A Hope Beyond (4 page)
The elderly Adams butler announced, “Mister Cabot, ma’am.”
“Miss Adams, you would put the very sun to shame,” he said, stepping forward and offering her a sweeping bow as the butler quietly exited. “I must say, you make the long trip from New York a very worthwhile one, indeed.”
“Mr. Cabot,” Carolina said in acknowledgment of his presence.
“I see you are reading once again,” Hampton said, noting the book in her hands. “What is it this time that has captured your attention?” He drew closer to her.
“Nothing that would appeal to your interest, I assure you.”
Carolina wished fervently that he would leave her alone, but since setting his cap for her some months earlier, Carolina found that Hampton Cabot was a most ardent suitor.
“Carolina,” he said in a voice that told her formalities were concluded, “you mustn’t be this way with me. I desire to know about every interest of your life.”
She gave him a quick appraisal. Hampton Cabot was a big man, standing at least six feet three and weighing some two hundred pounds. He was well muscled, fashionably dressed, and not all that bad to look at, but Carolina found him a bore. Nevertheless, he was a guest in her home and did not deserve her rudeness.
“I’m reading about the tractive power of locomotives to start the cars forward,” she said, making a concerted attempt to be polite. His blue eyes widened ever so slightly as he raised a single brow. Enjoying his surprise, she continued. “You see, tractive power is how you measure the ability of the engine to start the locomotive forward, while horsepower is a measurement of the locomotive’s ability to maintain the cars moving forward—”
“Why would you want to waste your time in such matters?” Hampton interrupted.
Carolina smiled tolerantly. “Because I am the co-owner of my father’s new railroad venture, the Potomac and Great Falls Railroad. Therefore, I feel it is important for me to understand the workings of locomotives and the railroad if I’m to be a successful part of it.”
“And knowledge of tractive power will make you successful?” Hampton pushed aside his coattails and took a seat on the settee opposite Carolina.
“It’s only one part. I must be educated in the workings of the railroad, or otherwise I won’t be able to suggest ways to make it better.” She ignored the open look of disbelief on Hampton’s face. No doubt he assumed she would be of little help in any situation.
“This particular book is a new locomotive manual by DePam-bour. It says here that locomotive tractive power can be figured by using the formula T equals C squared, times S, times P, divided by D. That is to say, tractive force in pounds equals the diameter—”
“Enough!” Hampton said, raising his hands in protest. “Don’t you know, dear Carolina, that young women should not burden their minds with such things?”
“You must understand, Mr. Cabot,” Carolina said, snapping the book closed, “these are the things that my mind ponders. These are the things that interest me.”
“But you are a woman of refinement. You are beautiful and talented, graceful and charming. Why waste your abilities on such masculine interests? Have your little railroad, but let the men worry about how it runs.”
Carolina tightened her grip on the book and tried to remain calm. To her relief, her father chose that moment to enter the room.
“Carolina, my dear, I had no idea you were in here when I sent Hampton up. Do forgive me.”
Carolina jumped up and crossed the room to kiss her father’s cheek. His muttonchop whiskers tickled her lips and made her smile. “There is nothing to forgive, Papa. I was just explaining tractive power to Mr. Cabot.”
“My little willow of a daughter with her powerful mind.” Joseph laughed heartily and put an arm around her. “She’s something else, is she not?” he asked Hampton.
“Indeed,” Hampton said, then, drawing a brown paper parcel from his coat pocket, he added, “I nearly forgot in our discussion of railroad formulas, I brought this for you, Carolina.”
Carolina moved away from her father, her navy woolen dress swinging silently from side to side as she crossed to take the package. “I would rather you not bring me gifts, Mr. Cabot.”
“Please call me Hampton. You know how I feel about you, as does your father. Formalities are certainly unwarranted between us; after all, we aren’t stuffy English nobility.”
Joseph came to sit in his favorite leather chair while Carolina unwrapped the package. She had guessed it would be a book of poetry, and she was not disappointed. The book was a small collection of works by Percy Shelley with beautiful hand-engraved miniature paintings.
“I cannot accept so valuable a gift,” Carolina said, extending the book back to Hampton. “It is quite lovely, but I must decline.”
“Nonsense!” Hampton frowned and turned to Joseph. “Have I not told you of my serious regard for your daughter?”
“You have indeed, sir.”
“Then I appeal to your sensibility. I have neither family nor wife whom I might bestow such tokens upon. I am of the most respectable intentions toward your daughter, and I deem it my pleasure to give her this small token of my affection.”
“But, sir,” Carolina interrupted before her father could speak, “your affection is not returned, and therefore to keep such a beautiful work under the circumstances would be a false pretense—one in which you might presume upon feelings that do not exist.”
“I know very well that you’ve not yet come to feel for me what I have grown to feel for you,” Hampton protested. “But I am asking that you would but give the idea some further consideration. Put me to the test and see if I am not sincere.”
Carolina sighed, unable to put to words the feelings in her heart. She had given her love to one man, albeit a man who never knew of it. James Baldwin had belonged to her sister, and, therefore, Carolina would never have been so heartless as to try to steal him away. Nevertheless, her heart was his, and she had little interest in putting one love aside in hopes that she could extend her affections to another. Not yet at least.
Joseph interceded and reached a compromise to the satisfaction of both. “Hampton, I would suggest you allow my daughter a little more time to know you before you bestow such finery upon her. And, Carolina, I would suggest you allow the man to pay you court, that you might know him better before making up your mind against the possibilities.”
Carolina nodded, and Hampton took back the book. “If this is to be the case,” Hampton began, looking first to Carolina and then to her father, “I would like to ask for permission to escort your daughter to the Washington Christmas charity ball next week.”
Carolina wanted to scream a rejection, but already she could see the approval in her father’s expression.
“Well, it certainly seems a good idea. This house has been too long in grief and sorrow. I think it completely appropriate that Carolina should attend the ball with you. That is, if Carolina is in agreement.”
She knew that her father expected her to make an acceptance of the invitation, and so she feigned a smile and a tiny curtsy. “I would be happy to accompany Mr. Cabot to the ball.”
Hampton beamed a broad smile, which displayed slightly yellowed but extremely straight teeth. Carolina picked up her science book and excused herself from their company.
“One moment,” Hampton called from behind her.
Opening the door and stepping into the hall as though she hadn’t heard him, Carolina had nearly reached the stairs when Hampton called to her again and strode toward her.
“Thank you for agreeing to go with me.” He was trying hard to be all charm, but his face held an arrogant expression of victory. “I shall be the envy of all men.”
Carolina could no longer stand his smugness. “I am only going with you because of my father. You must realize that here and now. I am not interested in courtship and marriage at this point in my life—aside from the fact that we have so little in common. Therefore, Mr. Cabot,” she said, emphasizing his formal name, “you must see the futility in your interest.”
“Nevertheless . . .” Cabot leaned back with an even more self-satisfied expression. His blue eyes seemed to darken. “I’m getting what I want.”
Carolina lifted her chin with a defiant smile. The gauntlet had clearly been thrown down. “You are getting only an unwilling participant, Mr. Cabot. Nothing more.”
Hampton reached out a hand to cup her chin and bent low to meet her petite five-foot-three frame. “I will soon make you feel otherwise, my dear Carolina.” Then before she could stop him, Hampton placed a lightning-quick kiss on her forehead before he turned and rejoined her father in the library.
Carolina reached a hand to where his lips had touched her skin.
Stunned by his actions, she moved away from the library in a daze. He would never make her feel otherwise. Of this she was certain.
From her covert vantage point, Virginia observed the exchange between Hampton and her sister. She could not hear their words, but their actions spoke loudly enough. Carolina looked for all purposes to be quite enchanted with the dashingly handsome Hampton Cabot.
Seething in rage from a sense of betrayal and envy, Virginia slammed her bedroom door, went to her wardrobe, and pulled open the doors. She sent each side crashing back with such violence that the noise echoed in the silent room like the bursting of cannon shells upon a battlefield.
Carolina had ruined her life, although Virginia would never give her the satisfaction of knowing it. James Baldwin had been content to forget the railroad after his accident. Having seen his best friend die, while suffering painful scarring injuries himself, James had buried his dreams of working for the railroad. He was finished with locomotive nonsense and had been quite content to look toward the business of banking with his father. That was until Carolina had insisted on knowing more about the railroad.
Finding her bottle of sherry hidden inside a hatbox, Virginia picked up a glass and poured herself a drink. It seemed that when matters became too overwhelming, the burning liquid could calm and clear her mind. Soothing herself in the only way that seemed available, Virginia tossed back the sherry as though it were water and waited for the welcome warmth to spread throughout her body.
She had seen a future for herself as the prosperous wife of a bank president, for surely James’ father, Leland Baldwin, would not have remained at the helm forever. She had seen herself as the queen of Washington society with servants and finery to rival all others. She had seen all of this, and so much more, until Carolina had helped James to rekindle his dead dreams.
Carolina had helped James remember his first love, which unfortunately wasn’t Virginia. And that was the reason James had penned a letter breaking their engagement. Virginia grimaced. He was too much the proper gentleman to dishonor her by publicly ending their plans for marriage. Instead, he had left it in Virginia’s capable hands. And what could she do but comply? She had ranted and raved at her father, begging him to make James marry her, but all for naught. James had packed his belongings and left Washington City, and Virginia was left alone to face the aftermath of his departure, her sister’s death, and her mother’s melancholy. Now everyone thought Virginia to be self-sacrificing in her giving James up to remain at home with her mother. Even the family, with the exception of her father, believed that it had been Virginia’s choice to end the engagement. She had managed to save face, but her dreams lay in tattered shreds.
Remembering the tender scene she’d just witnessed in the hallway, Virginia’s scowl deepened. There had to be a way to put an end to Carolina’s happiness. Her little sister seemed quite chummy with Hampton Cabot, and perhaps this was the manner in which Virginia could attack. Their mother had always held to a family tradition of the eldest daughter marrying first; maybe Virginia could bring a halt to any romantic dreams Carolina might have toward Hampton by remaining single a while longer—not that Virginia had much choice in the matter. Perhaps Carolina could burn in the same misery of lost desires and passion that haunted Virginia’s every waking moment. Pouring another half-portion of sherry, Virginia replaced the glass stopper and contemplated what should be done.
Their mother might not be much help in the matter, she reasoned. Margaret had her good moments along with her bad, but Virginia knew she could not depend upon anyone but herself for accomplishing her plans.
“I’ll make you pay, little sister,” she whispered bitterly. “I’ll show you what it means to see an end to your dreams.”
Carolina secluded herself in the library and warmed her hands periodically over the blazing hearth fire. It was a cold December morning, and the wind outside seemed to howl relentlessly. Insulated by layers of woolen petticoats and a long-sleeved gown of dark rust-colored wool, Carolina still found it difficult to get warm.
Her father and Hampton were taking a tour of the plantation slave quarters and workshops, which in turn freed her to read and be left to her own devices for a time. She’d met the opportunity with a sigh of relief and giddy anticipation. Avoiding Hampton’s attention was something she’d not quite yet perfected, and with her father seeming to promote their courting, Carolina felt herself backed into a corner. She would never willfully hurt her father by being disobedient, but neither could she give serious consideration to a man she didn’t love. And she most certainly didn’t love Hampton Cabot.
