Fourteen

Marianne cinched Vera’s waist down to nineteen inches to fit into her Nell Gwynn costume gown of shimmering gold silk. The shoulder and underarm seams were so closely sewn that Vera couldn’t lift her arms more than a few inches. Although Marianne would never be able to compete with her mother’s hourglass waist, her milkmaid outfit was still surprisingly attractive, with a full skirt of French blue, an ivory blouse, and a lace-up vest. The flouncy sleeves and loose skirt allowed far more freedom than Vera’s gown.

Which was a good thing when Bandit came bounding into the room, entranced by the swaths of iridescent fabric on Vera’s gown. Vera squealed in dismay as the dog drew near, but Marianne sprang forward to grab his collar.

“Down, boy,” she urged, even though Bandit didn’t mean any harm. He had been sent to live with them as a punishment for Sam. According to Andrew, her nephew was starting to indulge in “disrespectful back talk” to his parents. Separating the boy from his dog was the greatest punishment Andrew could imagine, so Marianne had agreed to look after Bandit for a month.

Vera clasped her hands over her heart. “Thank heavens that creature didn’t ruin my gown!”

“Mama, it’s all right. You’re going to be the most beautiful congressman’s wife in attendance tonight.” Vera always looked spectacular but still wasn’t comfortable in Washington society and needed constant reassurance.

“Please leave your camera at home,” Vera said. “It’s not ladylike to carry it about, and this isn’t the sort of gathering where people will expect to be photographed, hmm, darling?”

“Of course, Mama.” Although Marianne secretly disagreed. When people were enjoying themselves was precisely when they most welcomed a photograph, but this was Vera’s evening. Her mother lived for these glamorous events, and Marianne would do her best to make it perfect for her.

Twilight had just begun to darken the sky as their carriage arrived at the riverside park. Torches lined a garden path leading to the gala, and Marianne craned her neck to admire the lavish display. A vine-covered trellis lined both sides of the pathway, but every few yards there was an alcove nestled amidst the plants where actors had been hired to pose in tableaux of famous paintings. There was The Return of the Prodigal Son by Rembrandt, Girl with a Pearl Earring by Vermeer, and the Arnolfini Portrait depicting a wealthy merchant and his wife by Jan van Eyck. The actors were exquisitely dressed down to the last detail and valiantly held their poses despite the high-society guests gaping at the display. She wished she had her camera, because everywhere she looked was a feast for the eyes.

At the end of the avenue of tableaux was a flower-draped awning where guests were greeted by the two women hosting the charity gala. The older woman wore a silk turban with a stone as large as a robin’s egg in the center. The younger blond woman was even more shocking, for she was dressed like a man in the exquisitely tailored uniform of a seventeenth-century musketeer. The outfit was complete with trousers, flaring white sleeves, a scarlet cape flung over one shoulder, and a hat tilted at a jaunty angle. She even wore knee-high leather boots. Both women laughed as they greeted each guest.

“Isn’t this fun?” Vera asked as they funneled closer to their hostesses, and Marianne had to agree. This was going to be an evening to cherish.

“Welcome, Mr. Trent,” the hostess wearing the musketeer outfit said to the couple in front of her. “We are so grateful that you, your wife, and your wallet could attend our little soiree. Have you met Mrs. Stepanovic?” she asked as she introduced the turban-wearing woman.

“Indeed,” Mr. Trent boomed. “And this is my wife, Martha Trent. Martha, this is Caroline Delacroix, hostess extraordinaire.”

Marianne sucked in a breath. She hadn’t realized this charity gala was being hosted by Luke’s twin sister. She’d heard of Caroline Delacroix, of course. Who hadn’t? But Marianne had never seen the daring socialite, and it appeared all the rumors were true. She was beautiful, bold, and confident.

Vera leaned in close. “Delacroix?” she whispered harshly. “Is she one of those Delacroixs?”

“Yes, Mama, she is, but this isn’t the place for dramatics.” Thank heavens her father wasn’t here, because he was far less likely to play by the rules of polite society. Could Caroline? With so many people crowded behind them, there was no way to escape the meeting.

“Welcome!” Caroline Delacroix said warmly as Marianne and Vera stepped beneath the flower-draped arch. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Marianne met her eyes. “I’m Marianne Magruder, and this is my mother, Mrs. Vera Magruder.”

Caroline’s eyes widened briefly in recognition, but she quickly masked whatever else she was feeling. “Well! Aren’t you brave,” she said with a coy wink. “Tonight, we are all friends! Especially if you are willing to open your purses to fund a worthy cause. The vocational school for women is going to sponsor an additional fifty students for next year’s classes, and I’m sure the Magruders would love a chance to show their generosity.”

Caroline turned her attention to the couple behind them, and another thought hit Marianne. Would Luke be here?

There must be two hundred people already gathered. A dance floor had been set up on the lawn, and senators dressed as Dutch burghers mingled with women wearing elaborate collars. Tapestries covered tables weighed down with bowls of fruit, mimicking the still life paintings so popular during the high golden age of Dutch art. Hundreds of votive candles were scattered around the garden amidst the baronial splendor. On the far side of the park, guests lined up for rides on the river barge. A cluster of men smoking cigars gathered near a bar serving drinks, but she didn’t see Luke anywhere.

Disappointment tugged at her as she and Vera headed farther into the park. She both feared and longed for a chance to see Luke again. They’d only had a few weeks together, but knowing him had left a mark. He had changed her for the better. He inspired her to be less complacent and braver about taking risks.

Vera had insisted that they eat nothing before the gala. Her mother’s nineteen-inch waist didn’t allow room for anything so inconsequential as food, but Marianne was hungry, and the gala’s refreshments smelled divine. A table filled with miniature quiches was tempting, and she helped herself to a plate. She stood on the edge of the dance floor to eat, wondering if she knew anyone here. The clerical people she worked with at Interior weren’t the sort to attend a charity gala, and her parents’ friends weren’t her friends. She probably had more in common with the waiters and the musicians than the guests.

Her gaze trailed to the string quartet, and her heart nearly stopped.

There he was.

Luke sat with the musicians and plucked a lute held loosely in his arms. His face was gripped with concentration as he studied the sheet music on the stand before him. How intent he looked! She hadn’t known he played an instrument, and somehow that made him even more appealing. The longing for him she’d been trying to suppress for months came roaring back to life.

Then she noticed his costume and smiled so wide it made her face hurt. He was dressed exactly like his sister in a musketeer uniform, complete with a tunic, white puffy sleeves, and a hat at a rakish angle.

As if sensing her presence, Luke glanced up and caught her gaze. His fingers froze as he gaped at her. The other musicians kept playing, but Luke had stopped. It felt like electricity flared between them, filling her with light and buoyancy. After a moment he simply set the lute on the ground, stood, and crossed over to her.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, his face suffused with happiness.

“Me either,” she said, barely able to draw a full breath. “Aren’t you needed with the musicians?”

He shook his head. “I was just filling in for a guy who got hungry. They’re probably better off without me.”

“I doubt that.” He made everything better just by being there. His optimism, his excitement.

They stood in the middle of the dance floor. The evening was young, and no one had started dancing yet, but plenty of people carried platters of food and glasses brimming with punch.

“Do you still have your job? The poison job?” she asked.

He nodded. “Do you still have yours?”

“Yes. They decided not to fire us after all. They said they need our pictures.”

“Good!” Then he stilled, his eyes taking on a hint of caution. “Is your father here?”

“No, he had a committee meeting he couldn’t miss.”

“Even better!” He took the plate of quiche from her and set it aside. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a place behind the service tent where we can be alone.”

“Yes.”

She ought to resist the temptation, but she couldn’t. Luke was already headed that way, and she followed. Why had they forced themselves to stay apart all this time? Everything about this felt right, and the grudge between their families was antiquated and foolish.

A few torches lit the way to the tent, where waiters hastily refilled trays of hors d’oeuvres. A tall hedge bordered the back, and Luke led her behind it, then turned to face her, grabbing her hands. He was trembling.

“I thought about you every day,” he said quietly.

“I thought of you too.” There was no point in denying it. No matter how hard she’d tried to corral her wayward thoughts, they inevitably drifted to Luke and what he was doing.

“I wanted to pound down the door at the Department of the Interior and ask where you were.”

That sounded familiar. “I sometimes walked past the boardinghouse, looking for you,” she admitted.

Luke preened. “Did you ever see me?”

“Twice. I hid behind the wall at the end of the street because I’m a coward.”

“Nonsense,” Luke teased. “You are probably the bravest girl I’ve ever met. I’m the coward. I didn’t have the guts to publish the Don Quixote translation until your article came to me. Thanks for sending it.”

Her spirit lit. “Is it published?”

“It went to the printers on Monday.”

Her heart swelled with pride at his accomplishment. “Congratulations. I can’t wait to read it.”

“You might hate it,” he cautioned. “It’s different. Even my editor suggested it was a little overblown.”

“And Don Quixote isn’t? He might be the most overblown character in the history of literature. No matter what the critics say, good or bad, you would have regretted it for the rest of your life if you didn’t publish it. I’m so glad you did.”

He touched the side of her face, affection and a hint of gratitude in his eyes. The idea that she could inspire this bold, audacious man to finish his book filled her with pride. She wasn’t nearly as brave as Luke, but in this one area he was painfully vulnerable.

This was moving too fast. It felt as if they’d never been apart, and she wanted to reach out to him with both hands. She took a breath and stepped back to admire his musketeer outfit.

“I saw your sister at the entrance wearing a similar costume. She seems very daring. Is your brother dressed as the third musketeer?”

Luke grinned. “We tried, but Gray refused to wear anything other than a formal black suit. But that’s Gray for you. Come, let me introduce you to him.”

She tensed. “I think this is the part where I remind you I’m not very brave. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t need to revisit how much he hates my family, do we? Please say no.”

It was dark now, and the crickets were chirping. Flickering torchlight illuminated the planes of Luke’s face, and once again she wished his name were anything besides Delacroix.

“All right,” Luke conceded. “Let’s revisit how morally wrong it is to waste even a moment of the sheer perfection of this night. There’s a bench overlooking the river. We can spy on the barges and poke fun at the costumes.”

“Let’s!” she readily agreed.

In the end they barely gave the partygoers on the barge a second thought as they held hands and recounted the past four months. He spoke about his work traveling all over the city to help his sister gather support for the McMillan Plan. She told him about Bandit and the new camera she’d bought. Never had time flown so quickly, but it couldn’t last forever.

“I need to check on my mother,” she said reluctantly. “She’s wearing the world’s most impractical gown and needs help if she’s going to do anything more strenuous than blink.”

Luke grabbed her arm before she could rise from the bench. “When can I see you again?”

She ought to say never. She ought to wish him a fond farewell. The memory of her father’s scorching anger back in February had diminished, but it would be awful if he caught her out a second time.

A few yards behind them, a pair of waiters left the service tent carrying platters of crab cakes and roasted lamb. It all smelled divine, but Luke looked away. He couldn’t eat a single morsel that wasn’t prepared in a boardinghouse kitchen where scientists adulterated his food with overdoses of chemical preservatives.

No matter what her father said, Luke Delacroix was a man of selfless valor. What other man in his position would endure months of restrictive food trials in the name of science?

She bit the side of her lip as indecision clawed at her. Never had she felt so accepted by another human being as she did when she was with Luke, and she couldn’t walk away from that feeling quite yet.

“I still go to the Gunderson studio every Friday morning to develop my photographs,” she whispered.

“I can’t wait until Friday. Where are you taking pictures next?”

On Monday she was slated to photograph the navy’s shipyard at low tide, which meant six o’clock in the evening. She would be alone. There would be no fear of discovery if they met at the isolated dry dock.

“I’ll be at the Navy Yard at six o’clock on Monday evening,” she said. “Can you meet me then?”

He shook his head. “I eat with the Poison Squad at six o’clock sharp, and there’s no escaping it. Can you wait? I’ll eat fast and can be there by seven.”

“I’ll wait for you,” she said, her heart already speeding up at the prospect. “Now I need to go find my mother.”

She didn’t look back as she hastened toward the torchlit gathering under the awnings, but she felt Luke watching her the entire way.

Vera was incensed by the time Marianne found her. “Where have you been?” she whispered fiercely. “I need to use the ladies’ room and can hardly do so without assistance.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Vera took little mincing steps, which was all the gown allowed, as they headed toward the building with the facilities. Even after emerging from the stall, Vera continued pointing out the problems caused by Marianne’s absence, including the fact that Marianne had the compact of rice powder, and Vera’s nose had grown unacceptably shiny.

“I’ve looked like an oil slick for the last half hour,” she said reproachfully as she dabbed the powder puff across the slight sheen on her face. “Where on earth did you disappear to?”

“I was admiring the sights,” Marianne said, which was certainly the truth.

“Well, don’t disappear again,” Vera castigated, but the moment they emerged from the building, her face assumed the beatific look of an angel as she glided toward the party. For the next hour Vera exchanged air kisses with other Washington socialites, flirted with a Supreme Court justice, playfully tapped her fan against the shoulder of a Russian diplomat, and generally appeared to be walking on air.

All the while Marianne watched Luke from the corner of her eye. He mingled with ease, bantering with men and flirting with women. He didn’t touch a morsel of food or drink. She took care not to let Vera notice where her attention strayed, but she savored every forbidden glance at him.

Then Luke stepped onto the dance floor with his sister, and he became impossible to ignore. He and Caroline created quite a stir in their identical musketeer uniforms as they effortlessly launched into a waltz. How dazzling they looked!

“Altogether appalling,” Vera whispered into her ear, but Marianne disagreed, as did most of Washington society, who seemed delighted to admire the two master dancers execute a flamboyant waltz. Other dancers pulled aside as Luke and Caroline cut a swath across the floor. Caroline’s trousers and high leather boots made it easy to watch their footwork as they swooped, slid, and twirled in tandem. They were both laughing, as were the people lining the dance floor who started applauding even while the duo continued to waltz.

Even Gray Delacroix was smiling, watching his younger siblings. He glanced up and caught Marianne watching him.

Did he know who she was? He must, for his smile faded as he locked eyes with her across the dance floor. Luke’s older brother was a stranger to her except for the one time he grabbed her ankle and dragged her off the ice on a bitterly cold day in January. After she scrambled back onto shore, he had been entirely focused on tending Luke and hadn’t spared her a second glance.

How different things were this warm summer evening beneath the stars. Gray nodded to her. It was a stiff nod, full of formality and brooding concern, but it was polite. Barely.

The dancing came to an end shortly after that terse nod, and then it was time for speeches, always to be expected during a charity event. Caroline still seemed a little breathless as she took command of the evening by speaking about the importance of the school to train women for skilled jobs in the workforce. Then she began auctioning off donated items, raising thousands of dollars in the space of twenty minutes.

They auctioned items large and small. An emerald bracelet, a painting by Edgar Degas, and box seats at the opera commanded steep prices. Other items were more fun, like the baseball signed by the entire Washington Senators team and a set of model train cars donated by President Roosevelt.

Then a pair of attendants carried out ten individual garlands of flowering blossoms that had been used to decorate the venue this evening. The garlands perfectly complemented Botticelli’s Primavera, and now that the evening was drawing to a close, they would be awarded to the first ten people who promised to donate fifty dollars to the girls’ school.

Luke’s hand shot up, along with a handful of other men’s. The garlands were soon gone, and Luke stepped forward to claim his prize. He poked and prodded among the garlands, and it looked like he selected the one primarily featuring rich blue forget-me-nots.

Marianne’s eyes widened as she realized his intent. No sooner had Luke claimed his garland than he began heading straight toward her. Didn’t he realize her mother was standing right beside her? His smile was wide as he looped the garland around her neck.

“For the prettiest lady at the gala,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“You shouldn’t have,” she stammered.

“Why not? The flowers are the exact shade of your eyes.” It looked like he wanted to add more, but he must have noticed the alarm on her face, and his eyes flicked to Vera. Luke proffered her mother a little bow and stepped back a pace. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

Vera’s hand tightened around Marianne’s arm like a claw. “Your father is to know nothing about this, but don’t you dare put me in a position like that ever again.”