Chapter 33

Different thoughts swirled through Norman’s mind, each one more disturbing than the next, until he felt as if his head might explode right there in front of the Palmer House, leaving bits of his unusual mind scattered about the sidewalk.

It was almost too much to take in—this notion that Beatrix had purposefully sought him out in order to secure his research, but why else would she have neglected to disclose to him at some point who she really was, and why had she taken up a position as a salesgirl if she was an American heiress?

“Did you begin working at Marshall Field & Company in order to illicit sympathy from me?” he asked, drawing Beatrix’s attention as well as her temper, given the way her eyes gleamed.

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I didn’t. If you’ll recall, you and I parted ways and had no intention of ever seeing each other again before I took on my position at Marshall Field & Company.”

“Surely you’re not going to believe her, are you, dear?” his mother asked him, earning a snort from Beatrix in return.

“If I were trying to pull the wool over Norman’s eyes,” Beatrix began, “I assure you, I wouldn’t try to do so by crafting such an unusual tale. Nor would I have subjected myself to the ridicule and condescending behavior I experienced every day at the hands of far-too-many snobbish customers in order to garner Norman’s sympathy so that he’d . . . what? . . . hand over his research papers to me?” She turned to him. “Surely you must see that this whole conversation is ludicrous, as is the idea that I’m some sort of spy.”

Doubt began worming its way through him until a completely valid thought sprang to mind. “But why didn’t you tell me you were an heiress?”

She heaved a sigh. “I should have told you at some point, but after you came and saw me at the store, I was just becoming acclimated to my new situation—or perhaps I should call it an experiment, since you’re rather familiar with those. If word had gotten out that I was this grand heiress, I wouldn’t have been treated as merely a salesgirl. Instead, I would have been viewed as an outsider, rendering my experience at the store useless.”

The doubt wormed its way forward again. “But you’ve had ample time to tell me since you first started working at the store.”

“True, and I don’t really have a good reason for why I didn’t tell you, although there might have been a part of me that was hoping you, what with that unusual mind of yours, were figuring out on your own that I was a woman of some means.”

“How could I have figured that out?”

“You told me numerous times that you’re very observant, so you must have noticed how I wasn’t overly concerned about losing my position, which I would have been if I needed funds. Last week, I thought you might question how I had enough money to post bail for all those women. And then, of course, there’s the dress I’m wearing.” Beatrix gestured to her gown. “How else would I have been able to afford to wear a gown from Worth?”

“You’re wearing Worth?” Mary asked, stepping all of an inch forward.

“I am,” Beatrix said.

Norman tilted his head. “I didn’t even consider at first how you came to possess that gown, probably because the sight of you rendered me all but speechless.”

“And that is exactly why Miss Waterbury should be ashamed of herself,” Mary said firmly, advancing closer to Beatrix until only a foot separated them. “I’ve sheltered Norman from vixens like you his entire life, and that I was not there when you convinced him you were some type of damsel in distress leaves me quite furious.”

Beatrix’s lips, oddly enough, began to curve. “I know I should be gravely insulted about being called a vixen, but I find the thought of myself cast in that particular role rather amusing.”

Norman was not encouraged when his mother drew herself up and opened her mouth, then closed it again, apparently uncertain how to respond to that. Knowing it was past time he took control of the situation before it deteriorated further, Norman nodded to his mother. “I need to speak with Beatrix alone.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m afraid I must insist on that.” Taking Beatrix’s arm, he told his mother he’d catch up with her later, then hustled Beatrix down the sidewalk, not stopping until they reached the line of parked carriages. Glancing over them, Norman spotted his carriage and headed for it, not really surprised when Beatrix tugged her arm away from his.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Away from here,” he said as they reached the carriage and he told the driver to take them for a ride through the city.

After a groomsman hurried to open the door for them, Norman followed Beatrix into the carriage. Settling into the seat opposite her, he nodded as the carriage lurched into motion. “I believe I deserve some answers.”

“I’m not a spy, if that’s an answer you’re looking for.”

“Then why did you withhold your true identity from me?”

Her lips thinned. “Did I, or did I not, introduce myself as Beatrix Waterbury when we first met?”

“You did.”

“Well, there you have it. I didn’t withhold my identity from you. I simply didn’t tell you that I am also an heiress.”

“You’ve yet to sufficiently explain your reasons for that. All you’ve said is that you withheld it to aid your acceptance into the working world.”

She frowned and tilted her head. “I suppose I withheld that information from you at first because I found you so annoying. You were quick to make assumptions about me—one of the most annoying being your assumption that I was a spinster because of my opinionated nature.” She sent him a smile that was hardly amused. “I found it oddly satisfying to allow you to continue on with your less-than-accurate assumptions.”

Norman winced. “I imagine I might have come across as rather condescending at the time.”

“Indeed. But I found it amusing, that amusement lending me the forbearance I desperately needed to refrain from shooting you again.”

He felt his lips give a surprising twitch. “I appreciate that, but why didn’t you mention you’re Arthur Waterbury’s daughter when I brought his name up at the train station?”

“When did you bring my father’s name up at the train station?”

“When I was giving those men a list of possible suspects. I listed your father among them because he attended that meeting I was at in New York.”

Beatrix released a snort. “You gave those men over one hundred names, Norman. Even the men who were writing all those names down were having a hard time keeping up with you. And while I’m sure I must have heard a handful of the names you rattled off, I stopped listening for a while after someone brought me a much-needed cup of tea.”

The doubt was back in a flash. “You did have tea.”

“I did, but to be clear about my father, he often attends scientific meetings in New York. But he has no need to steal your research papers. He’s known to be a generous man with funding research projects, so there are more than enough men willing to hand over their research papers in the hopes of securing funding. Father has no reason to resort to theft for any research idea that may appeal to him.”

Norman frowned. “But if you are a spy for your father, it would explain why you decided to spend time with me, even though you just admitted you found me very annoying when we first met.”

Beatrix settled back against the seat. “You must realize that’s ridiculous.”

Norman looked out the carriage window, wondering how his evening, as well as his life, had turned so dramatic.

He’d always been a man who maintained a life devoid of drama, and yet it seemed to have become his constant companion ever since he’d met Beatrix.

Turning from the scenery, he shrugged. “It’s not ridiculous, although I have to wonder if you’ve been growing concerned about my, well, increased interest in you.”

“You’re going to have to explain that a little more sufficiently.”

“Very well, and I’ll start by saying this—if you’ve been, as my mother suggested, using your feminine wiles to get close to me, you must have neglected to realize that I might become intrigued by those feminine wiles.”

She released a snort. “I’ll have you know that in my many spinster years on this earth I’ve never been accused by anyone of using my feminine wiles, probably because when people think of Beatrix Waterbury, I’m sure they would never think, ‘Well there’s a lady who knows how to use her feminine wiles to advantage.’”

With that, Beatrix reached up and flipped open the small window that opened directly beside the driver, calling for him to take her back to Hyde Park. She then snapped the window shut and got resettled on the seat, staring out the window for the longest time until she turned to him again.

“You’re a logical man, Norman, and logic should tell you that you’re being absurd right now. Someone has obviously framed my father because, again, as one of the wealthiest men in the country, he has no need to steal your research.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to reply. “If you consider all of the time we’ve spent together, you should know that I’m not after your research either. I could have easily taken your papers after I shot you, but did I? No, I did not,” she finished before he could answer the question she apparently hadn’t actually posed to him.

“I also highly doubt, if I wanted your research,” she continued, “and if I were working on behalf of my father, that I would have intervened when those criminals attacked you outside Marshall Field & Company, or when they held up the train in the first place.”

Everything she said did have a certain logic to it, but she had withheld important information from him, and that, as far as Norman was concerned, was telling.

“Perhaps you intervened because you realized those men were going to be unsuccessful, and by intervening, you garnered my appreciation.” He nodded. “Perhaps those men were at your aunt’s house later that night to pass along information to you, and before you argue with that, how would they have known where to find you if they weren’t working with you?”

“My aunt’s address was among the other contents of my reticule that I dumped into that bag on the train.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

The next twenty minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence after Beatrix turned to the window again and refused to say another word, the light from the inside carriage lamp flickering over a face that was flushed with temper. What she was thinking, he had no idea, but he felt a most curious urge to comfort her as well as beg her forgiveness, even with him still convinced that she could very well be the spy his mother had accused her of being.

As the carriage slowed, Norman felt a sense of urgency to do something, although what that something was eluded him at the moment.

“We’re here,” Beatrix said, pulling her attention from the window and reaching for the door.

“I’ll see you to the front door,” he said.

“I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself to the door, Norman. I’ve had quite enough of you tonight and don’t want or need you to see me the last few feet home.” She settled eyes that were suspiciously bright on him. “You’ve insulted me without cause, and because of that, I feel free to finally admit something to you.”

“You are a spy?”

She sent him a look that spoke volumes before she opened the door and stepped to the ground. Turning back to him, she caught his eye. “What I wanted to admit was this—I’d grown very fond of you, Norman, some might say exceedingly so. But you’ve done me a grave disservice this evening, jumping to conclusions before you did your proper due diligence. I have to believe you didn’t become the scientist you are today by being so neglectful, but that you’d be so remiss in your care of me, well, it speaks volumes. Any fondness I might have had for you is now long gone, although I do hope that the fondness you once held for me will have you at least extending me an apology—in the form of a written note, of course—after I clear my father’s name. After that apology, I’ll not want to have any further contact with you.”

Trepidation was immediate. “You’re going to attempt to clear your father’s name?”

“Of course I am, and to do that, I’m going to have to return to New York as soon as possible.” With that, Beatrix shut the door and glided away, not turning back to look at him a single time before she disappeared through her aunt’s gate and straight out of his life.