Unveiled (4 page)

“And I would hate to think they couldn’t forget the rumor about your nephew, Alice, concerning the little problem he had in surgery. I know common information blamed that man’s death last year on a medication, but I understood it was from Charles’s drinking. You see, we both employed the same butler. Your nephew is a prominent physician with a future, especially now that he’s a teetotaler. But if word got out—”

“You wouldn’t!” Alice gasped.

Ella shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t, just as I know you wouldn’t refuse to help Fan. She never ran away with any man. Fan was ill while she was away visiting, and now has returned. I know you will both do everything within your power to see her reinstated.”

The two women placed their cups down so hard Katie thought the china would break. She stared at Ella Pemberton in amazement. For a woman who was addled, she had a remarkable memory when it suited her, and she certainly handled these two busybodies perfectly. Katie wanted to cheer for her. Instead she got immense pleasure from the Misses Chandlers’ discomfort.

Martha recovered first “I’m so glad we’ve had this little talk. You are perfectly right Ella. Fan, would you care to come to a reception tomorrow afternoon? I can quietly invite a few of the best people and begin to reinstate you into our midst”

“And tea on Sunday,” Alice added. “I know everyone will want to see you when I explain things.”

Katie grinned. “I would be delighted.” If she had any misgivings about continuing the charade, they were vanquished. She owed it to Fan, and to women everywhere. And if it meant a little deception, so what? She was giving an elderly woman immense pleasure, and herself the opportunity of a lifetime. After all, Fan traveled in circles Katie O’Connor would never have access to. There was a long summer ahead filled with parties, balls, teas, and rich men….

And for however long it lasted, she was Frances Pemberton. Maybe the luck of the Irish hadn’t deserted her after all.

This is totally ridiculous.
Christopher ruffled his hand through his hair and stared out the window of the train car, watching the open New Jersey countryside roll by. That a grown man would be on an expedition like this was almost unthinkable, and for himself it was doubly embarrassing.

“Stop scowling, Christopher,” Aunt Eunice said without glancing up from her novel. “It is unseemly, and it won’t help matters.”

Christopher sent her a look betraying his lack of appreciation. “Well, how am I supposed to feel? We’re going to Cape May in the hopes of landing a rich debutante for my wife. Do you know what that makes me?”

Eunice closed the book firmly and gave her nephew a steady stare. “Practical, is what it makes you. We’ve been through all this before. This is your best option. Cape May is a wonderful place to look for a wife. All of the wealthiest women, daughters of railroad executives, merchants, and builders, come here for the summer. You have every opportunity to meet them, wine and dine them, and under a starlit sky, come to an understanding. With the help of the ocean breezes, the balmy air, the sun-drenched days, even you can make a go of it.”

“That’s not the point.” Christopher glowered. “I’ve had my share of success with women and you know it. What I am referring to is the reason behind it. This time I’m not courting someone because I care for her company or because I find her pretty. Now it’s for her bank account.”

“It is amazing how noble we get when confronted with the truth,” Aunt Eunice remarked. “Do you really think your brethren, the dashing Philadelphia Main Liners, are not taking financial matters into consideration when choosing a wife? When was the last time one of your college friends married a poor woman? Or one without background? And they all expect a dowry.” Eunice smiled as Christopher scowled again. “Grow up, my boy, and face reality. You are only doing the exact same thing.”

“You seem to have forgotten one small detail,” Christopher said bluntly. “To court a woman means money. I’ll need clothes, funds for outings, rent for the house, money to give parties…it will require a considerable investment. And my own account is depleted.”

“I know,” Aunt Eunice said wisely. “I’ve already taken care of that. I sold some of the paintings and can invest in you through the summer. Don’t give me that look, we have no choice. But I plan to see my money back. Like any other investment, I want to recoup the capital plus a dividend.” Giving him a charitable smile, Aunt Eunice continued. “Do you think you can manage your part?”

“Yes.” Christopher glared, then turned to look once more at the vacant countryside. Already he missed the city, with its fine wines, its good restaurants, tall buildings, and excitement. Cape May was nothing more than a sleepy shore town, bereft of anything but cottages and debutantes. He and his friends, the dashing socialites of the city, avoided the place like the plague. He’d had no time for young, inexperienced girls who wanted to be gently courted with poetry and nosegays. The debutantes bored him to death, the spoiled daughters of rich men who had never taken the time to develop character. He’d spent his childhood with them, gone to school with them, met them at teas and parties. He found their company oddly unfulfilling and didn’t have the slightest idea why.

And now he had to marry one. He knew he’d have to someday; it was inevitable. A man of his position in society was expected to marry, and to a woman of the same standing. Aunt Eunice was right. It was his only choice, and this was the ideal place to find a wife.

But he didn’t have to like it.

T
HREE

^“
G
od, how I despise these things.” Christopher swallowed his brandy in one smooth gulp while his companion chuckled.

“Come now, the party isn’t that bad.” Charles Pepper grinned, indicating the young people gathering around the piano. “I see one or two girls worth making the acquaintance of, and the dinner was well done. You’re making it intolerable.”

“No, but it’s about to get there now,” Christopher said dryly as an elderly matron approached, obviously seeing them as prime candidates for her unwed daughters. Christopher winced. He had been relieved to find that an old college friend was in town on the same mission, and that he would have some tolerable company during his search for an eligible wife. Handsome and kind, Charles had no trouble attracting females, and made Christopher’s job that much easier. Still, Charles couldn’t make up for the hell he’d been through in the past week.

They were guests at the Drexels’ that evening for a dinner party. Since he’d arrived at Cape May, Christopher had been to several dinners and balls just like this one, paying court to the young ladies in hopes of finding one who didn’t have him yawning by ten-thirty. So far he’d been dismally unsuccessful, but word had gotten out that he, Christopher Scott of the Philadelphia Scotts, was available. Every mother with marriageable daughters found him with all the accuracy of a homing pigeon. Holding his brandy glass as if for protection, he forced a smile as the woman cornered him.

“Mr. Scott and Mr. Pepper.” Mrs. Mitchell inclined her head as the two young men acknowledged her presence. She gave them a warm smile, then glanced innocently toward the young women. “Have you met everyone here? I know at dinner, conversation is sometimes difficult.”

“I believe we have,” Charles answered immediately. “They are all charming, especially your daughters. Mary and Nellie, I believe?”

“Why, yes,” Mrs. Mitchell said, simpering and turning her attention to Christopher. “Did I mention that Mary is accomplished on the piano? And that Nellie can sing very sweetly?”

“Yes, you did. Several times at dinner,” Christopher said bluntly, ignoring Charles’s soft cough. “I am sure your daughters are very talented,” he amended, catching the sharp look Charles gave him.

“They are that,” Mrs. Mitchell said, beaming. “I suppose you’d like to dance with one of them later. Might I ask which one you favor?”

Seeing the look on Christopher’s face, Charles interrupted gallantly. “How can he possibly choose, Mrs. Mitchell? They are both lovely and skillful.”

Mrs. Mitchell grinned at him, then gave Christopher a less-than-kind glance. “I do hope you both plan to come to our reception next week. I know the girls are counting on it.”

“I will attend with the same eagerness that brought me here tonight,” Christopher responded. He saw Charles cough again, hiding his laughter, then his companion agreed.

“We both look forward to it.”

“Humph.” Mrs. Mitchell nodded, then stalked away, aware that some devilry was going on, but not quite sure what. As soon as she was out of hearing distance, Charles laughed openly.

“You’ve got to stop that, Chris. You can’t antagonize the mothers and expect to do well with the daughters.”

Christopher frowned. “I know, but have you met them? Her daughters are enough to drive a man to drink. Such silly, vapid females…isn’t there one woman here with some character, one who isn’t afraid to have a real thought? My God, they are like cookie-cutter imitations of women.”

Charles shrugged, glancing toward the crowd. There was some justification for Christopher’s remarks. Born to a life of leisure, the debutantes were not the most interesting women he’d ever met either, but for himself, beauty and a nice disposition were enough. It was Christopher who wanted more, and Charles could understand his difficulty.

“May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” Mrs. Drexel clapped her hands and the murmurs of conversation died. “We’ve persuaded Miss Chester, one of our lovely guests, to entertain us tonight on the piano while Miss Mitchell sings.”

Everyone clapped while Christopher rolled his eyes as if in pain. Charles nudged him as one young lady took a seat at the piano and the other stood before it. The music began softly. Margaret Chester was a decent enough pianist and she managed to get through the first few bars without error. Christopher was just beginning to relax when Nellie Mitchell opened her mouth and began to sing, her voice like nails scraping on a chalkboard.

He wanted to cover his ears, but everyone else in the room listened with polite attention as the girl positively screeched. This was even worse than he’d anticipated. As always, no one reacted negatively. It was considered the height of bad manners to criticize a young lady’s talents. Even Charles was maintaining a polite visage, seemingly oblivious to the girl’s tone. When she tried to hit a high note and her voice broke, Christopher winced, unable to hide his reaction. In desperation, he glanced around the room, searching for an exit.

All of the people were smiling politely; all of them clapped softly and encouraged the young girl to perform once more when the torture finally ended. Miss Mitchell giggled, then launched into a second song that was equally atrocious. Christopher was about to retreat in disgust when a woman caught his attention. Seated in the center of the room, she clapped a handkerchief to her face, her body silently shaking.

She was laughing.

Intrigued, he watched her. Clad in a yellow silk dress with a bit of demure lace at the wrist and throat, she struggled to hide her chuckles while her eyes danced with hilarity.

Who was she? Christopher grinned at her, well aware of her source of amusement. She was next to a dowager, and he saw the elderly woman give her a disapproving look as she discreetly wiped a tear from her face. Raven-haired with a nose that was sprinkled with freckles, she stood out from her blond-haired companions like a rose in a field of daisies, but it was her eyes that captivated him. Brimming with mischief, they betrayed her, revealing the thoughts that the handkerchief would have hidden. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced up, and their eyes met and held for one brief second.

He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. The reaction was instantaneous and bewildering, as potent as the strongest whiskey. Perplexed, he saw the same confusion on her face, replaced a moment later by laughter as Miss Mitchell lost another note. Scolded by the elderly woman again, she obediently turned back, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

The music finally died and the assembly clapped politely. Christopher breathed a sigh of relief as Miss Mitchell departed from the piano and the ladies fought among themselves as to who was next.

“Nellie, why don’t you—”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“Miss Chandler, aren’t you singing?”

“Thank you, but my throat is dry. Why not Miss Pemberton?”

“Yes, Miss Pemberton!”

“No, I couldn’t…”

“Nonsense!”

Christopher had been barely paying attention when he noticed that the woman he’d been admiring was being pressured to sing. She caught his grin as she politely tried to decline. When the women insisted, she didn’t have a choice and took her place at the piano while the others clapped softly.

She looked uneasy, her black hair shining in the gaslight, her nose crinkled as she arranged her dress. Settling back against the wall with his drink, Christopher smiled. At last, entertainment. He didn’t have the faintest idea as to whether or not Miss Pemberton could sing, but he couldn’t wait to find out after her amusement at Miss Mitchell’s expense. She whispered something to Margaret, who gave her an odd look from the piano as she rustled through the sheet music. A few minutes later strains of soft, beautiful music filled the room, and Miss Pemberton’s voice with it.