“Come along,” her mother said. “Let’s help Harrison mingle. He is letting that Hartwell girl monopolize his time almost as badly as you did.”
The household had long settled for the night, yet Harrison couldn’t sleep, his mind wide awake. So he’d donned a dressing gown and found his way onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. A three-quarter moon had transformed the back lawn into a deep glowing green, and waves churned onto the rocks below in a steady rhythm.
Today had been promising. He hadn’t expected results this quickly, but her jealousy had both surprised and delighted him. He had to continue his campaign tomorrow, making sure to remind her of their shared history and interests. Perhaps pay her a compliment or two. He would flirt and make her laugh, turn on the charm when necessary. By the third day he might kiss her in a very non-brotherly way.
Leaning against the stone balustrade, he lit a cigar, turning it in the flame first to warm the leaves. He pulled smoke into his mouth, enjoying the rich, sweet taste before exhaling into the air. Standing in this particular spot, smoking, reminded him of the last time he’d been here, the night when everything changed . . .
“Come with me.”
Harrison glanced over at the voice and found his friend Preston at his elbow. “Why?”
Preston gestured to the Webster dance floor, where nearly all of society had gathered for this Newport ball. “Because, my friend, you are standing here gawking at her and it is approaching pathetic. Besides, I have cigarettes. Let’s go out for a quick smoke.”
Harrison took one more peek at Maddie. Stunningly turned out in an ivory ball gown, she was laughing at something her dance partner said. Every song had her dancing with someone else, which didn’t surprise him considering she was one of the most sought-after debutantes that year.
No one knew, however, that she already belonged to Harrison.
He’d loved her since he was fifteen, yet it hadn’t felt right to confess his feelings before she debuted, so he’d waited until they were here, back at the beach, to finally tell her. He had no idea whether she returned his affection . . . but they had grown up together. Were best friends. The first person each of them sought out in a crowd. Each other’s keeper of secrets, the provider of unwavering support.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Girls usually married at the end of their first season, sometimes second. There was no time to lose. He intended to get her alone after dinner, tell her how he felt and hopefully make plans for their future.
Nerves twisted in his belly, his throat drying out. Perhaps a small distraction in the form of a trip outside would relax him. “Fine,” he told Preston. “But not too long.”
The two of them dodged the crowd until they reached the terrace, which ran the entire back side of the chateau, similar to an Italian palazzo. Preston kept going, however, striding toward one of the sets of stone stairs that led down onto the lawn.
“Where are you going?” Harrison called to his friend’s back.
“Out of sight. Kit and I have a bet to see who can go the longest without smoking. I don’t want to lose.”
“So you will cheat instead.”
“Yes, without remorse.”
Harrison chuckled under his breath. Preston was ruthless when the mood struck him. The two of them ended up in an alcove below the terrace. The moon, combined with the house lights, provided enough illumination for them to see. Preston flicked open a silver case, removed two cigarettes, then pocketed the case. After lighting them both, he handed one to Harrison. “Here.”
He accepted the lit cigarette and brought it to his mouth. His lungs burned as the smoke entered, then his mind calmed, relaxed, and he leaned back against the stone as he exhaled. He didn’t often smoke, but had enjoyed the occasional cigarette or cigar since attending college. Always with Preston, who was both a terrible influence and a great friend. “What is the bet for?”
“The one with Kit?” At Harrison’s nod, Preston blew out a mouthful of smoke and said, “Fifty dollars.”
“You can afford it.”
“I know but I hate to lose. It’s the principle of it.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Says the man who’s pined after the same woman for four years.”
More like six, but Harrison didn’t correct his friend. “Pining no longer, I hope, after tonight.”
Preston’s eyes grew round. “Tonight is the night? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I am telling her as soon as I can get her alone.”
“About goddamn time. We’re starting our senior year. You can finally live a little.”
Harrison didn’t need saloons and women. He only needed Maddie. “I plan to.”
“Are you going to tell her how you feel straight off?”
“Not at first. I’ll start by saying I plan to court her and then see how that goes.”
“I’d wish you luck but I don’t think you need it. I’ve never seen two people so perfect for one another.”
Before Harrison could comment, noise drifted down from the terrace. That was the thing about Newport: private conversations were near impossible. Whether because of the water or the wind, sound carried for miles here.
He and Preston remained quiet, each puffing off a cigarette while they waited and listened.
Different high-pitched giggles, then the shuffle of slippers on stone . . .
A group of young girls, if Harrison had to guess. This was confirmed a second later when they began speaking.
“. . . is really a terrible dancer. He stepped on my toes twice.”
Maddie.
Harrison froze, his gaze catching with Preston’s. His friend immediately understood, nodding once.
What was she doing out here? He thrust the half-finished cigarette into the planter filled with sand, intent on going up there. Preston put a hand on his arm and shook his head. Wait, his friend mouthed.
Harrison wasn’t keen on eavesdropping, but perhaps Maddie didn’t need him interfering.
“At least he asked you to dance. I cannot get him to notice me.” Another girl, a voice Harrison didn’t recognize.
“Don’t feel bad,” a third and higher voice said. “Everyone notices Maddie.”
“That is hardly true,” Maddie said, humble as always.
“Of course it is,” another girl said. “I wish I knew your secret.”
Harrison smothered a snort. There was no secret or trick to Maddie’s appeal. It was part of her, like her wide smile and sparkling eyes, or her boisterous laugh and generous wit. No other girl came close.
“Me too,” the highest voice said. “I certainly wish Harrison Archer paid me as much attention as he does you, Maddie.”
“Mr. Archer? Oh, we’ve been friends forever.”
“Well, you know the old adage about friendships between men and women,” the other girl said.
“What adage is that?”
“I cannot remember exactly, but something like it’s impossible to remain strictly friends because one side or the other always wishes it was more.”
“That is absurd,” Maddie snapped. “I harbor absolutely no feelings for him whatsoever. He’s like a brother to me.”
Harrison frowned into the darkness. A brother? She thought of him as a brother . . .