The Wedding Dress(43)

“It’s too chilly for ice cream, Emily. How about some hot cocoa?”

“It’s never too chilly for ice cream, Mother.”

“Well, you must eat a hot lunch. A lunch of sweets will do you no good.”

“I’ll ask for hot caramel sauce. How does that sound?”

“I suppose I cannot change your mind.” Mother squeezed Emily’s hand. “You go on. I want to speak with your father. I noticed the bolts of velvet at Loveman’s, and I realized you don’t have enough velvet gowns in your trousseau. Mercy, and I’ve not ordered your trunk. I do wish you’d learn to placate Mrs. Caruthers, Emily. She is doing you a service, whether you believe it or not.” Mother stepped off the curb and onto the trolley with the river of Thursday shoppers.

Emily watched her mother go, moving to the curb, waiting for the flow of traffic to allow her to cross. She wrestled with her frustrations. Mrs. Caruthers served no one but herself, and Mother was too determined to fit into Mrs. Saltonstall’s society to see otherwise.

But now that Emily was free and making her way toward Newman’s, her thoughts roamed freely through the other disturbance in her soul. Phillip.

Last night they argued quietly in the shadows of Father and Mother’s porch, away from the parlor windows. When they’d exhausted all words, Phillip tried to sooth her with kisses and caresses.

“Whose ring is on your finger? Whose lips are you kissing?”

“Yours.” She could barely hear him over her pulse raging in her ears.

“Whose heart do you possess one hundred percent?”

“Yours.” He’d kissed her in a sensual, intimate manner, the touch of his hand along the top of her bodice causing her desires to flame at just the memory. Phillip certainly knew how to ignite her passions.

“I do believe I’m flattered. I made the great Emily Canton jealous.”

“Don’t get used to it, Phillip, it’s disturbing. And I’m not the great Emily Canton. I’m just a girl getting married.”

“You are the great Emily Canton. And your jealousy is intoxicating. You love me that much.”

“Do you love me that much?”

“Let me show you.”

He’d backed her against the house and moved his hand over her shoulders, lowering the top of her sleeves, kissing and caressing his way along her neck.

It wasn’t the first time he’d answered her inquiries about his love with touches, kisses, and hot-breath murmurs of sharing his bed.

Emily halted her journey toward Newman’s and pulled a card from her handbag, the gusting wind tugging at her skirt. She’d asked Big Mike to bring her the card of the colored seamstress.

Taffy Hayes.

Gaston Hotel. 5th Avenue.

“It’s a fanciful day.”

Emily glanced up and into the broad face and blazing blue eyes of a man perhaps Father’s age. There was nothing exceptional about him. His hair was gray, and his tweed suit and vest were not the fashion of last year, but of the last century.

Yet the brilliant purple silk ascot at his throat spoke of something bold and regal about him. Emily felt at once a bit weak in the knees.

“Have I made your acquaintance, Mr.—?”

“Shall I escort you, miss?” The gentleman offered his arm as a courier sped past them on his bicycle.

“And how do you know where I’m going, sir?” Emily pressed Taffy’s card against her waist in case the man was sly and tried to read the address.

“For your wedding gown.” He offered his arm. “If I escort you, you’ll be safe wherever you go.”

“But I do not know you. And you do not know where I’m going.” Emily’s fingers trembled slightly as she slipped the card back into her bag. Her heart churned. She wanted to run. Yet her legs refused to carry her away.

Again, he offered his arm. “Go on, take it. I’ll not harm you. I’m safe.”

Emily hesitated, then cuffed her hand around his elbow. He hailed a cab, which pulled over for them immediately, and instructed the driver to A. G. Gaston’s hotel.

Gooseflesh pickled along her arms and down her back. “How did you know?” He must have read her card before she protected it.

“Is it where you’re going?”

“But I didn’t tell you.” She held her hands in her lap, swaying with the cab, tuning her ears to the rhythm of the horse’s clip-clop. The driver smacked the reins and chirruped the gelding into moving around a braking motorcar.

At 4th Avenue, the cab slowed with the flow of traffic. “Have you seen the new picture at the Princess Theater?” The man rested his hands atop his cane.

“I’ve been rather busy.”

“Planning a wedding takes time. I know.” The man nodded, gazing ahead, smiling wide. “And patience.”

“Indeed, it does.” Emily ran her hand over the multiplying gooseflesh on her arms. The gentleman seemed the sort who read the society section of the news. “You’re more than a little acquainted with my business, yet we are strangers.”

“Might I inquire of you? What is it you’re searching for, Emily?”

“If you must know, a wedding gown.” She cocked her head to one side, regarding him, trying to figure his angle. If she could, she’d keep him from electrocuting her heart with his blue gaze every time he spoke.