The notion makes him equal parts eager and queasy. He is mightily aware that he needs to change his current circumstances: Harry has become his aging, temperamental father’s preferred caregiver (a role that has increasingly resembled servant, and then, as the years have dragged on,victim), tasked with fulfilling the old man’s every obscure, demeaning, andoccasionally vindictive “need.” And yet Harry is also far from comfortable rubbing shoulders with Württemberg nobility as a matter of course.
Perhaps he can frame this courtship of Miss Ritter as an experiment of sorts. One he can prepare for, research, and control through various elements, same as he does with all his examinations. He’ll need to eventually secure his father’s blessing... and yet Harry’s father finally agreed to his weekly visits to the surgical theater at the New York Academy of Medicine for further training, did he not? And didn’t, or couldn’t, stop Harry when he had hurried out the door for the Patriarch’s Ball? A mere few months ago, such respite from their Sixtieth Street home would have felt like a dream. And look at Harry now, attending real live parties, walking about the park with a beautiful, charming,interestedwoman. Perhaps Cora was right, that one’s fortune can always change. Yes, it’s simply a matter of time before he can secure aid for his father and flee for good—and if he manages to escape halfway around the world, so much the better.
Harry shivers against the cold as he observes Miss Ritter. There’s a sad sort of irony to this young woman standing in precisely the same place where he and Arabella used to frolic in their imaginary world those many years ago, before the Manifest Rails deal swelled the family’s wealth exponentially, before his father grew more and more ruthless in his business practices and more insatiable in his quest to bring up the perfect heir. Then, ever more and more furious, as his body deteriorated and he became wheelchair bound, eventually shutting out the world entirely for them both. Through all of Harry’s frustration and heartache, he’d had one constant beacon of hope: his childhood friend, Arabella Ames. Shehad been his playmate, then his confidante, and then his correspondent—until his father put an end to their letters too.
Ahead, in the wide cobblestone square, Cora claps her hands, her perfectly proportioned silhouette angled upward as light snowflakes begin to fall.
She laughs, eyes glittering with delight—another anatomical wonder, he notes absently, how a person’s eyes can appear to shine when they are joyous. “As if this place could be any more enchanting.”
Harry forces a smile. “I’m so glad you like it too.”
He summons his courage and goes to her. Takes her hand.
“Look at us,” Cora whispers, her eyes so wide, her features so stunningly symmetrical. “Already having a new adventure.”
Harry can’t help but redden again, recalling the lady’s earlier, unintentionally evocative declaration about “thrilling exploits.”
For the first time, he allows himself to truly imagine a future with her.
He thinks about walking with Miss Ritter in a garden halfway around the world, the sound of native birds chirping as they stroll along together.
He imagines tending his own garden, planting various specimens from the foreign countryscape, watching them grow, taking notes (perhaps writing his own Württembergian equivalent ofOrigin of the Species).
He might even pursue his particular interest in anatomy, institute a royal surgical club (one can dream).
Dining with international kings and queens (he will become far better with diversified small talk as the years go on).
Emerald prospecting on an idle day (if that is indeed a Württembergian pastime—he shall research).
Harry swallows. It really is high time to gently escort Arabellato the recesses of his mind. It is the only way to truly be free, by marrying international royalty, settling overseas. Besides, it’s not as if Arabella isn’t moving on. Mrs. Ames has made it beyond clear that she’s two letters away from a formal engagement with the Württembergian fellow, anyhow.
If they both marry Württembergian nobility, at least they’ll travel in the same circles, remain friends forevermore.
There is also the simple, primeval consolation of knowing that Miss Cora Ritter of Württemberg is undoubtedly the most beautiful young woman Harry has ever seen.
He smiles, an authentic one this time, new snow melting on his cheeks. “I wonder, Miss Ritter, if I might have the honor of escorting you to the Ameses’ ball this Friday?”
She beams up at him. “If it pleases you.”
“It would please me very much.”
Harry wonders what it might feel like to kiss her—but that would be too untoward, much too fast, especially without any promises made between them.
That, however,is a variable thatisin his control.
He can change that. Soon.
Chapter 15
A Bit of Misdirection
“I’d expected Mrs. Vandemeer to join us.” Alice smiles vaguely, affecting the bewildered dignity that has served her so well in the past several months.
“She’s... indisposed today, I’m afraid,” Mr. Vandemeer says, rather awkwardly motioning her into the study. “Besides, she finds matters of business dull. Doesn’t have a mind like yours, Duchess. Please, sit.”
She thinks for a moment that Mr. Vandemeer is going to take the seat behind his desk in his study, as if directing a message to subordinates in his railroad business. He pauses, however, perhaps noting the expression on Ward McAllister’s face, and appears to rethink it, doubling back to claim a studded leather armchair, which he drags closer to the chairs he’s just offered his guests.
It makes a grating sound against the floorboards, dragging the Persian rug along with it, no doubt damaging both. The man doesn’t care, Alice realizes. He’ll simply replace them.
