“Not right away.” Her smile looked forced. “We need time for our lives to settle down.”
“Wouldn’t you rather start your lives together as soon as possible?” another reporter asked. “You were going to marry immediately before the omnimancer here fell into his coma.”
“Now that I’m no longer working for him,” she said, “I’d like to plan a proper wedding.”
The men all nodded with knowing smiles. No doubt they could easily imagine her all aflutter about her dress, flowers and cake, because they didn’t know the first thing about her.
He and Beatrix needed to talk,actuallytalk, without second-guessing every word. He had to explain to her that he understood how she felt.
They both tried for a while to steer the conversation away from their relationship and toward typic rights, with limited success. Finally he said, “We have to go. But I hope you’ll all come to Senator Gray’s press conference.”
They retreated up Main Street as fast as he could walk while still using a cane to steady himself.
“Where were they allfrom?” she asked him.
“The BaltimoreNews-Register, both Washington papers, the Annapolis paper, the local radio stations and… one of the wire services, I think?” He shook his head. “I suppose we should have expected it. A surprising romanceandpolitical intrigue, always a winner.”
“Peter,” she whispered, “everyone on the street is staring at us.”
It was not an exaggeration. Some of the townspeople were smiling, some were frowning, but not a soul was looking away.
“Ignore it, do you think?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she said in nearly inaudible horror. “Mrs. Price!”
It was too late to run—not that he could have managed to anyway. The widow was closing in fast, her heels clacking angrily against the pavement, eyes flashing.
“OmnimancerBlackwell,” she cried in her piercing voice. “Howdareyou bring such shame on our town! Itoldyou in no uncertain terms that you must not hire Miss Harper, but would youlistento me? You would not! Andyou—” She turned to Beatrix. “Your mother is surely rolling over in her grave! Your name in anewspaper!Consorting with an unmarried man! Consorting withthisunmarried man, of all men!”
He opened his mouth to defend her when thepoof-poof-poofof cameras stopped him. The journalists had followed.
Mrs. Price turned on them. “You willnotuse my image.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?” one of the radio reporters said.
“You will absolutely not use my name!” she snapped.
“They’re engaged—what’s your objection, lady?” another reporter said.
Mrs. Price hesitated.
“Come have tea,” Beatrix said hastily, “and tell us exactly how you feel. Right now, in fact.”
Tea with Mrs. Price would be worse than arguing with her while surrounded by the press, in his opinion. But he bit out a “yes, please” for Beatrix’s sake.
“Well,” the widow said, frowning. Softening.
“Mrs. Price!” It was Mayor Croft, huffing down the street from his store. “Mrs. Price, I am in desperate need of your advice. Would you please?—”
“Amelia Price, widow of the mill magnate?” one of the reporters said.
“Oh!” Mrs. Price glared at him. And apparently that settled it. “The reason I am horrified,” she said, enunciating every syllable,“besidesthe many objections that should be clear from today’sStar?—”
“Mrs. Price,really,” Croft said, trying to tug her away.
“—is that Omnimancer Blackwell was an illegitimate child!” she howled.
All the reporters’ heads swiveled toward him and Beatrix as one. There was something so ridiculous about the whole situation that for an instant, the crushing blow of Martinelli’s death and the stress of this marriage Beatrix did not want lifted. He laughed.
