Blessing (18 page)

His cousin’s words repeated in his mind. Gerard gripped Stoddard’s arm. “Thanks for bringing me in last night.”
Mrs. Mather wouldn’t have given me a second chance if I’d been found in the gutter.
“I won’t let this happen again.”
I won’t be in Kennan’s company again.

“I think you had better lie down.” Stoddard touched his shoulder. “You really look sick. Have you been able to eat anything?”

“Toast and coffee.” Gerard reclined obediently, soothed by his cousin’s concern. Soon he felt Stoddard rest a cold, damp cloth on his forehead.

“I’ll check on you later.”

“Thanks.” Gerard tried to relax and fall asleep. Maybe he’d feel better later. But doubts over what he’d done last night wouldn’t leave him. The sound of laughter and images of those women with rouged lips and cheeks and dresses of black lace flashed in his mind.

Blessing Brightman’s words floated back to him.
“There are two kinds of men—those who respect women and those who debase them.”
He recalled the poor, beaten girl he’d carried to the widow’s carriage that night not so long ago, and his stomach lurched precariously. Until that evening, he’d always assumed easy girls had enjoyed being with him. But had they, or was it all an act bought and paid for?

OCTOBER 7, 1848

Saturday evening, still balmy in spite of the shortening days, Blessing let her driver help her down from her carriage in front of the Foster home. In contrast to her somber mood, the house glowed with lamplight in the October dusk. Tonight the Fosters were giving a party to celebrate the announced engagement of their daughter.

Though Blessing never wore her corset cinched tightly, she was having trouble drawing a full breath.
Dear Lord, is this of thee? Will Tippy be glad she married Stoddard Henry?

She had no way of knowing, but she needed to trust in the Father and support her friend. If Tippy was making a mistake, she would need encouragement in the coming years. Blessing had isolated herself from everyone out of shame over her disastrous marriage. She would watch and make certain Tippy didn’t fall into that trap.

Inside the brightly lit home, the butler and footman relieved her of her light shawl, and she entered the parlor, already full of cheerful guests. Tippy, in a new rose-colored gown lavish with cream lace, stood in front of the cold marble hearth beside her beaming intended groom. Both of them radiated joy.

Blessing felt the sting of tears and looked away, only to lay eyes on Gerard Ramsay. Her response to him was instantaneous, and her skin tingled with awareness. The gentleman from Boston, in conversation with a local businessman, stood against the wall opposite the couple. He glanced at them occasionally with no sign of joy. As usual, she felt the pull toward Gerard as if some invisible bond linked them.

Two ladies approached Blessing and entered into polite social chatter. Was she wearing a new dress? Its amber hue looked lovely with her hair. Wasn’t it exciting that Tippy was marrying a man from such a prominent Boston family? And so romantic that they’d met at Saratoga Springs.

Blessing replied pleasantly and did not miss the women’s glances back and forth between her and Gerard Ramsay. Were people speculating about whether they were becoming a couple? She couldn’t think why anyone would consider that a possibility. Perhaps it was merely because she and Tippy were friends and Gerard and Stoddard were cousins. Did society hope to enjoy the gossip about another deliciously unlikely match?

“We all wonder if Mr. Ramsay will be staying in Cincinnati or returning to Boston,” the older of the two ladies ventured with a questioning glance to Blessing.

“I could not say. I am so busy I rarely have time even to see my friends, much less newcomers.” She didn’t appreciate finding herself under even more scrutiny than usual.

The ladies smiled knowingly but were called away by another group of women who waved to them.

Blessing remained where she was. Theodosia had informed her that she’d gone to Prudence Mather’s house a couple of days ago and had thanked Ramsay for his heroic act. Her wet nurse had reported that the man had looked as if he’d spent the night before drinking blue ruin.

Blessing pondered the many names people assigned to adulterated gin, cheap liquor that could kill. She hadn’t realized Gerard had sunk to that kind of gone-too-far-to-care drinking. This thought caused a pang of concern she didn’t want to feel.

The businessman turned and walked away from Ramsay,
and she couldn’t stop herself from moving toward him. If Theodosia was correct, he seemed bent on self-destruction just as Richard had been. What drove a man to dangerous choices? Her own hasty decision to marry Richard Brightman should have shed some light on this question. She had certainly lived the truth of “Marry in haste; repent at leisure.” But she’d been so very young, and it had all been so exciting after living such a sheltered life, just as Tippy had.

She hadn’t been able to stop Tippy from becoming engaged to Stoddard much too soon. She doubted she would have any better luck turning Gerard Ramsay from a dark path that would be hard to retrace. But she must try. Surely this desire explained why he drew her to him. And she had an idea of something that might influence him for the good. He would probably decline, but she would issue the invitation anyway. He just might rise to her challenge.

Gerard watched Blessing Brightman walk toward him. Dressed in a high-necked amber silk gown this evening, in contrast to the other ladies’ bare shoulders, she looked prim, proper, and utterly lovely. However, her manner was determined, like a ship gliding toward its destined port. He wanted to move away, not let her dock beside him.

Of all the people milling about the parlor, he inexplicably wanted to talk to her both least and most. It was confusing. Nobody else in the room interested him, but this woman could annoy him faster than anyone, aside from his father. He swirled the wine in his glass and averted his eyes from her.

When she reached him, he straightened his shoulders and
lifted his chin. “Well, they’re engaged,” he observed, trying to alleviate her effect on him.

“Yes, they are.” She moved to stand at his side, the wisteria fragrance subtle and alluring. “Doesn’t thee know better than to go on a spree at the docks?” She spoke the words as she smiled and nodded to another lady passing them. “Theodosia said you looked like death on a hard day.”

Her quip forced a chuckle from his dry throat. “Worried about me?”

“Some of the gin served at the wharf can blind a man.” She lifted her plain fan and used it against the stuffiness around them.

Gerard didn’t answer. He knew what she said to be true. But he didn’t have to account for his behavior to her. It was difficult enough accounting for it to himself. The most troubling aspects of the night were twofold: first, that he couldn’t recall anything of substance; and second, that afterward Kennan had evidently disappeared or gone to ground. Gerard couldn’t shake the feeling that Kennan had a part in what had happened to him. Or had Kennan succumbed to rotgut and fallen dead in some dank hole?

He shook off this idea and dealt with the woman’s tart words. “Then, Widow Brightman, I advise you not to imbibe the gin at the docks.”

She shook her head at him, not responding to the barb.

Another couple passed by, greeted Blessing, and moved on. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Blessing and Gerard once more, a knowing expression on her face. Evidently their “association” was a topic for public conjecture. He bristled. Gossips.

“So, Gerard Ramsay, is thy cousin good enough for my friend?”

“I’ve been wondering the reverse of that myself.”

“Well, let us hope so. Neither of us could stop them from taking this life-altering step.”

“I can agree with you there. How did you know I opposed the union?”

“On the last occasion we were here together, the relief on thy face just as I fainted told all.”

Her brazenly honest answer jolted him. “No matter how often we meet, I cannot get over your frank conversation. Do you talk this way to everyone?”

“Thee is not everyone, Gerard Ramsay. I still cannot make thee out.” A group near them broke into spirited conversation, and she stepped closer. “When faced with danger or crisis, thee rises to the occasion. But in everyday life thee follows a course that can only bring disaster. What drives thee?”

That her assessment was correct again infuriated him. He stiffened. “My character and my endeavors are none of your business.”

She swung to face him. “I urge thee to stay away from that man Smith. He is dangerous, and his main business is to ruin people and enslave them. He holds me in bitter hatred because he has been unable to bring me under his control. I’ve learned to see through his schemes. And I am too respected, too prominent for him to touch. But
thee
is playing with a consuming fire. This is not Boston.”

Her words resonated inside him. If he never saw Smith again, it would be too soon. He tried to come up with a
response to put her in her place, but a hard knot in his heart made replying difficult. “How do you know so much about my association with Smith?”

“I have my sources.” She did not meet his gaze.

He wouldn’t tolerate her intrusion, even as he was dogged by the knowledge that she was right. “Don’t meddle in affairs that don’t concern you.”

“If you knew what I . . .” She paused and then continued, “I am going to challenge thee again. Thee invited me to a play. I am inviting thee to an upcoming meeting to hear James Bradley, one of the Lane Rebels, on his life as a slave.”

A former slave? Associated with the radical Lane Seminary? What would this woman come up with next? “Trying to draw me into the movement for abolition?” he said with scorn.

“Trying to give thee something worthy of thy intellectual capabilities.” Blessing smirked as she walked away.

He fumed and sipped his very good wine, barely tasting it. There was nothing worse than this woman who could pierce his armor by telling the truth.

Gerard had heard much of the Lane Rebels, a group of seminary students who were rabid abolitionists. He couldn’t imagine what their parents must think of their debates and activities. In fact, if Gerard could ensure that his father would hear of his own attendance at such a meeting, he might be tempted to go. But this was a matter for later contemplation. For now, Gerard selected another gentleman from the gathering and approached him, ready to discuss his racetrack plans. He might as well take advantage of this social gathering for his own ends.

OCTOBER 16, 1848

It had been over a week since Stoddard’s engagement party, and so far Gerard had failed to drum up any interest in his racetrack venture among the gentlemen he’d become acquainted with there—or, to be honest, among any of his contacts. He knew the Fosters moved in a segment of society that leaned toward social reform, but he’d held out hope that some of these men would support reform with one hand while engaging in beneficial investments with the other. This not being the case, Gerard had at last decided to use the list of investors Smith had provided him. But it would be the final time he would ever take anything from Smith. From now on, he would proceed on his own.