“Mother was furious with one of her critics who claimed, ‘I wish the Spencer’s didn’t retard culture so very thoroughly. They have entrenched in a sort of Thermopylae of bad taste, from which apparently no force of earth can dislodge them.’”
She took a drawn-out sigh, glancing around. “What do you think, Mr. Rourke?”
He looked at the corridor of gold-framed mirrors, myriad of crystal chandeliers, and zillions of cherubs flying across a robin’s egg blue sky. “There is no gulf between Pompeii and Paris.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Rourke. In truth, there is nothing articulated to moderate ostentatious patrician restraint.” Andthen she said, “What are your thoughts of the people you have met this evening?”
“I take my measure of every man I meet whether they are rich, poor, black, white, Chinese or any other ethnic group–all are the same to me unless they double cross me, then I’m merciless.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes. If betrayed, he’d be a formidable foe. “I would be remiss if I didn’t ask how your meeting went.”
“I have investors, thanks to you.”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
He looked at her sideways. Elizabeth felt something breathless and sensational—oh, really, she thought in sudden alarm, pushing aside the ridiculous chaos hammering in her heart. “What did you think of the meeting? Did they meet on good terms?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d rather a man be judged on who he is, rather than on his money and status, and the rest of that tomfoolery.”
She clapped her hands in a prayerful pose. “You have met men who walk downstairs to get to heaven.”
“I want to apologize for my remarks the other day,” he said.
She drew a circle on the marble floor with the toe of her slipper. “I suppose you can have your opinions.”
“After being in New York, and especially around these people, I can understand how one might strive to cover up an incident to survive.”
“I really don’t care what you think.”
“I think you are a good mother.”
She inhaled.
“She is an exact replica of you.”
She closed her eyes. “You won’t–”
“I told you before, I’d take your secret to my grave. Long ingrained in my southern roots is honor. I commendyour volunteering at the orphanage to be close to your child. Courageous. Admirable.”
For the first time in a long time, she relaxed. “I accept your apology. I also wish to apologize for my behavior. I was?—”
“Afraid,” he answered for her. “Let’s start over, shall we?”
Her throat constricted. He knew too much about her. Any attraction would be forbidden and dangerous. What he was offering her was a friendship. Words accumulated, trapped by walls and ceilings. The weight of what she needed to say rested heavily on her chest, suffocating her. Oh, how she wished she was by that river where they’d first met, where her words would drift away. She needed to confide in someone, but not now when they had just had an initial understanding of each other. No, she would not ruin the moment. Finally, she nodded her head. “Friends.”
“Anyways, I want to thank you for your support for loans for my new business venture via your father and Dyer. That was very nice of you to help someone you don’t know.”
They were hardly strangers. “It was the least I could do–”
“I have some free time waiting for financial approvals. Why not plan activities with the children outside of the orphanage? Get them away for a while. It would be fun for them and give you an excuse to spend more time with your daughter. I could get the Fitzgeralds to chaperone. What do you say?”
“I’ve dreamed of getting the children and my daughter away.”
They walked side by side into the entry foyer and stopped. In the inelegant silence so much could be interpreted. For Elizabeth who compulsively verbalized, the stillness became awkward. She caught him gazing at her mother’s portrait.
“What do you think, Mr. Rourke?”
“I’m speechless.”
