind repeating exactly as they were.”

  Thank heaven and the saints and all the stars above that Abigail wasn’t his. It would be unbearable to find her own child so repugnant.

  “Stop this, Mr. Halverson,” she hissed, loathing him so completely and wishing she could find some ammunition to burn a man who was so completely unbreakable. “I’m married.”

  After a long moment, he shifted back in his chair. “Tell me why that matters to you?”

  The question gave her pause. Given the unusual nature of her marriage, indulging in another man’s affections shouldn’t bother her. Yet, somehow it did.

  “Photography does sound interesting, Mr. Frye,” Mrs. McCoy said then from Maggie’s other side. “Have you traveled far for your photographs?”

  Hugo set his wine glass down and dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Here and there across the States. Several World’s Fairs. This is my first visit to Europe though.”

  “Sounds too base for my tastes,” Bianca said. She delicately sipped her own wine. “I simply cannot envision life without the occasional jaunt to Paris. Mr. Smith does so love to spoil me. Maggie, darling, please tell me you haven’t grown accustomed to such mediocrity.”

  Throwing her focus off of Lloyd, Maggie tossed Hugo a smile. The gesture seemed to surprise him. “Mr. Frye is a fine man,” she told Bianca as much for herself as anyone else in the room. “I’m lucky to have him.”

  Lloyd’s fingers tightened against her thigh. “Yes, my dear, you may have him,” he whispered in her ear. “But do you find it most pleasurable when you do?”

  She jerked, her plate sliding into her wine glass which toppled. Maroon liquid pooled across the white linen. Rookwood appeared in an instant, mopping up the mess while Maggie apologized profusely. Shortly after, the butler returned with a clean napkin and a fresh wine decanter, refilling her glass with more than was required.