Invitation to the Dance Read online

  “Some people,” Charlie ventured, “may have become curious in regard to your courting of Rose Mayhew.” Her parents, in particular.

  Belcourt’s brows lifted. “Courting?”

  “Well…” Charlie hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as Will did. “You do seem to have hit it off, if you don’t mind my saying.” He cleared his throat. “My lord.”

  Belcourt’s easy smile returned. “By ‘some people,’ do you mean all of New York?” He glanced at Will. “Present company included?”

  It was not an accusatory or disapproving tone, but Will tread carefully. “I have no intention of invading your privacy, my lord.”

  Belcourt chuckled. “No, of course not. To tell you truthfully—”

  The bell rang, followed by Hilda’s swift footfall. Caroline glanced toward the closed parlor doors. “I can’t imagine who that might be. I used to receive guests on Wednesdays, but it’s been so long…” There were voices in the hall, but after a moment they died away and Hilda parted the doors just enough to peer in, her gaze flickering anxiously from Belcourt to Caroline.

  “Hilda, is everything quite all right?”

  “Beg your pardon, ma’am.” Hilda stepped in and twisted her long, lean frame into a wobbly half-curtsey. “Beg pardon, my lord. Miss Donnett, there’s Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Keathley come to call. I didn’t know—” She grimaced. “Shall I tell them you’re at home on Wednesdays?”

  Caroline stared at her for an instant as if amazed. “Well… Yes, if you please, Hilda.” Seeming to wake to the bemused expression on Belcourt’s face, she smiled with very real chagrin. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Do let me pour you another cup of tea.”

  “Please don’t send away visitors on my account,” Belcourt said. “I like lots of company—unless of course they’re reporters,” he added with a laugh.

  The bell rang again and Charlie bit back too colorful a word. “We’ll run out of sandwiches at this rate.”

  Hilda leaned in, as red-cheeked as Charlie had ever seen her. “Miss Donnett—”

  “Are the Keathleys back?” Caroline asked rather warily.

  “No, ma’am. Edith and Lillian Brenton, come to call on Mr. Nesmith.”

  Charlie glanced at Will, who lifted his shoulders in a minuscule shrug. Caroline breathed a wry laugh. “We’ve attracted some attention, I think.”

  “I should’ve come by streetcar,” Belcourt said, clearly amused.

  Two very similar middle-aged faces under abundantly feathered hats peered past Hilda’s shoulder and soft gasps went up in the hall. Hilda’s brows lowered, lips thinning, but before she could take the women to task, the bell rang a third time. Caroline rose. “I will take care of it, Hilda.”

  Belcourt got to his feet. “Good afternoon,” he said to the Brentons, and Hilda stepped aside with obvious reluctance as the two women sailed into the room. Allowing Caroline to pass in the opposite direction, however, appeared another matter.

  “I’ll answer it straightaway,” Hilda said grimly and strode off down the hall. Caroline introduced the newcomers in the politest of tones and invited them to take a seat. When they’d made themselves at home, she sat, a picture of quiet composure—but Charlie sensed a certain tension in her demeanor, as if she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her and couldn’t catch her breath. When Hilda announced the arrival of James and Sylvia Farrington, Caroline introduced the couple as graciously as she had the Brentons.

  After they’d found seats in the increasingly crowded parlor, Caroline laughingly begged leave to assist Hilda with a fresh pot of tea and another round of sandwiches. Charlie could not keep still, but rose and followed her into the kitchen, where Hilda was slicing cucumbers with a little more violence than was called upon for that particular chore. Caroline was setting water to boil and barely glanced up at Charlie’s entrance. Hilda’s glance was the encouraging one and he stepped over to the stove. “I thought I might help you, since this tea was my doing—”

  “Thank you.” Caroline drew a long breath and the set line of her mouth softened to the trace of a smile. “I will be right back in. I just…” She shook her head. “It’s silly of me, I know. I was caught by surprise. They’ve had nothing to do with me these past twenty years. Not even a word after Father’s death. And now they’re eager to cross my threshold because Lord Belcourt is in my parlor. It’s…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head again.

  “Thoroughly rotten,” Charlie supplied. “Shall I take Lord Belcourt off for an early supper? Then you can give them all a good tongue-lashing and boot them out.”

  Caroline’s laugh was none too steady, but the light in her gaze was warm when she looked at him. “We shall have our tea and they’ll go. I’m only sorry they’ve spoiled your interview.”

  “They haven’t really. I’m gathering enough to write up a story. Slowly,” Charlie said with a laugh. “But I am. Come back when you’re ready, and we’ll see what sort of gossip a larger group may stir up.”

  Her smile lingered, more gratitude than reproof in her gaze, especially after he fished out his kerchief and gave it to her. Past the kitchen door, he ran into Will speeding around the corner, looking as altogether troubled as he had the day before. Charlie didn’t wait for him to ask. “Can you believe that lot, showing their faces after so many years of snubbing her? Heartless bunch.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s hurt, but she certainly won’t let any of them know it—” Charlie broke off as Will swung around and started for the parlor. “Smitty, wait…” Charlie grabbed hold of him and Will tried to pull loose.

  “Let me go, Charlie. I’ll send every one of them packing.”

  “No, you can’t. Caroline doesn’t want us to do that. She means to remember her manners, even if they’ve forgotten theirs.” Charlie let go, but kept a stern eye on him. “You’ll have to carry on like the gentleman you are. Or the gentleman you’re pretending to be,” he said, giving in to a grin.

  It was Will’s turn to look stern. “Money doesn’t make the gentleman.”

  “No, but it’s good for plastering over the rough spots.”

  Caroline was the very model of a kind and generous hostess, concealing every vestige of hurt until Charlie wanted knock the heads together of those who ate, drank, and chatted as if they’d committed no sin. The kindest thing left to do was spirit Belcourt away as quickly as possible, encouraging the intruders to scatter.

  But it was no easy job, as Belcourt was the center of attention—along with a discomfited Will—and as the tea party wore on, Charlie began to notice how deftly Belcourt juggled every question directed his way. It was likely a habit of self-preservation among noblemen, but it fascinated, all the same. By the end of the visit, Charlie reckoned the man hadn’t answered a single question directly, but he’d danced so charmingly around them, the other guests hardly seemed to notice.

  At the door, surrounded by excited chatter, Belcourt caught Will by the sleeve and leaned in to say something. Will seemed nonplused, but smiled and nodded—to a further invitation, Charlie guessed, he didn’t feel right in declining. It wasn’t until the last guest had paid rather insufficient respects to Caroline and had exited with a decidedly chilly farewell from Will, that Charlie had the chance to ask him about it.

  “Billiards,” Will said wryly. “At his hotel this evening. He’s invited several gentlemen, from the sound of it, and I don’t think it will give us much of an opportunity to mine for more information… Or any at all, I’d wager, after seeing how closed-mouth he was today.”

  “Noticed that, did you? Well, I don’t mind a challenge. Fellows always drink a good deal around a billiard table and I wouldn’t guess Belcourt’s much different in that respect. And who knows what sort of things a drunk Belcourt might let slip?”

  “Just be sure you don’t drink too much yourself or you won’t remember a word of it.”

  The billiard room at Belcourt’s hotel was closed off to all but those invited by his lordship. C
harlie found himself ushered along with Will into a small palace papered in gold and plushly carpeted, hung with gilt mirrors and artwork of questionable taste, furnished with plump chairs around the bright hearth, stocked with plentiful wine and cigars, and a battalion of waiters gliding discreetly in and out, should anything else be desired. The four billiard tables were surrounded, the last the busiest, thanks to the presence of Lord Belcourt. He was beating Isaiah Knox handily, but it didn’t seem to be causing Knox any particular alarm as he stood at one end of the table, absorbed in conversation with a group of gentlemen—some of whom Charlie recognized from the society columns. The loss of color in Will’s face and the spark of anxiety in his eyes told Charlie he recognized them, too.

  “Smitty, you’d better have a drink.”

  “I’d better have some sense knocked into me. Why on earth I agreed to this—”

  “You were all right at the Worthams’. This will be easier, with no women about. You won’t have to mind your manners as much.” Charlie procured two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. “Just be careful of Knox. He’ll fix you in his sights the minute he sees you.”

  “Aren’t you being a little unfair? You don’t know the man.”

  “I don’t trust anyone with something to sell.”

  Will smiled. “Suppose they’re selling newspapers.”

  “There’s something of a difference between a penny paper and a fifty thousand dollar share in land you’ve never set eyes on.”

  “The Herald’s not a penny paper.”

  Smitty at his most exasperating. Charlie just smiled. “First class papers don’t come cheap. Do you play billiards?”

  “A little.”

  Belcourt had won the game and Charlie saw money exchanging hands. He didn’t know how much they played for, but it was surely far beyond his means. When Belcourt asked them if they cared to put up stakes, Will politely declined—which provoked an amused snort from Isaiah Knox. “Don’t keep yourself from the fun, Mr. Nesmith. His lordship doesn’t always win.”

  “I’ve seen enough to know I won’t be the exception,” Will said, smiling.

  Knox bowed his head in acknowledgment. “If you won’t play for money, maybe I can persuade you to give some serious consideration to an investment.”

  Charlie couldn’t keep quiet. “Trading one gamble for another?”

  “Land’s no gamble, Mr. Kohlbeck,” Knox answered with the apparent good humor of a man accustomed to skepticism. “His lordship has made a respectable sum, leasing to cattle companies. He’s also part owner of a mine.”

  “A successful mine?”

  “It will be,” Belcourt said from the other side of the table. “And in one of the prettiest parts of the countryside, so I understand. Perhaps I’ll build a little cottage and settle down.”

  “Have a care, my lord.” Charlie took up a cue stick and cradled it in the crook of one arm. “Stay here long enough and you may want to become a regular old American.”

  “And renounce my title?” Belcourt grinned. “Do you suppose any American girl will still have me if I do?”

  “I don’t know that women in love are very particular, when it comes to that. Miss Mayhew’s mother might have a more definite opinion.”

  “For or against?”

  Charlie laughed. “Depends on what she’s after, I suppose. But it’s my impression Mrs. Mayhew doesn’t want her daughter so far from home, no matter how prestigious the new address.”

  The attendant finished brushing the table and Belcourt stepped up, leading off with practiced ease. “The dear girl is a little timid, but I find that charming. A number of young ladies I’ve met in the past few days have been alarmingly forward.”

  Knox seemed amused. “I did warn you, my lord. American girls in general can be quite… Shall we say confident?”

  “They’re sure of what they want,” Charlie said with a sly glance at Will.

  “That doesn’t always include going about.” Will’s smile was inscrutable. “I don’t know that Miss Mayhew would be at ease in London society, my lord, but if you do intend to pursue citizenship, she may find something appealing in your westward adventure.”

  If Belcourt wondered at Will’s familiarity with Miss Mayhew’s sentiments, there was no sign of it in his face. The missed shot was more telling, but Belcourt laughed it off and yielded the table to Will—who’d been, it appeared, entirely honest about his experience with the game. Though the rules allowed it, Charlie left off advising his team mate and let him make his mistakes. They hadn’t come to beat Belcourt at billiards, but to talk to the man. The convivial atmosphere had loosened Belcourt’s tongue and too much champagne might do the rest. If it was upsetting his game, that mattered not at all once a cool and steady Knox brought their side well ahead.

  When they’d won, Knox suggested changing partners, clearly wanting to court Will’s favor. Charlie went along with it, hoping to encourage more careless chatter from a tipsy Belcourt—but Knox, to his surprise, took over the conversation.

  “If Miss Mayhew fancies a life out west, I don’t wonder her father wanted to throw in with us. That would make quite the wedding gift.”

  “You needn’t push me along,” Belcourt said, laughing. “I hardly know the girl.”

  “Marriage isn’t something to rush into,” Charlie agreed.

  Will missed his shot by a good two inches and threw Charlie an exasperated glance. “No one’s rushing into anything. And I don’t know that Miss Mayhew wants to go somewhere in particular. She’s just not fond of parties.”

  “Really?” Belcourt seemed bemused. “What does one do with a woman who’s not fond of parties?”

  “Thank God for her…” Will trailed off and his lips flattened as if he regretted the cavalier response. Charlie met his wary gaze with a grin.

  “We won’t push you along, either.”

  “See here,” Belcourt said, waving his cue stick heedlessly. “I’d like to consider you a friend, Nesmith, so it’s best to be forthright about these things. What are your intentions regarding Miss Mayhew?”

  A somber quiet fell, with only the soft click of billiard balls and genial chatter nearby to keep the quiet from becoming uncomfortable. Champagne was spurring Belcourt to be a little too forthright, but Will smiled as if it were the most reasonable question in the world. “I consider you a friend, my lord. And if you wed Miss Mayhew, I’ll be the first to wish you my heartfelt congratulations.”

  “Well, then.” Belcourt seemed to find a smile with some effort. “Forgive me, won’t you. I’m not myself. Isaiah, old fellow—”

  “A little fresh air, my lord?”

  “Just the thing. Do pardon us, gentlemen.”

  It was a hell of an abrupt and peculiar leave-taking. Charlie waited until he was sure they were well down the corridor before darting to the doorway to peer out after them. The two men were moving not toward the street door, but to the elevator. Knox jabbed at the call button—and then, to Charlie’s astonishment, seized hold of Belcourt’s arm and leaned toward him with startling ferocity. Whatever the conversation concerned, the words were coming rapid fire and having the most withering effect on Belcourt. He merely nodded, gaze averted, free hand upraised in meek conciliation.

  “Charlie…” Will was at his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Spying on Knox and Belcourt.”

  “Charlie, for God’s sake—”

  “You should be, too. There’s something awfully strange…” Charlie pulled him partway across the threshold, keeping him trapped against the door jamb when Will tried to wriggle away. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. You’ve got to see.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m not going to poke my nose into…” Will went suddenly silent, resistance gone. Charlie hung on, ready to pull him back if Knox or Belcourt, once aboard the elevator, turned around. But there was no need. Will stepped back, wide-eyed. “What on earth?”

  Charlie shrugged. “They’ve known each other a while. Maybe Kn
ox is accustomed to Belcourt’s amiable nature and he’s taken to bossing him around.” Even as he said it, he didn’t quite believe it. “Or maybe Knox was just warning him to be careful. Belcourt’s not so cautious in his cups.”

  “That was more than a warning to be careful. We’d best go.”

  “Let’s wait a little. They may come back.”

  “Belcourt is surely off to bed.”

  “I’ll go up and inquire.” Charlie started for the elevator, only to be pulled up short by Will.

  “We’ve no business intruding.”

  “I’m a reporter, Smitty. I intrude. You can stay here—”

  “Charlie, don’t. Do you want your nose broken a second time?”

  “Third…” He let a reluctant smile come. “How’d you guess?”

  “It’s not difficult. Even without the evidence,” Will said, tapping the bridge of his own nose. “Knox is a good deal bigger than you. You might be wise to remember that.”

  “Knox isn’t going to stand guard over him all night.”

  “For all we know, Belcourt’s a wanderer in his cups, too.”

  “You’re just trying to keep me down here.”

  Will turned him away from the door and gave him a push toward the billiard table. “No one’s claimed it yet. Let’s play to a hundred and if they’re not back down, we’ll go.”

  “A hundred.” Charlie snorted. “We’ll be here all night, then.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You play abominably.”

  “I don’t…” Will’s frown lingered only a moment before a rueful light flashed in his eyes. “Do I?”

  Charlie felt a little rueful, himself. Damn Will Nesmith if he didn’t have a quality about him that tugged at a fellow’s conscience. “You’d be better with some direction.” He handed Will a cue stick. “Hit something. Anything.”

  Will smiled wryly but bent down, settling the cue over a badly poised hand, and drew his arm well back. Charlie caught him by the wrist before he could send the ball into orbit. “Don’t lower your head that much. It’s easier to calculate angles if you’ve got a better view of the table. Keep your feet farther apart. Fingers closer together…” He bent beside Will and repositioned the splayed fingers into a steadier bridge for the cue. “Now try it. And don’t raise your elbow, for pity’s sake.”