As if on cue, a new song begins. Talk aboutluck.
“Well,” Harry says, a hedging, cautious tone, “if your nervous system is now fully regulated, might you... be interested in joining me for a waltz, Miss Ritter?”
Would she be interested? Alice had Cora waltzing, quadrilling, practicing the four-step across her living room with Dagmar for evenings on end. Though Cora has some natural skill, it took a full week to master the intricacies of all the variations of ballroom dance. She’s excited to show off her skills, put all of Alice’s meticulous training to the test.
“I should love nothing more.”
The crowd parts, scores of eyes watching them with curiosity, as they step onto the floor.
Cora resists the urge to look around, else risk seeming less than fully taken with her partner. But as they begin to glide across the parquet, she would wager her cut, maybe even bet the farm itself, that Alice is watching her.
She hopes her mentor is delighted. Proud of her even, perish the thought. She and Harry Peyton, sailing across the ballroom, just as she’d hoped. The night had its obstacles, most certainly, but Cora has triumphed. Sheltered, unusual fellow this Peyton is, and still, ensnaring the lad was far easier than she anticipated. Painless, really, as a stroll around the park.
As they spin about the floor, Cora catches Arabella’s watchful, worried eye.
Just a pity there will be some unforeseen casualties.
Chapter 10
Pepper’s Ghost
February 3, 1884
Directly after breakfast, Alice calls to Béatrice, “Ready the velvet, once you have a moment, the one we’ve been saving. It’ll go nicely with your new hat, Cora.”
Cora blinks blearily up from the needlepoint square she’s been struggling with. “Where are we going?”
“It’s Sunday.” Alice pauses in the doorway, wondering if the girl’s gotten quite enough sleep. “We’re going to church.”
“I... But... we haven’t been to church before.” Cora looks almost terrified. “I’vehardly been to church before. Our congregation was tiny back home, and Lutheran, not...”
“Episcopalian,” Alice supplies wryly. “If you’re concerned that God’s wrath will descend upon you the instant you step into Grace Church, I can assure you, you’re perfectly safe. Plenty of far worse sinners have filled those pews long before you or me, and stepped out just as hale and healthy as before. Not to mention more securely sewn into the social fabric of New York City, which is what our aim is inattending, now that you’ve been properly introduced to fashionable high society.”
“Fashionable by whose account?” Cora asks sardonically.
“Ward’s account, mainly.” Alice leans against the doorjamb with a smirk of her own. “As informed by his friend, the great Mrs. Caroline Astor.”
“And when am I going to be meeting the great Mrs. Caroline Astor?” Cora looks more hopeful about that prospect than the one facing them this Sunday morning.
Alice’s smile drops away. “If I can help it? Never.”
She turns and sweeps into her bedroom before Cora can pry any further.
Béatrice dresses them hastily, then readies herself in practical woolens and a thick winter cloak.
As she holds the door for them to step out of the brownstone, Alice glances sharply back at her. “Are you sure—”
Béa shakes her head, waving away her concern. “I will be fine. This is a task best accomplished alone.”
Alice nods, continuing down the icy steps with Cora, leaving her housemaid to attend to her even more crucial errand. In terms of capability, she trusts Béa almost as much as herself.
She can’t think further than capability. It’s too dangerous to think of trust in more sentimental terms. As much as she might hope for more...
Everyone leaves, Alice reminds herself, closing her eyes against the bright winter morning as Ward McAllister’s carriage crunches up the road.Don’t be the fool who thinks otherwise.
“Why, a very happy Sunday to all! Your Grace, Miss Ritter,” Ward crows. “And is that a new hat I spy?”
“It was a Christmas gift,” Cora replies. “From my cousin.”
