Sweet Fire Read online

  “Do you ever tell Brig any of this?”

  “Of course. He told me I was imagining it.” Between softly teasing kisses Brig had told her that. “He said he didn’t need my money.” He had said that while his mouth was against her ear and when his tongue had traced the outer shell. “He said I was beautiful.” He had kissed her eyes closed then, touched his lips to her temples, and followed the line of her jaw with his mouth. “And as interesting as a woman ought to be.”

  “You believed him?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “What if I said those things?”

  “It’s the way they were said,” she admitted.

  His imagination told him everything she had not. Nathan wondered what he could say that would turn her against Brig without turning her against him as well. The truth damned them both and lies could easily be undone. “Brig is an old friend,” he said at last, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll give in easily. This has never happened to us before, Lydia. We’ve never shared any interest in the same woman so perhaps that’s why you’re feeling some rivalry between us. I can’t speak to what Brig wants from you, but I know what I want.”

  “And that is...?”

  Marriage, he almost said. Yet something made him hold back the word and stop short of proposing. A chapel was not the place to discuss the type of marriage he had in mind. “Another opportunity to see you,” he said instead. “Anywhere you want to go.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me think on it, Nathan,” she said softly, raising her eyes to his. “I may have something in mind.” Before he could reply Lydia stood up, stepped over his outstretched legs, and motioned for him to follow. “There’s still the matter of your tour, I believe.”

  Lydia showed him the rooms they used for classes, the sitting and dining rooms, and finally the kitchen. John and Richard were sitting at a table in one corner, their legs dangling from stools much too high for them, eating raisin oatmeal cookies. They were also trying to kick each other under the table. Mrs. Finnegan was working at the large cast-iron stove while some of the older girls who lived in the orphanage snapped peas beside a butcher-block table. None of them paid the least attention to the two boys. It was Nathan who responded when John hit his brother’s stool with his foot and tipped it backward.

  Rushing ahead of Lydia, Nathan caught Richard a mere heartbeat before boy and floor collided.

  Richard came up grinning in Nathan’s arms until he tasted blood in his mouth. The screams that rent the air then caused Mrs. Finnegan to drop her spoon in the stew and the girls to overturn their pan of peas. Searching out the culprit, Mrs. Finnegan’s eyes alighted on John and she started for the table, intending to box the boy’s ears. He let out a shriek, slid off the stool, crawled under the table, and eluded the cook by running full tilt into Lydia’s legs. He clutched at her skirt and begged her to save him.

  Well aware of Mrs. Finnegan’s keen and watchful eyes, Lydia caught John by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the kitchen. Nathan gave Richard a handkerchief for his bleeding lip and followed quickly, leaving a trail of smashed peas behind him. As soon as they were out of sight Lydia let go of John. She knelt in front of the boy. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked anxiously. Behind her she heard Nathan chuckle.

  John stuck out his bottom lip a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much,” he said, hoping she’d believe he’d been punished enough.

  “All right,” Lydia said. John’s face brightened. She patted him on his bottom. “Now go tell Father Patrick what you did. And don’t think I won’t ask after you.” His narrow face grew solemn and he turned away, dragging his feet with each step he took. Clearing her throat to quell the urge to laugh, Lydia turned to Richard. He was sitting comfortably in the crook of Nathan’s arm, holding a handkerchief to his mouth.

  “Let me see your lip,” she said, suspicious that there might be a devilish smile behind it. There was. “Oh, Richard. You are an imp.”

  Nathan set the boy down. “That’s why he’s going to Father Patrick and tell him that he was stealing one of the other boy’s cookies when the accident happened. Aren’t you?”

  Richard’s lower lip trembled as his eyes grew round. “Must I?” he asked, looking to Lydia.

  “Yes, you must.”

  Sucking on his injured lip, the boy returned the handkerchief to Nathan. “Thank you, sir,” he said gravely.

  Nathan and Lydia waited until he was out of sight and hearing before they shared their laughter. “Neither one of them will see the priest,” said Nathan.

  She sighed. “Probably not. They’re counting on me not to inquire.”

  “Will you?”

  Her expression was sheepish. “Probably not.” Nathan smiled then, and Lydia felt the force of it slam against the barriers she had erected. She hated the fact that he had been kind to the children, that she had found it so easy to laugh with him, that he had found her in the place she had come to consider a kind of sanctuary. “I’ll walk you out to your carriage,” she said.

  That was that, Nathan thought. He accepted her offer. When they were outside he pointed out the cinnamon mare posted at the rail. “I didn’t hire a carriage today.” They crossed the dusty yard. “How often do you come here?”

  “Several times a week. Why?”

  “I wondered when I might be able to see you again.”

  “Mrs. Newberry is having a party this evening to celebrate her husband’s sixtieth birthday. Were you invited?”

  “No. I don’t know the Newberrys.”

  “I’m going with my parents and Brigham,” she said. “If you want to attend, speak to my father. He’s a good friend of the Newberrys and he can probably arrange something. I’m not sure I understand it, but my father seems to like you. At least he’s asked after you these past few weeks.”

  “Actually, I saw Samuel last night at the Silver Lady. That’s how I knew to come here today.” Untethering the mare, he mounted her in a swift, graceful motion. Looking down at Lydia, he saw she was still wearing a slightly confused, all-at-sea expression. He reached in his pocket and leaned toward her. “Here, Miss Liddy,” he said, mimicking the solemn, penitent air of the boys, “have a cookie.”

  She stared at it for a moment, unbelieving of her own eyes. “Where did you—”

  “Stole it, I’m afraid.” The mere suggestion of a smile touched his mouth, and for an instant his eyes were warm. “I’ll speak to Father Patrick about it later.”

  “And then he handed me a stolen oatmeal raisin cookie,” said Lydia. “What do you think of that, Pei Ling?”

  Pei Ling paused in brushing out Lydia’s hair and caught her mistress’s eye in the mirror. “I think Mr. Hunter want to see you smile. He know what I know. You beautiful when you smile.”

  Lydia’s eyes dropped away from her reflection immediately and she busied herself collecting the hairpins Pei Ling would require. “I wonder if he’ll be there tonight.”

  “He come. You have plenty young men admire you tonight. James will be there. Also Henry Bell. Mr. Moore escort you and Mr. Hunter try to take you away. Wish Missus Newberry invite me to party.”

  Laughing, Lydia handed Pei Ling a hairpin. “I think it will be a dull affair.”

  “No. Not that.” There was a knock at the door and Lydia and Pei Ling exchanged knowing glances before Lydia asked her mother to come in. Madeline’s reaction to Lydia’s gown was almost immediate. “Fireworks start now,” Pei Ling murmured.

  Lydia pretended she didn’t hear. “Yes, Mother?”

  “I came to see if you needed any help, but you seem to be almost ready.” Madeline’s emerald eyes were critical as they traveled over her daughter’s bare shoulders and the severely cut lines of her midnight blue gown. Tiny blue beads sparkled along the edge of the low cut bodice. They were worked into the tight sleeves at the wrists and decorated the gown’s hem and train. Lydia wore sapphire drop earrings, and when she turned her hea
d to look at her mother inquiringly, they brushed against the smooth ivory stem of her neck. “Stand up, Lydia,” she said. “I want a better look at what you’re wearing.”

  “In a moment, Mother. When Pei Ling’s finished with my hair.”

  Madeline opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Whatever she said in front of the Chinese girl would get back to Samuel and he would not hesitate to confront her. She could do without her husband’s criticisms these days.

  Pei Ling took her time, winding Lydia’s sable hair into an intricate knot at the back of her head. She anchored it with pins that she hid and a gold comb that she did not. Purposely freeing a few strands of hair at Lydia’s temples and nape, Pei Ling created a softer look that contrasted beautifully with the severity of the gown. When she was finished, she touched Lydia lightly on the shoulders, offering her silent support before she left the room.

  Lydia stood and turned so that her mother could see the gown from all sides. She hoped that what she might hear would be different from what she expected. It wasn’t.

  “I don’t think I approve, Lydia. Not at all.” When Lydia stopped turning, Madeline walked around her. “Where did you get this? And when?”

  After taking a calming breath, Lydia said, “I’d hoped you be pleased, Mother. After all, you’ve always wanted me to take more interest in my appearance. I had this made for me at Madame Simone’s. It was only finished yesterday.” She almost bumped into Madeline as she started toward her wardrobe. Madeline stopped circling and Lydia excused herself. She opened the door of her wardrobe and pointed to the row of new purchases. “I had half a dozen made and there are three more on order.”

  “That was extravagant, Lydia. What is your father going to think when he gets the bill? You should have come to me and discussed it first.”

  “I discussed it with Papa,” said Lydia. “He was agreeable.”

  “And you said nothing to me.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” Was Madeline hurt? Lydia wondered. Was that what she heard in her mother’s voice?

  Madeline indicated Lydia’s gown with a dismissive wave of her hand. “This is a surprise.”

  “You hate it, don’t you?”

  “On the contrary. It’s a lovely gown, but totally unsuited to you. You’re too young to wear something like this, Lydia, which I would have told you had you had the grace to ask to me to accompany you to Simone’s. You took Pei Ling, I suppose?” Lydia nodded, biting her lower lip. She felt herself shriveling inside her skin, becoming smaller and smaller as Madeline went on. “What on earth would she know about fashion? Someone your age requires pastels, or at the very least a printed fabric. And you’ve allowed Simone to neglect all the usual ornamentation. Oh, the beads are fine if you’re planning to lead the opening number in a dance hall, but I don’t know that they’re suitable for Mr. Newberry’s birthday party. The Newberrys are very circumspect, remember.” She took Lydia by the elbow and escorted her to the full-length mirror. “Your shoulders aren’t your best feature, darling,” she said, running her palms across them. “The collarbones are very pronounced, aren’t they? And the cut of this bodice…I’m not certain you want to expose this much…skin. What do you expect the men will think of you?”

  Lydia ventured her thought softly. “Perhaps if I ask Papa what he thinks.”

  “Your father would never say anything against it,” Madeline said truthfully. “He’d spare your feelings if you wore a sackcloth and ashes. Now, do what’s best for all concerned, and find something else to wear. We still have enough time. I’ll go and tell Samuel and Mr. Moore that you’ll just be a little longer.” She left the room without giving Lydia the opportunity to respond.

  Still worrying her lower lip, Lydia stared dully at her reflection. She wanted to cry. She had been so certain she had made a good choice, and in less than two minutes Madeline had found all the flaws. If Madeline saw them so easily, then others would eventually. She had wanted to have admirers at the Newberrys’ party, and instead she was going to embarrass herself. And she would embarrass herself, Lydia realized, because she was going to defy her mother and wear the gown anyway. It would be like wearing a sackcloth and ashes, she thought, remembering Madeline’s phrase. Throughout the evening the gown would serve as a reminder that in all things she should learn to choose wisely.

  Brigham Moore led Lydia onto the ballroom floor and took her into his arms. “My God but you’re lovely this evening.” He hoped he didn’t sound as surprised as he felt. When he had first seen her coming down the staircase in her own home, he thought she was a guest, a friend of Lydia’s perhaps, but certainly not Lydia. It was Lydia, though, and the entire time he watched her descend the steps, he felt Madeline’s eyes on him. She was worried, he thought, and she had every right to be. Tonight Lydia would outshine her mother. For Madeline it must have felt like the end of the world.

  “You always make such pretty compliments,” Lydia said, smiling up at him. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed becomingly. “It’s difficult to know how seriously to take them.”

  “Pretty compliments, Lydia?” He feigned a wounded look. “I speak the truth. I’m thankful you wrote me in on your dance card in three places before that crowd of young puppies descended on you.”

  “Mr. Newberry is sixty today, remember? Hardly a puppy. And I’ve written him in twice.” She laughed gaily as he turned her several times in quick succession. “But it’s kind of you to make jealous noises, Brig. It cannot help but flatter me.”

  “These aren’t jealous noises. I am jealous. Look at my eyes.”

  “Your eyes are always green.”

  He pretended to be much struck by this observation and elicited another smile from her. “My point exactly,” he said. “I was born to be jealous where you’re concerned.”

  “Oh, Brig,” she said softly, and gave herself up to the music and the moment.

  Samuel excused himself from his circle of friends and walked to the edge of the ballroom when he saw Nathan arrive. He raised his hand slightly to catch Nathan’s attention and motioned the younger man to join him. Nathan did so quickly, feeling every inch the intruder he was.

  “Don’t look guilty,” Sam said, extending his hand in a warm, familiar greeting. “You have that invitation, don’t you?”

  “Thanks to you, sir.”

  “No thanks to me at all. I wouldn’t have thought of it if Lydia hadn’t put the notion in your mind. I’d say that things are looking up for you, Nath. She wouldn’t have suggested you come this evening if she hadn’t wanted to see you again.”

  “I hope that’s what it means,” he said, his tone doubtful. “Are you giving Brig as much encouragement as you’re giving me?”

  “Brigham? That one doesn’t need encouragement. But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Lydia tells me you’re business partners, though it’s a damn odd way you diggers conduct business.”

  “This is a very special matter, Samuel. I’m assuming I can count on your discretion.”

  “As long as it’s legal.”

  “It is.”

  “Good. The way you and Brigham work puts me in mind of confidence men. You’d be run out of town on your ear, and that’s only if you’re lucky. Most likely you’d be hanged.”

  Nathan restrained an urge to fiddle with his cravat. Samuel was liable to interpret the gesture as a guilty one.

  “I’d hate to think that you were after Lydia’s money,” Samuel went on, then added significantly, “Or mine.”

  “Look at her, Samuel,” Nathan said, tilting his chin in Lydia’s direction. She was on the floor with James Early now, her head thrown back with laughter, the smooth curve of her throat exposed. She was as slender as a wraith, ephemeral in her beauty, and she fairly floated across the floor, as if she were held down by James’s hand on her waist and nothing else. “Do you really think that when a man looks at her, he only sees her bloody money?” He didn’t wait to hear Samuel’s response. He was dodging the other danci
ng couples on the dance floor, thinking of what he would say to Lydia when he cut in.

  James Early stepped aside for Nathan reluctantly. “Why haven’t you married that boy?” Nathan asked, taking Lydia in his arms. He was careful not to hold her too tightly or draw her too close.

  For a moment Lydia was too stunned to answer. Nathan had appeared from nowhere, summarily dismissed her partner, and now he was asking personal questions—all without so much as a greeting. She was hardly able to take it in, much less notice that his dancing form had improved immensely. He glided across the floor, turning her easily, and she didn’t have to think to follow him, it came as simply and naturally as breathing. “It would be like marrying a brother,” she said at last. “That’s how I think of James.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Several times. I think he feels the same way, but every so often he gets it in his head that he should take a wife, and I’m as good a candidate as any. A better one, I suppose, than most of the girls he sees. At least James can talk to me.”

  “And what about that other young man I see hovering around you from time to time?”

  “You must mean Henry Bell. Henry’s fine, but definitely not for me.” He’d also made the regrettable error of getting caught kissing Madeline in the Chadwick gallery. They both excused their behavior on the mistletoe overhead and the high spirits of the season, and as if to prove the innocence of the gesture, Madeline still pushed Henry at Lydia’s head from time to time. “Henry’s a pleasant enough escort, but that’s all.”

  “He’s proposed?”

  “Once. I accepted once…and then I cried off. It all happened in the space of an evening, Mr. Hunter, so there’s no wound to speak of.” Her cobalt blue eyes were grave as she studied his hard-edged features and tried to fathom his intentions. “Your questions are exceedingly personal. I wonder what you can mean by them.”

  “Only curious about the number of hearts you’ve broken,” he said, his glance shuttered. A hundred, he thought, at least a hundred. The music drifted off and the orchestra picked up the strains of another waltz. Nathan had no choice but to give her up, but it cut him that he had to deliver her to Brigham.