Authors: Shirl Henke
He looked glum. “Only time I saw a ballet was in New York a couple of years ago. I don't much cotton to watching a bunch of men tippy-toeing around a stage. Would you mind going with me? To sorta keep me out of trouble?”
“It wouldn't be at all proper for a viscount to escort a tutor to such an elegant event,” she forced herself to reply even though she would have given anything to see the world-famous Russian ballet.
Josh shook his head. He could tell by the glow in her eyes that she loved that fool toe-dancing stuff. “Always the proper woman of business. Just consider it part of my schooling. I know you attend balls with your young female charges. We danced at one, remember?”
“How could I forget?” She tried to sound cross at the awful spectacle they'd created, but failed. “But that is different. I remain in the background and merely encourage my students when they make their first outings...well, normally I remain in the background,” she added with an accusing look that did not come off quite as sternly as she intended.
Taking her hand to assist her up the steps, he said, “I'll be by to pick you up at eight. I'll need a lot of encouragement to sit through this Tchaikovsky fellow's toe dancers.”
“I don't know—”
“Remember, you're my teacher and I need help,” he reminded her solemnly
“That is blackmail, my lord,” she replied as a tiny smile curved her lips and sparkled in her uncertain eyes. Her mind was already whirling with thoughts of whether she owned any dress that could possibly be suitable for such an occasion.
* * * *
Sabrina stood in front of the mirror inspecting her gown. It was horribly old, one her mother had sewn for her trousseau over eight years earlier, but it was made of good quality silk in an odd shade of coppery gold that set off the highlights in her hair. She had been well taught by her mother and had reworked the outmoded style, changing the trim and narrowing the skirt.
How greatly she would have appreciated Gilda's help at a time such as this, but her lifelong maid and companion had returned home to be with an elder brother who'd been taken ill several weeks earlier. She knew it was unseemly for her to live in private quarters such as this without a chaperone, but she could certainly not afford to hire a replacement for her old friend, who worked for little more than room and board. Well, it could not be helped. She was a respectable woman of business, and the only gentleman caller she ever allowed inside her home was her cousin Edmund.
Thinking of Eddy made her wish he would repay some of the money he owed her. Then she might have been able to make a few modest purchases to enhance her wardrobe, such as buying new slippers—or hats to replace those victimized by the viscount. Glumly she looked down at the scuffed toes of her only dress shoes, which did not match her gown. Well, a bit of polish and they'd simply have to do. In a darkened theater, who would see them anyway? Or notice that her grandmother's reticule was missing a few beads after years of use?
The Texan most probably would not.
Odd, but she'd begun thinking of him that way. A Texan. Yet he was also a viscount and the heir to one of the most prestigious titles in Britain, a man far above her station. “Don't be ridiculous,” she murmured to herself.
You vowed all those years ago never to marry, and even if you changed your mind, he'd never consider a nobody such as you.
A man such as he was interested in only one thing from a woman like her. Once burned, twice shy.
Her ruminations were interrupted by the oddest racket. A strange puffing roar, almost like a train engine only not nearly so loud, followed by the neighing of horses and the angry cries of men on the street below. Sabrina went to the window and looked down. One of those new horseless carriages had just pulled up in front of the building and Viscount Wesley was stepping out of it!
The engine noises of the rumbling contraptions always frightened carriage horses and angered their drivers, although the sounds were becoming increasingly common on London's streets in recent years. But she'd never seen such a grand vehicle as the shiny white one he was driving. It had four wheels with elaborately decorated spokes and lush-looking black leather seats. Brass and chrome gleamed like newly minted coins.
In a moment he was knocking at her door. Swallowing for courage, she gave her hair a final pat and went to greet him. He stood there in a splendid suit of black kerseymere that fitted his tall frame with the perfection of fine tailoring. Every detail on his person was coordinated, right down to the emerald shirt studs that matched his eyes. She felt like a poor relation being escorted to a country dance by a rich city cousin.
Josh drank in the vision she made with her hair piled in a sleek pouf of some sort, accented simply by a sprig of fresh flowers. Her gown was an odd color that matched her hair, and the low vee of the neckline revealed considerable charms, although she wore only a tiny cross on a delicate gold chain. “You look pretty as an acre of pregnant red sows,” he blurted out before realizing how such a remark would be greeted by a teacher of decorum.
“My lord—”
“Let me try again,” he interrupted with an engaging smile. “My dear Miss Edgewater, you look ravishing tonight. How's that?”
The smile, as usual, was contagious. “An infinite improvement,” she replied as she turned to reach for her shawl. He dutifully helped her arrange it around her shoulders. Although he did nothing really indecorous, the slight touch of his hands on her bare skin was enough to send a shiver tingling down her spine. She quickly sought distraction by asking about his vehicle.
“I've never ridden in a horseless carriage before,” she said breathlessly as they descended the stairs from her apartment to the street.
“Then you're in for a real treat—and it isn't a horseless carriage. It's a Daimler Mercedes 25/28 with a four-cylinder engine and chain drive. Designed by Wilhelm Maybach and named after the daughter of one of Herr Daimler's investors. Right pretty, isn't it?” he asked with obvious pride.
Sabrina had to admit it was. “Yes, I've never seen one like it. I've certainly never ridden in one. All that talk about cylinders and chain drives is far beyond what I've learned in books.”
“The advances in engineering are made by hands-on hard work and...can I say it?—sweat.” Josh whispered the word.
Sabrina laughed. “I suppose since we're discussing a horseless carriage, it's permissible.”
“Ah, but there's that old-fashioned term again. This is an automobile,” he said as he opened the gleaming passenger door and helped her take a seat inside.
The leather was smooth as satin and amazingly comfortable. She watched as he walked around to the front of the vehicle and whirled the starter crank, firing up the engine. Then he slid behind the steering wheel on the seat beside her. Even in an open carriage—no, automobile, she corrected herself—he seemed to take up all her space. “I would have believed a true Texan such as you would want nothing to do with anything that replaced his horse,” she murmured.
Josh looked at her as if she'd just announced the world was flat. “Nothing will ever replace a fine horse, for riding pleasure or to work stock. But this is the future, complete with factories and assembly lines. One day everyone around the world will depend on internal combustion engines to get them where they hanker to go. That's why I invested in Mr. Daimler's company,” he said as the vehicle moved forward.
She knew he was a wealthy rancher, but this side of Joshua Cantrell surprised her. “I had no idea you dealt in anything but cattle.”
He watched the approach of several hansoms and allowed plenty of room before steering into the street. “I only made my first money in cattle. Once I bought the land and improved my herds, I started reading up on other ways to make money.”
“How very American, my lord,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“It's the Texan in me, I reckon. We always think more is better,” he replied. Then studying her, he said, “When you smile like that, your eyes glow like a full moon on a clear winter night.”
The compliment flustered her. “You're very kind, my lo—”
“Just between us, ma'am, could you call me Josh? I get mighty tired of being lordshiped to death around the house. I've tried to get Nash and his staff to loosen up their starched collars a mite, but they won't budge.”
“Servants would scarcely be comfortable the Christian name of a member of the peerage,” she replied.
His green eyes turned dark as he said, “You aren't a servant.”
“I am in Lord Hambleton's employ...and yours.”
“As a tutor, not a maid.”
She sighed. “You must understand the way our class system works. It's highly improper for employees and employers to become familiar. It can lead to all sorts of...difficulties.”
“Especially if the employer and employee are a man and a woman?” He noted the heightened color in her cheeks and smiled inwardly. She wasn't as prim and indifferent to him as she wanted him to think.
“Especially, my lord.” Her tone was emphatic. “Tell me more about your investments. What makes you so certain these automobiles will replace horses as basic transportation?” she asked as the engine sputtered and he worked a combination of mysterious hand and foot levers and instruments until the rough ride once again smoothed out.
“Speed, for one thing. Folks are always wanting to get places faster, and trains can only take them where rails are laid. This car has the power of thirty-five horses under the engine. It can go over fifty miles in an hour, and every year the speed increases.” At the look of horror on her face as she clutched her hands to the seat, he laughed and added, “Don't worry. I'd never race it on a crowded city street—or ruin a lady's hairdo.”
She watched as he drove slowly, keeping pace with the carriages around them. Now and again a horse would shy, but animals and drivers were getting used to the newfangled vehicles. They passed a few other automobiles in route to the theater, although none were so grand and smooth-riding as the Texan's Mercedes.
“This is really quite exhilarating,” she admitted.
Josh looked pleased. “Well, one day we'll take a spin in the countryside. Wear your hair down and I'll show you what this beauty can do.” The image of Sabrina with her mane of bronze hair flying wildly behind her made his groin tighten.
She made a mock tsking sound. “Lord Wesley, a lady never appears in public with her hair unbound.”
“Now, that's a fool idea if ever I heard one. Hair as beautiful as yours shouldn't be covered up with hats or tied up with pins. If we went horseback riding, you'd bounce that fancy hairdo loose quicker than I can...well, right quick,” he hastily amended.
An amused light danced in her eyes as she imagined the word he'd intended to say. “Spit.” It just popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Immediately, she covered her lips with both hands, horrified at what she'd done.
Josh threw back his head and let out a rich, deep chuckle. “Couldn'ta said it better myself, ma'am.”
* * * *
When they pulled up in front of the theater, Josh waited as the doorman assisted her from the automobile, then said, “Give me a shake or two to stable this out back and I'll be right with you.”
Sabrina nodded. Then as he pulled away, she turned to the large posters at the front of the building. Most were of the famous lead ballerina, Natasha Samsonov, whose photographs indicated that she was quite a dramatic beauty. Attending a performance of the Saint Petersburg Company while it appeared in London had been a dream Sabrina had never imagined could come true.
And to ride in a horseless carriage besides! She felt like doing something she hadn't since she had been ten years old—throw out her arms and spin in a circle, giving a shout of pure excitement. How long had it been since she'd felt joyous and free? She gave herself a mental shake. Her life was as she had made it and she was free, she reminded herself. Free to come and go, to earn her own way, beholden to no man.
But you are beholden to the Texan.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, he walked calmly around the corner with two other men, one dark, stocky and short, the other taller, pale and thin. Both looked distinctly foreign. Although they were speaking English with French accents, she knew instinctively that they were Russian. How extraordinary that the viscount would be friends with them, for the Russian émigré community was notoriously snobbish and closed to outsiders.