The bear hug grew tighter. “Can’t stand tall and proud for you anymore.”
She knelt beside his chair. “Mistakes, they need to be forgiven, but Papa, you stand tall to me even when you are sitting.”
He patted her shoulder. “Go to Bex. Tell him…sorry, too.”
Putting a palm to her empty bosom, she shrugged. “Papa. He’ll do dangerous things. I love him enough to let him go fight his fights, to be the man he is.” Wiping her cheek, she rose and started for the hall before she felt even sadder about Bex.
“Wait. Ester. The gift.”
She turned back. Fear ran through her. It would be something thoughtful that would break her heart all over again.
Sighing, almost praying that it was nothing personal, nothing that reminded her of how well he knew her, she took the box into her hands.
The ribbon bow came off easy in one pull. When she pried open the lid, her sketchbook lay open to pages with her dream name,Mrs. Arthur Bex, but underneath, the voluminous tissue paper wrapped something pale pink. She peeked at it, trying not to wrinkle any of the folds.
Papa grunted. “Well.”
Joy swept over her as she lifted the collar rimmed high in lace. The rest of the dress, with lines of pearl buttons from bosom to hem, shimmered in the light.
“He bought you a dress.” Papa fingered the falling sleeve. “Croome fabric. Good…taste.”
It was more than good taste. It was the dress she’d designed on their elopement trip. Bex had it created for her but had it made with a high neck. Theodosia could calculate how many guineas it had cost, but Ester knew it was an extravagance for a humbled man of modest means.
“Ester. Can…go get him…now?”
The knock on the door was louder than her thoughts of agreeing with Papa.
“Come in,” he said, clearer than before.
Clancy entered. “Mrs. Croome wants you both to come to dinner. The guests have arrived.”
Papa struggled to his feet. Cane in one hand, he held his other out for her. “Go.” He pulled her into a bear hug again. “Clancy…pull the carriage…my daughter must go.”
Her stubborn heart beat fast, then went wild. She wanted her husband, loved him more than her fears. “A chaperone must come, Papa.”
“You’re married. Don’t need one,” he said.
“But I’m asking for one, Papa. I’m asking for you. Will you come with me and give me your blessing?”
His half smile returned. “Yes. Let me tell Mama.”
They stepped out of his office to where Clancy stood. Smiling big, the butler held out his arm and helped Papa stroll the length of the hall.
The front door opened, and the groom announced the Jordans. Mrs. Jordan swept inside in a gown of gold. “Happy Birthday, Ester. Charles wanted me to tell you he couldn’t make it.”
Ester nodded, even as she sighed in relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Mr. Jordan had a snide look about him. “I heard you’ve been doing some traveling. You should’ve stayed. The headlines these past couple of weeks have been illuminating.”
He nudged his wife, and she giggled.
Surely, they knew about Bex, and Ester wished she had her ring on her finger and not on the coral necklace about her neck. “Yes, I only wish I could’ve shortened my trip to watch the installation of your gaslights. A reporter forTheMorning Postthinks them faulty. It will make quite a headline once it’s proved true. But you know some papers don’t print truth.”
The look, the audible swallow, was worth it, to enjoy each second of Jordan’s sneer drop away.
“Does your father believe this lie?”
“Yes.” Ester smiled big as she took the necklace off and removed her ring. Sliding it onto her finger, she nodded at the squirming couple. “He’s waiting on proof, Mr. Jordan. It should be any day now. I wonder if Papa will sue to gain restitution for the workers that died.”
