Unwrapping Hope Page 8

  “What an interesting performance.” Mary Alice continued to clap after the others had stopped.

  He didn’t speak fluent sarcasm. Nevertheless, Spence heard it in her voice.

  Phoebe pulled her hand away. His dropped onto the keyboard to a jarring middle C.

  A rosy hue stained her cheeks and added additional force to the pounding of his pulse. For several beats, he concentrated on a plant stand with its hairy fern, the shadow behind it that was created by a well-lit lamp, the wavering light—anything to calm the hot rush through his veins.

  He stood and graced Phoebe with a slight bow, then loomed over Mary Alice, who had never left her seat. “It was an honor to play with someone with such immense talent. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  Although hard to tell from her normal expression, he thought he detected a scowl.

  Mrs. Davidson announced supper. He bent his elbow and held it out. “Are you ready, Mary Alice?”

  She wrapped her arm around his and held on tight. “Be careful, Spence.”

  “In what way?”

  “Miss Langford has designs on you.”

  “I hardly think Mrs. Crain concerns herself with me.” Spence placed his hand on Mary Alice’s arm and led her away as the rest of the guests followed. He refrained from peering over his shoulder to see who led Phoebe into the dining room.

  “Don’t be naïve. I noticed the way she watched you when you walked in and while you spoke with our friends. Believe me—she has set her sights on you. You know the reputation of performers. I won’t sit idle and see you become involved with a woman of dubious character.”

  Dubious character? The vein in Spence’s temple throbbed as he pulled out Mary Alice’s chair. “In that case, I must take care to watch her too.”

  Her blue eyes darkened, and her normally dour expression turned peevish.

  Chapter Twelve

  What a windbag.

  Throughout the meal, the gentleman assigned as Phoebe’s supper companion—his name escaped her—had droned on about his new golf clubs, his position in his father’s company, his family’s electric lights. His this. His that. Would he never close his mouth except to chew?

  She glanced down the table and caught Spence watching her. She had never considered him exceptionally attractive...until tonight. Tonight something changed. It wasn’t simply the evening clothes. It was something—

  “Mrs. Crain.”

  Phoebe squeaked and dropped her fork on the china. She closed her eyes and placed her hand against her throbbing chest. Opening her eyes revealed everyone’s stare aimed in her direction.

  Her companion said, “I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I’m afraid my mind wandered, Mr....” She mumbled nonsense and hoped he assumed she’d said his name.

  Everyone resumed their conversation and dining, except Spence. He sported a subtle grin.

  She turned to the gentleman beside her. “What were you saying, sir?”

  “I was talking about...”

  Phoebe’s ears vibrated with the hum of his voice. Every few seconds, she provided a polite but vague nod.

  For the pay the Davidsons promised her this evening, she would put up with a time of tedium. This night alone would provide Maura a dollhouse and more.

  Three weeks ago Phoebe would have scorned the suggestion of playing for a private musicale. Spence’s kindness and Verbenia’s advice that everyone deserved to be judged on their own merit had prompted her to rethink her attitude...and her selfishness.

  She had allowed her mother and daughter to live in near poverty for five years to satisfy the fearful bitterness inside her, when more nights like this one could have provided them with a comfortable life.

  At the same time, since her arrival, Phoebe had sensed an antagonism in Miss Davidson. The woman didn’t introduce her as Phoebe Langford only to impress her guests. It was malicious. How had she found out?

  Then Miss Davidson had added the absurd title given to Phoebe based on her young age—the Little Darling of the Ivories. A sneer had accompanied each word the woman spoke.

  What had Phoebe done to anger her?

  Now that her identity had been revealed, how long would it take the people of Riverport to start digging into her past?

  THE DAVIDSONS’ GUESTS prepared to leave, and Spence intended to join them, until Mary Alice latched on to him. She dragged him to the foyer to say goodbye as though they shared host duties. It took fortitude not to wince at the viselike grip clamped around his hand. He would never have imagined the strength in those fingers.

  The plea to escort her in to supper. The irritability. The possessiveness in her hold.

  He wasn’t thickheaded. Whatever had taken place between him and Phoebe must have rattled any misunderstanding Mary Alice had that he was interested in her as more than a friend.

  Phoebe was the last to leave. He suspected she delayed in order to be paid for her services. The three of them stood in the foyer with Mary Alice’s mother.

  In a voice as smooth as the richest chocolate, Mary Alice said, “That was quite a rainstorm a couple of weeks ago.”

  Spence’s muscles tensed. She never mentioned anything as mundane as the weather without an ulterior motive. “Yes, it was.”

  “Not something anyone should be caught out in.”

  “Is it true that your carriage bogged down in the mud, Mr. Newland?” Mrs. Davidson eyed him as if expecting to hear a lie.

  Rumor was a popular sport no matter the circles one ran in.

  He and Phoebe owed no one an explanation, but an attempt to hide the truth would ricochet and cause more damage.

  “I’m afraid we chose an appalling day to do a good deed, didn’t we, Mrs. Crain?”

  Phoebe accepted her coat from the servant who brought it. “Appalling. While I’m thankful for your kindness in offering to drive me, I should have waited for a better day to deliver the Widow’s Might gifts to the children. It was selfish of me to inconvenience someone in your important position.” Despite the remorseful words, there was a slight satisfaction in Phoebe’s voice.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Crain. The children deserved to receive their gifts.”

  Another pout dragged Mary Alice’s lower lip to her chin. “Poor Spence. It’s a wonder you didn’t catch a dreadful cold and be confined again.”

  He bit his tongue and tasted blood.

  DON’T LOOK AT HIM. Don’t say a word.

  Not having been paid yet, Phoebe couldn’t afford to antagonize the Davidsons further.

  Mary Alice had staked her claim on Spence this evening and resented his interaction with Phoebe—little as it had been. Judging by the barely restrained grimace on his face, she suspected that claim came as an unwelcome surprise to Spence.

  What had Mary Alice meant by him being confined?

  “Mother, I can see Miss Langford is ready to leave.” Miss Davidson spoke the name as one would a curse.

  She couldn’t restrain herself. “It’s Mrs. Crain.”

  A maid entered the foyer and whispered something to Mrs. Davidson. The older woman turned to her daughter. “Please see to the duty, Mary Alice. It seems there’s an issue in the kitchen.”

  After both women walked away, Phoebe donned her coat, hat, and gloves, made sure the hall was empty, then edged closer to Spence. “I couldn’t help but notice that you might be in need of a knight in black sequins, Mr. Newland.”

  “Please show me to your steed, Mrs. Crain, or should I show you to mine?”

  “I believe yours would be more convenient, not to mention real.”

  Mary Alice returned and, with a deft move, slipped an envelope into Phoebe’s hand, which settled the crass duty of paying her bill.

  “Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to play for your guests, Miss Davidson.” She turned to Spence. “I’m ready, Mr. Newland.”

  “Good night, Mary Alice.”

  The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re leaving? With her?”
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  “I’ve promised Mrs. Crain a ride home.”

  She glared at Phoebe before quelling the anger for Spence. “I’d hoped to visit with you a while longer.”

  “It’s late, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to compromise a woman’s safety.”

  If possible, her hostess’s chin fell farther than it had all night.

  Phoebe experienced a momentary regret. True, Miss Davidson had aimed darts at her during the evening. Be that as it may, Phoebe was well aware of the painful sting of rejection. She stepped outside to allow Spence to speak with Miss Davidson at the doorway.

  After tucking her coat closer to ward off the cold night air that traveled down her bare neck, she walked to the carriage parked at the street. A few minutes later, she was seated beside Spence as his driver guided the carriage horse around the corner, out of sight of the Davidson house.

  “You can let me out here.”

  “Why would I do that?” The light from the lantern on her side of the carriage cast a soft glow over the planes of his face, accentuating the hollow area of his cheek. “My comment about your safety was not an excuse to escape, Phoebe, and the offer to see you home was not made in jest.”

  “Oh.” She drummed her fingers on her lap, replaying the “Camptown Races” tune.

  He stared out the window and into the night. “I don’t know what got into Mary Alice.”

  “Yes, you do. Jealousy is a powerful weapon in a woman’s hands.”

  “One she wielded against you.”

  Phoebe didn’t need to see his face to hear his outrage.

  “I’ve never known her to be as unpleasant as she was tonight, and she’s never given me a second glance.”

  Phoebe doubted that. He’d simply missed it. “How did she learn my identity?”

  “Her mother recognized you from a performance several years ago.”

  “In that case, I take back the terrible thoughts I had about you.”

  “They weren’t the first.”

  She laughed. “No.”

  “Before I left, I set Mary Alice straight. I don’t dally with a woman’s emotions.”

  Loyalty. Trustworthiness. Devotion.

  Douglas could demonstrate any of the qualities when it came to getting what he wanted. Beyond that, they were foreign traits to him.

  Uncomfortable with the course of the discussion, she switched topics. “I like the new draperies in the drawing room of the orphanage.”

  “You went back?”

  “Mrs. Jensen and I made our last delivery of scarves on Tuesday. Mr. Jernigan said the new lamps have encouraged more reading.”

  “Children should never live in the dark.”

  The statement erupted with a fervor she hadn’t expected and prompted the recollection of Mary Alice’s comment. “When did you live in the dark, Spence?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “Other than that last comment? There was spite in Miss Davidson’s remark about catching cold and being confined. She meant to get your attention. By the look I saw on your face, she succeeded.”

  The horse slowed from a brisk clip-clop to a plod, as if it, too, sensed her companion’s sudden melancholy. “When I was a youngster, I’d get intense headaches. Migraines. When they attacked, they were incapacitating. During those times, I was confined to my bedroom with the drapes drawn and the room dark. Even without the headaches, I was a sickly child and rarely ventured from the house.”

  Thinking back on the strength of his hand as he’d helped her from the carriage and the power with which he’d lifted her onto the horse’s back, she couldn’t imagine him in poor health. Yet his childhood experience revealed why he was a health-conscious adult. “That must have been a dreadful and lonely existence.”

  “On more than one occasion, the doctors warned my parents of the possibility I would not survive to adulthood.” His wry bark of laughter stirred the howl of a dog in a nearby yard. “The first time my mother caught me whittling with a knife, she almost keeled over. Mother didn’t want me rushing my end.”

  “That’s really not funny, Spence. I can’t fathom how I would react if Maura were so ill that she might...die.” Just saying the word sent a tremor through Phoebe’s body. “Given your history, I’m even more grateful that you risked your health to drive me to the orphanage in the cold and snow.”

  “I am no longer an invalid, Phoebe!”

  She flinched at the harshness of the response.

  Spence shook his head. “I apologize for the outburst. I get irritable when people treat me as if I’m weak.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.”

  The driver reined the horse onto her street.

  “When I was fourteen, I overheard my grandfather telling my father that he should see to it Laurie married well because even if I survived, he didn’t believe I’d ever be strong enough to handle the family’s business affairs.”

  How could a grandfather give up on his grandson so easily? If necessary, Mama would fight tooth and nail to see to Maura’s healing.

  “From that day on I devoted myself to proper eating and hard physical training. I gained the strength I needed to prove him wrong about me.” Spence shifted on the seat. “That’s my deepest, blackest bruise in life, Phoebe. What is yours?”

  If only hers were as innocent as his.

  The driver stopped the carriage in front of her house. “It’s late. My mother will be worried.”

  “You won’t tell me?”

  “No.”

  Spence helped her from the carriage, grasping her hand for longer than necessary. “I hope a day will come when you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me more about yourself.”

  “Thank you for bringing me home.” She pulled her hand free and hurried up the walk before he offered to accompany her to the door.

  When she reached the porch, he called her name, and she found him still standing at the side of the carriage. “Yes?”

  “Will you join me at my house for lunch tomorrow? I have a surprise for you. Come alone.”

  “Alone?” Maybe she hadn’t read him wrong after all. The tip of her tongue rolled over her lips, but moistening them did little good when her mouth had dried like the herbs hanging in the pantry. She’d had it up to her ears with men’s “surprises.”

  “I meant nothing improper, Phoebe. There’s something I want to show you.” He took one step forward and stopped when she took one step back. “If it eases your mind, my sister will join us.”

  Another person’s presence did make a difference to her. And it was lunch, not an intimate candlelit supper. Not a late-night carriage ride.

  She stood mute while he waited for an answer, but what was she to say? How had she gone from scorn toward him to respect for him in less than a month?

  She murmured, “Oh, Lord, what do I tell him?” There was a time when she would not have sought God’s direction. Now, it came naturally.

  Even in the darkness, it was evident Spence’s shoulders sank. “It’s all right. Good night, Phoebe.” He started to climb into the carriage.

  This man was trustworthy and kind. Most of all, he was not Douglas.

  “Wait.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Phoebe raised her hand to knock on Spence’s door and knocked on air.

  A girl—sixteen or seventeen—stood on the other side of the open door. Wearing a replica of Spence’s broad smile, she looked as if she’d been given an early Christmas present. “Please come in, Mrs. Crain. I’m Laurie Newland.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Newland. Please call me Phoebe.”

  “Laurie.” She led her into the drawing room and gestured to the striped sofa. “Spence will be in shortly.”

  The last time Phoebe had entered this room, the grand piano had filled the area near the window. Now the space gaped large and empty, awaiting the instrument’s return. She hadn’t expected this sadness to strike at the thought of losing the opportunity to continue playing the beautiful piano after Ch
ristmas.

  She surveyed the rest of the room, observing the things nervous tension hadn’t allowed the last time she visited. Not frilly or ornate, yet not too masculine and bland. From the carpet to the gas fixture hanging from the ceiling, the décor reflected comfort, good taste, and light. Like the items donated to the orphanage, nothing darkened the room, not the fabrics or the wallpaper or the wood.

  Laurie sat next to her on the sofa. “My brother told me about your little girl. Maura, is it?”

  “Yes. She’s five.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  Why would she want to meet Maura?

  “Has my sister talked your ear off yet, Mrs. Crain?”

  Phoebe’s gaze flitted to Spence as he stood in the doorway to the drawing room. Laurie cleared her throat and, with a pointed look at her brother, ran a hand over her hair. He received the message. Phoebe sucked in her cheeks as he finger-combed the unruly hair that stood up on the crown of his head and resembled the fin of a porpoise.

  “It’s been a busy morning.”

  His self-consciousness melted Phoebe’s reserve.

  Laurie jumped up from the sofa. “I’ll tell Mrs. Rosenbach we’re ready for lunch.” She rushed from the room, leaving Phoebe alone with Spence.

  “I apologize for my sister. She’s often spontaneous in her actions.”

  His statement gave credence to Phoebe’s suspicion that the girl’s good humor typically bubbled and popped like a cream soup cooking on a hot stove. “I’ve only just met her, but I can see she’s quite spirited...in a good way.”

  “I could tell you stories.”

  “No, you won’t!” The girl’s call came from somewhere outside their vision.

  Spence slipped Phoebe’s arm through his and laughed all the way to the dining room.

  SPENCE TRIED TO CONCENTRATE on his salad, but the oil and vinegar didn’t mix well with his nervous stomach. After Phoebe’s hesitation in accepting his invitation last night, he’d doubted she would come.