Zach frowned. “You sound like a scientist.”
“I imagine your inventiveness is science tempered with the blood of creativity and springing unexpectedly.”
Zachary gave a noncommittal grunt. “Right now, the only thing springing spontaneously are warts.”
She patted the tip of her napkin on her lips. “I consider your revelations without much enthusiasm. You’re saying this to make me not admire you.”
Zachary said nothing.
“You ought to give yourself some credit,” she persisted.
“You haven’t even seen my work.”
“That must be rectified and in the very near future,” interrupted Mrs. Merriweather.
“You would actually visit the factory?” Mrs. Byrne touted the innuendo that someone of Mrs. Merriweather’s station would attempt such an unlikely visit.
“Why not? I’m rich. Who’d dare to say anything against me? Perhaps I’ll start a new trend.”
Elizabeth’s expression turned mutinous. “Maybe I’ll join her.” That shut Mrs. Byrne up.
“My wife, Amanda, has visited Fitzgerald Rifle Works on many occasions. My sister, Catherine, ran the company during my absence during the war.” Shawn stood then and clicked a glass with a spoon. “If I may have everyone’s attention, I wish to propose a toast to our guest of honor, Miss Elizabeth Spencer, thanking her for her generous contributions to the Fitzgerald Orphanage.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone chorused and saluted with their champagne flutes.
Elizabeth stood. “Thank you, Shawn and Amanda for hosting me. I must say, supplementing the orphanage is not my only goal. I want to improve the standards for single mothers struggling with children. They are the forgotten and who suffer the most with little or no healthcare, substandard housing and no assistance from the community. I have traveled the dark underbelly of the city and desire to see change.”
Murphy, the brewer magnate shook his head. “A very ambitious endeavor, Miss Spencer. As a woman, how will you achieve that goal?”
Elizabeth bestowed on him a smile. “A journey of a thousand miles begins one step at a time.” She glanced at everyone aroundthe table to emphasize her ambition, and lastly on Zachary. His eyes twinkled, holding hers in frank approval. For a moment, she let play the slightest corners of her mouth, owning a secret camaraderie then hid it quickly to show perfect deportment.
“We must exercise restraint. Monetary benevolence is injurious, making the recipient dependent.” Mrs. Byrne gave a sharp nod of her head to emphasize her point. “There remains the sin of too much benevolence.”
“That is why we must educate and train them to become productive members of society,” added Elizabeth.
“I think your idea is admirable, Miss Spencer,” said Amanda. “Count me in.”
After dinner, Zachary skipped out on the men who convened to the library for port and cigars while the women assembled in a parlor for cards. He elected to follow Elizabeth to the gardens.
Paths were lit with tiny lanterns, and light rippled on the surface of an ornamental pond. Benches were scattered for wanderers to enjoy. It was a beautiful night for a walk, a fragrant ambush of sweet lilies and the woody undertone of lavender drifted with occasional warm city air off the Hudson River.
The object of his venture did not hear him approach, her concentration absorbed with a pink rose. In the shadows of an arbor, he chose to remain hidden; descended in shadow, the windless well of night; the portcullis of sunset long behind them.
He had studied her during dinner, her violet eyes alive and fringed by tangled dark lashes on pink-stained cheeks. Despite her confined background of proper behavior and etiquette, he was happy to see her relax and enjoy herself.
Elizabeth Spencer had displayed a daring sense of humor and audacious political leanings, which was rare as skirts worn above the knee. If he were her father, he’d lock her up in aconvent or marry her off to some fool who’d give her eight children and bury her forever in a nursery.
He smiled with her praise of him at dinner. For a minute, he admired himself, too. His problems ran deep. He savored this moment, with this wonderful woman before him, who had bestowed on him an astonishing sensation.
She fingered the rose further weaving her magic, her allure filling the cauldron of his thoughts. The last rays of sunlight faded to a deep navy blue and moonlight spilled across her. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Everything about Elizabeth shimmered as if her gown had been woven by fairies out of crystal moonbeams. He wanted her in every way a man wanted a woman, possessing her until she depended on him for the very air she breathed.
So, he stood in the darkness, nurturing a world weariness, which both annoyed and intrigued him. He watched and waited, unable to touch what he knew bone-deep belonged to him. Rank, title, family, money. She was assigned to a different culture and social status far from his grasp. The image of some aristocratic bastard grunting over Elizabeth’s pale naked beauty became too much.
He saw her ensnared on a rose bush, a painful thorn digging into her flesh. He stepped from the darkness into light, slid his arms around her to free her. She gasped. The top of her golden head came somewhat below his earlobe.
“It’s me,” he reassured her. “Allow me to assist you.” Her breasts beamed in the meager light and his heartbeat of forbidden desire, strong and unrelenting. How easy it would be to pick her up and carry her to the soft grasses beneath the oak tree.
Elizabeth turned to face him, her heart pounding from Zachary’s sudden appearance. “Please be careful,” she pleaded, her head bowed in a position both awkward and embarrassing. “My gown might be torn.”
