“May I help you?” a smartly dressed attendant asked, striding toward them. He had on a dark uniform, a crisp white shirt and gloves, and a bow tie.
“We’re unable to attend the concert tonight,” Theo said briskly. “And were hoping to hear Miss Adams sing during her practice instead.”
The attendant chuffed at the brazenness of the request, about to turn them away. Until Theo brought out a wad of bills.
The attendant’s sneer turned into an obliging smile. “Right this way, sir,” he said.
“That’s right, I forgot,” Grace said under her breath. “Only the rich get to be impertinent.”
“Come now, Grace,” Theo said breezily. “You seem to do a pretty good job of it yourself.”
He held the door for her and she wrinkled her nose.
The sound of the door closing behind them ricocheted across the vaulted ceiling. Grace tried not to gasp at the gleaming white walls of the grand, circular dome, empty of people but with seating for thousands. She glimpsed the largest pipe organ she had ever seen. Its ten thousand gleaming, golden pipes made her wish she had Walt at her side. Walt loved music. He had loved the organ at their small church, and they had laughed at the petite, passionate woman who every Sunday had played it for all she was worth. One time, they had snuck in when no one was there and played the organ as loud as they could, pretending to be Mrs. Penelope T. Gottfried until their mother caught them. Grace wondered if, with the acoustics of this place, playing an instrument like this at the height of its volume could blow out her eardrums.
Theo’s hand barely grazed her lower back as he ushered her toward the balcony, and an unexpected zing went up Grace’s spine.
They sank into the plush box seats above the stage, fading into the shadows.
“All of this is to be temporary?” she whispered, gaping in awe at the splendor of the hall.
“Lifeis temporary,” Theo said. “Might as well make it as beautiful as you can.”
Ethel Adams appeared on the stage dressed in a white gown and sat down at a grand piano. Three women joined her onstage, and a single man sat in the audience.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, directing the question to the man.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
“There’s someone I want to impress tonight. Let’s make sure he gets the best seat in the house.”
Grace exchanged a look with Theodore.
Then Ethel drew a breath and transformed it into a song that filled the room with something soft and velvet, something Grace could almost reach out and touch. Ethel was surrounded by pots of flowering trees and the train of her dress spilled around her ankles in an iridescent oyster silk, like molten mother-of-pearl. Draped banners swayed as the lights were adjusted behind her. For the first time, Grace felt as though a song could melt in the air, wrap itself around her, and then gently tuck her in.
Theo leaned toward her. “I forgot to mention that my father made a call,” he whispered. “I can get us in to see Oliver.”
“When?” Grace asked.
“Tomorrow.”
She felt that pleasurable little zing again.
“Why are you doing all of this for Oliver?” she whispered. The fear of those zings made her voice come out sharper than she intended. “Playing along in his game with Harriet could have easily gotten the murder pinned on you.”
His jaw twitched. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“Then why?” she demanded. “Why are you being so good to him? Did he lend you money? Do you owe Oliver some sort of debt?”
“Your low opinion of me never ceases to amaze.”
She turned toward the stage, not looking at him. “It just seems an awful amount of effort for someone you haven’t even known a year.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flush a little. “I’m not in the habit of making friends easily or quickly,” he said. “I know well what it’s like to be used for my name and fortune or mocked behind my back for the way I look.” He flushed deeper, turning so that the birthmark was fully visible. “But Oliver was immediately my friend. He made other friends for me. He made my entering society in St. Louis so effortless. I may not have the gift of easily making friends, but I do have the gift of loyalty.” He clenched his jaw, his profile limned in the light. And she thought of how alike they were, in some ways. Oliver had done the same for her. Instead of shunning her as an outsider, he had always brought her into the fold. Made her feel like she was wanted.
“So perhaps you’re right,” Theodore said. “Perhaps I am repaying a debt. But I like to think of it as more that I care. And when I care”—his eyes met hers, and something twinged inside of her—“I care to the depths of myself.”
Her gloved hand grazed his and she immediately pulled it back. Hints of attraction were out of the question. This was all just a marriage of convenience. No, not that word. Abusiness arrangementof convenience.
