Invitation to the Dance Page 6

  “I’ve not as yet accepted any invitations outright—” He couldn’t douse that hopeful light in her eyes. “Truly, I can’t bring myself to decline a little luncheon. They’re my favorite kind.”

  She brightened. “Really? That’s so splendid of you. I shall be sure to have a fire in our library so you may lounge there to your heart’s content.”

  “You are a compassionate hostess. Let us see if we can find Mr. Kohlbeck and Mrs. Mayhew.”

  He was remiss, no doubt, in accepting the invitation under false pretenses, but he had the impression Rose Mayhew had never invited a gentleman to luncheon before; and he could not hurt her feelings by turning down such a sweetly offered invitation. Her mother had surely already invited Lord Belcourt, who would be the center of attention. There was no real danger of being found out at a little luncheon, and once that was past, Mr. Nesmith would be on his way back to California.

  With Rose on his arm, Will departed the sanctuary and discovered Charlie wandering outside the ballroom, apparently searching for someone—most likely him, Will realized. Charlie still seemed uncomfortable in the evening clothes, though he looked as respectable as anyone at the party. If the trousers were a quarter inch too short on his six foot frame, the ladies had likely overlooked it. Charlie wasn’t conventionally handsome with his angular chin and an aquiline nose with enough of a crook to suggest it had been broken once, but his looks weren’t entirely ordinary. His thick wavy hair, more russet than brown, he wore short and neat, and his keen gaze was as dark blue as a newborn’s—which was where any suggestion of innocence ended. Will doubted even the devil could have produced a grin as wily.

  “Mr. Kohlbeck appears worried,” Rose remarked as they crossed the wide corridor to the ballroom.

  “If he’s gone about accepting invitations on my behalf, he’d best be.” Though he said it in jest, Will was uneasy with the thought. They could not carry the game much further, and a small part of him was already fretting over his hasty acceptance of Rose’s invitation. If they were found out, it would be his fault; and if the tale got around, a number of people would think less of him for the deception.

  If any of it worried Charlie, he concealed it at their approach. “There you are. I thought you’d gone home.” He grinned as if he were only jesting, too, and bowed to Rose. “Miss Mayhew, I believe your father’s hunting for you. I’d offer to escort you to him, but I’ve lost track of everyone.” He met Will’s gaze, a question in his. “I never even had the chance to talk to Lord Belcourt—”

  “You may on Thursday,” Rose said. “He’s attending our luncheon.”

  “And so are we,” Will clarified before Charlie had the chance to ask.

  The last trace of worry eased from Charlie’s features. “Luncheon on Thursday? Most kind of you, Miss Mayhew.”

  Rose cradled her bouquet in both hands, her gaze lowered. “I’d better go find Papa. Good night,” she said to Will, and even more quietly to Charlie before she slipped away. Charlie was as quiet when he finally spoke, leaning in so Will could hear him.

  “We’re not going to get any sort of interview with crowds around. We’ll have to invite Belcourt to our own tea.”

  Will stared at him in amazement. “Where? My boarding house? It’s barely fit for regular folk.”

  “Mine might do,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Come ’round and see for yourself. We’ll sort out a way to interview Belcourt and have it finished so you can wriggle out of Miss Mayhew’s invitation, if you want.”

  “I would not disappoint her. But I intend to be back on my way to California on Friday, so don’t accept any other invitations.”

  Charlie looked wistful. “A pity, really. So many stories here—”

  Will let out an exasperated breath. “If we carry on any further, we’ll be the story. You can chat with Belcourt. Be happy for that.”

  “Belcourt.” Charlie nodded. “And possibly Knox.”

  “Knox?”

  “Land company promoter,” Charlie said. “He’s sniffing around for investors and he’s already got his claws in Belcourt, from the sound of it.”

  “Belcourt’s buying land here? But—”

  “You thought he was only here to sell a title?” Charlie’s grin had a caustic edge. “Probably not his initial intent, but if he’s losing money on any of Knox’s deals, there’s rescue waiting in the wings.” He sent a glance after the departed Rose. “Then again, if Knox pulls in Mr. Mayhew, his daughter may have to settle for a rich American boy, after all.”

  “Knox is after Mr. Mayhew?” Will had only just met Timothy Mayhew, but the man seemed an honest, kindly sort. He certainly hadn’t been in society long enough to cultivate the unflappable disdain so necessary for survival.

  Something about Charlie’s smile seemed to suggest he knew what Will was thinking. “You should know Belcourt and Mayhew aren’t the only birds in Knox’s sights.”

  That startled Will until the absurdity of the idea took over. “That’s a dry well,” he said with a laugh. “Are you sure about him, though? There must be some promoters who are aboveboard. Money is being made—”

  “In some instances.” Charlie shook his head. “I’ve seen too many of these deals go bad.” His gaze narrowed on Will. “If Knox corners you and starts talking, don’t listen to him. He’s got a quick tongue and no scruples that I could see—”

  Will laughed. “Charlie, I haven’t got the kind of money he’s after.”

  Charlie only shook his head. “You’re the sort who’s got money put by. Especially if you’re going ahead with that marriage nonsense—”

  “Now look here—”

  “Oh, never mind. I don’t mean anything by it. I’m only telling you to step carefully around Isaiah Knox. He’ll talk you out of your money and you’ll lose every penny.”

  “I can take care of myself. I’m not as provincial as you seem to think.”

  Charlie’s grin came blazing back. “Fresh off the ferry and you’re already in with the wrong crowd.”

  “If you’re referring to yourself, yes, I’ll admit that much.” Perplexed by Charlie’s concern for his finances, Will was too weary to make sense of it. “I assure you I will not involve myself with Mr. Knox. In fact…” Will stifled a yawn, then grimaced. “I am going to bid our host good night and go home to bed. I’ve got Sunday supper with Violet’s family tomorrow, so I’ll have to come around on Monday. Where do you want me to meet you?”

  “The old Donnett mansion on Broadway.”

  “Charlie, I’m too tired—”

  “I’m not joking.” Charlie seemed almost sheepish. “That’s where I board.”

  Will hung back on the side of disbelief. “You live with Caroline Donnett.”

  “She takes in boarders. Lonely, I guess.”

  “She knows you’re a reporter?”

  “Of course. Not everyone sees it as a crime against humanity.”

  “I suppose not. But she’s a bit of a recluse, isn’t she? I can’t imagine she’d like the gossip that will follow tea with Belcourt.”

  “Probably not.” Charlie looked deflated. “If she won’t allow it, we’ll have to wrangle an invitation to Belcourt’s hotel room or engage a private dining room at a restaurant. Old Holloway won’t be too keen on the cost—”

  “He’s underwritten this madness so far. Ask Miss Donnett and if she won’t permit us to host a tea, let us just see if we can visit Belcourt at his hotel. Perhaps if he thinks we’ve an interest in the land deal and we’d like to know more…”

  “Oh, no. All that vampire Knox needs is the scent of blood—”

  “For heaven’s sake. I’ll tell Belcourt I want to talk to him alone. That I’m curious but not ready to jump into anything…” Will snorted. “I suppose it’s a little late for that assertion, but sometimes a fellow must make do.”

  Charlie’s smile came back, a surprising sympathy in its shape. “Tough for a fellow who always wants to be prepared.”

  “Certainly when you’re hanging
on the coat-tails of a fellow who never does.”

  Charlie was unfazed. “You had a fine time.”

  In some respects, that was true, but Will wasn’t about to admit it. “Good night, Mr. Kohlbeck.”

  Charlie laughed. “Sweet dreams, Smitty.”

  Chapter Six

  When Hilda tapped at his door, waking him from a sound slumber, Charlie wondered if he’d committed the sin of sleeping through breakfast. Hoping to escape her wrath, he got up with a ready apology on his lips, only to find he was not being called to breakfast. He had a visitor. At seven. On a Monday morning.

  Granted, Will was probably anxious to bring the whole “madness,” as he’d called it, to a quick end, but popping ’round before breakfast was a little much. Going downstairs, Charlie found him settled in the parlor, perched on the most uncomfortable chair in the room. “For God’s sake, Smitty. Please tell me these aren’t the hours you ordinarily keep.”

  Will seemed pensive. “I haven’t slept well in two nights—”

  “And this is your revenge?” Charlie dropped onto the settee and sank back with a yawn. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Miss Donnett, you know. She spends the better part of Sunday in church and…” He smiled faintly. “I don’t. She’d gone to bed by the time I got home last night and she’s not down yet. Can’t you go home for a nap and come back about noon? Or—hell—you can come upstairs with me. I’ve got a sofa you can curl up on.”

  “Charlie, we should forget this idea of a tea and simply call on him at his hotel—”

  “Wait a minute.” Charlie hauled himself up. “Not here. Too many ears.” He glanced toward the dining room door. Hilda was milling around, beyond. Charlie gestured for Will to follow, and led the way into Caroline’s walled back garden, a haven that had long ago broken free of the impositions mankind had placed on it. In the chill morning light, the last hardy bloom of roses looked as sleepy as Charlie felt. “All right. You can chat away…” He yawned again, and as Will took a seat on a mossy stone bench, sat beside him. “No tea?”

  “We can’t keep this up,” Will said. “If I go on pretending to be a relative of Jonathan Nesmith’s, at some point someone will catch on. The scandal after that…” He shook his head. “You may not want to run it at the Herald, but plenty of other papers will be happy to.”

  “Oh, we’d run it.” Charlie dredged up a tired grin. “I’d write it, myself.”

  Will exhaled, a soft, exasperated sound. “Exposure will reflect badly on the Herald, too, you realize.”

  “Not badly enough to get me fired.” Charlie wished he’d slipped on a coat before coming downstairs. But Will, in his wool overcoat, was a respectable substitute against which to lean. “What about Rose Mayhew’s invitation? You said you’d accepted it.”

  The question brought a deeper frown to Will’s glum features. “That was a little hasty, but I couldn’t be unkind. She detests parties as much as I do.”

  Charlie eyed him narrowly. “Is there anything you don’t detest?”

  “Yes, keeping my job.”

  “Well, Holloway wants you to go on with this.”

  “And if it all falls apart, he won’t want to go on with me.”

  “He’s more reasonable than that. He put us up to it, after all. He knows the risks. The only difficulty is—well, if you attend Rose’s party, that will be the end of it. You can’t keep bouncing through everyone’s parlors without inviting a few people into your own.”

  “I don’t intend to keep bouncing through parlors. I mean to attend Rose’s party and let it get about that I’m going back to California. That will be the end of the invitations and the end of this charade. If we can call on Belcourt at the hotel and get your interview there, we will be safely done.”

  “We might try. But Belcourt’s seldom at his hotel, from what I’ve heard, and when he is, he seems to be as surrounded.” Charlie had the uneasy feeling that the chance for a real interview had already passed them by. Folks knew now that Belcourt had changed hotels. Every reporter in town would be bearing down on him. Certainly Palmer, that rat, was sniffing around the Hoffman House’s corridors. “We’d better make an early go of it. If any other reporter sees me at the hotel, our game will be up as quick.”

  “Well, we’ve no place more private to take him. We’ll have to make do.”

  “I might still ask Miss Donnett. She can be an awfully good sport.”

  “Reporters will be following Belcourt around. She won’t like it.”

  “We might find a way to sneak him in. He’d like the respite.”

  “And if we’re found out? Miss Donnett might be dragged into the scandal.”

  “Oh, right.” Charlie sagged against Will’s shoulder and dropped his weary head against the soft wool. “There’s always a private room at Delmonico’s.”

  “For which Mr. Holloway will pay?” Will didn’t appear to mind the leaning. He seemed to be leaning back, just a little, as if the sleepless nights were finally catching up with him. “I think we’ve reached an impasse. Let me go to the hotel on my own and talk to Belcourt—”

  Charlie sat up with a jerk. “I can’t take credit for an interview I had no part of. Anyway, we can’t intrude on Belcourt at this hour, so let me get my coat and we’ll have breakfast somewhere. All right?”

  “No use being cross with me,” Will said mildly. “I’m as stuck as you are.” He stood. “Go back to bed. I’ll come ’round for you at ten.”

  “Well, if you’re going to be irritatingly reasonable about it.” Charlie yawned. “How about eleven?”

  A rustle from above startled him. They’d been so quiet. He hadn’t thought…

  “Mr. Kohlbeck?”

  Before Charlie could grab Will and escape into the parlor, Caroline peered over the thick blanket of ivy on the ledge of her balcony and smiled brightly at him. “There you are. Good morning.”

  He’d never seen her downstairs before nine, but it hadn’t occurred to him she might be up much earlier and occupying herself in her chambers. She was as seldom out on the balcony unless it was warm and sunny. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m sorry I…” He gave an equally startled Will an anxious glance. “This is William Nesmith, Miss Donnett. He works at the paper. Editing.”

  “Does he?” Caroline smiled at Will. “Good morning, Mr. Nesmith. Do forgive me for interrupting your call.”

  “Not at all, Miss Donnett. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Charlie wanted to grin at the unwonted awe in Will’s voice, but he didn’t dare, with Caroline’s eye on him. If she’d overheard much of the conversation, he couldn’t tell it from her demeanor. That was the damnable thing about folks with good manners. One never knew what they were really thinking. “We didn’t mean to disturb you,” Charlie began, but she waved that away.

  “Do come into the parlor, gentlemen. I’ve had Hilda light a fire. You must stay for breakfast, Mr. Nesmith.”

  Will looked hesitantly at Charlie, but manners again won out. “Yes, of course, Miss Donnett. You are very kind.”

  The parlor was blissfully warmer, strengthening Charlie for the rebuke he feared was coming. He didn’t think he’d overstepped so far as to warrant eviction, but landladies were always rather capricious about proprieties, in his experience. Where one of them might overlook flirtations with fellow boarders, the next would boot a fellow just for lounging on the stoop.

  But Caroline fluttered downstairs in morning dress bedecked with tiny embroidered daisies and settled on the threadbare settee like a cheerful butterfly, all smiles. Somewhat reassured, Charlie sat across from her and Will resumed his earlier perch on the straight-backed chair—looking really rather at home in it. He did not seem inclined, however, to initiate the conversation. Charlie was prepared with an apology, but Caroline beat him to it.

  “I hope you’ll forgive my eavesdropping, gentlemen. I didn’t intend it, but once you’d caught my ear…” She seemed almost sheepish. “It’s difficult to step away when one overhears a
kind word about oneself. But I do want to know…” The trace of a frown wrinkled her delicate features. “You’d like to invite Lord Belcourt here? To tea?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charlie heard Will’s uneasy shift and tried not to echo it. “We wanted an interview with him… Well, every reporter in town wants one, but we…” He cleared his throat. “We weren’t quite up front with him about who we are—”

  “We lied,” Will said quietly. “Lord Belcourt believes I’m a relation of Jonathan Nesmith’s, and Charlie is my private secretary. Mr. Holloway—our managing editor—expects we’ll produce the interview, but it necessitates gaining a quiet hour with Lord Belcourt in the proper venue.”

  “I see.” If she was at all perturbed by the lies they’d told, there was no sign of it in the twitch of her lips or the warm sparkle in her eyes. “Well, gentlemen, I should not mind extending Lord Belcourt an invitation to tea. There is one difficulty…”

  Charlie thought there was more than one. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “If I’m to let it be known that Mr. Nesmith is a guest of this house, it cannot be a falsehood. He will have to stay with us until he’s concluded his holiday in New York.”

  She seemed amused by the ridiculousness of the situation; and Charlie couldn’t deny it was ridiculous. Will looked far less amused.

  “Stay here? I could not impose upon you to—”

  “I have room for another boarder, Mr. Nesmith,” she assured him.

  “Yes, indeed,” Will said, clearly all the more chagrined. “It’s just that I… Well, I mean to say… I don’t know that I would suit. I imagine you have strict requirements—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Charlie said. “It’s ten dollars a week, Smitty.”

  Will’s brows lifted and he turned to Caroline. “Really?”

  She smiled at his astonishment. “It’s less than I could command, I know, but Manhattan is expensive these days—and a promising young gentleman never knows when he may need a new hat.” She rose. “Of course I am strict about boarders. They must come with references. But I’m sure Mr. Kohlbeck will speak to your character.”