“Yes, we should, though part of me would much rather stay out here and freeze.”
“I’ll try to steer the conversation for the rest of the night, so long as I have the opportunity,” she said. “And, later, I can ask Emma to play the piano.”
Arthur scoffed. “And then they’ll comment on her mistakes.”
“I have the perfect piece to suggest. One that she knows very well.”
Arthur pursed his lips, thinking it over. He took one more sip of wine.
“Alright. Fine.” He smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
Charlotte nodded and smiled in return.
Over the next half hour, Arthur endured the rest of dinner in relative silence, only speaking when necessary. He let Charlotte and Emma handle the conversation while he tried to concentrate on not having too much wine.
He was unsuccessful.
After everyone was finished eating, they retired to the front room, where Emma played the piano. Arthur swayed slightly while listening to the notes, not even caring if either of his parents noticed how intoxicated he had become. Hedidcare that Emma might notice, but had he not drunk the wine, he might have said something vile to her grandparents by now instead. Then, not only would she have noticed, but, well, the memory might have become seared into her brain in a way that her father simply swaying on the sofa might not.
Still, Emma was sharp. Even if she somehow hadn’t figured out how the timing of her birth related to the timing of her parents’ marriage, Arthur knew that she couldn’t have been unaware of the tension between her father and paternal grandfather. While Arthur hadn’tcompletelyruined their family name, hehadtarnished it. And Warren Hughes would never forget that. He’d never forget it, and he’d never forgive Arthur for it, either. Not fully.
And yet, Arthur couldn’t help but hope that, one day, he might be redeemed in his father’s eyes. And perhaps not only in his father’s eyes, but in the eyes of others in his social circle as well. It was Arthur’s sincerest hope that if he could somehow secure a spot in the World’s Fair, then perhaps everyone would finally have some more respect for him. He’d become Arthur Hughes, owner of the renowned Hughes Press and... well, whatever he would rename Putnam Press. No longer would he be Arthur Hughes, the man who had impregnated Ella Thompson out of wedlock, butArthur Hughes, the man whose printing presses had captivated thousands at the World’s Columbian Exposition, showcasing the latest innovations in printing technology.
Oh, how wonderfulthatwould be.
Arthur smiled to himself as he let these fantasies take hold, Emma’s impeccably played sonata the perfect accompaniment to the spectacular visions materializing in his mind. Soon enough, the song was over, but Arthur’s thoughts stayed firmly rooted in the reverie as he bid his parents farewell. Later, he kissed Emma’s cheek before she went upstairs to ready herself for bed, and then he re-collapsed on the sofa. Charlotte sat beside him and smoothed out her skirts.
Lolling his head to the side, he flashed her a red-toothed smile.
“Your eyes have turned the color of your wine-stained teeth,” she said, and Arthur hummed happily in response. “Are you tired?”
“Very,” he confirmed. “Though I’ve been in a sort of half-slumber over the last fifteen minutes or so. Dreaming of my better tomorrow.”
“The World’s Fair?”
“Indeed.” He shifted his weight on the cushion and rested his hands on his stomach, folding them. “Did I tell you that I met the mostinterestingman at Putnam Press when I visited?”
“No,” Charlotte said with a curious look. “What made him interesting?”
Arthur let out what had to have sounded to Charlotte like a lovesick sigh. He’d have been embarrassed about it, but he was currently too inebriated to care.
“Everything,” he said.
Charlotte pursed her lips, possibly to rein in a smile.
“Be careful, Mr. Hughes,” she chided.
“Careful,” he repeated with a fake scoff. “When am I not careful?”
Emma strolled into the room, unaware of her impeccable timing.
“Have either of you seen my slippers?” she asked.
Arthur and Charlotte shared a look, and then Arthur burst out laughing. Charlotte, rolling her eyes while barely stifling a laugh herself, stood to leave.
“Goodnight, Mr. Hughes,” she said, walking away.
“Goodnight, Miss Fields,” he replied, still a little lost to laughter.
