Kathleen Y'Barbo (17 page)

“Do you?” The question slid out before she could stop herself.

“Yes, I do.” Sir William’s fingers curled around hers. “We both have a purpose in marrying, and unlike other couples, we actually admit it. I say that alone should be the basis for what I expect will be a wonderful friendship.”

“Friendship,” she echoed. “Yes, I like the idea of that. We shall be friends first and then...” With the aviator’s kiss still fresh in her memory, Millie could not continue.

“Then we shall see where that friendship goes.”

“Yes, absolutely,” she said. “We shall see where it goes.”

Sir William reached up to knock on the ceiling, apparently a signal to the driver to turn them back toward Adams Street. They rode in silence. At the corner the vehicle stopped.

“Good night, Sir William,” Millie said, assuming he was allowing her the privacy of walking up the block to the house alone. “I wager my father would not take it well if he caught us out here without a chaperone at this hour, so perhaps our next visit should take place in the parlor.”

“I wager your father would be delighted. Is it not the point that I marry you, Mildred? Public indiscretion would only hurry that event.”

“Public indiscretion?” She looked around at the deserted street, the darkened windows of her neighbors. “I see no one here but us.”

“Ah, but your father might not see things the same.” He shrugged. “No matter. We will make the announcement tomorrow and set the date for the ceremony. I thought perhaps three weeks hence. Or is that too soon?”

Three weeks. Was it possible to feel relief and fear all at once?

“Three weeks is fine,” she said.

Sir William caught her wrist and brought her fingers to his lips. “The love you spoke of. I pray it for both of us someday.”

As do I
, she almost said. Instead, Millie settled for a silent nod.

The Englishman’s attention went to her neck, as did his hand. “Your chain,” he said. “It is missing.”

“It’s being repaired.”

“I see.” His expression unreadable, his hand still lightly touched her neck. Then, slowly he moved to rest his fingers on her shoulder. “Where?”

“Parker’s Jewelry. Now I really must go.”

“Until tomorrow,” he said as he released her to step out onto the sidewalk.

Millie set off walking toward home. Before she reached the gate, the driver had already turned the hansom cab around to leave by the opposite direction.

A precautionary measure, she told herself. And yet as Millie watched it disappear around the corner, she had to wonder just what sort of man would allow his fiancée to walk alone at this hour.

“The man I am to marry,” she whispered as she let herself in and hurried upstairs to her room.

The next day he caught up to her as they left the newspaper office and wrapped a protective arm around her.

“I thought the luncheon and announcement went well,” he said as he ushered her into her father’s carriage.

“Yes,” Millie said absently, looking out the window. The formal sharing of the news of their engagement left her feeling slightly depressed. Giving herself a mental shake, she looked over at Sir William in time to see him reach into his coat pocket and retrieve a small box covered in green velvet.

Smiling, he handed it to her. “Open it.”

Inside was a breathtaking confection of diamonds radiating out from a sizeable emerald anchored in its center. Slowly she lifted the piece from its resting place.

“It’s lovely,” she said as she allowed him to take the piece from her and slip it on her finger. “Oh, but I fear it is too big for me.” Millie illustrated her point by turning her finger downward and allowing the ring to fall into her other hand. “I fear I will lose it.”

“No matter,” he said. “You are obviously more delicate and finely made than my mother. I will simply have it refitted.”

She smiled. It was a beautiful piece.

“I will have my man deliver it to the place where you are having your chain repaired. Then I can pick them up together. How would that be?”

“That would be very kind of you, though I had hoped to have my necklace sooner. I was thinking of sending one of the maids this afternoon to—”

“What is this?” Father called, his tone unusually cheerful. “Did I see my future son-in-law putting a ring on your finger?”

“Indeed you did,” Sir William said as he tucked the box back into his pocket.

“Come over here, Mildred,” Father said. “There is one last man you need to see.”

Millie allowed Sir William to help her down from the carriage and then walked with him over to where her father stood talking to several of the newspapermen she had met at lunch.

They were ushered back inside to return to the expansive office belonging to Father’s friend the editor. They had gone over the main points of the engagement article here in this room, and while Father and Sir William spoke, Millie had stood at the window and searched the roofs dotting the Memphis skyline.

“We are ready,” one of the newspapermen called. “Just come this way.”

Millie followed the two men in her life into an adjoining room, where a photographer stood waiting. “Ah, the happy couple. Let’s show our readers how much in love you two are.”

Father grinned, while Sir William looked none too pleased. For her part, Millie simply went through the motions, first posing with Father and then between the two of them. But the room was warm and the food she had eaten for lunch sat like a lump in her stomach.

Let’s show our readers how much in love you two are.

Millie suppressed a sigh. Had she been required to give a response, which thankfully she had not, she would have declined. She would have admitted friendship but nothing more.

“Hold on there,” Father said. “I am only just noticing my daughter is not wearing the gift her fiancé has given her.” He looked to Millie. “Put it on for the photographer, dear.”

“It’s a bit large for me. Sir William will be having it refitted.”

“Put it on anyway. There is no danger of it falling off here. You will only just be standing still.” He looked to the photographer. “Be sure you get that ring in the shot.”

“Yes, sir,” the photographer said as he began adjusting his camera.

“Is there a story behind the ring?” one of the reporters called out.

“There is, actually,” Sir William said. “It belonged to my mother. She sends it along with her best wishes to my future bride.”

Father frowned. “I thought you said your mother was dead.”

Millie felt the man beside her tense. “She is, but before she succumbed, she asked that I would give her engagement ring to the woman I wed with her best wishes.” He slanted a look down at Millie. “And with a prayer that my bride and I would be as happy as she and my father were.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Father said, and Millie almost believed him.

If she had not seen how he had looked at the ring, had not known what his feelings were about her marriage to Sir William, then she might have gone along with the others in the room and thought the father of the bride was quite proud of his position that day. But she knew. And the warning look he gave her told Millie that Father knew she knew.

“One minute more. Now, Miss Cope, will you stand there? And, Sir William, please would you just hold her hand like that? Be sure the ring is...yes, there, exactly like that.” The photographer held up his hand. “On three, then.”

As the flash went off, Millie looked up to see that Sir William was gazing into her eyes.

Millie could only stand very still and attempt a smile, though her stomach continued to churn. From the photograph that appeared on the front page the following day, the effort had been an abysmal failure. However, the ring did look lovely. For that, Father was happy.

And it quickly left her hand for a trip to Parker’s Jewelry. For that, Millie was happy.

Two weeks later Millie had escaped endless talk of the wedding to find solace in her attic hideaway. Father had gone out for the evening, leaving her alone to amuse herself.

To her surprise, someone had left her copy of
Faust
on the chair nearest the fireplace. When Millie picked up the book, a playing card fell out. This time the code was no telephone number.

She smiled as she ran her fingers over the dots to be sure she had deciphered the letters correctly.

Fly with me again.

“Is that a yes?” the aviator asked from the now-open window. “Or have I risked my life and probably my career to come back here just one more time?”

Ten

January 16, 1889

Memphis

T
he telegram from Henry could not have come at a better time. Over the course of almost two weeks, Kyle had followed the trail of Confederate gold across three states and come up with nothing to show for his efforts other than more than enough proof that his metal detecting device worked even better than he had hoped.

He had stopped counting the number of cannonballs and other weaponry—as well as the iron skillets, nails, and cooking and farm utensils—he had unearthed since the beginning of the assignment, though he had kept copious records in his notebook. And other than an Alabama woman who promised her undying affection for returning her late husband’s missing pocket watch, his time spent was not offering the results he had hoped.

With the new information from an anonymous source in St. Louis, he would be following the trail of evidence up the Mississippi just as he had done in Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama. And likely the investigation would come to the same conclusion. Confederate treasure had not been buried here.

But tonight he had managed a stop in Memphis for one purpose, and that was to fly. With her. Just one more time beneath a moon that would be putting on a special show for both of them.

She was never far from his thoughts. There was something to be said
for a memory with no name. With a woman who could torment his dreams but with whom he could never really settle. For once he knew her name, he would then have to decide what to do about her. Whether to interrupt her obviously well-ordered life or whether to forget her.

Kyle had paced the length of his suite, staring out over the Mobile River like the fool he was becoming where this woman was concerned. With each step he tried to convince himself there were good reasons to forget about her.

Many good reasons, of course, though none had mattered enough to keep him from finding his way back to Memphis and into her third-floor library uninvited. Again.

“You have not answered,” Kyle said as he became aware of the unsettling fact.

“I am trying to talk myself out of it,” she said, her lips turning up into the beginnings of a smile.

“And?” He leaned against the windowsill and tried to blame the chill air at his back for the weakness of his knees.

The real reason was her, of course, but a man bent on just one more evening with a woman—and nothing more—could never allow her to know just how much she affected him.

“And I am failing miserably.”

“I see.” He relaxed, though he was careful not to allow his companion to know. “Well then, why don’t I relieve you of the responsibility of choosing and rephrase my question?”