Invitation to the Dance Read online

  She turned expectantly to Charlie—as did Will, his wariness not entirely disguising his underlying pique at the idea of Charlie being asked to pass judgment on his respectability. He probably thought Charlie would thoroughly enjoy the opportunity.

  He wasn’t half wrong.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest…” Taken with the brightening apprehension in Will’s eyes, Charlie let a moment’s hesitation run into two. “Granted, I haven’t known Mr. Nesmith very long, but…” He tried to keep a rueful note from creeping in. “I’ll own I’ve never met anyone so ruthlessly determined to stick to the rules. He’ll be a model boarder.” Charlie sighed. “You may as well know I invented the tale we told Belcourt. Mr. Nesmith wanted nothing to do with it, but our boss liked the scheme and thought we should keep it up till we had our interview.”

  If Will was surprised by the confession, he concealed it admirably. “I agreed to the scheme, as Mr. Kohlbeck calls it, and I’m grateful to you, Miss Donnett, for allowing us the chance to have done with it. If I understand you correctly, this is to be a temporary arrangement—”

  “Let us call it a trial arrangement, if you like,” Caroline said cheerfully. “We’ll work out the details over breakfast.”

  Will seemed to possess a decided weakness where women were concerned. He hardly flinched once at the rules she laid out over breakfast, and by the finish of it, he’d agreed to take up residence for the rest of November. The only real moment of hesitation came when Charlie had reminded her of the extra expense for coal. The ten o’clock curfew for parlor company caused Will no apparent concern, although Charlie expected Violet would not like it. No doubt Will was hoping the new address would impress her sufficiently.

  After breakfast, Charlie offered to help him fetch his worldly goods, curious to know just how frugally Will had been living. It was worse than he’d imagined. Though the boarding house was just blocks away from the Donnett mansion, those blocks went in an easterly direction, very nearly into one of the roughest neighborhoods in town. Charlie had a suspicion Will’s boarding house might well be dockside, if not for Violet’s influence. “You’re not on the fourth floor, are you?”

  “I’ll confess the fourth was tempting, at five dollars a week—”

  “Good God. I suppose Violet wouldn’t have it?”

  “Violet doesn’t visit me here.” Will proceeded up the dusty stoop in a way that drew attention to the cracks in it. Charlie followed cautiously.

  “Think she’ll visit, once you’re married?”

  Will cast him a reproving glance. “Once we’re married, we’ll find a respectable flat.”

  “You mean to keep her waiting that long?”

  “It won’t be so long. I already have a small savings. I just want to add to it.”

  The front parlor was under-furnished and gloomy, but turning up the gas, in Charlie’s estimation, was not an avenue to improvement. The gas might’ve been better employed in the dark corridor, but Will let it alone, going up to the second floor with the absent step of a boarder accustomed to the peculiarities of his house.

  Stopping at the first door, he unlocked it, and seeming confident he’d left the room in good order earlier, let Charlie in. Hoping for at least something of a mess, Charlie peered past the worn velvet drape that separated the sitting room from the bed chamber—and somehow kept from groaning aloud. “I don’t know how you expect to keep a wife happy if you never leave anything lying about for her to pick up.”

  Will drew the window curtains, letting pale sun fall on a sitting room far tidier than the parlor downstairs. “How old are you, Charlie?”

  “Twenty-eight. Why?”

  “Do you have a girl?”

  Ah. “Well… Not at the moment.”

  “Do let me know if you’d care for a suggestion on how you might remedy that.”

  Charlie laughed. “I won’t change my habits for the fairest of maidens, I assure you.” He sat in the armchair beside the bookcase. “Are you going to bring all these books?” There had to be a hundred. They overfilled the confines of the case, lay stacked on the knickknack shelves above, and took up every inch of mantelpiece.

  “I’ll come back for them.” Will hauled a valise from under the bed, emptied it of more books, and to Charlie’s amusement, filled it only partway with clothing before going about the room, gathering odds and ends to pack. A brass candlestick, a pair of photographs in a folding frame, an engraved pencil case, and a lone teacup and saucer went in, wrapped in handkerchiefs. The last was a sea blue quilt, which left room for nothing more, and Will hesitated over a small, locked box he’d fished from under the mattress.

  “Is that your needle kit and pin cushion?” Charlie asked with a snort.

  “My father’s army revolver.” Will set it gingerly on the table. “He left it to me ten years ago.” He opened the box to reveal a firearm that was aged but whistle-clean. “It’s the only thing I own that I’ve no real use for.”

  “Move back into this place and you may find a use for it.” Charlie rose. “What on earth is that racket upstairs?”

  “The couple on the fourth floor argue rather often,” Will said with an absent air. He closed the box, locking it. “I’ll admit I’m glad to be leaving.” He seemed to rouse himself. “Mind carrying a few books?”

  “And the revolver, if you want—” When Will hesitated, Charlie grinned reassuringly. “I’ll take perfect care.”

  “You have your father’s gun?”

  Will had heard something in his tone. “My father spent the end of the war in a prison camp. I don’t know what became of his gun or anything else he had with him. I suppose the rebels kept it all.” Charlie couldn’t say more than that, not with Will’s sympathetic gaze so steadfast on him.

  “Did your father tell you much about it?”

  “He…” Charlie cleared his throat. “No.”

  Will seemed to understand. “You’ll want to watch out for the hinges. They’re a little loose.” He held out the locked box. “Let me find a few books and I’ll be ready.”

  It was heavier than expected, the wood worn so smooth it felt like the box might slide from his grip if he didn’t hold tight. He tucked the slim books Will gave him under his coat and cradled the box close. With his own armful of books and his valise in hand, Will led the way back down. Though an open window above gave them an earful of the ongoing argument on the fourth floor, Charlie was glad to be back in the brisk air. “You’re paying ten a week for that?”

  “Eight.”

  Charlie hefted the box higher in his arms. He would not feel guilty. Even over two dollars a week. “Holloway’s started you at forty, hasn’t he? So you’ll be all right.”

  “I won’t be able to put by as much, and Vi’s set on a summer wedding. I’ve just got to figure out whether summer’s too soon…”

  “Better figure it out quick.” Charlie bumped a shoulder against Will’s, directing his attention to a two-seater slowing at the curb. Violet—a fur-draped, smiling Violet, Charlie noted—huddled comfortably beside a slim, fair-haired man in a crisp black cutaway, embroidered waistcoat, and silk hat. Charlie grinned at him. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” came the bemused reply before Violet waved her companion to silence and set the full force of a suddenly anxious gaze on Will.

  “My dear, whatever are you doing? You haven’t been…” She pressed gloved fingers to her lips, but the remainder made its way out on a whisper. “…Evicted?”

  Will seemed unperturbed by both the question and the presence of Violet’s handsome traveling companion. “Of course not. I am changing residences…” He smiled genially at the young man. “Good morning, Elliot. Let me introduce Charles Kohlbeck of the Herald. Charlie, this is Elliot Lamb, whose sister Marie is wed to Violet’s brother James.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Kohlbeck—”

  “You’re changing residences?” Violet leaned toward Will, making an obvious effort to keep her voice low. “When did you mean to tell me of it
?”

  Though Violet was the sort of girl who could frown attractively, Charlie suspected she did it a little too often for fellows to find it charming. But Will seemed surprisingly resilient in the face of her disapproval.

  “I would’ve told you, but it only came about this morning.” Will set the valise on the sidewalk. “It’s just a block or two over, right on Broadway—”

  “Well, that can’t be much of an improvement. You’ve certainly had no time to investigate it. How do you know it will suit?” Violet swept a suspicious eye over Charlie. “You recommended it, I presume.”

  She was sore because Will hadn’t asked her opinion of it first. Charlie endeavored to keep that in mind. “I can promise you it’s the most respectable boarding house in the neighborhood—”

  “Do you reside there, Mr. Kohlbeck?”

  That vanquished any hope of respectability, of course. “I’ve lived there a number of years—so many, in fact, that Miss Donnett asked me to vouch for Will’s character.” The smile that wouldn’t be tamped down was instead speedily shaped into the most tender expression of noblesse oblige. “I was of course happy to assure her that I’ve found him to be honest, reliable, trustworthy—and blessed with a patience few men can equal.”

  Violet seemed to have lost a little color. Will, on the other hand, had gained some. “Vi, come to supper with me and I’ll explain the whole matter—”

  “I’m going to supper with my family.” Violet sat up very straight and laid a hand on Elliot’s coat sleeve, a seemingly absent gesture. “We came to ask you to join us, but I think you are busy, so—”

  “May I come see you tomorrow?”

  Violet seemed to be still seeking her equilibrium. “Yes, all right.” Her frown was back in place as she stayed Elliot another moment. “You don’t mean to walk up Broadway carrying a valise? Why don’t you find a cab?”

  “We’re only walking a couple of blocks,” Will said. “And it’s hardly a neighborhood frequented by anyone you know. Elliot will keep it a secret, I think.”

  Elliot laughed. “I won’t say a word.”

  “Good man. And Charlie can be relied upon to hold his tongue.”

  Charlie heard the unspoken “sometimes” but deemed it judicious to prove Will’s point. Violet, however, appeared unpersuaded by the assurance—and even less amused. “We’ll go on, then, and leave you to your tramp about town.” She patted Elliot’s sleeve rather more deliberately. “Drive on, dear.”

  Elliot touched his hat in farewell. “Good luck, boys.”

  As the rig pulled away from the curb and fell in with the other traffic, Violet spared no glance back. Will’s mouth was a glum line, his gaze troubled as he picked up the valise and resumed walking. Charlie wasn’t sure what might be said to cheer him up or if Will even wanted cheering. Probably not—at least not from the fellow who’d played a part in the current discord. Certainly if they’d made better use of their opportunities to talk to Belcourt, Will would’ve spent the morning with Violet, instead of hauling his belongings to new lodgings in the hope he and Charlie might finish the story and no longer be tied to each other by Holloway’s edict.

  A more reasonable reporter would have suggested Will go to the hotel alone, meet with Belcourt, have some tea and a leisurely chat, and come back with enough information to fill a column…

  “Charlie?”

  Charlie snapped to attention with a guilty sidelong glance. “You changing your mind?”

  “About moving? No, no. I only…” Will blew out a breath. “I want to apologize. Violet’s a little upset. She doesn’t like my work hours nor the fact I won’t ask her father for help. And I think it was something of a shock to find me in the midst of moving, when she had no warning of it. She doesn’t know we’re working together—”

  “And she doesn’t like me,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Never mind. I’m really rather…” He slowed, but couldn’t bring himself to look Will in the eye. “I’m sorry it’s turned into such a drawn out hunt for a few minutes alone with the man. It should be easier, but I’m a hand at making easy things difficult.”

  “You needn’t shoulder all the blame. I’ve done a poor job of it, hiding myself away at the party and accepting an invitation I really shouldn’t have.”

  Charlie grimaced into the wind. “We’d better send Mr. Nesmith back to California right quick or the upcoming Mrs. Nesmith will send us both to the devil.”

  Will took on an air of wry contemplation. “She might, at that.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was well after supper before Will had the chance to sit and catch his breath. In the relative quiet—considering that Broadway was just out his window—he was occupied with trying to order his thoughts in spite of the astonishment he hadn’t yet shaken off. More than once, he’d pondered just why he’d gone in with the ridiculous scheme to make him part of Miss Donnett’s household for the sole purpose of bringing Lord Belcourt to tea.

  After a mere minute’s contemplation, he acknowledged just how much he’d detested where he was living; the indigestible food, the constant arguments from upstairs, the ever present army of mice, the dreary chill always in the air. Though the furnishings in Miss Donnett’s house were old and faded, their quality shone through, as did the atmosphere of gentility. The bed he sat upon was soft, the small sofa and table both sturdy—and clean—and the most generous pail of coal had been left at the hearth. He’d heard not one argument nor seen a single mouse since his arrival…

  And the supper! Though Hilda had eyed him with considerable suspicion at first, she appeared to think him underfed, for she ladled abundant portions of every dish and showed a certain satisfaction at his ability to down every last crumb. Charlie had warned him to treat the china with special care, and he’d carried through successfully, if he were to trust the easing of Hilda’s stern features each time she cleared the plates away.

  He felt strangely welcomed by that, and by Miss Donnett’s kind efforts to make him feel at home. He’d been introduced all around, and found all the fellows quite agreeable. But what had entertained him most—indeed, had taken him by surprise—was Mr. Kohlbeck. Charlie’s manners were flawless in Miss Donnett’s presence; but that was the least of it. From the moment Will had stepped back into the house, Charlie had hovered at his shoulder like an over-protective older brother, full of advice and encouragement and not a few whispered warnings. He’d seemed set on making sure Will had an easy time of it, and he’d kept up a cheerful ramble at supper as if to prevent Will from being peppered with too many questions from the others.

  Will didn’t know what to make of it. This was the same man who’d tormented him for days, pulling him into tangle of lies that Will despaired of escaping. Truly, he’d come to expect both he and Charlie would end up in the Tombs at some point; but he’d never expected the hour might arrive when he’d find himself rather liking Charlie…

  Well, perhaps like was too strong a word, but he did feel less inclined to toss the man off the nearest bridge while what remained of his future plans might still be salvaged and pieced back together. He still had his job, thankfully, but Violet had never been so displeased with him. An apology was in order, he supposed, although he wasn’t sure what he might have done differently. Waiting to tell her before accepting Miss Donnett’s offer could well have lost him the opportunity. And as impulsive as it had been to engage a room sight unseen, he was happy with the result. He didn’t even mind that Charlie was directly across the hall.

  A soft, quick rap at the door snapped him from his thoughts and he laughed ruefully. He didn’t mind it yet.

  Rising, he went to answer and found Charlie in his shirtsleeves, grinning with a familiar mischief. “Brought you something.”

  “Have you?” Will warily stepped back to let him enter and Charlie did, offering up the something—a fringed pillow—with an expectant air. Will took it, turning it over. On one side was stitched a cheery seascape of sky and shore in vivid blues and greens, a bright orange
sun overhanging the shell-scattered sands. As gaudy as it was, he found it charming. “Where did you come by this?”

  “My mother made it. Several, really. She used to sell them over the summer. They’re useful—you know—if you’re feeling homesick.” Charlie wandered over to the bed and sat. “I was when I first moved to Manhattan.”

  “Do you go home often?”

  “Once in a while, to visit friends.”

  Will realized what he was saying. “This is a keepsake,” he said, handing the pillow back. “I can’t—”

  “It’s all right. I’m just loaning it for a bit.” Charlie set the pillow against the bedpost. “While I’m remembering…” He drew a small envelope from his pocket. “There’s paper in it for you to write your invitation. Or if you’d rather I wrote it—”

  “Let us not torment the man with the impossible task of deciphering your handwriting.” Will drew down the lid of the desk and sat. “I’ll take it to Lord Belcourt first thing tomorrow—”

  “Haven’t you got a maiden fair to mollify?”

  Will ignored the scornful tone. “Violet’s aunt lives near the hotel. I’ll go directly after I leave the invitation.”

  Charlie rose, standing at his shoulder as he wrote. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know.”

  Will paused with the pen above the page. “She’s just anxious. We’ve had little time together since I left the island and this move took her by surprise.”

  “The move was hasty, I suppose.”

  It sounded almost like an apology. Will turned to him. “You might like to know I arrived home last night to find my landlady hadn’t spared me a scrap of coal. I slept in my coat.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The sparkle in the blue eyes said otherwise. “If you run out of coal tonight, come on across the hall. I’ll sell you some of my mine.”

  “When you tire of the newspaper business, Charlie, you may become a boarding house keeper with great success.” Will dipped the pen, then hesitated again as Charlie headed for the door. “All the same… Thank you. For that, and the little piece of home,” he said with a nod toward the pillow.