“Do you miss them?” he asked softly.
She nodded because of course she did. They’d been away in Washington D.C. when Mr. Thorkilson’s solicitor stopped by the New York townhouse. Clearly the man wished to know if her father had made any progress procuring the funds he owed. Before taking his leave, he reminded her of her father’s obligation. Papa only had two and a half months left in which to repay his debt in full, after which Calista would have to do so for him.
Thankfully, Peter had offered salvation by then. Calista had received his offer of marriage just one day prior and had decided she would accept. But when she’d written her father, informing him of her plan and requesting permission to travel abroad, she’d received no response.
Unwilling to waste additional time, she’d eventually chosen to handle the matter alone.
Her heart ached on account of the worry she knew Mama and Papa surely experienced each passing day when no further news arrived to assure them all was well. But how could she write and tell them the truth? How could she lie?
It would be at least another week and a half before her most recent letter reached them. Hopefully, she herself would arrive soon after.
Which brought to mind Mr. Donahue’s promise. “You said you’d found me a travel companion?”
“Yes.” He straightened, reached for the bottle of champagne, and refilled their glasses. “I have two guests. A Mr. and Mrs. Kernoff who intend to travel to New York next week on the twelfth. I’ve purchased a ticket for you on the same vessel with a cabin adjacent to theirs.”
A knot formed against Calista’s breast. Having her departure date confirmed was equally wonderful and…less so. She didn’t quite understand it but she regretted having to leave, even though she knew she had to. Her father needed her. If she stayed away there was no telling how Mr. Thorkilson might retaliate.
Remembering her manners, she smiled at Mr. Donahue. “Thank you. I’m forever in your debt.”
He stared back at her. “Forever is a very long time, Miss Smith. And frankly, I’m glad to be of service, though I wish our acquaintance would not be cut quite so short. The only thing for it, I suppose, is for us to make the most of the time we have left in each other’s company. Do you perchance play billiards?”
She blinked in rapid succession, a bit overwhelmed by each of the statements he’d made just now. Was he truly as sorry to part ways with her as she was with him? Why would he be? Surely a man in his position would not lack female companionship. And what exactly had he meant with regard to making the most of the time they had left?
Certain she must be reading more into his words than what he’d intended, she decided to answer the one question that had a simple answer. “No, Mr. Donahue. I have never even heard of the game.”
12
After enjoying a fluffy chocolate mousse for dessert, Steven escorted Miss Smith to the gaming room. He’d enjoyed his dinner with her and the conversation they’d shared a great deal, though he knew there was much she refrained from saying. Her true identity remained a mystery. She’d not revealed much about her parents and neatly switched the focus away from herself and back onto him to avoid saying more than she wished.
It was the same strategy he’d employed when he tried to avoid speaking of Nigel. His brother was due to arrive soon, which was bad enough without Steven having to revisit their tense relationship with Miss Smith.
“I’ll introduce you to the Kernoffs tomorrow morning if that suits?” Steven said while leading her to a vacant billiards table. “They wished to enjoy the theatre this evening and suggested a breakfast meeting instead.”
“Again, I must thank you, Mr. Donahue.” She slid her arm from his, adding distance and leaving him oddly bereft. He turned to select a couple of cues from the rack on the wall. “You are incredibly kind.”
Steven barely managed to hide a snort of disagreement. He wasn’t known for his kindness – had not built this place with a soft and gentle heart. Rather, he’d haggled his way from start to finish and worked every laborer and servant in his employ to a standard so high it outdid any other. But he’d not been cruel. Everyone had been well compensated and taken care of in exchange for their service.
Realizing some of those same people had thought to abuse a woman they ought to have helped was not only an insulting lack of respect for the positions they held, but a testament to the lowliest form of human behavior. Mr. Greene for instance, had been a mere clerk when Steven hired him, albeit a clever one. But for him to dare look down his nose at anyone, to turn his back on a woman being harassed, was beyond the pale. Steven was glad to be rid of him.
“Here.” He handed Miss Smith a cue and used his own to show her how to hold it. “Lean forward like this and balance the end on your fingers. That’s it. Essentially, you’ll want to strike either your opponent’s cue ball or the red object ball with your own cue ball by lining them up with the tip of your cue stick and, if you can, one of the pockets. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He placed the three balls haphazardly around the table and showed her how to line up a shot. “Points are awarded depending on whether you strike one or two balls during your turn and based on the number of balls that land in a pocket.” After making a few different shots and explaining the point system to her in greater detail, he looked across at where she stood, avidly watching his every move. “Your turn.”
“Very well.” She took her position with some hesitation, positioning herself exactly as he’d instructed. Carefully, she slid the tip of her cue stick lightly across her fingers, testing the angle and position, before letting it shoot toward a white cue ball marked with a dot to distinguish it from the other. The ball knocked against the red one with a clank, propelling it clear across the table where it missed the pocket she’d aimed for by a mere inch, only to bounce off the side of the table.
“Well done,” Steven applauded, genuinely impressed by the swiftness with which she took to the game. “That was an excellent first attempt.”
“May I try again?”
“Of course. Practice for as long as you like.” Steven stepped away from the table, allowing her as much room as she needed. “When you feel like you’re ready, we’ll have a game.”
A determined frown knit her brow as she studied the table. Steven leaned against a nearby pillar and settled in to watch her efforts. There was an elegance to her posture and every movement she made. The manner in which she was forced to bow and stretch accentuated her grace. He slid his gaze along the length of her supple arm, following the line toward her target: the other cue ball located not too far from one of the side pockets.
Her arm drew back. Steven held his breath. And then she carefully nudged her own cue ball forward, setting it into gentle motion. It rolled across the table. Steven kept his gaze on it, straightening slightly as the ball maintained its momentum. His stomach tightened in anticipation of what now appeared inevitable, a satisfied smile curving his lips as her cue ball struck its target, pushing the other ball into the pocket with a welcome thunk.
Miss Smith leapt back with a squeal of elation, turning his smile into unrestrained laughter. Lord help him, he’d not used these facial muscles in years as much as he’d done in the space of one evening.