Unveiled (6 page)

“I see,” Christopher said, his smile deepening when she finally managed to stop laughing. “Then it wasn’t my proposal you were rejecting, just the manner in which it was offered.”

“I didn’t say that,” Katie responded quickly. There was something in the way he looked at her, with a devilish kind of interest, that made her uneasy. “I have to admit, though, that I’m not used to men asking me to marry them after one dance. And in spite of the desperate nature of my predicament, I am not in such dire straits that I would agree to a proposal, though I appreciate your kindness.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Christopher nodded, turning toward her. He didn’t miss the emphasis on the word “kindness,” and he had to stop himself from laughing with her. Instead he spoke in a grave tone. “I could get down on one knee—would that make it acceptable?”

Katie gasped when he did exactly that, then clasped her hand in his with an earnest expression on his face. Horrified, she glanced toward the window, trying to retrieve her hand while he held on to it tightly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, her brogue deepening. “Do you want someone to see you?”

“I can’t help it,” he protested, gazing up at her with feigned devotion. “Ever since I met you tonight, I knew there could never be anyone else. Dare I say it? I think I’m in 1—”

“Get up!” Katie hauled him to his feet and snatched back her hand. Margaret Chester peered out through the lace curtains and Katie smiled at her and waved, indicating the cool night air as the reason for their presence on the porch. Margaret nodded, then closed the curtains with a knowing expression.

“Now you’ve done it,” Christopher said. “You’ve drawn the attention of the most notorious gossip in town. Now you’ll have to marry me to avoid another scandal. When would you like to set the date—I’ve always liked winter weddings, don’t you?”

Katie stared at him, aghast. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth! Now, if you will get out of my way, I would like to rejoin the party.”

“Then you leave me no choice, Miss Pemberton.” Katie tried to pull past him, but he caught her hand once more and held her firmly. “I will have to give in and court you. I really thought that since we were two responsible, mature adults, we could skip such formalities, but I see that such is not the case. I am disappointed, however. I thought here is finally a woman who’s not afraid to break tradition, who knows her own mind and goes after what she wants. Now I’ll have to convince you in the old-fashioned way. I suppose it would stop the gossips.”

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” Katie said in wonder. “Were you always such a gentleman? Or did it come by degrees?”

He laughed then, throwing back his head and chuckling with such masculine mirth that had she been in another frame of mind, Katie would have laughed with him. “Miss Pemberton, I assure you I am one hundred percent sane. I will call on you tomorrow and bring you—what is it that’s acceptable? Candy or flowers, I believe?”

“You can go straight to the devil.” Katie’s eyes flashed and she pulled hard, trying to break away from him. This time he let her, and as she stormed into the house he grinned, watching the swish of her skirts and the gleam of her glossy hair.

She was everything he’d hoped she’d be and more. Fan Pemberton promised intelligence, passion, a sense of humor, and a bit of mystery. He frowned as he recalled her accent, growing deeper when she got angry. And “go to the devil”? That was hardly a phrase a wealthy lady would use. For all her appearance of propriety, Fan Pemberton was ten times more interesting than her prim and proper counterparts. She was a treasure of contradictions, one that promised to endlessly baffle him, frustrate him, and tease him.

Her violent objection to his proposal didn’t daunt him in the least. If anything, he was more determined than ever to win her. Marriage to Fan Pemberton was the perfect solution.

To both their problems.

“Are you bathing today, dear?” Ella Pemberton said when Katie descended the stairs, clad in a candy-striped bathing costume and robe. Ella, seated in the parlor playing solitaire, gave Katie a fond smile.

Pulling the wrapper more closely around her, Katie grinned mischievously. “This is a lot cooler than the petticoats. I think I’ll find an excuse to go bathing every day.”

“Humph.” Eileen plunked down the tea tray with disapproval, making more noise than the action merited. Ella glanced at her from her cards, one eyebrow raised. “Looks scandalous to me,” the maid remarked.

“Nonsense,” Ella said firmly. “It’s what all the other young ladies are wearing, and Fan needs to be up on the latest styles. Who are you going with?”

“Margaret Chester, Mary and Nellie Mitchell. They are sending their carriage around for me.”

“That’s so nice,” Ella said, ignoring Eileen’s scowls. “They are sweet young ladies and can help you meet a lot of other friends, though it doesn’t appear you’ll need their assistance. Another bouquet arrived for you this morning.”

Katie grimaced as she glanced toward the array of flowers and dozens of boxes of candy that graced the parlor table. “Mr. Scott?”

Eileen nodded, showing her the latest offering, a pretty bundle of daisies. “That man must be addled, sending you all these things. If he only knew—”

“I think it’s kind,” Ella said with a twinkle. “He is very handsome, you know, and charming.”

“So are snakes,” Katie said, wrinkling her nose. “He is obnoxious, overbearing, has the manners of a tomcat…”

“Really?” Ella smiled pleasantly. “I thought him rather nice. And he is certainly taken with you, miss. He’s sent something every day. Either you’ll have to marry that man or open a flower shop.”

Katie shrugged, but couldn’t resist a glance at the flowers. They were lovely, and she had to admire his determination. In spite of the extremely negative impression he’d made on her that night at the Drexels’ party, he was certainly going out of his way to redeem himself. But then she remembered him laughingly saying he’d go through with a courtship, as if the ending were already certain. What a conceited and arrogant man!

“And he’s from one of the wealthiest families on the Main Line.” Ella yawned, as if the matter didn’t concern her one way or the other. “They are definitely gentry.”

“And, like most gentry, know the difference between a Thoroughbred and a hack horse,” Eileen said pointedly.

“You talk such nonsense these days, Eileen,” Ella said sharply. “One would think you’re addled instead of me. Have a good time, child.” She smiled as the carriage rolled up.

Katie was glad to escape. Christopher Scott was not a subject she cared to discuss. Now or ever.

The coach looked like a flower cart, crammed with girls of varied ages and sizes, all of them garbed in the daring new bathing costumes that were similar to Katie’s. Katie joined them, carrying with her some towels and a brush. After tossing them into the center of the floor, she sat beside Bertrice Merriweather. She and Bertrice had quickly become good friends in the past few weeks. With her appealing blond looks and large blue eyes, Bertrice had her own share of admirers, and she appreciated Katie’s wit and good humor. Katie found Bertrice sweet and unfailingly kind.

The Misses Mitchell were another story. Jealous of Katie’s attention from Christopher, they deliberately shunned her until Bertrice persuaded them otherwise. Now they tolerated her, but were far from friendly, while Margaret was downright vicious.

Having spread the rumor about the scandal, Margaret made sure everyone knew about Katie’s indiscretion with Christopher on the porch. Irrationally insecure, Margaret was only happy when she was the center of attention, no matter how that was accomplished. Since Fan was under the protection of the Misses Chandler, she had to be careful, but Margaret was used to such complications. Always appearing kind, she nevertheless knew how to cause a great deal of trouble and usually did.

It was Margaret who commented first on Katie’s costume. “I’m so glad you got something appropriate to wear,” she said sweetly, though her voice was filled with venom. “That outfit you had last week was positively ancient.”

Katie smiled, though she had to fight her Irish instincts and not punch the girl. “Much of my clothing was not appropriate for this climate. I was out west, you know—there wasn’t much reason for a bathing costume among the cows.”

The other girls broke into laughter and began teasing Margaret. “Did you think she’d be swimming in some water hole?”

“There isn’t exactly an ocean out in the desert!”

“Margaret missed geography—she was too busy making eyes at Willie Todd!”

All of the girls dissolved into laughter again, but Katie didn’t miss the flash of anger in Margaret’s eyes, which was directed at her. Katie gave her a huge smile, which only infuriated the girl more. Thankfully the coach pulled up to the beach and the girls piled out, then raced to the water.

The surf was a brilliant blue green, the water so clear that one could easily see the sand. There had been a storm the previous night, and the beach was lined with seashells of every imaginable shape and hue. Seaweed floated through the water like a mermaid’s tresses, waving gently with the ebb and flow of the sea, while starfish glided through the surf like fallen angels. It was beautiful, restless, and exhilarating. It was also freezing.

The girls laughingly ran into the waves, then shrieked as the cold water plastered their swimming costumes to their bodies. Nellie Mitchell scooped up a handful of water and doused Katie, who quickly returned the favor. A water fight broke out until all of them were soaked, then they fled to the beach to towel themselves dry.

A gull cried overhead and sandpipers ran toward the waves, their little feet scampering comically. Katie sat on her towel as the other girls joined her, talking quietly or dozing in the warm sun. She couldn’t stop the tightness in her throat as she envisioned her six-year-old son, running through the waves, laughing and playing in the ocean. God, he would love this. She missed him so much, and even knowing he was well cared for didn’t stop the ache in her heart as she realized that he’d never know this life, never know anything but pain and hard work. Why was it that some people had so much and others so little?

She remembered asking her father when she was little and had seen a fancy carriage passing by, filled with beautiful ladies in silk dresses. Seamus O’Connor grew quiet then, staring at his little daughter dressed in frayed cotton, her feet bare, knowing she would never have such a dress. He got roaring drunk that night and sang “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” outside the mayor’s house. Katie always knew that the two events were connected, but it was something they never talked about.

May you be at peace, Pa, she thought. A tear started in her eyes and stung the back of her throat as she envisioned the run-down area of Philadelphia, the lines of laundry stretching from one dingy row house to another, the broken piles of wood from dilapidated buildings that filled the alleys and provided homes to dozens of rats, the tin washtubs that hung on the outside of the walls, waiting for a weekly bath.

There was one lamp on the street one light that drew people like moths to a flame and illuminated the gloomy alleyway. When the first star appeared, she would sit there with her child, hearing the cacophony of voices, the passionate Italian marketers hawking their wares, the pugnacious Irish who were always ready for a joke or a brawl, the guttural German accents that as the night progressed, grew softer with beer. It was their one escape from an existence that offered no others.

Ryan O’Connor, her brother, couldn’t take it anymore and disappeared out west in search of gold. Moira, her aunt, worked in the kitchens of the wealthy. At night, she would drink raucously and dress up in her one good gown and insist she was Lillie Langtry. Her mother took in laundry, struggling to see in the dim light. She was old well before her time, and Katie saw herself in Catherine’s webbed face and lifeless eyes….

And Katie hated it. When John Sweeney approached her, with his cocksure charm and handsome face, she couldn’t have resisted him any more than she could have resisted a twenty-dollar gold piece lying in the street. He had plans, plans that would take them away from all this. The dashing Irishman with the devil’s own wit made her believe. She knew it was wrong, but when he touched her hair, her face and lips, she no longer cared.

This time she couldn’t hide the sniffle that choked her. It had all been lies. God, she had been such a fool. He had left her, in spite of his words, in spite of everything that had passed between them. He had used her, then discarded her like an old rag. Even when he learned of his child, he hadn’t come back, hadn’t tried to help her, hadn’t even come to see his own son. Ah, but she learned, even if it was the hard way. She didn’t have anything else to do with men, and they didn’t have anything to do with her. She was Irish, poor, had a child, and was alone. She could expect nothing else.

Until now. Somehow fate had thrown gold in her direction, and for as long as it lasted, she, Katie O’Connor, was Frances Pemberton. She sensed something good would come of this, that she would find a way to help her family, and hope for her son. Perhaps she really wasn’t such a bad person…maybe God had forgiven her after all.

A noise broke her thoughts and she glanced up, quickly wiping a tear. Several young men were approaching, dressed in hunting pants and carrying rifles. It was common sport among the gentry to shoot at the little sand snipes, and it seemed that the gentlemen had been occupied doing that when they stumbled along this beach.