14 

Sarah sat in the corner of the Lexington Hotel lobby closest to the door and with her back to Kenny, who eyed her from behind the main desk. A steady stream of hotel guests prevented him from leaving his post, and Sarah refused to grant him the satisfaction of eye contact. Instead, her eyes monitored activity outside the door. While she bathed and dressed for the evening, adrenaline had kicked in. The fatigue of a few hours ago had dissipated in anticipation of an evening with Bradley Townsend, even if it was a political occasion. Sarah Cummings may have been weary from stitching until dawn, but Serena Cuthbert was fresh and primped for the occasion.

Brad’s carriage finally rolled up just after eight o’clock. When he stepped out, Sarah forgot to breathe. In evening formal wear, he was even more stunning than in the dark suits she had seen him in before this. A white vest sparkled under his dark tails, and at his neck was a white bow tie. It was all Sarah could do not to jump up and dash toward him, instead making herself wait with no visage of eagerness. She turned her head to glance casually across the lobby as if she had not even noticed his carriage arrive. In her peripheral vision, she watched him pull open the lobby door and step inside.

Tall, dark, and handsome. And rich. Perfect.

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, Serena,” Bradley crooned, bowing slightly to offer her his arm.

“No trouble at all.” Sarah slipped a gloved hand into the crook of his arm and rose from her seat. “You’re right on time.”

He led her to the carriage with the luscious blue silk interior, and Sarah arranged herself as she was sure Serena would—graceful and erect.

“I’m looking forward to a delightful evening,” Sarah said as the horse began to trot.

“As am I,” Brad said. “I should mention that you may hear some political conversation, but pay it no mind.”

So it was the same event that Leo’s friend was attending. Sarah doubted the guest—Thom something—had even noticed the color of her hair, much less the features of her face.

“I hope there won’t be any long speeches.” Sarah coyly gestured with one hand.

Brad shook his head. “Not tonight. Just a few conversations here and there about how to proceed in the face of what the Democrats have done.”

“You mean Mr. Bryan’s nomination?”

“I don’t believe he has a serious chance at election, but we have to be sure.”

“Of course.”

“The working class, you know,” Brad said. “They get ideas in their heads. In the end it doesn’t help anyone, least of all them.”

Sarah looked away and pressed her lips together. She was going to a ball at the Palmer House on the arm of one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago. A smattering of political discussion about the working class would be of no consequence. Certainly she did not have to involve herself in it.

“You might think I have no imagination,” Brad said. “All I seem to do is invite you to political events. I promise you’ll enjoy the evening, though. After the election we’ll have plenty of time for outings more to your liking.”

“No apology is necessary,” Sarah said. “One can hardly go wrong with a ball.”

After the election, he had said. Brad Townsend was thinking of seeing Serena Cuthbert in the future. Sarah leaned back slightly and smiled. Whatever the evening held, it was a down payment on better prospects.

When they entered the ballroom, Sarah felt dozens of eyes on her—men and women alike. Serena Cuthbert made a striking impression, the whispering pink silk swirling around her slender form and draping flawlessly from strategic points. Heads turned when Brad and Serena were announced. Sarah confidently lifted her chin and met the many gazes.

Though she had never been to the Palmer House, ballroom protocol was not foreign to her. The Pullmans on Prairie Avenue gave balls for two hundred people in their home, and nearly every time, Sarah was conscripted to join the expanded staff of servants. From simple observation she had learned what to expect in the guests’ behavior. And now Serena knew what to do.

Brad patted the hand that rested inside his elbow. “You look ravishing and they all know it. It would not surprise me to learn that every woman in this room is jealous at this moment.”

Pleasure pulled at her lips.

“Let me introduce you to a few people.” Brad led her toward a table on the perimeter of the dance floor. “I must pay my respects to some of the organizers. I can’t let them think I did not accept their kind invitation.”

“I’d love to meet your friends,” Sarah said.

At the table, two men stood and greeted Brad enthusiastically, their eyes wandering to Sarah.

“May I present Miss Serena Cuthbert,” Brad said. “Mr. and Mrs. Hayden Powell, and Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Pearce.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you.” Sarah nodded at the foursome with restrained pleasure.

“Emma and I have heard Mr. Townsend’s kind remarks about you before,” Timothy Pearce said.

With Serena’s grace, Sarah smiled at the compliment.

“Miss Cuthbert, your dress is divine,” Emma Pearce commented. “Such a flattering color.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pearce.” Sarah turned up the corners of her mouth with poise.

“I had no idea Bradley was acquainted with anyone as delightful as you,” Mr. Powell said.

Mrs. Powell slapped her husband’s elbow. “Hayden! I’m surprised Brad wants anything to do with you, the way you harass him.”

Sarah smiled and turned her attention to Mrs. Powell. “Your husband is most kind.”

“Pay no attention to him. When Brad’s around, Hayden likes to imagine he’s still a young man himself.”

“He cuts a fine figure.” Sarah aimed Serena’s smile at both the Powells.

“The truth is we have a son older than Brad,” Mrs. Powell said. “I hope you’ll meet him before the evening is over.”

“Where is Thom?” Brad asked, swiveling his head to scan the room.

“He’ll turn up,” Hayden Powell said. “Brad, I hope the business deal we discussed a few days ago will sort itself out soon.”

“First thing Monday morning,” Brad promised. “Diamond Matches is going to make a tidy profit for both of us. I’ve spoken with the Moore brothers personally and made all the arrangements. We’re just waiting for the exchange to open on Monday.”

Powell nodded. “Good, good. I appreciate your tipping me off to it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Brad said. “This is going to be a deal to remember. I certainly intend to make a considerable return.”

Sarah felt the slight blush rise in her cheeks. This was just the kind of outlook she wanted in the man she would marry. Confidence. Business expertise. Visions of wealth.

“Oh, let’s not talk business now,” Mrs. Powell said. “I want to dance. They’re playing a waltz.”

“Your favorite, Mildred.” Hayden Powell dutifully offered his hand and led his wife to the dance floor. Emma and Timothy Pearce followed.

Brad looked at Sarah. “May I?” He held out his hand, palm up.

“I’d be delighted.” She laid her hand in his and wondered if he felt the tingling.

He waltzed her out to the center of the floor. Sarah’s father had taught her to waltz when she was young, and buried grief shivered through her for a fraction of a moment. Brad led their steps confidently and all she had to do was follow, her feet reprising girlhood practice. She shyly turned her eyes down much of the time, her right hand resting in his left. Her left hand on his shoulder. His right hand at the small of her back. Sensation looped from one point of contact to the next as she breathed in his scent and wondered what the soft curls of his beard would feel like against her face.

“We seem to be good dance partners,” Brad observed.

“One always needs a reliable partner,” Sarah answered quickly.

“I can think of other partnerships we might explore as well.”

“I’m most eager to hear what you have in mind.” She hoped he might bend his face toward hers.

Brad raised an eyebrow and smiled, but said nothing more. Instead he began to step more briskly through the dance, brushing up against other pairs until he had cut a swath where he and Sarah danced freely and others slowed their own steps to watch the finesse of the swirling couple.

“I fear people are gawking.” Sarah flushed with pleasure and kept up with every fluid step.

“Only at your beauty,” Brad responded.

“We seem to be taking over the dance floor.”

“They stand back because they find they cannot breathe in your presence.”

“Perhaps you exaggerate, Mr. Townsend.”

“Not an iota.”

“You’re a marvelous partner,” Sarah said, “and the orchestra is spectacular.”

“You deserve the best.”

You deserve the best. No one had said that to Sarah Cummings in more than ten years. Her father had made it a habit, but no one since had seemed to agree with him. The years she had spent nevertheless believing it were coming to fruition at last. Tears glistened in the eyes that Sarah now hid from Brad.

Around and around they spun in one great circle.

When the waltz ended, Brad smiled. “Something to drink, Serena?”

“I do seem to have worked up a thirst.”

He led her to a table and pulled out a chair for her before signaling a waiter.

“Oh, there’s Peter Sattler,” Brad said as the waiter set drinks before them. He waved his hand above his head. The burly man for whom the gesture was intended made his way toward their table. Brad made the introductions.

“Forgive me, Miss Cuthbert,” Mr. Sattler said. “I wish only a moment of Brad’s time for a small matter.”

“Of course,” she responded.

Sattler turned to Brad. “I presume you’ve heard the news from our friend in Ohio?”

Brad nodded. “Mark Hanna will get the job done.”

“William McKinley has the political weight, and Mark Hanna has the business know-how,” Sattler said. “What he proposes seems like a reasonable precaution.”

“Five dollars a head does not seem too much to ensure we win the election,” Brad said. “I’m sure the donations made tonight will go a long way toward that end.”

“I quite agree.” Sattler turned toward Sarah, bowed slowly, and took a step back. “It was delightful to meet you, Miss Cuthbert. I’m not at all sure Mr. Townsend deserves you.”

“You’re most kind.” Sarah batted her eyes above a smile.

Sattler wandered off.

“Donations?” Sarah asked Brad.

“The price of tickets to the ball,” he answered.

“But five dollars a head? After the expenses of the ball, how will they have anything left for the campaign?” Even a parlor maid could appreciate the cost of the extravagance she saw tonight—the hotel, the food, the orchestra.

Half of Brad’s mouth twisted into a smile. “No need to worry about it, Serena. I assure you the ticket price was far more than five dollars a person. That figure refers to a certain level of enticement to be offered at a later date.”

“Enticement?”

“You have many questions tonight,” Brad said. “I don’t expect you to understand the ins and outs of how political deals are done. Shall we dance again?”

Sarah nodded, and they returned to the dance floor, this time for a slower, four-step dance. They had barely begun when a man about Brad’s age tapped his shoulder.

“Will you permit me to cut in?” the man asked.

Brad paused. “Only with the greatest reluctance.”

“My father was adamant that I should meet your guest.”

Sarah looked the man in the eye.

“May I present Miss Serena Cuthbert,” Brad said, “and this is Thom Powell. We chatted with his parents earlier.”

“I remember,” Sarah said.

Thom. Leo had called his friend Thom. Unquestionably this was the same man. His eyes betrayed no glimmer of recognition.

Brad stepped away and Thom Powell led Sarah back into the dance.

“How is it that Brad Townsend met you before I did?” he asked.

Sarah raised her eyes to look him square in the face. “Perhaps we have met and the moment escapes you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure I would remember being introduced to you, Miss Cuthbert.”

“I suppose our paths simply have not crossed.”

“I hope we will see each other again,” Thom said. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my wife.”

Sarah permitted herself one of Serena’s most encouraging smiles and gave herself over to her success.