It Happened at the Fair (44 page)

His smile grew wider. “Can you believe it?”

She ran her finger across the C. B. McNamara. “What’s the B for?”

“Berneen. After my father.”

Returning it to its case, she rotated it just so. “It’s beautiful. I’m so proud of you. This should help garner even more orders, don’t you think?”

“It already has.”

She bracketed his cheeks and gave him another kiss. “Congratulations.”

“Want to celebrate?”

She lifted a brow. “Will it involve heights and closed-in spaces?”

“Nary a one.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A gondola ride.”

Her lips parted. “Really? Do you mean it?”

“I’ve been dying to see the fair from that vantage point. Haven’t you?”

She nodded, remembering the many times she’d admired the elegant vessels.

He glanced at her table. “Think Red Cap’s granny would mind if I swiped her bottle of wine?”

Giggling, she shook her finger back and forth. “You wouldn’t believe the difficulty I had in convincing the director I needed it. But it’s right there in the story, so what could I do? Anyway, ‘Granny’ would most definitely miss it if it disappeared. And I’m already persona non grata around here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been asking why we can’t teach both sign language and lip-reading. She is not pleased.”

“Well, tonight we’re going to forget all about that. So get your things in order, Miss Wentworth, and let’s go.”

GREAT WHITE HORSE INN

“It was an exact reproduction of the famous English inn described in Dickens’s Pickwick Papers, right down to the statue of a horse over its entrance.”

CHAPTER

51

Eager as Della was to ride the gondola, Cullen first surprised her by taking her to one of the fair’s restaurants. He chose the Great White Horse Inn, directly across from Blooker’s. It was an exact reproduction of the famous English inn described in Dickens’s Pickwick Papers, right down to the statue of a horse over its entrance.

Removing her gloves, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time to the fifteenth century. Brick walls, wooden rafters, and oriental carpets in turbulent fields of green, pink, and maroon had her imagining the passengers who’d been entertained within the original inn’s rustic walls while waiting for a coach to London. Even the picture frames were made of braided straw and tied with ribbon.

“This is much more cheerful than the way Dickens described it,” she said, raising her voice over the noise.

Cullen nodded, but from the angling of his head with his left ear close, she could tell he had difficulty understanding her.

She scanned the boisterous crowd for a vacant table. “Will you be able to hear in here?”

“I might have to make an intent study of your lips, but I’ll somehow manage,” he said, winking.

Flushing, she followed a young barmaid in a black gown, a white kirtle, and an old-timey caplet to a table by a crackling fireplace.

THE GREAT WHITE HORSE INN

The noise ended up being more than Cullen could conquer. They tried sign language, but she hadn’t taught him enough without a lot of spelling. She’d have to do something about that.

Still, she enjoyed the atmosphere even without conversation. Their supper of potage, quail, and short-crust pie was served in old stewpans and wooden trenchers. Because forks had been rare during that era, they were given only spoons and one knife, which they shared.

Cullen broke off a bite of quail, jabbed it with the knife, then held it out. She reached for it, but he pulled back and shook his head. “Open up.”

Glancing about, she opened her mouth. He placed the bite inside, then drew the knife from her closed lips, watching her chew.

He took a bite of his own, still eyeing her lips.

She shifted in her chair.

He continued, breaking the bread and offering it to her, his hand gliding over hers, feeding her occasional bites of figs and cheese, his fingers brushing her lips.

By the time supper was over, her face stayed red, her body hot, her breath uneven. When they stepped back outside, it was all she could do not to drag him to the corner stairwell in the Manufactures Building.

Neither spoke. His hand rode low along the small of her back, his fingers stroking. With each caress, her abdomen clinched tighter and tighter.

Finally, they reached a set of wide steps leading down to a collection of gondolas with dragons rampant on their prows. Blue, yellow, green, and purple bows bobbed against the Basin’s landing. While Cullen secured tickets, she drank in the red and orange streaks of twilight and tried to steady her nerves. It was no use. The moment he took her elbow and helped her onto one of the blue, crescent-shaped boats, her insides became all jumbled again.

GONDALA STATION

The vessel swayed. She gripped his arm.

“Easy there.” His voice ran across her skin, followed by a rush of goose bumps.

He settled her into a velvet-covered bench, its seat and back cushioned with plush golden pillows trimmed in purple. With a quick stroke, he swept her skirts to the side, his hand swishing down her thigh so swiftly, he’d already sat before she had a chance to react. His long, muscular legs fell open, the left one pressing against her.

A golden-skinned gondolier wearing an embroidered purple jacket took his position on the dancing bow, his long oar secured across a twisted lock. His partner, in crimson and white, balanced on tiptoe in the narrow stern, leaning forward.

GONDALIER

They backed up with practiced ease, then pushed on their oars. The boat shot forward like a released arrow, continuing on in one smooth glide. No command passed between them, yet they acted in harmony with each other, cutting around the base of the huge golden statue of the Republic, then moving down the center of the Basin and swinging under a bridge to the expansive walkway between the Manufactures and Electricity Buildings.

The rhythmic sound of their oars merged with the ripple of waves against the craft. A subdued murmur from people passing on the banks added to the refrain. Untamed plants along the edges of the channel juxtaposed with the sweep of architectural wonders reaching heavenward on either side.

She glanced at Cullen to see his reaction to the nooks of the park that could not be seen from land.

But his eyes were not on the vista. They were on her.

The soft breeze caused by the boat loosened tendrils of her hair, spinning them across her face. A wisp stuck to the corner of her mouth. Before she could release it, he hooked it with his finger, pulling it free.

I want to kiss you, he mouthed.

Her stomach bounced. With an iron will, she pulled her gaze away. The gondoliers crossed the calm water and traveled beneath a bridge. As they emerged on the opposite side, the Wooded Island came into view. She drew in her breath. From this perspective, it rose like a crown jewel set amid the silvery lagoon.

Lily leaves floated about its edges, framing an embankment trimmed with every specimen of flower imaginable on reeds, climbers, ornamentals, and trees. It was as if the brilliance of the blooms reflected a hundred prisms hung in the clouds.

Along the magnificent promenade, people stopped to point at their gondola. Did they not see the soft zephyrs, the fragile sweet peas, and the immense hydrangea bushes with delicate blossoms blessing every branch? All of which were diminishing in the rapid loss of sunlight?

A crowd continued to collect, all congregating along the path and looking out at them—some staring, some smiling.

Shaking her head, she turned to share her exasperation with Cullen, but he was no longer at her side. He was on the bottom of the boat, one knee bent.

Her eyes widened. “What . . . ?”

He opened a black velvet box. Nestled inside was a ring with five luminous gray diamonds encircling a sixth and making a flower-like shape. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

She covered her mouth, her gaze zigzagging between him and the ring. A combination of disbelief and euphoria exploded inside her. Having no power to speak, she simply nodded.

He smiled. “May I see your hand?”

Lowering her hands, she pulled off her left glove.

He slid the ring onto her finger. The group of spectators clapped.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It was my grandmother’s.”

Her breath caught. “Oh, Cullen.”

Grasping the back of the bench, he bracketed her with his arms, then leaned in and kissed her. Their audience cheered and whistled. She felt him smile against her lips.

“Can we elope?” he asked, pulling back just enough to whisper the question.

She pushed into the pillow to better see him. “Are you being serious?”

“I am.”

The thought of waiting for the fair to end only to then have the delay of planning a wedding held no more appeal to her than it obviously did to him. “All right. When did you have in mind?”

“How about tomorrow?”

A nervous laugh wiggled its way up from the back of her throat. “Well, maybe not tomorrow.”

“Then when?”

“Soon.” She tugged at his sleeve. “Come back up here.”

This time she swept her own skirt aside.

Settling next to her, he laid his arm along the bench behind her, his brown eyes ardent and impassioned. “I love you.”