Kissing Comfort (28 page)

Comfort couldn't understand it. She had not expected her news to be welcomed, but neither had she expected it to be met with such resistance. “I can't do that.”

“You can't abandon my son while he's bedridden.”

“He
will
get up from it. It's not his deathbed.”

“It may very well be.”

Comfort did not have the sense that Alexandra was being dramatic. She seemed to believe it. Still, Comfort would not give ground. “If that's a concern, then put the laudanum out of his reach.”

Alexandra drew in a sharp, audible breath. “I have never thought you cold, Miss Kennedy. Until now.” She put down her teacup and picked up a small silver-plated bell, which tinkled out of all proportion to its size when she shook it. “I think you should go. Hitchens will show you out.” She stood. Without waiting for Comfort to do the same, she turned her back and left by way of the connecting dining room.

 

 

Over dinner, Comfort related her conversation with Alexandra to her uncles. There was no mistaking they were disturbed by it.

“Did you visit Bram? Speak to him?” asked Tucker.

“No. I didn't think I should, not after Mrs. DeLong insisted that I leave.”

Newt nodded. “You did the right thing going when you did.”

“It wasn't as if I had a choice. At least it seemed there was none. The one good thing to come from my visit was my new appreciation for why Bram acts first and begs forgiveness later. He can't say no to her. I don't think anyone can.”

Tuck used his knife to mash a line of peas into his boiled red potatoes. “Bode does. He says no to her regularly.”

“Does he?”

Tuck forked a large bite of potatoes and peas into his mouth. He nodded until he swallowed. “I always admired him for it.”

“I didn't realize,” said Comfort.

“That he stands up to Alexandra or that I admire him?”

“Both.” Comfort cut a triangle from her rare beef filet. Blood pooled on her plate. “He's something of an enigma.”

Newt and Tuck spoke as one. “Bode?”

Comfort looked up from her plate in surprise, and her glance darted between them. “Well, yes.”

Newt just shook his head. “Beau DeLong is the most straightforward, no nonsense, has your back in a fight gentleman I know. I'd include Tuck here, but we all know he's not strictly a gentleman. Bode is.”

“I've never heard you say this before.”

“Because we don't talk about Bode at this table. It's always been Bram this or Bram that.”

“Still is, if you ask me,” Tucker said. “And I, for one, could stand to hear a bit more about Bode.”

Comfort felt his expectant gaze rest on her and wondered what she could say. Before her face colored with the memory of Bode's mouth on hers, she said, “Did he tell you about the
Alexandra Queen
?”

“Nothing except that it's the name you chose for a future ship in the Black Crowne fleet.”

She was disappointed that Bode hadn't told them more. She tried not to imagine what they had talked about in Newt and Tuck's office. Bode had occupied slightly more than a half hour of their time, a lengthy conversation by their standards.

“It's an iron paddle steamer,” she said, and she went on to tell them everything she remembered about the design, right down to the location of the donkey boilers fore and aft of the combustion chambers.

“Impressive,” Newt said.

Comfort knew better than to suppose he was referring to her memory. Except as it concerned her past, he was used to her uncanny recall. He was talking about Bode's design.

Tuck regarded Comfort with heightened interest. “How big would you say the paddle wheels are?”

She told him the dimensions she'd seen scribbled around Bode's more detailed cross-section drawing.

“That'd be something, wouldn't you say, Newt?”

“It would be,” he agreed. “There'd be no lingering in the Doldrums on a ship like that.” He asked Comfort, “And you think it would be fit for cargo
and
passengers?”

“I counted thirty-two cabins and a lounge in the fore and aft.”

“Berths for the crew? Staterooms?”

“All of that.”

Newt removed the napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth. “He's not designing her strictly for the China run. He's thinking New York to London or Paris, and New York to San Francisco.” He crumpled the napkin and tossed it on his empty plate. “He's going to compete with the railroads for the cross-country traffic and offer luxury that isn't available on the trains. As for the Atlantic and Pacific crossings, a ship like that will own the sea. He'll be able to move cargo at speeds no one else is reaching right now.”

“Like I was saying,” said Tuck. “There's nothing not to admire about Beau DeLong.”

That wasn't quite what he had said, Comfort recalled, but his sentiment certainly hadn't changed.

“You want to call on him?” Newt asked his partner.

“I think that'd be the prudent thing to do. Of course, if people get wind of a visit, there's liable to be speculation.”

“Invite him to the bank,” said Comfort.

“He won't bring his drawings. It doesn't sound like he's ready to show them. There's a better chance to see them if we go to him.”

Newt rubbed his chin. “Comfort could accompany us. I don't know why, but folks still don't think we discuss business around her. They'll think it has something to do with her engagement.”

Comfort still felt compelled to say, “There is
no
engagement.”

“Oh, yes.
We
understand that, but until all the other parties are on board, we may as well use it to our advantage.”

She sighed, thinking that Alexandra was right about one thing: men had every advantage and women had every consequence.

“You don't want to join us?” asked Tuck.

“No, I do,” she said. “I appreciate the opportunity to watch you and Uncle Newt negotiate. I just wish it were not connected in any way to the DeLongs.”

“I understand, but I don't know that there's another owner or manager in any industry that would discuss business with you in the room, let alone at the table. Newt's sisters don't think we did right by letting you join the bank, but I don't know what else we could have done, since you're about as necessary as gravy is to biscuits.”

“As gravy is to biscuits?” Newt said before Comfort could comment. “That's the best you can do?”

Tuck shrugged. “You try to say something pretty.”

“You're as necessary as sunshine is to flowers.”

Tuck snorted. “Now you're sayin' we're flowers. If I had my druthers, I druther be a biscuit.”

“And I druther be a tea cart, but that's not going to happen.”

“A tea cart? Now what kind of fool thing is that to say?”

Realizing this exchange could go on for some time, Comfort quietly excused herself from the table and retired to her room. Newt and Tuck wouldn't miss her until they needed her to settle their argument. She was as necessary as a judge was to lawyers.

 

 

Bode saw Bram eyeing the laudanum. He leaned forward and pushed it to the far edge of the nightstand, well outside of his brother's reach.

“That was cruel,” Bram said. “Give it to me.”

Ignoring him, Bode sat back in his chair, stretched his legs, and hooked his heels on the bed frame. “I am painfully short of patience myself,” he said. “It will go better for you if you answer my questions instead of exhausting yourself trying to get around them. Suppose we begin again, and you tell me what's so damn important that you need the pretense of an engagement to make it happen.”

Frustrated, Bram's head thudded softly against the smooth walnut headboard. Not once, or twice, but three times he banged it against the wood. “You have it all wrong, Bode, not that I anticipate you'll accept that. You can't be wrong. Not the omniscient Beauregard DeLong. You put things right. You don't make mistakes. You don't stumble or hesitate. You actually expect the seas to part for you, and damned if they don't.”

“Careful, Bram, you'll make my head swell to a size that won't easily fit through your door. Then you'll be stuck with me.”

Closing his eyes, Bram groaned. “Leave me be. I don't think there's anything I can say that will satisfy you.”

“The truth will satisfy.”

“I told you the truth. I love Comfort. I want to marry her. She's turned down five proposals, Bode. Five. I know she's in love with me, but she doesn't trust that it's a feeling I return.” He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “So I resorted to manipulating her into accepting an engagement of eight weeks. Until I broke my leg and ended up confined to this room, I was reasonably confident that I'd negotiated enough time to turn her thinking in favor of ending the farce and making it fact.”

“You really believe her acceptance was inevitable.”

“Yes.”

“And your broken leg accounts for your failure.”

“A setback,” Bram said. “Not a failure. I still have a few weeks left to change her mind.”

Bode eyed the weights that kept Bram's leg in traction. “How will you accomplish that from your bed?”

“I can't. Not properly. That's why I need you.”

Bode was sure he didn't want to hear this, but walking away now was out of the question. “All right,” he said, his gaze sharp on Bram's. “Why do you think you need me?”

“I need someone to be my eyes and ears . . . and speak on my behalf.”

“You want me to court her.”

“After a fashion, I suppose. You'll tread carefully, of course, because you have to sway her thinking in my favor.”

Bode said nothing as he turned this conversation over in his mind. It was as incredible upon review as it had been hearing it the first time. “Do you know her at all, Bram?”

“We've been friends since her come-out.”

“I understand that, but I'm asking if you know her?” He watched Bram's fine looks cloud with confusion, and he had his answer. “That's what I thought.”

“But I didn't say anything.”

“I know that, too.” Aware that he was almost as fascinated by Bram's suggestion as he was dismayed by it, Bode could only shake his head.

“So you won't help me?”

“Help you? I'm not sure I even believe you.” Blowing out a deep breath, he plowed his fingers through his hair. “I know. That's been your argument all along. I don't know how to get around it.”

“Speak to Mother. She knows how I feel about Comfort.”

“She knows what you tell her, and maybe she believes half of it. That's always been a question in my mind. In fact, I just left her. She was adamant about wanting to see you and Miss Kennedy married. She told me Miss Kennedy is having doubts. Doubts. That's the word she used.”

“What would you have her say?”

“That Miss Kennedy wants nothing at all to do with an engagement, with a marriage, and if you don't tread carefully, Bram, with a friendship.”

“Why would you think that?”

Frustrated, his voice approximated a growl. “Because that's what Comfort told her. For God's sake, Bram, it's what she told me, and I believe it's what she told you as well. What I can't account for is why neither you nor Alexandra listen to her.”

Bram's mouth twisted in a smirk. When Bode referred to their mother by her Christian name, he was preparing to stand toe to toe with her, and family was no longer a consideration. “I can't speak for Mother,” he said, with a slight but detectable emphasis on the relationship, “but I listened to what Comfort had to say. I just didn't believe her. You should be familiar with how that turns out. It's exactly the same for us.”

To keep from wiping the smirk from Bram's face, Bode made a steeple of his fingers and rested his chin on the tips. “You're not in trouble, then.”

“In trouble? Oh, you've come round to that again. I don't know what sort of trouble I could be in that an engagement would get me out of, so I can't explain how you conceived that idea, but it's just not true. There's nothing occupying my mind except getting Comfort to change hers.”

“I hope you're not lying to me, Bram.”

“I'm lying right here, Bode. In bed.”

There it was, Bode thought, the grin that he kept in reserve and Bram used to punctuate a sentence. It might have been his grin first, but Bram had perfected it. “Newton Prescott and Tucker Jones made an appointment last week to see me at Black Crowne on Wednesday afternoon. Miss Kennedy will accompany them.”

“That's good. You can talk to her.”

“I'm certain I will talk to her, but not about you. I'm going to throw my hat in the ring, Bram. I thought it was fair to let you know.”

“Throw your hat in the ring? Fight me for her, you mean?” He looked down at himself and then at Bode. “How is that fair?”

“I hope it won't come to a fight. I recognize you're at a disadvantage, but I know you're not helpless. You never are.”

Bram pushed himself as upright as he was able. “She won't have you, Bode. You scare her. You always have. It can't have escaped your notice that when you walk into a room, she walks out.”

“Oh, I've noticed.” Bode dropped his feet to the floor and rose from his chair. Favoring his brother with a faint but consciously shrewd smile, he buttoned his jacket. “You're so used to women showing interest in a particular and obvious way that you don't know that some of them reveal it in another.”