Prince Charming (21 page)

“What about husbands?”

—William Shakespeare,
Two Gentlemen of Verona

 

 

 

 

T
he man had a warped sense of humor. It took Taylor a minute to understand what he was suggesting. She didn't get angry. Just irritated.

“I don't have any fear of being accosted by you, Mr. Ross. Should I?”

“Taylor . . .”

He said her name in a warning tone of voice. “Yes?” she replied.

“I'll be right back. Don't wander.”

He squeezed her shoulders until she gave her agreement. Then he went back over to the front desk. She watched as he handed a key to one of the hotel's staff. He leaned forward and spoke to the man, then turned around and walked back to her.

“We're staying in the same room.”

Her eyes widened. Mr. Ross didn't look at all happy about the arrangement. She shook her head. “You weren't able to secure a room of your own?”

“I gave it back.”

“Why?”

“Because you draw a crowd.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind. We're married now and we've already slept in the same bed.”

“But Mr. Ross . . .”

“Don't argue with me.”

He grabbed hold of her hand and turned to walk over to her friend. He kept right on frowning until he reached Victoria. He smiled at her. He let go of Taylor and assisted Victoria to her feet.

“Shall we go upstairs and get you settled in your room?” he asked, his voice every bit as pleasant as a summer's breeze.

“Then you were able to secure a room for me?” Victoria asked. “There were so many gentlemen in the lobby I thought all the rooms must surely be taken.”

The worried expression on her face told Taylor she'd obviously been sitting there fretting about their sleeping arrangements. Taylor felt terrible. Her new friend wouldn't have worried if she'd stayed by her side to soothe her fears. In her delicate condition, she shouldn't be worrying about anything. Expectant mothers needed a tranquil environment. They needed rest, too. Poor Victoria looked exhausted.

Taylor stepped forward to apologize. “I've been very thoughtless,” she said. “I should have stayed with you. I'm sorry, Victoria.”

“I was quite all right,” Victoria replied, embarrassed over the attention she was getting. “Several gentlemen tried to keep me company, but I sent them on their way. Will you tell me what was going on over there? Why were all those men cheering?”

“The porter's waiting,” Lucas announced. “Taylor will explain later. Shall we go upstairs?”

His impatience was apparent. He glanced back over his shoulder several times on the way up the stairs to the gallery level of the hotel, and Taylor thought he was anxious to get away from his admirers.

Their rooms were on the fourth floor. Victoria's bedroom was at one end of a long, winding corridor, and Lucas and Taylor's room was at the opposite end. Lucas left Taylor to help Victoria with her unpacking and went with the porter down to their rooms to see to the deposit of their luggage. The trunks would be left in storage in the hotel's basement for safekeeping until they departed.

Victoria's room had been painted a pale lemon yellow that Taylor declared was very soothing on the eyes. It wasn't a large room, but it was elegantly appointed. The furniture was a dark, polished cherry wood. Taylor couldn't resist trailing her fingers over the exquisite detail on the front of the wardrobe. The craftsman must have spent months carving the delicate design of leaves on the front of both the dresser and the wardrobe.

While she hung up Victoria's dresses, her friend went to look out the window.

“I didn't realize how sophisticated Boston was,” she remarked. “It's every bit as modern as London, isn't it?”

“I suppose it is,” Taylor agreed. “There's a laundry downstairs, Victoria. If you need anything washed and pressed, the hotel staff boasts they will have it back to you in less than a day. Madam told me in the literature she read that most of the better hotels have steam laundries attached and that businessmen never have to bring more than a single shirt when they travel. And do you know why?” she asked. “The linen is washed in a machine that actually churns. It's moved about by steam, you see, and wrung out by a strange method called centrifugal force. The shirts are dried by currents of hot air. God's truth, they can be washed, dried, and ironed in just a few minutes. Isn't that amazing?”

Victoria didn't answer her. Taylor had been so occupied unpacking her friend's clothing, she hadn't noticed how withdrawn Victoria had become. When she didn't get an answer or a comment about the marvel of steam laundries, she turned to look at her friend. Victoria was sitting on the side of her double bed. Her hands were folded in her lap and her head was bent so low, her chin was all but touching her chest. She looked dejected and horribly sad.

Taylor immediately stopped what she was doing and went over to stand in front of her friend.

“Is something worrying you?” she asked.

“No.”

She gave her answer in a soft whisper. She sounded pathetic. Taylor frowned with concern. Something was definitely wrong all right, and she was determined to find out what it was.

“Are you ill?” she asked, her worry obvious in her voice.

“No.”

Taylor stared down at her friend for a long minute. She wanted Victoria to tell her what was wrong. She didn't want to nag the problem out of her. Well-bred young ladies didn't pry, and they never, ever nagged. It was, in Madam's estimation, the eleventh commandment.

“Would you like to rest before dining?”

“I suppose I would.”

“Are you hungry now?”

“I suppose I am.”

Taylor held onto her patience. She sat down on the side of the bed next to Victoria, then folded her hands in her lap and simply waited for her friend to tell her what was bothering her.

She was thoroughly confused by Victoria's sudden bout of timidity. They had spent a good deal of time together on the ship, almost every afternoon in fact. While the more seasoned travelers huddled around the funnel to smoke and share stories about their past voyages or played chess and backgammon in the gaming salon and the younger, more energetic men played rowdy games of shuffleboard up on deck to pass the time, she and Victoria stayed closeted inside the ship's library and talked about every subject known to man. They solved most of the world's considerable problems and a few of their own. Victoria told Taylor all about her family, a little about the man who had betrayed her, though she stubbornly insisted on never revealing his name, and she also talked about her dreams and her hopes. Taylor never talked about herself. She did, however, tell Victoria dozens of stories she'd read about the American wilderness. The only hope she admitted to harboring was that she might one day meet a real mountain man.

Because of the storms, the voyage had taken longer than anticipated. They were on the ship a full twelve days, and in all that time, Victoria hadn't ever been shy or reserved with her. Taylor believed her friend had confided all her secrets. This sudden change in her disposition worried her. Perhaps there was one more secret that needed telling.

Long minutes passed in silence. Taylor decided then she'd waited long enough. Victoria looked miserable. Taylor reached over and patted her hand. She was determined to get to the heart of the problem so she could help her solve it.

“Is there something more you haven't told me? Something that has you fretting now?”

“No.”

Taylor let out a loud sigh. “You're going to make me do it, aren't you?” she announced in a dramatic tone of voice.

Victoria finally looked at her. Taylor noticed she had tears in her eyes.

“Do what?” Victoria asked, intrigued by Taylor's remark in spite of her misery.

“You're going to make me nag you until you tell me what's bothering you.”

Victoria managed a weak smile. Taylor sounded pitiful. “I take it you don't like to nag,” she replied. The smile had moved into her voice.

“I love to nag,” Taylor confessed. “I just know I shouldn't. Now tell me what the problem is, please. I want to help.”

Victoria burst into tears. “‘A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue,'” she whispered.

Taylor rolled her eyes heavenward. Victoria didn't notice her exasperation. She was fully occupied staring down at her hands.

She was quoting Shakespeare again. It seemed to be a peculiar trait of hers, Taylor decided, because whenever she became upset, she hid behind the famous playwright's poetic words.

“In other words, you're having difficulty telling me what's wrong,” Taylor interpreted. “Is that right?”

Victoria nodded.

“Just spill it out. We cannot solve this problem until you name it.”

“I can't pay for this lodging.”

“Well, of course, you can't pay,” Taylor replied. “I realize that. I'm going to . . .”

Victoria interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “I feel like a pauper. Back home I could buy anything I wanted. My parents had accounts with all the fashionable establishments in London. Oh, God, I am a pauper.”

She wailed out the last of her worry. Taylor patted her hand sympathetically. Then she stood up and began to pace around the room. She considered the problem for several minutes before coming up with what she believed was a sound solution.

“You will only be a pauper until tomorrow.”

Her statement gained Victoria's full attention. She mopped at the corners of her eyes with the handkerchief Taylor handed her and then demanded to know what in heaven's name she meant by that odd remark.

“How can I be a pauper today and not tomorrow?”

“Madam used to tell me that the best way to understand how someone feels is to try to put yourself in the other person's shoes. I know I wouldn't like to be . . .”

“Pregnant?” Victoria supplied.

She was nodding before Taylor could answer, so certain was she of her friend's conclusion.

Taylor surprised her by shaking her head. “That isn't what I was going to say,” she explained. “But as a matter of fact, I would very much like to be pregnant some day. If you think about it, in a different light, of course, and put aside just for the moment all the reasons why you wish you weren't carrying . . .”

“Yes?” Victoria asked when Taylor hesitated.

It was difficult for Taylor to put into words the emotions she was feeling. “It's a blessing,” she finally blurted out. “And a miracle. It truly is. You have a precious life growing inside you. Think about that, Victoria. An innocent new life. I envy you.”

Victoria's hand went to rest on her stomach. “I've never even held a baby in my arms,” she confessed.

“You're going to be a wonderful mother,” Taylor predicted.

“It's easy enough for you to talk about wanting to be pregnant. You're married and . . . why do you think I'll be a wonderful mother?”

“Because you're kind and loving and thoughtful.”

Victoria started to blush. “Enough flattery,” she demanded. “You'll fill my head with pride and then I won't be fit to live with.”

Taylor smiled. She was pleased to see her friend was in a more cheerful frame of mind. She decided to change the subject back to the issue of finances.

“What I was going to say a minute ago is this,” she began again. “I know I wouldn't like to feel like a pauper, and so, tomorrow, when I meet with Madam's bankers, I'll transfer funds into an account for you. By early afternoon, you'll be a completely independent woman.”

Victoria was shaking her head before Taylor finished explaining her plan of action. “I cannot accept charity. It wouldn't be right,” she protested vehemently.

Tears were already welling up in her eyes again. How she could laugh one minute and cry the next was a mystery to Taylor. She thought that perhaps her friend's delicate condition made her more emotional. If that were true, it was only a temporary condition. Taylor had been raised never to show her feelings. It wasn't considered ladylike to laugh loudly in public, and weeping was always frowned upon, regardless of the circumstances. Dealing with someone who constantly broke that sacred rule was difficult. “I did promise I would help you,” she reminded her friend.

“And you have helped,” Victoria insisted. “You've been a very good friend to me.”