Betina Krahn (6 page)

A hitch occurred in his stride. “Didn’t mention it.
Didn’t have to. A kid was climbing around all over the dressing screens and knocked one over on my head.” He removed his hat and ducked his head, parting his hair in demonstration. Halt issued a low whistle.

“That’s a beaut.”

Bear jammed his hat back onto his head. “Yeah, well, the kid’s ‘mother’ seemed to think so. She insisted on paying for my new suit by way of apology.”

“She what?” Halt stopped at the edge of the pavement and his ruddy face fairly split with a broad grin. “That’s wonderful, lad.” Catching the discrepancy between Bear’s news and mood, he scowled. “You didn’t by any chance do somethin’ stupid, did ye? Like tellin’ her you couldn’t accept?”

Something stupid? Bear groaned silently. “No.”

“Excellent!” Halt’s grin reappeared. “That’s the first bit o’ good fortune we’ve had in weeks. To celebrate, we’ll go out an’ have us a steak dinner.”

Bear scowled. “We can’t afford that.”

“Who says? Things are finally lookin’ up for us, lad. We got
bankers
befriendin’ us and women buyin’ us suits o’ clothes.” He clapped Bear on the shoulder with a laugh and pulled him along. “Ye know … I got a good feelin’ about you an’ ol’ Miss Wingate. A real good feelin’.”

Through the evening, every time Bear started to reveal the true nature of the event that Halt had pronounced their “good fortune,” Halt would say something that showed his faith in Bear and his unflagging optimism about their long-held dream of building a railroad, and Bear would again stop short of telling him the identity of the woman who had insisted on paying for his evening clothes. How could he confess that he had already met, insulted, and infuriated their potential investor such that she would probably spit in his eye the moment they were introduced?

By the time they settled onto sagging canvas cots in their rooming house that night, Bear realized that he didn’t have a choice. Just a week ago, he had lectured Halt on doing his part and being willing to make sacrifices in the name of their dream. He could do no less himself. He would have to go to Vassar’s party, brazen it out, and hope he could persuade Miss Wingate to overlook their inauspicious beginning … in the interest of profit and the march of “Progress.”

Saturday evening arrived unseasonably warm and rich with the scents of the maturing spring. The Wingate carriage wound its way through the darkening countryside toward Pennyworth, the Vassars’ estate, carrying only Diamond and Hardwell. Hannah Humphrey had insisted on staying at home with Robbie, who had refused a third dessert at dinner and sent everyone into a state of alarm.

Weathering the bounce and sway of the coach, Diamond adjusted and readjusted her posture to keep from wrinkling her long, snug-fitting satin bodice and arranged and rearranged her skirts to keep from flattening the ribbons and flounces on her elaborate bustle. When she achieved a suitable arrangement for her skirts, she turned her attention to the lace that rimmed her princess neckline, fluffing, smoothing, and tugging. Hardwell chuckled, and she looked up.

“You look lovely, Diamond. You’ll charm Morgan’s socks off.”

Morgan could jolly well keep his socks
on
, she responded
silently, trying not to let her thoughts show in her face. The very last thing she needed was Morgan Kenwood hovering over her all evening. Why couldn’t he have kept to his original schedule and arrived home from Ireland only days before her wretched birthday?

Her dread of seeing him was compounded by feelings of guilt. She had allowed him to extract a promise from her to announce her marriage plans on her birthday … knowing full well that he interpreted that promise to mean she would be announcing plans to marry
him
.

It wasn’t entirely dishonest of her. At the time she made the promise, she had not yet eliminated marriage as a possibility and, if she were to marry, she honestly considered Morgan Kenwood to be one of her leading matrimonial candidates. His family’s home, Kensington, bordered Gracemont; she had known him all of her life; and his breeding and appearance were perfectly—

A sudden lurch of the carriage caused her to grab for the strap hanging beside the door, to steady herself. “Why are we speeding up?”

Hardwell was already heading for the window and squinting out into the gathering darkness to see what was happening. “It’s another vehicle—a wagon.” He pointed out the window, to the rear, and Diamond looked back to glimpse a pair of horses in harness struggling to overtake their landau. The billowing dust made it difficult to see who was trying to pass their carriage on such a narrow and rutted road and in such abysmal light.

But as they neared Pennyworth, the road widened enough to permit the wagon to draw abreast of them and it became clear that the driver did not intend to pass. In the dissolving daylight, they could see the man driving the wagon begin to yell and wave his hat. His words were obscured by the rumble of the wheels, but he seemed to be calling to them to stop their carriage.

“Perhaps he’s in trouble,” Diamond said, glancing at Hardwell.

“No doubt. Lunatics usually are.” He stuck his arm out and waved the driver off. “Drop back, man!” he shouted. “Have you no sense a’tall?”

He thumped the roof of the coach to signal Ned, and upon a crack from the whip and a snap of the reins, the horses broke into a gallop. The heavy coach lurched again. Diamond braced her feet against the opposite seat, tightened her hold on the hanging strap with one hand, and gripped the opening of her evening wrap with the other. She had never known Ned to push the horses like this … especially with darkness coming on. Her heart began to pound.

Their pursuer drove his horses with shocking recklessness, trying to keep pace. Then, just as they rounded a curve and the gates of Pennyworth came into view, one of the wagon’s wheels hit a deep rut, broke several spokes, and sent the vehicle bouncing and careening off the road. Diamond and Hardwell strained to see if it overturned and were able to catch a glimpse of the man climbing up on the footboard of the wagon to survey the damage.

Soon Ned slowed the horses, pulled into the drive leading to the Vassars’ handsome English Tudor house, and settled into the line of carriages inching toward the front doors. Inside, they began to collect themselves.

“What do you suppose he wanted?” Diamond ran a hand over her hair.

“What do you think?” Hardwell said, giving her a meaningful look.

Money was the first thing that came to her mind. It was what everyone else wanted from her.

Hardwell grew impatient and suggested that they disembark on the spot and walk the rest of the way. Their arrival wouldn’t have quite the flare of a grand society
entrance, but at least she wouldn’t have to cool her heels and further crease her satin in a stuffy coach.

No sooner had Diamond set both feet on the ground than she heard footsteps in the gravel behind her and turned to find a man running toward them.

“Please, Miss Wingate—” A tall, lanky fellow in a rumpled gray suit and steamed-up spectacles loomed out of the darkness and stumbled to a halt in front of them. He was so winded that he could scarcely speak, and in the moment it took him to catch his breath, Diamond recognized the paleness of his coat and his bowler hat. He was the driver of the buggy that had just chased their coach.

“You—have to”—he panted—“come with me—”

“See here, man, whatever you’re about, we’re having none of it.” Hardwell extended a protective elbow in her direction and she slid her hand through it—just as the man seized her other arm.

“I have to show you. It’s not far … a demonstration … my moving steps …”

The mention of “moving steps” brought another flash of recognition. This was the same man who had raced their carriage on foot a few days ago.

“Really, Mister …”

“Ellsworth. Nigel Ellsworth.”

“Really, Mr. Ellsworth”—she tugged against his grasp—“this is not the time or the place for such a proposal.”

“But it’s
never
the time or the place. I’ve been trying to see you for weeks now, and I always get turned away at the gates or at your company offices,” the inventor blurted out and then gasped another breath. “If you’ll just come with me, it will only take a few minutes. And you’ll see what a wonderful idea—”

“I cannot come with you.” She watched the feverish light in the fellow’s eyes. “But if you’ll come by Gracemont on Monday, I promise I will—”

“She most certainly will not,” Hardwell declared, deciding to take matters into his own hands. “How dare you accost us like this? Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, I’m desperate.” Ellsworth tightened his grip.

“Let go, or I shall be forced to call for help,” Hardwell ordered, tightening his hold on Diamond and bracing to resist any effort to move her.

“I’ll let go”—Ellsworth began to pull—“
after
she’s seen my moving steps.”

“Please, you’re hurting my arm,” Diamond said, trying to wrest free.

“Release her this instant.” Hardwell abruptly changed tactics, lunging at Ellsworth to push him away. But the inventor simply took advantage of the additional momentum to pull Diamond farther along.

The next moments were something of a blur for Diamond as she found herself pulled steadily down the darkened drive. She was vaguely aware of shocked faces peering down from the coaches they passed, and she finally managed to wrestle Ellsworth to a halt. “You cannot honestly believe that such behavior will enhance my opinion of your invention.”

“My invention shall speak for itsel—
oof
—”

The tussling pair slammed unexpectedly into what felt like a wall. She took advantage of the pause to shove back and look up at the dark form towering over them … following a pair of satin lapels up to a proper black tie and crisp white collar.

“I don’t believe the lady wants to go,” came a low, menacing rumble.

The mad stair-maker must not be seeing what she was seeing, Diamond thought, or he would release her on the spot. A square, sun-bronzed chin jutted over that pristine
collar and above that she spotted two dark-rimmed eyes that glowed like candle flames. Familiar flames.

“Out of the way!” Ellsworth tried to shove aside the form blocking their path. “She has to see my-i-e-eee—”

Ellsworth was seized by the back of the neck and the seat of the trousers and hoisted off the ground. Freed, she caught only a glimpse of the ensuing scuffle as she whirled, lifted her skirts, and ran back up the drive. But in that glimpse, she recognized familiar elements … motions which, joined to the man’s voice and face and eyes, piqued a memory.

“Are you all right?” Hardwell engulfed her in a hug a moment later.

“I’m fine, really,” she murmured, feeling a bit wobbly in the knees as she paused to look over her shoulder. Her rescuer had wrestled the crazed inventor down the line of carriages and disappeared from sight. The receding sounds of their struggle were drowned out by the rush of men approaching from the direction of the house.

“Deepest apologies, my dear—are you all right?” Their host, Philip Vassar, reached them and waved the housemen behind him to proceed down the drive. “I swear to you, I shall see the wretch is prosecuted to the fullest—”

“No, please, Mr. Vassar,” Diamond said, summoning a smile and hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. “He’s just a poor, desperate man—”

“A
lunatic
, you mean,” Hardwell declared fervently. “We were just fortunate that other gentleman arrived when he did.”

“Other gentleman?” Vassar asked. “What other gentleman?”

•      •      •

By the time Bear had wrestled the flailing, protesting gatecrasher down the drive and sent him sprawling into the road, he was roundly regretting his impulsive action. He stood in the gate opening, spread his feet, and glared, hoping it would be enough to dissuade the fellow from getting up and charging back through the gates.

The interloper fumbled to right his spectacles and bowler hat, and Bear reddened from the neck up as he watched. There was something to be proud of, he told himself; he had just trounced a bespectacled bookworm. He was relieved to leave the little wretch to the three beefy fellows in servant dress who came running down the drive behind him. When they started for the uninvited guest, the man scrambled to his feet and ran as if the hounds of hell were upon him.

Bear dusted himself off and started back to his rented buggy. He had been stuck in that row of grand carriages, watching the other guests disembarking and scrutinizing their garments to reassure himself he was rigged out properly, when he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps in the gravel beside him. A fellow in a bowler hat ran by, and Bear couldn’t help the surly thought that if the fellow was hurrying to the party, he was dressed all wrong. Seconds later, the runner accosted a man and woman exiting a coach.

There was a shout and some shoving and tugging, and the runner tried to drag the woman off with him. Bear had bounded from the buggy, knowing that he would probably regret giving in to that urge to action. After weeks of being cooped up in crowded trains, flophouses, and bankers’ offices, it felt just too damn good to have his blood pounding in his veins again.