Chapter 14 #2
With a dramatic salute, Mumsie turned an about-face and paraded out the door, singing her favorite marching tune about the dauntless crusade for women’s votes. “Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!”
As Mumsie’s impassioned voice faded downstairs, Margaret picked up her neglected novel, praying the story, in combination with her increased feline company, would distract from the passing minutes. Each one tick-tocked into another hour in which her case was on hold.
Another hour in which she was letting everyone down.
Spectacles perched precariously near the end of his nose, Charles read over his list of gala preparations, marking off a few more accomplished tasks in pencil.
In his first year as a secretary for the Magi, he’d learned to reserve pen and ink for official documents.
Lists, being subject to constant change, were much more compatible with lead.
Menu tasting with Lumiere’s Fine Dining, check.
Caterer hired and menu finalized, check.
Auditions for musicians . . . ah, now here was where a good pencil with an attached eraser came in handy.
Flipping his pencil around, he rubbed out the originally scheduled date and time for the auditions.
After wiping the page clean, he twirled the pencil again and wrote in neat script the newly rescheduled date and time.
Charles used the eraser tip to push his spectacles back into place—yet another merit of a good pencil—and continued reading.
Custom stationery for the invitations, approved by Mr. Harrison and ordered today, check.
Inventions selected for commemorative displays . . .
Pending. Charles heaved a sigh, tapping his eraser against the task’s unchecked box in time with the ticking wall clock.
He really ought to have made further progress sorting through the boxes of patents.
He’d just kept putting it off. Watching.
Waiting. Hoping a certain journalist might schedule another appointment at the Invention Factory and give him a hand.
The patent files had seemed to be of interest to her, but the rest of the week had trickled by without a word.
Even so, he couldn’t seem to extricate the woman from his thoughts.
Miss Margaret Knight.
Her name waltzed through his subconscious to the tune of Debussy’s Reverie.
Day and night, night and day. Swaying and twirling in four-quarter time.
It was wonderful. It was ridiculous. It was wonderfully ridiculous.
The beautiful woman had been professionalism itself, giving no indication she was interested in him one measly whit.
Let alone rapturously taken with him as Charles was with her.
There was also the small matter of Charles having no time in his life for paying court to a woman—even if Miss Knight was the most stunning woman to grace God’s green earth.
If she happened to return his interest, what then?
Just what, exactly, could he offer her? He could just imagine declaring himself on bended knee, “Vision of loveliness, I haven’t funds for a home of our own, or a ring for your finger .
. . but would you, perchance, be amenable to becoming my wife and moving in with my parents and younger brother? ”
Charles shook the pitiful vision away with a scoff. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“If the men hear you talking to yourself, you’re likely to get stuck with a nickname you’ll never be able to part with, lad.” Mr. Harrison leaned against the open doorway, smiling with the congeniality of shared laughter.
Embarrassment scalded Charles from ears to nose as he jolted to his feet. “F-forgive me, sir. I . . . I’m just—”
“I believe the word you’re searching for is smitten.”
“S-smitten, sir?”
“Indeed. I’ve never been afflicted with the malady myself, but I’ve seen many a chap fall victim to cupid’s arrow, so I’m familiar with the signs.
Although I must say, I’ve never seen a man receive such a swift and fatal blow.
I do believe that chubby winged babe got off an arrow between your eyes as well as one to your heart, lad. ”
Hummel help me with a change of subject!
“The gala preparations, sir. They’re coming along.
Nicely. Quite, quite nicely. Under budget.
And on schedule too.” Wonderful. Now he was rambling, but at least Cupid had effectively been removed from the conversation.
“Rest assured, sir, I’ll see every detail is attended to in a timely manner even if I must stay after hours and—”
“Now, now, I’ll have none of that, Noble. I won’t have my employees running themselves into the ground. You clock out at five sharp and be home by suppertime, like all the other men, you hear?” His tone brooked no argument as he wagged a knobby finger Charles’ way.
Then, befuddlement glazed over Mr. Harrison’s eyes and the admonishing digit migrated to tap upon his chin thoughtfully.
“Why did I come in here? There was something I wished to discuss with you . . . ah yes! I’m attending a charity ball this week, and I’d like you to join me to get some inspiration for the gala.
I’ll have my carriage pick you up promptly at eight o’clock.
Oh, and I’ll have a proper suit of gentlemen’s togs sent over beforehand. ”
“Togs?” Was that even English?
“Aye, lad. It’s a white-tie affair, and I’ll not have a representative of Alvan T. Harrison, Incorporated, arriving at the Duchess of Darrowby’s residence underdressed.”