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Alexandria, Virginia
Friday, May 3, 1878
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“That’s it! I’m out of here.”
Mark Wilson said this to no one in particular as he unobtrusively wove between several dancing couples and left the ballroom in Gadsby’s Restaurant and Hotel. Not only was he unaccustomed to being in such a fancy setting as this, but it had been a strain on his nerves to watch the woman he loved dance with her intended and the happy couple whisper in each other’s ears all night as if the two of them were the only ones in the room. Ever since Sarah Packard announced her engagement to Derrick Baldwin two months ago, Mark’s mind had been so numb, he could hardly remember his own name. Every time the milksop entered the Packards’ stables, or whenever Mr. Packard invited Mark to eat supper with the family, which meant he had to sit through the meal and listen to the couple talk about their wedding plans, he wanted to slug the man who had swooped into town and caught sweet Sarah’s attention. Focusing on his daily chores of feeding and saddling horses, mucking out stalls, repairing tack, and occasionally talking with customers was the only way to survive. But then it also reminded him that he was just a lowly stable hand and would never be good enough to win Sarah Packard’s heart.
He wouldn’t have come tonight if Sarah hadn’t asked him to. What did he know about quadrilles and minuets and four-course meals? What could he converse about with the dandies who wore tuxedos and whose shoes had been shined by their servants’ hands, who talked about nothing but their family’s immense financial holdings? Absolutely nothing.
Mark headed toward the cloakroom to retrieve his coat—no top hat for him, thank you very much. He knew that only made him seem more of a country bumpkin than the sophisticated type Sarah looked for in a husband, but he had never felt comfortable in formal attire. The suit jacket he was wearing proved that point, as he had borrowed it from Chas Bryant, his friend and mentor. Under it, he wore his best shirtwaist and pressed pants, and had knotted a red tie around his neck for good measure. As a whole, the outfit hadn’t looked too shabby, but he knew the truth. He would always be the poor boy on the outside looking in.
Mark wasn’t aware that someone had followed him out of the ballroom until he was halfway to the street.
“Mark, wait!” someone called.
Turning, he groaned when he saw Amaryllis Flanders, Jessica Bryant’s younger sister. The Bryants’ had raised her from the time that she was nine years old. Mark, Sarah, and Amy, as she liked to be called, had been the best of friends from the time the Packards and Bryants had foiled a couple of criminals’ plans to overtake the Packards’ horse breeding operation.
Even though he hadn’t said as much to Amy, she looked quite different tonight all gussied up in her off-the-shoulder gown and her long auburn hair brushed to a smooth shine and swept up in a fancy do. Pretty, even. He never would’ve believed it of the tomboy. Her hurried steps as she approached him caused her to trip, probably from her own heeled shoes, since she wasn’t used to wearing the things. He caught her easily in his arms.
Despite his disgruntled mood, he grinned. “What’s your rush?”
In the muted light shining from the hotel, it was hard to see her eyes, but he knew that if he could, their green depths would be flashing with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m going home.”
“Why?”
It was a loaded question, one he couldn’t—wouldn’t—explain to her. “Because.”
“But you promised me a dance.”
He had? “When?”
“Last week after church. Don’t you remember?”
He was embarrassed to admit he didn’t. “Maybe you could save that dance for another time.” He turned to go but, with her disappointed expression lingering in his mind, stopped. “You shouldn’t be hindered by me, Amy. This is your chance to snare one of the eligible young men in attendance. Mind you, just make sure he’s worthy of such a fine young lady as yourself. And that he’s not the age your father would be if he were still alive. There are plenty of handsome—and rich—young gents here to choose from.”
Amy didn’t reply. A phenomenon in and of itself since she always had something to say about whatever topic was being discussed. She was a vivacious young woman, full of energy and an overload of confidence, and he loved her like a sister. So why was she glaring at him as if he’d said something vile?
“Well,” he mumbled, “have a good night.”
Without another word, he turned and hurried to the buggy he’d rented from the livery in Dreviston. He could have gone to this shindig with Mr. and Mrs. Packard, or with Chas and Jessica, but he’d chosen to go alone, and not use one of the horses from their stables. Oh, sure, they would’ve been happy to lend him the use of one of their stallions, but lately Mark felt a growing unease around the Packards, like he was just biding his time with them. Strange. At one point, he’d felt like a member of their family.
As soon as he climbed into his rented buggy and got down the lane a bit, he tugged the darned necktie off and threw it across the seat. Ah, freedom!
The light-hearted feeling didn’t last long, however. Mark reflected on it as he drove back to Dreviston. He had told the livery owner he’d be getting in close to midnight. He hadn’t wanted to stay overnight in Alexandria like the Packards were doing. He would’ve had to listen to them go on and on about what a fine couple Sarah and Derrick made and what a success the party had been. Even Chas and Jessica had mentioned it a time or two. No, sir. He couldn’t stomach any more of that talk. Or talk about Derrick Baldwin and his ridiculously rich parents, either. Tad Baldwin this, and Tad Baldwin that. Sounded like he was quite a powerful figure in Denver. A mover and shaker. As far as Mark was concerned, he and his family could just go back to Denver and shake things up there. They’d done enough damage here.
It wasn’t that Mark wanted to loathe other people who were born into more fortunate circumstances than his own. But situations like this made it difficult for him to stanch the feeling of inadequacy and bitterness that arose whenever he was around them. You are not jealous of that windbag. Yes, you were born in lower circumstances, but look how far you’ve come.
This time, though, he was having a harder time than usual listening to his own advice. Deep down, he knew that he didn’t want to belong to the snobbish circle of people who had been at the party tonight, but he did wish he was good enough for Sarah. He’d been scrimping and saving from the time he first began earning a wage, and in the past few years, he’d begun envisioning himself providing for her as a husband provided for his wife. Waking up to her and having children with her in their small but cozy home. But that wasn’t to be.
Even if Mark had felt confident in asking Lyle Packard for Sarah’s hand in marriage, and even if Lyle had been willing to allow Mark to court his daughter, Mark also knew that Lyle would have immediately offered Mark a house, perhaps even a minor partnership in his horse breeding operation. After all, he’d offered a partnership to Chas seven years ago after Chas retired from the Pinkerton Agency in Denver, Colorado. But Mark wasn’t looking for a handout. He’d wanted to show Sarah’s parents that he could provide for her on his own. And just when he was ready to do that, Derrick Baldwin had come riding into town and swept her off her feet. She had never given Mark a second glance. Her absence in his life had left a giant hole in his heart, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this agony he could take.
She’s no longer available, his heart moaned. Derrick had claimed her hand.
But not her heart, he wanted to protest.
Surely not her heart.
