suspicious?”
Ben shook his head slowly. “Not that I know of. Peter’s always been gullible, Evie. And you heard for yourself how much he admires Jourdain. Such evenings invite melodrama. I’m certain Peter was simply caught up in the delirium.”
“I expect you’re right,” I said.
“You were there.” Benjamin leaned forward. “Did you think Jourdain looked like a man who believed he’d just been shot at?”
“No. Not the least bit.”
“You see.” Ben sat back again, folding his arms over his chest. “No doubt Peter’s thought better of his suspicions already.”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with where he is now?”
“Where he is now is probably at the office, asleep on a settee, or buried in papers. He’s no doubt forgotten all about the Reid soiree.” Ben smiled warmly at me. “You know how he is. He’ll be there until court adjourns on Monday, and then he’ll be home and you’ll realize how foolish you were to be concerned.”
His words eased my worry. “Of course, you’re right. Forgive me for being so silly.”
“Never apologize,” he said. “Peter should know better than to leave you this way, without a word. In fact, I’ll say something to him when I return from Albany.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said quickly. “He’ll only be angry that I’ve confided in you. And it seems he’s angry enough with you already.”
Again he frowned. “He is?”
“I thought so. The way you two argued that night—”
“Ah, that. That was nothing. A disagreement over how to proceed in a certain matter. Nothing more. We parted friends, as I hope you and I are.”
“Of course we are.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ben said. “I wish you’d feel free to confide in me whenever you like. I must confess that it saddens me to see the way Peter neglects you. He doesn’t realize what a treasure he has.”
I felt myself grow hot, and I looked away. “Please, Ben.”
“Forgive me. I’ve no wish to embarrass you. It’s only that I want you to know how much I admire you. If I can serve you in any way… Well, you must know I would find it a privilege to do so.”
The carriage stopped. I glanced up quickly to see we were on Irving Place, before my own house, and then I felt the bounce as Cullen left the driver’s seat and opened the door.
I turned to Ben as I stepped out. “Thank you. For seeing me home, and for your reassurances. Cullen will take you home.”
“You mustn’t worry,” he said again. “Good night, Evelyn.”
I knew he was probably right, that Peter was no doubt holed up in his office, asleep over his trial notes. Yet I could not keep myself from listening for him as Kitty sleepily undid my hooks and laces and helped me into my nightgown.
My husband didn’t come that night, nor did he return in the morning. The day was frigid, the temperature hovering near zero, so I stayed inside instead of making my usual Sunday pilgrimage to Grace Church. I spent the day practicing my embroidery, which had never been good, but I was determined to finish the cover I was making for Peter’s footrest. Before long, my frustration over the sheer number of stitches I had to rip out made me put the embroidery aside and reach for a book, but it couldn’t hold my attention, and I fell asleep by the fire.
By three that afternoon, I was awakened by the howling of the wind, and such a volume of swirling snow that the world beyond the windows was nothing but a dizzying void of white. Had Peter meant to come home, he certainly could not now. I doubted any carriage could move through the storm. My disappointment overwhelmed me, but then, as the hours went on, I grew angry. The next day, snow lay icy and thick on the ground, and every eave was decorated with dangerously thick long icicles that glittered in the light, and the streets were empty. Cullen came inside, dusting off snow, white with cold, to tell me the city was shut down, that no one could get about, and when I
Ben shook his head slowly. “Not that I know of. Peter’s always been gullible, Evie. And you heard for yourself how much he admires Jourdain. Such evenings invite melodrama. I’m certain Peter was simply caught up in the delirium.”
“I expect you’re right,” I said.
“You were there.” Benjamin leaned forward. “Did you think Jourdain looked like a man who believed he’d just been shot at?”
“No. Not the least bit.”
“You see.” Ben sat back again, folding his arms over his chest. “No doubt Peter’s thought better of his suspicions already.”
“You don’t think it has anything to do with where he is now?”
“Where he is now is probably at the office, asleep on a settee, or buried in papers. He’s no doubt forgotten all about the Reid soiree.” Ben smiled warmly at me. “You know how he is. He’ll be there until court adjourns on Monday, and then he’ll be home and you’ll realize how foolish you were to be concerned.”
His words eased my worry. “Of course, you’re right. Forgive me for being so silly.”
“Never apologize,” he said. “Peter should know better than to leave you this way, without a word. In fact, I’ll say something to him when I return from Albany.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said quickly. “He’ll only be angry that I’ve confided in you. And it seems he’s angry enough with you already.”
Again he frowned. “He is?”
“I thought so. The way you two argued that night—”
“Ah, that. That was nothing. A disagreement over how to proceed in a certain matter. Nothing more. We parted friends, as I hope you and I are.”
“Of course we are.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ben said. “I wish you’d feel free to confide in me whenever you like. I must confess that it saddens me to see the way Peter neglects you. He doesn’t realize what a treasure he has.”
I felt myself grow hot, and I looked away. “Please, Ben.”
“Forgive me. I’ve no wish to embarrass you. It’s only that I want you to know how much I admire you. If I can serve you in any way… Well, you must know I would find it a privilege to do so.”
The carriage stopped. I glanced up quickly to see we were on Irving Place, before my own house, and then I felt the bounce as Cullen left the driver’s seat and opened the door.
I turned to Ben as I stepped out. “Thank you. For seeing me home, and for your reassurances. Cullen will take you home.”
“You mustn’t worry,” he said again. “Good night, Evelyn.”
I knew he was probably right, that Peter was no doubt holed up in his office, asleep over his trial notes. Yet I could not keep myself from listening for him as Kitty sleepily undid my hooks and laces and helped me into my nightgown.
My husband didn’t come that night, nor did he return in the morning. The day was frigid, the temperature hovering near zero, so I stayed inside instead of making my usual Sunday pilgrimage to Grace Church. I spent the day practicing my embroidery, which had never been good, but I was determined to finish the cover I was making for Peter’s footrest. Before long, my frustration over the sheer number of stitches I had to rip out made me put the embroidery aside and reach for a book, but it couldn’t hold my attention, and I fell asleep by the fire.
By three that afternoon, I was awakened by the howling of the wind, and such a volume of swirling snow that the world beyond the windows was nothing but a dizzying void of white. Had Peter meant to come home, he certainly could not now. I doubted any carriage could move through the storm. My disappointment overwhelmed me, but then, as the hours went on, I grew angry. The next day, snow lay icy and thick on the ground, and every eave was decorated with dangerously thick long icicles that glittered in the light, and the streets were empty. Cullen came inside, dusting off snow, white with cold, to tell me the city was shut down, that no one could get about, and when I
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