An Unlikely Suitor (11 page)

Dorothy began the applause. Mr. Standish blushed, then left them. He would have a difficult day ahead.

Once he was gone, the ladies gathered around Lucy, hugging her, kissing her cheeks, lauding her brave actions. Even Mrs. Flynn gave her a special nod and said, “Well done.”

Then suddenly, Lucy remembered something. “I never told Mr. Standish about the red X’s!” she said. “Bonwitter will deny everything. You know he will.”

“What red X’s?” Tessie asked.

Lucy let Dorothy explain.

“That was good thinking,” Leona said.

Lucy was mad at herself. “If Mr. Standish doesn’t know about them, then Bonwitter will come up with some other explanation. Without proof he won’t go to jail.”

“But Mr. Standish won’t let him back in here,” Dorothy said. “That’s our main concern, yes?”

Yes. And no. With Bonwitter on the streets—with an angry, vengeful Bonwitter on the streets . . .

Lucy shivered. This wasn’t over yet.

Lucy tried to concentrate on her sewing, tried to revel in her victory. And yet . . . without the information about the red X’s, Bonwitter could get off.

Mr. Standish was probably at the police station or at Bonwitter’s right now. And so Lucy hired a boy off the street for a nickel, ordering him to run a note to the nearest police station. Whether he would deliver the message or merely pocket the money was questionable.

Mamma strolled by her table and put a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. It’s out of your hands now.”

Which was the problem.

It was nearly quitting time before Mr. Standish came back to the shop. “Gather round,” he said to the ladies.

Lucy didn’t like the look on his face. She approached him, “Did you get my message? My note?”

“What message?”

Oh no. “I forgot to tell you that I sewed red X’s into the six stolen bolts of muslin, as a marker to prove they were ours.”

Mr. Standish stood mute.

“Is Bonwitter in jail?” Tessie asked.

He shook his head. “He was not arrested.”

“What?”

“I accompanied the police to his house this morning and we discovered the muslin in question, as well as other sewing goods. I accused him of theft, but he offered a lengthy explanation about how he was readying to start his own dressmaking supply store, and the goods were legally his, bought and paid for from a supplier.”

“But they’re not his,” Leona said.

“He was very convincing, and the police had no grounds to arrest him.” He looked at Lucy, his face drawn. “I wish I would have known about your X’s.”

Dorothy raised her hand. “I can vouch for them, sir. I saw her do it. I was her witness.”

Mrs. Flynn spoke. “Can’t you tell the police about them now?”

“I fear it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late for justice,” Dorothy said.

Mr. Standish put on his hat and tapped the bowl of it. “I suppose I must try.” He headed for the door, then paused. “But do take comfort in knowing he’s been fired. He will not return to Madame Moreau’s. I guarantee I will be dutiful about finding a replacement with true character.”

“That’s something,” Sofia said.

“But not enough.” Lucy paced between the tables. “If only I’d told Mr. Standish about the X’s.”

Mamma put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve told him now. He’ll take care of it.”

“If it’s not too late,” Dolly said.

She was shushed by the others, but her statement held true.

Rowena sat at her mother’s desk, composing a letter to her best friend, Morrie. They’d known each other since they were children, and he alone knew the real Rowena, good and bad. He’d also proven himself to be a wise counselor. Barely a day went by when they didn’t talk.

Until recently. For Morrie had already gone to Newport. Since he’d left New York, Rowena felt as though she were missing an important appendage to her person. Yes, her leg was one appendage that was crippled, but her peace of mind felt the lack of Morrie’s strengthening presence.

She could hardly wait until she was also in Newport. She and Morrie would have much catching up to do. Until then, letters would have to suffice.

My dear Morrie,

I hope you are well in Newport. The house here is abuzz with preparations for our departure. As usual, Mother has ordered both of us a new wardrobe, but this time I am actually excited about it. I have met a talented girl, a seamstress, Lucy Scarpelli. She has done wonders with my outfits, and has magically made my infirmity fade from view. If I didn’t know better, I would propose that I could run and play as we did as children. Remember how we used to climb in the stables and walk along the rafters?

She stopped the motion of her pen, letting the pleasant Morrie-memories settle. She could go on and on about the past, but he would see through her reminiscences and know she was revisiting those times as a way to deal with changes in her present. Morrie, above anyone else, knew how poorly Rowena dealt with change. And being told to fall in love with Edward was the biggest change of her life.

If
she was falling in love with him. Having never been in love, she had no model to measure against. She cared what happened to Edward. She thought about him often, kept account of his attributes, and anticipated their next meeting. But was that love or merely infatua—?

“Hello, sister. Here I am, ready to assume the role of chaperone
extraordinaire
.”

Rowena glanced at the clock on the mantel. Between the letter and her daydreaming, she’d lost track of time. Edward would be there any minute to take her on a carriage ride through Central Park.

“Just a moment. I want to finish this letter to Morrie.”

Hugh took a place behind her, trying to read it. “Tell him hello for me. And tell him I’ll be ready for a race with that new mare Father bought.”

Rowena nodded, added the message from Hugh, and put the page in the envelope she’d already addressed.

And none too soon, for Timbrook announced Edward’s arrival.

He looked dashing in his gray morning coat and blue Windsor tie. Rowena loved how he was always fashionable yet didn’t dress like a dandy who lived for fashion. Edward, the man, always shone above whatever clothes he wore.

It was a lovely day, and the open carriage allowed them to fully appreciate the Central Park Reservoir, the trees, and the blue sky. Rowena adjusted the angle of her parasol to keep the sun off her face.

Hugh arranged the seating so Rowena could sit next to Edward while Hugh faced backward in the carriage, across from them. Being a weekday, the park was far from crowded, and with Hugh to entertain them with witty banter, Rowena was fully content.

Until . . .

“So, Edward. With our money and with you at the helm of our fathers’ business, the Langdon and DeWitt families will surely give the Astors and Vanderbilts a good run for their money.”

Rowena heard Edward pull in a breath. She couldn’t believe her brother’s audacity. To mention who was bringing what to the table was the epitome of uncouth. “Hugh, this isn’t the time,” she said.

“Then when is, my dear Wena?” He stretched his arms across the back of his seat. “Although our fathers may barely talk about it—at least in our presence—I assure you, between them, they have been quite candid.” He looked directly at Edward. “Or perhaps they’ve been candid with you? I know I don’t deserve to hear the gory details, but you, as heir to the business, have surely earned their trust.” He raised an eyebrow in a challenging way.

Finally Edward spoke. “With your talent for getting to the point, I can definitely see a place for you by my side. There’s no reason we can’t both take over when the time comes.”

Hugh shook his head. “Unfortunately, my father has deemed me a man of few talents and much mischief.” He shrugged. “I dare not argue with the first, and must admit to the latter.”

Rowena was horribly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “Hugh . . . you know Father has a place for you in the business. He’s said as much.”

“But not the helm.” He stretched his arms above his head and plucked a leaf from a passing branch. “I may be an heir, but alas I am not the chosen heir.”

Rowena leaned toward him to touch his knee. He moved it to the side, avoiding her touch. Then he pointed to a food vendor and turned to the driver. “Stop! We need refreshment.” He hopped out of the carriage, leaving Rowena and Edward alone.

“I’m sorry for his outspoken ways, Edward. I assure you it’s not directed at you per se, but stems from his frustration.”

“I appreciate his candor,” Edward said. “And honestly, I’m not thrilled at being thrust into the business as the successor. Although I appreciate what our fathers have done, the elevator business is not my first love.”

She hadn’t known this. “Then what is?”

He smiled and looked past her to a place unseen to all eyes but his. Then he turned to her and said, “My first love is you, Rowena.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

So this is what it felt like to fall in love.

The workday ended with no more news about Bonwitter—which was fine with Sofia. If she never heard his name again . . .

The three Scarpelli women went upstairs to their apartment. Sofia helped Mamma with dinner and watched Lucy mope.

Who cared about some stupid X’s, anyway? Or whether or not Lucy told Mr. Standish about them? Her sister could get obsessed with details. She’d already played the heroine. What else did she want? Someone to write a dime novel about
her
?

“Come, Lucia. Eat,” Mamma said as she placed two plates at the table.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Nonsense.”

Lucy shook her head.

She was acting like a baby being coaxed into eating its gruel. “If she doesn’t want to eat, Mamma, let her not—”

“Shh!” In one quick motion Lucy stood and froze.

Sofia had heard it too. Feet on the stairs. No one came up to their apartment. No one had a key to the door on the street level.

Bonwitter?

There was a knock on the door. Mamma whispered, “Girls, go in the bedroom. Shut the door.”

“No, I’ll—”

“Go,” Mamma said.

“See what you’ve done,” Sofia told Lucy. She gladly went into the bedroom, but Lucy stayed in the main room with Mamma.