Chapter Thirteen
EVEN THROUGH THE well-appointed window of the Palace Hotel, Alice could hear the clatter of the horse-drawn car as it rattled down the tracks embedded on New Montgomery Street. The ring of the bell warned pedestrians to move from its path, and the faint voice of the conductor calling for tickets underpinned the sounds.
Wrapping her arms about her, she watched as the people of San Francisco went about their daily business. Carriages vied for road space as the horse-car ambled past, the wide street allowing for the passage of both. Along the sidewalk, pedestrians bustled, ladies dressed in a riot of colour, gentlemen garbed in all manner of shades. Only in San Francisco did she see such activity, where the sum total population of Ironwood could pass by her window in less than a minute.
Usually, she loved the bustle. Today, nothing seemed to cheer her.
A lean man pushed through the crowded sidewalk, the tall silk hat jammed upon his head obscuring his features. Something about his stance, his shape put her in mind of the man she’d left behind. Breath locked in her chest, heart beating faster, she watched as he hesitated on the opposite side of the street, glancing up and down its length.
She rose to her toes, angling her body to get a better view.
The man looked up. Involuntarily, she stepped back, though her room was on the fourth floor and the expensive glass window reflected the sun to any who might glance in her direction. Inching toward the window, her breath strangling her, she squinted to bring his features into focus.
Disappointment flooded her. It wasn’t him.
Arms tight about herself, she forced herself away from the window. Of course it wasn’t him. Why would he come? She’d played this stupid game all yesterday afternoon and most of the morning. No wonder she had yet to get anything done. She was in San Francisco for the Diamond, not so she could mistake every tall man with a silk hat for Llewellyn.
Damn. She wiped at her cheeks. It hurt to even think his name.
Seating herself at the desk, she forced herself to do what it was she ought. Today, shewouldattend the cloth merchant, and she would again pay a visit to the shop housing her chandelier. To be fair, the chandelier wasn’t yet hers, but she had need of only time and money for ownership to change hands. In any event, she would do these things, and she would think uponhimno longer.
She scratched not more than three words on the paper before it became impossible to continue. Hell, who was she fooling? She couldn’t go five minutes together without thinking on him.
She’d been a damn idiot. It had taken the whole of the train journey here, plus an extra night of stewing in her lonely hotel room, before she conceded she might have overreacted. The only basis she had for his betrayal was he hadn’t told her himself about his real purpose in Ironwood. Was that really such a crime? Yes, he should have told her, and yes, it should have been previous to her discovering it on her own, but it was true also she should have let him talk, to attempt to explain.
He might not have told her his purpose in Ironwood, but he’d revealed so much more. She knew he play-acted all the time, except when he was with her. She knew he was from a small town in Wales, that he’d worked the docks in Cardiff before talking his way into a bookkeeping job. He insisted on pomade in his hair, even though it curled just fine without it, and thought his garish waistcoats were hilarious. He still didn’t much care for whiskey, liked strawberries and cream for dessert, and was overly appreciative of her underthings. She knew he looked at her and made her heart glad.
She knew she loved him.
Closing her eyes, she buried her head in her hands. There it was. The reason above any other for why she’d behaved the fool. She’d reacted as if a hurt little kid, convinced the boy she liked beyond reason and any kind of sense had only been toying with her, laughing at her behind her back with his friends. She’d lashed out in an attempt to convince both him and herself she’d never cared anyway, and what good had it done her? Here she sat, half a country away, unable to do anything more than run thoughts of him over in her mind and curse herself a thrice-damned fool.
She should have listened to him. She should have put aside any perceived notions and justtalkedwith him. She had a brain and, most of the time, she knew how to use it. At the very least, she could have heard out his reasons why he’d done what he had and determined whether she could forgive.
Damn it, and he’d wanted her to go to Paris. Wiping at her eyes, she gave a kind of laugh. No, he’dencouragedher to go. He’d seen how badly she wanted it, how hesitant and—damn it—howscaredshe was, and he’d made it seem goddamn easy.
All her life, she’d thought of Paris, of Montmartre. She’d dreamed of the cabarets, the burlesques, and she’d wanted it more than anything. Shestillwanted it more than anything. Only, she wanted Llewellyn—Rupert—there with her. She wanted to spend all her day organizing and working in her burlesque, and come home to his smile and his arms. They could have wandered the streets of Paris, discovering patisseries and bookshops and little pockets of Bohemia. Found a favourite café, and sipped coffee on the street as they watched the glories of Paris pass them by. She could have found risqué lingerie stores, and seen his eyes light up upon his discovery of her scandalous underclothes. All of that, she could have had.
Nothing was stopping her from having it.
Slowly, she raised her head. There was nothing standing in her way, apart from her own hard head. He’d wanted to speak with her, to explain. She’d stormed off to San Francisco in the worst kind of way, allowing fury and pain to drive her. If she returned to Ironwood, if she tracked him down and made himtellher, she could have all she wanted. She could have Paris, and Rupert, and her dreams fulfilled. If she went home.
So, she would. She’d go home. To Rupert.
Pulling a sheet of paper from the desk drawer, she scratched hasty instructions to all her vendors. The cloth merchant could send a bolt or two of fabric to the Diamond without her supervision, and the carpenter would either come to Ironwood or he wouldn’t. The acts could be the same as two Spectaculars ago—
Exhaling, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe not. She couldn’t endanger her business simply because she’d run away like an idiot. There were two applications to become acts in the Spectacular, and she needed to see them in order to give her yea or nay.
Fine. She would schedule those acts for this afternoon, and by this time tomorrow, she’d be on the train back to Ironwood. Apart from the performers, everything else could wait. She had no idea how long Rupert would.
Leaping from her seat, she rushed over to her wardrobe and threw her clothes onto the bed. She was dragging her trunk over to pack when a knock came at the door. A hesitant sound followed in quick succession by two louder knocks, and a final knock that sounded a flourish more than anything else.
Whirling around, she stared at the door. She couldn’t have heard that right. It was a trick, a fallacy brought on by longing and wishful thinking.
The knock came again. His knock.Rupert’sknock.
Heart racing like a mad thing, hardly daring to believe, she rushed to the door and threw it open.
Rupert stood there, his hand raised as if he were about to knock again.
