American Pie (22 page)

Chewing her lip in agitation, Lucie entered the kitchen door and turned toward Mr. Grist's office instead of entering the laundry. If she didn't proceed immediately, she suspected she might lose her nerve.

"I'll relay your request," Mr. Grist said, after learning she desired to speak to Mrs. Roper. He peered at her curiously.

Although Lucie liked Mr. Grist and ordinarily would have experienced no discomfort confessing her errand, today she kept her business to herself. She felt too unsure of herself to discuss her idea with anyone. She only hoped she would not lose her courage when she stood in front of Mrs. Roper.

Each time the laundry door opened she thought it was Mr. Grist come to fetch her, and her heart banged painfully against her rib cage. The midday meal came and went; the clock hands crept toward quit time and still Mr. Grist did not come.

Finally, when the dial showed twenty minutes to six and Lucie had all but given up, Mr. Grist appeared in the laundry doorway and crooked a finger at her.

Swiftly she straightened her cap and donned the fresh apron she had prepared hours ago and followed him through the house and up the staircase to Mrs. Roper's private parlor. Heavy velvet draperies were drawn against the snow blowing outside; a cheery fire crackled in the grate.

Mrs. Roper wore a new Paris wrapper, studded with the finest Whitby jet. The beads captured the firelight like tiny jewels. At another time Lucie would have examined the beads with interest, wondering if they would be injured by cleaning. But now she swallowed nervously as Mr. Grist ushered her inside the room and Mrs. Roper uttered an exasperated sound and banged her embroidery frame against her knee.

The entire household had cause to know Mrs. Roper's temper boiled near the surface. Her cherished baron had become impatient with numerous delays and demanded a commitment. Other mothers with eligible daughters circled with predatory interest. The prize threatened to slip from Mrs. Roper's grasping fingers.

"Really, you could have given the cream to Mr. Grist," Mrs. Roper snapped with a grimace of irritation. "It isn't necessary to traipse through the house."

"I" A burst of heat exploded on Lucie's cheeks as she extended the twist of newspaper. A large greasy stain circled the paper, evidence of the richness of her recipe and the extra amount she had packed into the twist. "I thought" Her voice died in her throat and her hands trembled nervously.

"Yes, what is it?" Scowling, Mrs. Roper jabbed the needle through the embroidery frame. "I don't have all day, you know."

"Well, I thought you see, the ingredients cost well, not a lot, but they do cost something so I was thinking "

A sigh of exasperation raised Mrs. Roper's jet beaded shoulders. "For pity's sake. Put the cream on the silver tray and just go." She flicked her fingertips at Mr. Grist.

"The thing is" Perspiration appeared on her brow and Lucie wet her lips before she plunged ahead. "My cream is good enough to sell and I've decided to sell it instead of giving it away!" There. Thank God, it was done. She had said it.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Roper's penciled eyebrows rose toward her hairline. She stared at Lucie, then waved her needle in a gesture of impatience. "Oh, very well. What price are you asking?"

Elation sent Lucie's heart soaring. The first fence had been jumped. Mrs. Roper didn't object to paying! She exhaled slowly and pressed her hands together. Settling on a fair price had been an agonizing process. Too small an amount might suggest inferior quality. But if the price was too high, Mrs. Roper would stop using Lucie's cream and return to purchasing her emollient at one of the ladies' emporiums or from a chemist.

"Forty cents," she blurted. The words ran together and emerged as one.

"Forty cents?" Mrs. Roper smiled at the greasy twist of newspaper and one eyebrow lifted in a arch. "I think not," she said coldly. "For forty cents one would expect a crystal jar at the very least. Perhaps a Paris label." A flat chill turned her gaze as hard and unyielding as the jet beads. "You flatter yourself, Miss Kolska."

As if Lucie had abruptly ceased to exist, Mrs. Roper returned her attention to the embroidery frame. Crimson flamed on Lucie's cheeks. When Mr. Grist, whom she had forgotten, gently touched her sleeve, she wanted to fall through the floor with embarrassment knowing he had overheard and the conversation would be repeated below stairs. Whirling, she started from the room, telling herself she must not run.

Mrs. Roper's voice called her back. "Take thatthat thing with you." Another flick of her fingertips indicated the twist of newspaper. "Forty cents! How amusing."

Amusing. Lucie grasped the twist of newspaper to her breast and wondered if human beings could die of humiliation.

When Miss Augusta whispered her name from the dark garden shadows as she left the Roper mansion, she was so upset she almost didn't hear. Without a word she accepted the envelope Augusta handed her, thrust it into her reticule, then lifted her skirts and ran around the side of the house fleeing the scene of her defeat.

"She could have declined graciously," Jamie said angrily after Lucie confessed the disastrous audience with Mrs. Roper. "It wasn't necessary to embarrass you."

It was Sunday afternoon and they stood outside the Mercantile Library doors, bending against a cold wind. Jamie tucked the books they had chosen under his arm and assisted Lucie down the icy steps to Astor Place before they turned onto Broadway and walked toward Canal Street.

"Thank you for not saying I told you so," Lucie murmured, taking the arm he offered and pressing it close. She had not confided her plan to approach Mrs. Roper until after the fact, but they had frequently discussed the occasionally belligerent attitude displayed by the rich toward the not-so-rich, speculating whether all or only a few of the wealthy felt it their obligation to keep the lower orders in their place.

"Don't offer me too much credit, lass. That's exactly what I might have said if I'd known of this plan beforehand. Regardless, Mrs. Roper had no call to treat you as she did." They paused, waiting for a break in the Broadway traffic, then dashed across the frozen street dodging the four-in-handers who used Broadway as a racecourse on Sundays.

Cold wind stung Lucie's cheeks as she stopped to smooth her skirts and watch the elegant equipages racing down Broadway, the whips shouting cheerful insults back and forth. Then Jamie took her arm and they gravitated toward a crowd circled around an astonishing three horsepower Fiat. Both Lucie and Jamie gaped at the machine as the crowd shouted jeers and advice to the coachman who labored to repair one of the Fiat's tires.

"Do you suppose it's true that one day there will be as many machines on the road as there are horses?" Lucie asked, tryingand failingto imagine herself or Jamie riding in such a conveyance. The experience would frighten her half to death.

"Absolutely," he said, and laughed at her horrified expression. When he suggested they duck into a coffee house to catch their breath and warm their hands and feet, Lucie gave him a grateful nod. The damp air was bitter cold.

After they were served steaming cups of coffee and small plates of Liberty cake, Jamie returned to the subject of the Ropers. "Forty cents is nothing to Axa Roper, a few grains on a wide beach!" Fuming, he pushed the cake aside. "It isn't enough the old harridan works you like a man for coolie wages, or the daughter uses you to further her deception, she expects you to provide the cream at no cost!"

His anger on her behalf did more to warm Lucie than the hot coffee and milk. Her lovely dark eyes shone when she lifted her head.

"I wish to God you didn't have to work in that place!" The intensity of Jamie's emotion raised a dark flush above his wool scarf. "I live for the day when I've saved enough money to take you out of there! By God, after we're married you will never again wash other people's soiled laundry! I promise you that."

Hot coffee splashed over Lucie's fingertips as she looked up at him. Her mouth dropped open.

"The idea!" His furious stirring created a tiny whirlpool within his cup. "Doesn't that foolish woman realize you have to buy ingredients to make the cream? Doesn't she think your labor is worth compensating?" He spread his hands. "The least you deserved was a bit of common courtesy!"

"Jamie" Lucie stared at him, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

"Hasn't she heard? Slavery ended thirty years ago!" Lifting his head, he frowned at her. "The whole selfish passel of Ropers isn't worth your little finger!" Her expression penetrated his anger and he blinked, then his features shifted to a look of concern. "Lucie? Is something amiss, lass?"

"You said" Surely she had not heard incorrectly. "You said, 'after we're married '"

He stared at her, then a sheepish smile stole across his expression. "Did I say that?" The Irish twinkle she loved animated his gaze.

"Indeed you did," Lucie said softly, her eyes shining. "I believe you just proposed, Mr. Kelly." She tilted her head and smiled. "In a rather backhanded manner, if I may say so."

"Dearest Lucie."

They gazed into each other's eyes across the tabletop, thrilling to what they saw. When Lucie finally dropped her gaze, she discovered they were both leaning forward, gripping each other's hands. There was so much to say, but her heart was too full to permit speech.

Jamie cleared his throat and cast a dazed glance around the coffee house. An awkward laugh broke from his lips. "I've imagined this moment a thousand times, and never once did I picture it occurring in a public coffee house. I envisioned going on my knees before you, flowers in hand and" He blinked at her. "Good heavens. I haven't done this at all properly. Lucie, I haven't spoken to Stefan. I don't have"

Sensing he spoke from nervousness, she squeezed his hand and smiled tenderly into his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes?" Joy illuminated his features. "Lucie, lass. You're saying yes to me?"

Lucie laughed. "Did you ever doubt?"

Jumping up, he rushed around the table and pulled her to her feet in a crushing embrace. It was so unlike him to mount a public display of affection that Lucie laughed again and buried her flaming cheeks in his tweed coat collar.

Jamie didn't notice the waiter's frown of disapproval. He grinned broadly and announced with pride, "She said yes!"

"To a marriage proposal," Lucie added shyly, ever practical. Heaven knew what the waiter supposed she had agreed to. But today she didn't care what anyone thought. Happiness glowed on her cheeks and in her radiant eyes.

The waiter's scowl dissolved into a grin. "More coffee, sir? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"Neither," Jamie said, gazing down at Lucie with proprietary pride. "Let's get out of here."

On the street he swung her in a high circle, bringing her boots to the pavement to the accompaniment of a fierce embrace. When he could bear to release her, he tilted her face up to his. "I love you, Lucie Kolska. You've made me the happiest man on this earth."

"Oh, Jamie, Jamie dearest." Tears of happiness sparkled like tiny prisms on her lashes. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

Throwing back his head, he tossed his hat into the air and laughed with joy. But his expression sobered when he looked down at her again. "I didn't plan to propose today "