Neferet's Curse (House of Night Novellas #3)(16)

And I stumbled into Mr. Pullman’s impressive girth.

“Alice, do watch where you are walking!” Father had snapped.

When he spoke I had been readying an apology for Mr. Pullman, so I saw the older man’s face as he registered the fact that my father had just called me by my dead mother’s name. His concern was palpable. “Oh, Barrett, think nothing of it! Your lovely and talented daughter may stumble into me at will.” The dear man put his hand on Father’s shoulder, gently guiding him ahead of me, all the while engaging him in conversation and moving him forward into the dining room so that I could pause and have a moment to collect myself. “Now, let us discuss an idea I have for adding electric lighting to Central Station. I believe the night traffic that will be generated by the Columbian Exposition justifies the expense, which we can more than make up for in the additional train tickets sold. You know I hold controlling shares in the station. I would be willing to…”

Pullman’s voice trailed away as he and Father strode into the dining room. I’d stood there, frozen as stone, the words Alice, do watch where you are walking! playing round and round in my mind.

“May I escort you to dinner, Miss Wheiler?”

I looked up into Arthur Simpton’s kind blue eyes. “Y-yes, please, sir,” I’d managed.

He’d offered his arm, and I placed my hand on it. Unlike my father’s, Arthur’s forearm was trim, and there was no dark mat of hair tufting out from under his cuffed dress shirt. And he was so delightfully tall!

“Don’t worry,” he’d whispered as we led the rest of the small group into the dining room. “No one except Pullman and I heard him call you Alice.”

My gaze had darted up to his.

“It was an understandable mistake,” he continued, speaking quickly and quietly for my ears only. “But I know it must have been painful for you.”

It was difficult for me to speak, so I only nodded.

“Then I will attempt to distract you from your pain.”

And a wondrous thing happened—Arthur positioned himself beside me at dinner! I was, of course, sitting to Father’s right, but his attention—for once—was utterly distracted from me by Mr. Pullman on his left and Mr. Burnham, who was sitting beside Mr. Pullman. When their discussion turned from the electricity at Central Station to the lighting of the Midway of the exposition, the architect, Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted, joined the conversation, adding even more passion to the argument. Arthur stayed out of much of the conversation. At first the other men joked that he was a poor stand-in for his gout-ridden father, but he laughed and agreed; then when they returned to their battle of words, Arthur returned his attention to me.

No one seemed to notice, not even Father, at least not after I called for the fifth bottle of our good cabernet to be opened and liberally poured—though he did send me a sharp look if I laughed at one of Arthur’s witticisms. I learned quickly to stifle my laughter and instead smile shyly at my plate.

I did look up, though, as often as I dared. I wanted to look into Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes and see the sparkle and the kindness with which they watched me.

But I did not want Father to see, nor did I want Mr. Elcott to see.

Mr. Elcott’s gaze did not have my father’s intensity, but I did find it on me often that night. It reminded me that Mrs. Elcott, as well as Camille, expected that Arthur Simpton was close to declaring his serious affections for their daughter, though in complete honesty I will admit that I did not need a reminder.

As I write this I do feel a measure of sadness, or perhaps pity is the more sincere emotion, for poor Camille. But she should not have deluded herself. The truth is the truth. That night I took nothing from her that she hadn’t attempted to first take from me.

I also took nothing that was not freely, joyfully, given.

The dinner that I had dreaded seemed to last but a fleeting moment. Too soon, Father, his face flushed and his words slurred, pushed back from the table, stood, and announced, “Let us retire to my library for brandy and cigars.”

I’d stood when Father did, and the other five men got instantly to their feet.

“Let us first have a toast,” Mr. Pullman had said. He’d lifted his mostly empty wineglass, and the rest of the men had followed suit. “To Miss Emily Wheiler for a delightful dinner. You are a credit to your mother.”

“To Miss Wheiler!” the men said, raising their glasses to me.

I am not ashamed to admit that I’d felt a rush of pride and of happiness. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are all most kind.” As they all bowed to me I managed to sneak a look at Arthur, who winked quickly and flashed a handsome, white-toothed smile at me.

“My dear, you were a picture tonight—a picture,” Father slurred. “Have brandy and cigars sent to my library.”

“Thank you, Father,” I’d said softly. “And I already arranged for George to be waiting in your library with both brandy and cigars.”

He’d taken my hand in his. His was large and moist, as it always was, and he lifted mine to his lips. “You have done well tonight. I bid you a good night, my dear.”

The other men had echoed his good-night wishes, as I hurried from the room, wiping the back of my hand on my voluminous velvet skirts. I’d felt my father’s gaze burning me the whole way and I did not dare look back, even for one last glimpse of Arthur Simpton.