The Davenports(40)

It had vanished in her mother’s hand. In the receiving line later, with teeth clenched, Ruby had endured her mother’s words—that she would see it sold. Ruby wondered—if she had begged, reached for her mother’s skirts like a child, cried until she’d gasped for air, would she have her necklace now? She doubted it. She had searched the house high and low for it. Her mother was true to her word. And Ruby was inconsolable for days. Her visits with Harrison Barton were among the only bright spots in her week. Olivia’s preoccupation with the British bachelor meant Ruby now had plenty of free time. She smiled at Mr. Barton then. “I know how I must sound, but it was mine, and it’s worth more to me than a quick buck.”

Mr. Barton rubbed his chin. Then he took Ruby’s hand in his. His gaze flickered from the cross to her face. “I’m sorry. Any chance you could get it back?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to start looking for it.” The look Mr. Barton gave her eased some of her heartache, and she felt the tension of the memory—her mother’s anger, Ruby’s own fury and loss—melt away.

She tucked her arm neatly under Harrison’s and ushered him away from the bar. She’d shared more than she’d intended. Dancing, that’s what I need right now. “Let’s go,” she said, just as a commotion at the entrance caught the room’s attention. Heads turned and the chatter died down.

John Davenport had arrived. Beside him were the Greenfield boys. She remembered when the older of the two had tried to court Olivia. The crowd seemed to part around them. Single ladies stepped in and out of John’s path to say hello.

The song changed to something slow and dreamy, but Ruby’s heart raced. She knew the exact moment John saw them. The muscle in his jaw twitched. Mr. Barton’s shoulders stiffened beneath her hands. Stay calm, she told herself.

“John, out on a work night?” she teased when he’d reached them. She’d known it was a possibility they’d run into each other. She’d wished for this very thing.

“Hello, Ruby,” he said. He dipped his head to her companion.

“Mr. Barton, I’m not sure if you’ve met John Davenport formally. Our families have known each other since we were children.”

“We’ve met. Miss Tremaine speaks highly of your sister.” Mr. Barton’s hand hovered in the space between them.

John’s hands disappeared into his pockets. He seemed to lean back on his heels. “You two have become very close.”

Yes! A rise out of John was exactly what she was hoping for.

Harrison Barton closed his hand over Ruby’s. “Good fortune smiled on me the day I ran into Mr. Tremaine at the barber. He offered me an invitation to his party, where I had the opportunity to dance with his lovely daughter.”

John’s gaze turned to Ruby. “It’s not so much luck as it is a privilege.” Then he walked away, leaving Ruby’s heart racing.

It was working!



* * *



—

Ruby hummed the last tune the band played as she shut the door behind her. Harrison had escorted her home in his carriage. A scandal had anyone seen them, but at this hour, only their set was out and about, and their morals were more relaxed than their parents’.

John had watched them dance a number or two from across the room. Ruby had straightened her back under his stare whenever she inched too close to Harrison. Her companion may be a placeholder, but Ruby quite enjoyed his company. He surprised her with his wit and optimism, had recently come into great wealth but did not show it off like a strutting peacock. He was understated. She especially liked the way she felt around him. Calm. Understood.

Harrison, because how could he continue to be Mr. Barton in her mind after this evening and all he knew?

A light down the hall cast a glow across the walls. Her parents.

Each night she’d spent out since the ball, they’d sat vigil, waiting for the day they assumed would have happened by now. It was getting harder to excuse her failure. Yes, John noticed me, she’d say. No, we haven’t made plans. She steeled her spine now and entered her father’s study.

She sighed. Tonight was a good night.

The light blazed from the fireplace. Her father’s study was heavy with mahogany shelves, dotted with books and trinkets. The furniture was large and covered in dark velvet fabric, the thick burgundy Aubusson rug anchored by her father’s large desk. Mr. Tremaine sat behind its beveled edge, chair pushed back. He leaned with his forearm propped against his thigh, gently swirling the brown amber liquid in his glass. Ruby realized that they must have been out too. Mrs. Tremaine sat on the couch to his right in a gown with full skirts. Her hair was a pile of curls atop her head. Her father had loosened his cravat and his best dinner jacket hung on the back of his chair.

Their faces greeted Ruby at the door. Her father waved a finger at her. “I heard humming.” He turned to her mother and the two seemed to exchange a knowing glance. “Does this call for champagne?”

Ruby halted at the edge of the rug. In her mind, she saw herself, hands pressed against her cheeks, practically glowing with happiness.

“I know you left with Mr. Barton,” her mother said. “We’ve been lax, but surely, he did not put that smile on your face.” Her words, though soft, carried her clear disapproval.

“Of course I was with Harrison—Mr. Barton. A lady doesn’t abandon her date.” Her parents exchanged a wary look. “I’m not some harlot,” she huffed. “I have a plan and it is working.”