Chapter Eighteen
WHAT HAD NORA BEEN THINKING to invite Mr. Beaumont to return during his break hours?
All night long she berated herself—between checking and rechecking all the locks and traps with each noise.
How was she to maintain her reputation if he visited her home during the day when Father was not there?
A paid employee did not count as an acceptable chaperone.
Worse, what would Father say or do when he discovered she’d befriended a man not of his acquaintance and connected to the forbidden opera world?
And why was she already thinking in terms of Mr. Beaumont visiting her more than once?
Good gracious. How had she let him get to her so thoroughly? So much for running so hard he couldn’t catch her. It appeared she’d tripped and fallen flat on her face. Or was it into his arms? The charmer certainly would prefer her to land there.
But the invitation had been extended, and she couldn’t rescind it—which meant she needed a chaperone. Her best chance for one at the last minute lay in asking her elderly neighbor.
Nora rubbed the cameo pendant at her neck as she stood inside the woman’s front door.
“I’ll be honest, Mrs. Jerden, it isn’t merely the enjoyment of your knitting company I seek.
” Oh, how she hated admitting the next part.
“I have a gentleman friend who might visit me this afternoon, and it’s only Lily and me in the house . . .”
“Say no more, dear. I am happy to keep the young man in line while encouraging more visits. With all the children grown and Mr. Jerden at the office, my days are often too quiet.”
Nora winced. She should have invited Mrs. Jerden over long before now.
They’d been neighbors for over a decade, and she’d always encouraged Nora’s help with the garden or eating the harvest. In return, Nora had been too preoccupied with herself and keeping her family’s secrets to see Mrs. Jerden might be lonely.
“Besides,” the woman continued, “we can’t allow you to become a spinster. You’re already dangerously close.”
At twenty-three? Hardly, but Mrs. Jerden was not the only one who considered any unmarried woman over twenty destined for spinsterhood.
“I will happily be available most afternoons if your beau should decide to become a frequent visitor,” she generously offered.
“I hate to disappoint you, but Mr. Beaumont and I are merely friends.”
“Pish. That’s what a woman says when she’s afraid it won’t go further. But don’t you worry. We’ll make certain an offer of marriage comes before too long.”
How embarrassing, but arguing proved pointless.
Mrs. Jerden arrived at Nora’s doorstep promptly at one, intent upon making good on her word.
Nora’s usual brown work dress was met with emphatic disapproval.
Catching a man required bright colors and something other than a plain chignon.
Thankfully, Nora’s only ensemble not brown, black, or gray was the too-fancy bridesmaid dress, and Mr. Beaumont had already seen her in that.
The light-gray day dress didn’t please Mrs. Jerden, but she conceded it was the best option.
However, she refused the sensible chignon.
By the time Mrs. Jerden finished brushing, twisting, braiding, and pinning, Nora had a dull headache and a hairstyle no reasonable woman would wear on a daily basis in her own home.
“This isn’t about being reasonable or everyday. A man likes to know you took extra care with your appearance for him. Now for a little color.” Mrs. Jerden pinched Nora’s cheeks hard and then took her to the mirror. “Bite your lips together. They’re a mite pale.”
Nora snorted at her reflection. The formal pile of hair screamed of trying too hard, especially atop a dress that passed for the uniform of a maid of all work.
No matter how she protested her attraction to him, Mr. Beaumont would no doubt take unnecessary encouragement from all this pomp and fuss.
This was absolutely dreadful. Especially since she enjoyed his attentions a little too much for a woman who knew better than to form an attachment with a man who would eventually reject her.
Mr. Beaumont arrived with Tristan in a new basket twenty minutes later, complete with fresh scratches on his hands and his signature disarming smile. “Good afternoon, m’lady.”
She hadn’t expected anything less than his usual outpour of charm, but she certainly couldn’t let him think she approved. The fact she did approve was yet another secret she’d have to keep from everyone. The Guardians included.
She collected his hat and hung it on the wall hook. “Has anyone ever told you that you smile too much?”
“Never. Most people like my debonair grin. I believe the problem is you smile too little. It is your one fault I aim to correct.”
“My one fault?” She’d have to promptly rid him of that misconception. She had more faults than the average person—ones that would make him flee if he could see inside her mind.
“Well, perhaps not your only fault, just the one I aim to correct.”
“You can’t court a person with the intention to change them, sir.” Mrs. Jerden stepped into clear view.
Mr. Beaumont straightened, his smile faltering.
Before he could speak, Mrs. Jerden continued. “However, I do agree that our Nora could benefit from a good deal more smiling.”
“I believe we agree upon both points, madam. I merely wish to see her so deliriously happy that she lights the world with the brightness of her countenance. If I may be so bold as to introduce myself, I am Ezekiel Beaumont, stage manager for Pike’s Opera House.”
Oh no! Nora should have made the introductions sooner. Now Mrs. Jerden might share Mr. Beaumont’s profession with Father. Nora intervened before anything else could be said that might cause her trouble. “Mr. Beaumont, this is Mrs. Jerden, my neighbor.”
He bowed over Mrs. Jerden’s hand and kissed the air just above it. “It is my pleasure to meet a friend of Miss Davis’s.” Then he presented Nora with his basket. “I’ve brought you the beast you requested, m’lady. Alas, he is not friendlier after the can of sardines than he was before.”
Nora ignored his knight act, took the basket from him, and tipped it so Tristan could escape. “Here you go, Tristan. Behave yourself, and I’ll reward you with a bowl of warm milk.”
Tristan jumped out, then stood stiffly as he took in his surroundings. After a moment he strutted from one spot to another, inspecting each with a cursory sniff.
“Milk is in the kitchen. This way, kitty.” Mrs. Jerden strode toward the back.
Tristan followed at a much slower and purposeful pace, like he wanted everyone to know it was his idea.
“I didn’t realize you’d have a guest today, or I wouldn’t have intruded.” Mr. Beaumont hung his coat.
“I invited Mrs. Jerden because you were coming. I do have a reputation to maintain, you know.” Nora turned to lead him toward the kitchen, only to find Mrs. Jerden walking backward.
“Don’t worry, young man!” Mrs. Jerden called down the hall. “I know how these things work. I’m only here to ensure propriety is maintained while you court our sweet Nora.”
Heat flushed Nora’s neck and face. “Ignore her. She has grand plans for us that will never come to fruition.”
“Never?” Ezekiel asked. “But what if I like her plans and would like to carry them out?”
“Then you might as well leave. My father will never allow it, and I have no desire for anything but friendship.”
“Understood.”
Oh, he might say he understood, but his grin plainly declared his wishes still matched Mrs. Jerden’s.
“So tell me about your day. What keeps you busy?”
At least he’d turned the conversation to the more mundane.
Even so, he listened with interest to her boring domestic duties, asked questions, and skillfully encouraged her to let slip more details than she wanted about her life since coming to Cincinnati.
He never delved into topics that exposed her family’s previously operatic experience, a consideration she was grateful for.
Mrs. Jerden might have heard the singing lessons before Mum was admitted, but Nora didn’t want her to think opera was safe to discuss around Father.
All afternoon they bounced between safe but engaging topics.
When Mrs. Jerden mentioned her steps had the same problem as Nora’s, Mr. Beaumont offered to fix hers as well.
That thoroughly won Mrs. Jerden over—not that she wasn’t already on his side—and Nora found herself desiring to spend more time with him.
Even Tristan continued to gain her favor, despite his being a rascal.
During the meal, he yowled and demanded bites until Mr. Beaumont sheepishly asked for a small bowl of soup to feed him.
Mr. Beaumont was indeed the cat’s servant and not the master.
Once satisfied with his portion of the meal, Tristan prowled the house at will, causing Lily extra work when he upset a few potted plants.
Finally tired of his exploration, he joined them in the parlor and searched for the perfect spot from which to hold court.
A bright ray of afternoon sunlight pooled its warmth at Nora’s feet.
After sufficient deliberation, he curled up on the tips of her boots.
Ezekiel gave a mock harrumph. “It appears Tristan prefers your company over mine. Not that I’m surprised.”
“Making it so my feet can’t move is a display of affection?”
“He wants to ensure you don’t go anywhere without him.”
As if to confirm, Tristan looked up at Nora, twitched his whiskers, then settled back with a loud purr.
The afternoon passed far too quickly, and before she knew it, Mr. Beaumont was announcing he had to leave. Unbidden, an invitation for him to return anytime he wished slipped past her lips.
“Will you be visiting your ma tomorrow?” He’d dropped his voice low as he wrangled Tristan back into the basket.
“I never miss a week.”
“Then would you care to meet me at Pike’s Opera House before traveling on? I know it’s out of the way, but we could ride together. Tristan can be our chaperone again.”
It had been one thing when they had no choice but to share.
It was something altogether different to choose to ride alone with the man.
They both knew Tristan didn’t count as a chaperone, but the hack would be open air.
The whole world would be privy to their behavior, not that she had any true concerns for impropriety.
He might be a charmer, but he was also proving himself a well-behaved gentleman.
“I suppose that would be more economical. We can share the fare.”
His arched brow declared his offense at the suggestion.
“We can debate that later. I need to drop Tristan off at home and then return to work.” He rose with Tristan’s basket, and the tenderness of his gaze stole her breath.
It was far too close to how Abraham looked at Lydia, and no man had ever looked at Nora that way.
“Thank you for today’s invitation and the future ones.
If you should find yourself comfortable at any point with calling me Ezekiel, I pray you would do so. ”
“I am afraid that may be quite some time from now.” She opened the door and held it.
He made as if to pass but stopped before her. “Then I look forward to every day I’m allowed to work toward earning that honor. Until tomorrow, Miss Davis.” He gave a half bow in lieu of a kiss above the hand and left.
As soon as Nora closed the door, Mrs. Jerden whooped. “Now that man is worthy of you! Be sure to encourage him. You don’t want him to get away.”
Nora wasn’t so sure. With her mind slipping toward paranoia, could she really risk encouraging him? He deserved a woman of sound mind, and that was one thing she could never give him.