CHAPTER EIGHT
Itinerary.
Paris.
Day 3. Spend the morning enjoying the delights to be found in some of the best shops of Paris. For a complete list of shops, see Lady Bascombe.
In the afternoon, the group will adjourn to the House of Worth where appointments have been arranged for all tour members as per the request made at the time of the original booking.
This evening will be spent at the Paris Opera, indulging in enjoyment of the current performance and the appreciation of one of Europe’s finest operatic venues.
WILLIE STUDIED THE MODELS gracefully circling the drawing room and tried to appreciate the fine fabrics, current colors and newest styles displayed by the lovely young women. It was surprisingly difficult. Willie had always adored being clad in the latest fashion and, as much as everything here was exquisite to look at, it wasn’t quite as much fun when one didn’t have the means to purchase anything. Besides, she couldn’t keep from dwelling on Rosalind’s all too candid comments last night. Silly really as a visit to the House of Worth was not something one did every day.
The Americans, Jane and Marian, were properly impressed as was Rosalind, but apparently if one was a young lady between seventeen and nineteen years of age, one was entirely too sophisticated to reveal one might possibly be awed by elegance and grandeur. Still, the eyes of even Geneva, Harriet and the twins did widen in appreciation when they were greeted at the door of the House of Worth by welcoming young men formally clad in frock coats and then escorted up a red-carpeted grand staircase. Ferns and palms and an assortment of striking and exotic flowers bordered the stairs and created the most interesting sensation that one was ascending into another world altogether. A world where with the right gown, and enough money, one could emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. Resplendent and ready to conquer whatever one wished.
Unfortunately, they were informed upon their arrival that the great designer himself would not be present for their appointments. However, they were assured Monsieur Worth would personally oversee the production of their orders. The clothing created here just for them would be waiting at their hotels—or house in the case of Rosalind and Harriet—upon their return to London. With more than a thousand seamstresses in the fashion house’s employ, it was not an idle promise.
The girls were in dressing rooms undergoing the necessity of endless measurements. Their mothers had already experienced the mild indignity of a stranger assessing one’s good points and bad. Worth’s patterns were reputed to be so exact, a final fitting was never necessary. Neither Jane nor Marian spoke more than a smattering of French but they knew enough to understand that the comments of the French fitters were not particularly flattering. Still, Marian declared it was worth it and Jane reluctantly agreed. She was not quite as eager to spend what would surely be a considerable amount, although Marian did point out ordering new Paris gowns from one of the most renowned designers in the world was not an opportunity either of them could afford to waste.
They’d been offered tea and biscuits in an airy, light-filled drawing room of impressive proportions while models dressed in Worth’s finest presented one gown after another. Jane had an excellent eye and Willie was hard-pressed to disagree with her opinions on any of the fashions displayed. Marian on the other hand, did tend to like shockingly vibrant colors and an excess of embellishment. Rosalind offered her opinion on occasion but, with Harriet safely ensconced in a dressing room, this was the first time all day she hadn’t looked at once cautious and determined. She sat beside Willie, dividing her attention between the models, sketches of a selection of Worth’s evening clothes and the door to Harriet’s dressing room. Jane and Marian discussed the respective merits of gloves and fans and other assorted items displayed in a glass case across the room.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t Rosalind’s assessment of Willie’s status in society or her reputation or even her acknowledgment of George’s infidelities—Willie had come to terms more or less with those years ago—but rather Rosalind’s all too accurate observation about Willie’s lack of friends that upset her. The fact that the friends she thought she had all vanished with George’s death still puzzled her. Nor was it at all fair. She hadn’t done anything to warrant their abandonment. She certainly would have stood by them.
“I really don’t understand why I don’t have any friends,” Willie said to herself.
“Goodness, my dear,” Rosalind said beside her. “I do.”
Willie’s started. “I beg your pardon?”
Rosalind cast her a sympathetic look. “You didn’t realize you said that aloud, did you?”
“No, I certainly did not.”
“When one’s mind is occupied elsewhere it’s not at all surprising when one’s mouth says things one did not expect.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Still, Willie would prefer not to discuss it.
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid.” Rosalind grimaced. “All those dreadful things I said last night. Again, you have my apologies.”
“You were overwrought.” Willie shrugged off the apology. “And unfortunately, I can’t deny any of them.”
The other woman studied her closely. “You are far nicer than I anticipated.”
“I am nice.” Willie huffed. “I have always been nice, at least I have always tried to be quite cordial and pleasant. People have always liked me. I can understand men not wishing to be friends with an unencumbered widow but I did have a great number of female friends when I was in school. Admittedly, we all went our separate ways. But the women I’ve considered friends since my marriage—they should still be my friends.”
Rosalind stared at her as if she had suddenly grown another head. “You don’t understand the nature of women at all, do you?”
“Of course I do.” Willie scoffed. “I am certainly a woman.”
“A very naive one. I never would have guessed.” Rosalind shook her head.
“Can one have a questionable reputation and barely be accepted into polite society and yet be naive?”
“Apparently.” Rosalind’s brow furrowed. “Let me see if I can explain.” She thought for a moment. “You, Willie Bascombe, are quite lovely.”
“Thank you?”
“I do mean it as a compliment. However, it is, as well, a curse.” She thought for a moment. “The men in your circle of friends—”
“Former circle of friends.”
Rosalind nodded. “Those men are not well-known for their marital fidelity. While wives may pretend not to notice that sort of thing—”
Willie winced.
“—they are usually aware of it. No woman wants another woman around—particularly one who is unattached—who they may see as a rival. Or a threat.”
“Of course.” Willie blew a long breath. It was painfully obvious and she certainly should have realized it long before now. “I hadn’t considered that. I thought because we were friends—”
“They would trust you.”
“I would trust them if our positions were reversed.”
Rosalind raised a skeptical brow.
“I would.” Although given George’s inestimable charm and roaming eye... She sighed. “Perhaps I wouldn’t.”
“Unless you intend on engaging in the type of free-spirited life you had before your husband’s death, it might well be time to find new friends.”
“Probably. As for my previous manner of living...” Willie shook her head. “Losing a husband, being forced to make decisions about matters you scarcely paid any heed to, indeed matters that were taken care of for you, as well as far more reflection than I have ever engaged in, well, I think it does make you accept that not all your decisions were wise. I will never be stern and eminently proper—I don’t wish to be—but I have certainly changed, for the better I hope. I have no desire to go backward in my life.”
“As long as you don’t lose that spirit of adventure you seem to have.” Rosalind smiled. “I think that would be a great shame. We could all use more of that in our lives. I know Dante could.”
“Could he?”
“Oh my, yes. Dante has always believed in, oh, following the rules if you will. He never does anything that could truly be considered wrong in a moral or legal sense, although he is certainly not perfect. Unfortunately, between Grandfather’s museum and his business concerns, he has become entirely too proper and stuffy in recent years.”
“He’s seems neither overly proper nor stuffy to me.”
“Well, he is on holiday. And he is making a concerted effort to be amenable and charming.” Rosalind’s brow furrowed. “Still, he does seem different. I believe my brother might be enjoying himself, far more than he has in a very long time.”
“Perhaps travel agrees with him.”
“Oh, he travels frequently. I doubt...” She considered Willie thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I believe your brother and I have become, well, friends.” Although it did seem they were somewhat more than friends. How much more remained to be seen.
“Good. While he has a fair number of acquaintances, I’m not sure how many true friends he has.” Her gaze met Willie’s directly. “And I too would very much like to be your friend.”
“Out of pity? Even to my own ears I sounded rather pathetic.”
Rosalind scoffed. “Of course not. I would never offer friendship simply because I felt sorry for someone.”
“Are you sure about being friends?” Willie adopted a lighthearted tone. “Why, what will people say?”
“While I have nearly always acted within the confines of proper behavior, I have never let what people might say decide what I do. I would be honored to be your friend.”
“As would I,” Jane said, sitting down beside her. Willie hadn’t noticed when the other women had joined them. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear. It just seems to me that true friends are those you can count on through thick and thin.”
Rosalind nodded. “Exactly.”
“I don’t really have many friends either, at least not current friends,” Jane continued. “My husband has worked very hard for his success—we were not born to wealth. It’s only been in the last ten years or so that we’ve benefited from the fruits of his labor. We now live in a neighborhood we never aspired to among people who have never wanted for anything.” She lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “They are not overly friendly. They see us as interlopers.”
“Women can be beastly creatures,” Marian said firmly and settled in a nearby chair. “Believe me, I know. I’ve never wanted for money and yet friends, true friends, have always been difficult to come by.”
“All this—” Jane waved at the opulent surroundings “—is fairly new to me. And a bit overwhelming.”
“I never would have suspected.” Marian cast the other woman an encouraging smile then turned to Willie. “And didn’t we say at the very beginning that we would all be good friends?”
Willie nodded. “We did.”
“I know I can be a bit forward and I do talk entirely too much, which I would try to do something about but it seems there is always something interesting to say. And I’m afraid if I don’t say it when it comes to mind, I will probably explode or something equally unpleasant—”
Rosalind choked.
“—but I was most sincere. About being friends, that is.” Marian pinned her with a firm look. “I meant it. Did you?”
Did she? “Yes,” Willie said slowly, although admittedly at the time she hadn’t given it a second thought. Now, however... “Yes, Marian, I believe I did.”
“Good.” Marian beamed with satisfaction. “Then we will all be good friends. Jane, Willie and—” she turned to Rosalind “—Lady Richfield?”
“You’re not going to make us cross swords and vow one for all and all for one, are you?” Suspicion edged Rosalind’s voice.
Jane laughed.
Marian’s eyes widened. “What a wonderful idea. A true vow of friendship. Sisters across the ocean bound together forever by an oath of companionship and camaraderie. Tied to each other until we breathe our last.”
“Dear Lord, Marian. We’re promising friendship not marriage. Still, it does have a nice ring to it.” She grinned. “And my friends call me Rosalind.”
It struck Willie that friendship wasn’t simply something one declared out of the blue but rather something that grew. And indeed hadn’t they all started becoming friends on the first day of their travels? Willie considered the other women thoughtfully. So this was to be her new circle of friends. She suspected she couldn’t have done better.
“As we are now all officially friends,” Willie began and glanced at Rosalind, “I think Rosalind has something she could use the help of her friends with.”
Rosalind hesitated.
“Five pairs of eyes are better than three,” Willie said to her.
“You’re right, of course.” Rosalind straightened her shoulders. “I have something of a dilemma regarding Harriet.”
Willie noted Geneva leaving her dressing room and settling in a nearby chair, the ever-present book already in her hands.
“While you explain, I believe I will have a quick chat with Geneva.” Willie stood.
Marian frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all, I simply thought she might be of help with a question I have.”
“And perhaps you could take the opportunity to point out to her there is nothing wrong with new clothes and trying to look your very best.” Marian heaved a long-suffering sigh. “And please try to get her nose out of that book. Dear Lord, I don’t know where she gets it from. Her father is not especially intellectual. All he ever talks about is business.”
“I’ll do my best.” Willie nodded and crossed the room. She adopted a friendly smile and sat down beside the girl. “What are you reading?”
“A Thousand Miles up the Nile,” Geneva said without looking up.
“Is it good?”
“Very.” Geneva turned a page.
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a trip up the Nile.”
“I suspected as much,” Willie murmured. She wasn’t sure what to say next. Moving from “a trip up the Nile” to “Do you know what Harriet is up to?” was not easy. “You’re enjoying it, then?”
“I am,” Geneva said absently. “It was written by a woman—Amelia Edwards—and it’s fascinating. She’s an Egyptologist.”
“That does sound fascinating.”
“It is.” Geneva heaved a long-suffering sigh and closed the book. “Did my mother send you to talk to me? Perhaps about what a wonderful opportunity it is to be able to order new clothes in Paris and how I should be enjoying the experience rather than reading?”
Willie laughed. “No, she didn’t.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Nothing in particular,” Willie said lightly. “I simply wanted to chat.”
Geneva considered her coolly. “My mother is more than willing to chat with you. In fact, there is nothing she enjoys more than chatting. It’s rare when anyone else can get a word in. Perhaps you’ve noticed?”
Willie nodded.
“I imagine the other ladies are willing to chat, as well.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.” Willie paused. “I did have a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“May I be perfectly honest?” Willie wasn’t sure perfect honesty was the best course but she had no other idea.
Geneva studied her as if she weren’t certain anyone over the age of twenty or so could be trusted. “I would prefer honest, so yes.”
“You are the oldest of the girls here and as such, I would like to be able to count on you to, oh, keep an eye on the others.”
“You want me to spy on them?” Geneva’s eyes narrowed.
“No.” Willie scoffed. “Nothing of the sort.” Although really, when it came down to it, that’s exactly what she was asking. Willie drew a deep breath. “In the spirit of honesty, yes, I suppose I do.”
“Thank you for being honest.” She considered Willie for a moment. “My father says one should never agree to a bargain until one knows exactly what one will get out of it. What will I get out of helping you?”
“You would derive the satisfaction of knowing you helped prevent someone from doing something dreadfully stupid and ruining her life.” Willie cringed to herself at the pompous note in her voice. She sounded so dreadfully adult.
“So out of the goodness of my heart, then?”
Willie arched a brow. “Do you need another reason?”
“Probably not but it does seem to me that I am in an excellent negotiating position and it would be stupid to pass it up.”
“Your father must be proud.”
“He probably would be if I wasn’t female.”
“That, my dear girl, is an eternal problem.” Willie shook her head. “My own father has never forgiven me for not being born male. And I have never forgiven him for that.”
“Mine is not that bad,” Geneva said quickly. “He simply doesn’t expect me to be any more than my mother is.” She heaved a deep sigh. “But I want to be...more.”
Willie wasn’t sure this was a wise idea. Still, that had never stopped her before. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to try to convince my mother of the benefits of having a daughter who does something with her life other than trying to catch a man.”
“What exactly do you want to do?” Willie said cautiously. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.
“I want to follow in the footsteps of Amelia Edwards. I want to travel Egypt. I want to find and study ancient artifacts.” The girl’s eyes fairly glowed with excitement. “I want to be an Egyptologist.”
“I see.” It would do no good to point out Geneva’s mother was just the first of many people she would need to convince in order to follow her dream. “Why would your mother listen to me?”
Geneva stared in obvious disbelief. “Because you’re Lady Bascombe. She thinks there is nothing more wonderful in life than to have a title in front of your name. It bestows you with special abilities—at least socially. And there is nothing more important to my mother than society. Mother thinks it’s a terrible shame that we don’t have titles in America. She would like nothing better than to be Lady Henderson. Believe me, she will listen to you.”
“I doubt that she will listen to me about this, about your future.”
Geneva started to say something but Willie held up her hand to stop her.
“Regardless, I will take every opportunity that presents itself to point out what a shame it would be not to take advantage of a fine mind like yours. But I can make no promises beyond that.” She paused. “Personally, I find it most admirable that you have a hope for your life that is not within the bounds of what is expected of a woman, even I suspect in America.”
Geneva stared. “Do you really?”
“I do.” She nodded. “I wish I had been as determined at your age as you are. Even now I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life. I’ve never had a passion I wished to pursue.” She leaned closer in a confidential manner. “I fear I’ve always been somewhat shallow and extremely shortsighted.”
“Well.” Geneva considered her curiously. “It’s probably not too late. You’re not terribly old.”
“Thank you.” Willie laughed then sobered. “I wish I had the kind of courage you have, to want to be something more than anyone thinks you can or should be.”
“Thank you but if I were truly courageous, I would pursue my passion regardless of my parents’ objections. I’m afraid I will never see the pyramids of Egypt. I am destined to be married off to an appropriate, ambitious young man. A man who is more enamored of my father’s position than he is of me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Willie said staunchly. Geneva was lovely in an understated sort of way. She was a bit taller than Willie, and the girl’s light brown hair suited her delicate features and quiet manner. But the spark of intelligence in her brown eyes when she spoke of exploring the ancient wonders of Egypt lit her face and transformed her into something quite remarkable. “You’re not interested in marriage, then?”
“I am not interested in marrying the type of man my parents think is suitable. And believe me, my mother parades those through my life with an unrelenting determination.”
“I can imagine,” Willie murmured.
“While I may never see the sights of Egypt for myself—” the girl’s jaw tightened “—I refuse to marry simply to satisfy my parents and certainly never someone my mother chooses. Although I haven’t managed to meet anyone I find appealing. Or even tolerable.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh.
“One never knows what the future holds, Geneva. When you least expect it, you might cross paths with a man who is exactly the kind of man you want. A man whose interests and passions match your own. A man who might well be perfect for you. Why, you could be attending the same lecture or be at the same ball or walking down the same street.” Or boarding the same train car. Where on earth had that come from? Willie ignored it.
“I will remember that.” Geneva stared. “I had no idea you were so romantic.”
“I blame it on Paris.” Willie smiled. And perhaps Dante? “My godmother and her friends are all widows of men who were well-known explorers in their day. I believe that included expeditions to Egypt. The ladies still have some influence at the Explorers Club and at the British Museum, as well, I suspect. When we return to London, if you’d like, I could ask for them to arrange an introduction to an Egyptologist.”
Geneva’s eyes widened. “Would you?”
Willie nodded. “I would.”
“I would be eternally grateful but...” She grimaced. “As much as I would like to help you, I can’t. The other girls and I have become friends and I’m afraid I cannot tattle on my friends.”
“You’re right, of course.” Willie shook her head. “I should have known better than to ask. I simply thought, as it is in the best interest—”
“I’m not sure I would go to the opera tonight if I were you,” Geneva said abruptly.
“We are all supposed to attend the opera tonight,” Willie said slowly. What was the girl trying to say? “It is on the schedule.”
“Just a suggestion.” Geneva shrugged and opened her book, her attention returning to the page. Willie wasn’t sure she’d ever been dismissed quite as efficiently.
So much for enlisting the aid of—not the enemy exactly—more like the opposition. Willie had never given much thought to the relationship between mothers and daughters—at least not at this age. Observing the tug-of-war between her newfound friends and their offspring was nothing short of fascinating. While there was obvious affection on both sides, neither side thought the other was particularly intelligent. And both mothers and daughters believed they knew what was best. Willie barely remembered her own mother but had often wondered what her life would have been like if her mother hadn’t died. Seeing the bond between these mothers and daughters, in spite of their differences, twisted Willie’s heart with the strangest wave of regret for what she had never known.
Still, there was nothing more foolish, and more pointless, than regrets about things that couldn’t be changed. In this, as in so many other things in life, there was no going back.
* * *
WHO WOULD HAVE imagined a day devoted to shopping would be quite so exhausting? By the time they returned to their hotel, there wasn’t one of their group—regardless of age—who wasn’t a bit bedraggled, at least in spirit. Everyone agreed a few hours of rest in their respective rooms would serve them well. After all, they were to attend the opera tonight.
Willie wasn’t sure exactly what opera they were to see. The title wasn’t listed on the schedule—an obvious failure on Miss Granville’s part—although the tickets had already been arranged for. She did hope it wasn’t one of those dreadfully dreary ones with heroines dying of horrendous, incurable diseases after being abandoned by the man they loved. Opera wasn’t Willie’s favorite form of entertainment. She preferred shorter, lighter operettas especially those written by Gilbert and Sullivan. Although her true penchant was for comedic plays. She’d much rather laugh at a play than weep at an opera. Still, the opera was on the schedule so the opera it would be.
The younger members of their party begged off, claiming they hated opera and would much prefer to stay in their rooms with a good book. Which made perfect sense for Geneva but Willie had yet to see Tillie, Emma or Harriet—now called Harry apparently—so much as glance at a book. Still, if their mothers weren’t concerned, Willie saw no reason she should be. And yet she was.
She couldn’t ignore Geneva’s suggestion about not going to the opera. The girl was trying to tell her something without coming right out and betraying her friends. The more Willie thought about it, the more convinced she was that the girls were up to something. Something Dante and their mothers would never approve of. Something that was probably a great deal of fun if you were young and adventurous and had no sense of your own vulnerability. Willie remembered those days as if they were yesterday. This was precisely the sort of thing she would have done. Now, however, she was older and hopefully wiser. And onto them. She didn’t believe that nonsense about reading for one moment. Willie had absolutely no intention of leaving the younger members of their party to do as they wished, regardless of what that might be.
Willie sent Dante and the others on ahead to the opera, saying she had a bit of a headache and might join them later. She then settled in a chair in the lobby, half-hidden behind a palm with an excellent view of the lifts and the doors to the street.
She didn’t have to wait long. Barely a quarter of an hour after the opera was scheduled to begin, the girls appeared dressed for an evening out. Willie rose, skirted the perimeter of the busy lobby and stepped into view directly in front of the doors just as the girls approached.
Emma and Tillie gasped in surprise. Frustration and annoyance crossed Harriet’s face and Geneva adopted an appropriate expression of alarm.
“Good evening, ladies,” Willie said pleasantly. “I’m so glad you decided to join us at the opera after all.”
“We would have been there sooner,” Tillie began, “but we were reading.”
“Fortunately,” Emma continued, “we are far faster readers than we expected and we finished our books.” She beamed with questionable pride.
“Your mothers will be pleased to see you.” Willie smiled pleasantly. “And since the opera is scarcely a stone’s throw from the hotel, we shall be there in time for the second act. Why, you will scarcely have missed anything at all.”
The girls exchanged guarded looks. Oh, this was going to be far more difficult than Willie had imagined.
“I am sorry, Lady Bascombe.” Harriet raised her chin in a defiant manner. “But we’re not going to the opera, any of us.”
“No?” Willie kept a pleasant smile on her face.
“No,” Harriet said firmly. “We are going to a new music hall in Montmartre that is supposed to be quite a lot of fun.”
“It just opened this month,” Geneva said. “It’s called the Moulin Rouge and we’ve heard it’s quite exciting.”
Tillie nodded. “It has a giant elephant in the garden—”
“But the building looks like a windmill,” Emma added. “There’s nothing like it in New York.”
“It does sound delightful.” Willie’s gaze met Harriet’s who was obviously the leader of this band of rebels. “I’m sure your mothers will enjoy it.”
Harriet paled but held her ground. “Mother is at the opera.”
“Oh, but the opera is right next door. I suspect your mothers won’t mind abandoning the performance for something like this. And I can’t imagine anything more enjoyable than a music hall that looks like a windmill with a giant elephant in the garden. Can you?” Willie glanced at the other girls. “Any of you?”
For a moment, it was as if they all held their breaths.
“Upon further consideration,” Emma said cautiously, “I’m not certain that I have actually finished my book. I believe there might have been another chapter or so that I may have overlooked.”
“And I really should write some letters home,” Geneva said.
“No need to mention this to our mothers.” Tillie uttered a half-hearted laugh. “It would only upset them.”
“That they had missed such a lovely time, that is,” Emma added quickly. “We would hate to cause them any distress.”
“Are you all cowards?” Harriet glared at the others who refused to meet her gaze.
“So it would appear,” Geneva said under her breath.
“Come now, I can’t go by myself.” A pleading note sounded in Harriet’s voice.”
“Sorry.” Emma shrugged. She and her sister edged toward the lifts. “Maybe another time.”
Geneva forced an exaggerated yawn. “And I find I am really exhausted. It just struck me,” she added weakly. “Sorry.” She nodded at the Americans and they all headed toward the lifts.
“How could you?” Harriet glared.
Willie grabbed her elbow and steered her to a more private alcove.
“I thought you of all people would understand. I know all about you and your reputation.”
“Most people do,” Willie muttered and released Harriet’s arm. “It’s never been a secret.”
“This is exactly the sort of thing you would have done when you were my age!”
“Pity I didn’t have the opportunity to go to Paris when I was your age.” She pinned Harriet with a hard look. “Because you’re right. This is exactly what I would have done.”
“And I think—”
“Which is why I cannot allow you to do it. For goodness’ sake, Harriet, you have no idea what might happen at this music hall. It doesn’t sound like the type of place your mother or your uncle would approve of and, yes, I realize that is part and parcel of its appeal.” Willie struggled to keep her voice level when she would have much preferred to yell at the top of her lungs. What was the girl thinking? “You know better than this. No proper young lady goes anywhere by herself. At night! In Paris!”
“I wasn’t—”
“Or in the company of other young ladies. You’re not chaperoned. You’re not accompanied by anyone. You’re not—”
“You’re not my mother,” Harriet said with a smug smile. “You cannot forbid me to do anything.”
“No.” Willie chose her words with care. “I am not your mother. But you are part of my group of travelers. What happens to this group is my responsibility and I refuse to shirk it. As long as you remain a part of this tour, that includes you.”
“Then I shall leave the tour,” Harriet said in a lofty manner.
“That can certainly be arranged.” Willie adopted an offhand tone. “You have money, I assume? Traveling on one’s own can be quite costly. Or perhaps you plan to ask your mother to support your independent travel?”
Harriet raised her chin in a defiant manner. “Never!”
“Then your uncle Dante perhaps?”
“I don’t need Uncle Dante’s money, nor do I need my mother’s. Ber—” Harriet’s eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut.
“Please go on.” And didn’t that just confirm Rosalind’s suspicions? Apparently, the disreputable Mr. Goodwin was indeed in the vicinity. No doubt awaiting Harriet even now in a garden with an elephant. “You were saying?”
Panic shone in Harriet’s eyes.
“About funding your continued travel?”
“He’s not interested in you, you know,” Harriet said abruptly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Uncle Dante. He’s not interested in you.”
“How clever of you, Harriet.” Willie clapped her hands together in approval. “To change the subject so thoroughly. I’m very impressed.”
Harriet shrugged. “Which does not negate the truth of what I said.”
“Your uncle and I have become friends,” Willie said slowly. “There is nothing more to it than that.”
“Friends?” Her brow rose. There was a wicked gleam in Harriet’s eyes. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Perhaps you will think differently when you know why he—”
“Finished with your book, Harriet?” Dante appeared beside his niece, his tone harder than perhaps necessary, although he no doubt understood the situation at once.
“Of course, Uncle,” Harriet said with a polite smile. “I had intended to join you at the opera but now I find I am really quite tired. I’ll retire now, if that is acceptable,” she added in an overly sweet manner.
“Sleep well, dear.” Dante’s pleasant tone and smile matched the girl’s.
“I didn’t see you arrive. How much did you hear?” Willie said quietly. She directed her words at him but her gaze stayed on Harriet and would remain so until the girl was safely in the lift.
“Enough, I suspect.” Dante too kept his gaze on his niece. “I arrived just as the other girls were fleeing for their lives.”
“As well they should. Goodness, Dante, can you imagine such a thing? Going off to a music hall? By themselves? At night? In Paris?”
Harriet stepped into the lift and the doors closed behind her. Willie breathed a sigh of relief. For tonight at least the girl was safe—whether she wanted to be or not.
“That’s where they were going?” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “Harriet, all of them, should know better.”
“One would think.” She frowned. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I thought it best not to interfere. Besides—” he grinned “—I was rather enjoying it. You were doing an admirable job with Harriet.”
“From what she said, or rather what she stopped herself from saying, I believe your sister was right. About Mr. Goodwin being here. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this outing wasn’t a ploy to meet him.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “Then we shall have to redouble our efforts to keep an eye on my niece.”
“I would hate to see her make a mistake that would affect the rest of her life.”
“As you did?” he said mildly.
Willie had never admitted, even to herself, that her marriage to George had been a dreadful mistake. But hadn’t she begun to realize that long before George’s death? “Harriet has a large and loving family from what you’ve said. I doubt your family would ever abandon her, regardless of what choices she might make. In that respect Harriet and I are nothing alike.
“But I was Harriet’s age when I too fell in love with a dashing, disreputable rake who swept me off my feet. In hindsight, I could say it was a mistake but what I know of life now and what I knew then are two entirely different things.” She met his gaze firmly. “For good or ill, the decisions I have made in my life are what have brought me to this point. And they cannot be undone.” She paused. “They call her Harry, you know. The other girls that is.”
“Yes, I know.” He rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “They are Americans so I suppose such nonsense is to be expected. And you have changed the subject.”
“Indeed I have.” Regardless of her feelings about George and their life together, it struck her as extremely disloyal to speak poorly of him. He was dead and could never make amends, so what was the point? Admitting to Dante, or to anyone, that her marriage was one of many mistakes she had made didn’t change anything. Not her past at least. And she was determined to make as few mistakes as possible in the future. “I have the distinct impression that you don’t like calling women by men’s names, do you?”
“Not especially. I certainly don’t like Harry. Willie, however, does seem to suit you.”
“So Willie is acceptable whereas Harry is not?”
“So it would seem. Besides, I prefer to have only one woman in my life with a man’s name.”
Her breath caught. “Am I in your life?”
“I hope so.” His gaze met hers.
“I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that,” she said slowly.
“Have I caught you off guard?”
“Somewhat.”
He grinned. “Then you know how it feels.”
“To be caught off guard?” She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
He leaned close and spoke quietly into her ear. “Do you intend to seduce me tonight, Mr. Montague?”
“Oh.” Good Lord, she was blushing again.
He straightened and smiled—no—smirked. Why, the man was an arrogant beast. She rather liked that. There was something about putting an arrogant beast in his place that sounded like great fun.
“I believe I shall retire for the evening,” she said coolly. “We have a full schedule tomorrow.”
“And we wouldn’t want to disrupt that.” He waved her ahead and they started for the lift.
“No indeed.” Did he intend to escort her to her room?
They stepped into the elevator and gave the attendant their floor numbers. Surely he would not be so bold as to accompany her without her permission?
The lift stopped at her floor and the attendant opened the gate then stepped aside to allow her to pass.
“Good evening, Mr. Montague,” she said and stepped out of the lift, glancing back at him.
“One moment if you please,” Dante said to the attendant then joined her in the corridor. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms.”
“My room is right there.” She gestured to the second door from the lift.
“Very well then.”
She held her breath. Would he suggest joining her in her room?
“Good evening, Lady Bascombe.” He tipped his hat, nodded and stepped back into the lift. A moment later, the gate closed. It was most dramatic. One would have thought he had planned it.
Willie really wouldn’t have minded if he had asked to come in with her. She stepped into her room, closed the door behind her and turned the lock. It certainly didn’t need to lead to anything of significance. Why, only last night she had told him she had no intention of falling into the bed of the first man who happened by. Of course, she had also said that he was wonderful. Quite, quite wonderful. And indeed, she sighed, he really was. Unless she was horribly mistaken, it did seem clear that he felt she was rather wonderful herself.
At once, she realized what Dante had started to confess last night. It was so obvious she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. When Dante had looked into her past, he had become, well, taken with her. From the moment they’d first met, he’d gone out of his way to be delightful and charming and eminently likable. Hadn’t it struck her then that he was trying entirely too hard? It was a bit unsettling and yet extremely flattering. And exciting. As he really was extraordinarily nice.
When Willie had realized the only way to avoid marrying simply for financial support was to reclaim the Portinari and support herself with the proceeds from its sale, it had made perfect sense. Besides, she had no desire to marry again in the foreseeable future. One day perhaps. But then she hadn’t planned to meet anyone who made her heart skip and her stomach flutter. And she had never expected Dante Montague.
Perhaps Poppy was right. Perhaps the most wonderful things in life really were those we least expect.