Clyde continued cutting into his ham while he sang Colonel Phelps’s praises. “He’s likely to become a general before he turns forty,” he said to Vera. “What do you think, my dear? Would it be good to have a general in the family?”
“He would be an excellent choice,” Vera responded.
Marianne set down her fork. “I’d rather find a man of my own choosing.”
“Then you’d best get on with it,” Clyde said. “You’re twenty-six and not getting any younger. I doubt you’ll meet anyone of quality at the Department of the Interior. What about last night’s gala? Did you meet anyone with prospects there?”
She was halfway in love with Luke Delacroix but could hardly say so, leaving her at a loss for words. Her mother came to the rescue.
“She saw no one all night,” Vera said, her voice tight. “Isn’t that right, Marianne?”
“That’s right, Mama,” she said, avoiding everyone’s eyes. She didn’t want an army colonel, she wanted Luke Delacroix.
“Let’s plan a dinner and invite Colonel Phelps,” Clyde said. “I would very much like to see an alliance of that sort, but it will have to be after we get back from Baltimore.”
On Tuesday they were all going to Baltimore, where they would celebrate Andrew’s thirtieth birthday. They would return Bandit and spend the entire week back home, but all Marianne could think about was Monday night, when she’d have a chance to see Luke again.
Luke ran out of the boardinghouse the instant he’d finished scraping his dinner plate clean on Monday evening. Good-natured hoots from the others followed him out of the house. Everyone suspected he had an assignation tonight, and they were right.
He took a carriage straight to the navy shipyard southeast of town. It was one of the navy’s older shipyards and still had its original ceremonial entrance. Latrobe Gate displayed classical grandeur, but behind it was the gritty world of a shipyard. There were plenty of men in uniform wandering about, so it was presumably safe, but he didn’t like the idea of Marianne alone here.
She was on the far end of an empty dry dock, walking alongside it as she studied the massive chains used to cable a ship in place. She spotted him from a block away and sent him a cheerful wave.
He waved back, quickening his steps while she hiked her skirts to run toward him. He held his arms wide, and she squealed with delight as he scooped her up and twirled her about.
He kissed her before setting her down. He hadn’t dared last night, with her mother only yards away, but they were anonymous here, just a man and a woman who adored each other, and he kissed her deeply.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said when he finally released her.
“Thanks for coming.” Her face was flushed and beautiful, and light glinted on the forget-me-not pendant he’d given her.
“I like your necklace. Thanks for wearing it.”
“I love it. Thanks for giving it to me.”
“Marianne, if we thank each other one more time, we’re both candidates for the insane asylum. Come on. Let’s go take your pictures, and you can tell me why the government wants photographs of the world’s ugliest dry dock.”
He loved watching as she took the photographs. She explained that the pictures were to support upcoming renovations to the shipyard. The algae-stained concrete walls of the dry dock were an unappealing subject, but her face was still so intent while she worked, and he loved that about her. Anyone who was so passionate about their job was appealing, and he was fascinated by her fingers as she manipulated the dials and levers of the camera.
“How long can you stay?” he asked once she had completed the assignment.
“My parents are both at the opera. They won’t return until midnight.”
He cocked out his elbow, and she smiled as she wrapped her hand around his bicep. They walked toward the Latrobe Gate in the cool of the evening.
“I adore this time of day,” Marianne said. “It’s called the blue hour. It’s right after the sun slips below the horizon, but there’s still ambient light. It’s the very best time for photographs. There are no shadows, no glares, just a soft, magical light everywhere.”
A glance above the trees proved the truth of her words. The twilight was enchanting, and in a few moments it would be gone.
“Give me your camera,” he said, suddenly desperate to capture this moment and preserve it for all time. “You already have a photograph of me, but I don’t have one of you.”
She gamely looped the lanyard over his neck and agreed. He’d used a Brownie camera before, but this light would be tricky.
“How long do I need to hold the exposure?” he asked.
“At least five seconds, and you’ll need to set the camera on a table to keep it motionless.”
There was one beside a park bench, but she had to kneel to get in the shot. The boxwood hedge behind her was a perfect backdrop, and he loved what he saw through the viewfinder. Her face brimmed with character and simple, feminine beauty. He pressed the exposure lever and held it, counting to five.
“You’ll send me a copy?” he asked as she stood and brushed the grit from her knees.
“I will. It won’t be for a while, as I’ll be in Baltimore for the rest of the week. It’s my brother’s birthday, and my mother always makes a big fuss over it.”
They walked along the harbor wall, listening to the gentle slosh of waves against the pilings. Where was this forbidden romance going to lead? There was no good ending he could think of, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy these few stolen hours.
Unfortunately, it seemed her mind was traveling along the same lines, and she brought up the topic he least wanted to discuss.
“During your sister’s gala, I saw you talking with Congressman Roper.”
He stiffened. “That’s right.”
“He’s one of the five congressmen you had on that list in your office. Two of those men will already be gone by the next election. Is Congressman Roper your next target?”
No, her father was his next target. “Marianne, let’s not talk about this.”
“I think it’s a fair question. My father is on that list, and I know you hope he loses in November. I have a feeling you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure he isn’t reelected.”
He kept walking but stared straight ahead rather than risk looking at her. “It’s just politics.”
“It’s not politics; it’s my family. I want to know if you intend to tamper with my father’s career.”
“There are forty-two thousand voters in your father’s district. They will decide his fate, not me. Marianne, please, let’s not talk about this. Tell me more about the blue hour.”
She drew a huge breath and blew it out, struggling for control. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind, but there was no way she could ever dissuade him from this path.
Finally, she spoke again. “Explain the politics to me. If there is a reason besides the family feud, I’d like to know.”
He owed her at least that much. It meant telling her about the ill-fated coffee fiasco he embarked on with her father in Philadelphia, but maybe it would help her understand why he distrusted the reckless use of food additives and preservatives.