Dalliances & Devotion Page 6

  “The wife of Bath?” He forced up the corners of his lips at his own joke.

  She cocked her head at him and blinked. “You’ve read Chaucer?”

  “No. Not even with my improved English. I have a good memory. It was Simon’s favorite. He could recite it all.” He coughed a little. “You Truitts have stamina.”

  Amalia blinked for a moment and David’s heart sunk. Perhaps mentioning his late friend wasn’t the best course of action. After all, there was no one Simon loved as much as his baby sister. Which was probably why he’d always given her character more chances than he should—despite all the evidence to the contrary.

  Her swallow was visible before she threw him a half smile that made his chest ache even more. “My brother most certainly did. And loved making people laugh, at the least appropriate things. You certainly got an education. What would your family think?” She picked up her skirts and moved past him to the door, so he could follow.

  “What they don’t know, can’t hurt them.” His fingers itched. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if his promotion made the papers? With a photograph. He could mail them an article. And sign his name with an official title. And maybe, one day, there’d be a famine or trouble from the goyim and they’d have to come to America, come to him, and ask him for help. Bow to him like Joseph’s brothers.

  David ran a hand through his shaggy hair. A bit long. They probably wouldn’t recognize him. Maybe be dazzled with the right clothes and styling. He eyed Amalia and her flawless petal pink and cream gown, her long curls bouncing on her elegant shoulders. Not one stray lock, even with the wind. Even her hat stood at attention.

  She had wandered several feet ahead of him, but paused, turning back, her lips pursed. “You never talk about your family. Why didn’t you stay with them in Europe? Or come as a group? Or bring them over? If it’s the money, you could always ask Thad. I’m sure he’d—”

  “I would never accept charity from anyone, especially not your brother.” He ground his teeth but forced himself to follow her towards the exit. “Not a loan either, so don’t even suggest it. I’ll have plenty of money soon enough.” He filled his lungs with the warm, calming breeze. “And, as for the rest, you’re right, I don’t speak of it much because there’s not much to say. My family is fine and happy where they are and I’m better off here. There’s no animosity.”

  Not a complete lie.

  “A lovely non-answer. Yet you’re going to scrounge around in that blasted file and act like I’m a ninny every time I object.” She stuck her nose in the air with a disdainful sniff.

  She had him there. Though damned if he’d ever tell her. Any of it. He certainly didn’t need her thinking less of him and his family. Not that her opinion mattered, per se. She wasn’t clever. Just amusing and witty and fun to read. He trotted along so he could exit the train first, to help her down the stairs. “No one is trying to kill me.”

  “Which is rather surprising given how stubborn you are.” She reached out a gloved hand, which he accepted. Oy. Why did his body tingle at her mere touch? Her mere gloved touch.

  “Says the woman who listens to no one. What time were you supposed to be ready?” He guided her down the steps and onto the sunshine-washed platform.

  “Cosmetics take patience and precision. As does accessorizing. Besides, I don’t recall a specific time being mentioned this morning.” She swished in front of him, her bottom swaying from side to side like the metronome in the Truitt music room. Not that he was really watching her bottom; the bustle just made it impossible to miss.

  He bit down on his back teeth. Hard. “Regardless, we need to go. You’re going to make other people late.”

  “Fine.” Another sniff. Dismissive, not disdainful this time.

  David held out his arm and she tucked hers inside his, linking the two. Perfectly. Naturally. Her skirts swept at his ankles and they glided together, in unison, as if they were on a Sunday stroll instead of headed to visit the man she’d chosen over him.

  Chapter Six

  Nothing was more awkward than having tea with your ex-husband and ex...whatever David was. Especially when you wanted money from the former and for the latter to want to tear off your clothes. Not do the actual ripping—the gown was flawless—just to have the urge.

  Which he most certainly did not. And not only because he’d been the one to put them on in the first place.

  Ugh, why not? Even if she couldn’t engage for her own sanity, why couldn’t he just find her attractive again? Just as a small boost to her confidence?

  Amalia stroked the handle of her valise, David’s letters burned through the leather. The ones she’d saved because she was an idiot. As much as she’d accomplished, a part of her yearned to be the girl she was before...everything.

  What happened to that boldness? That curiosity? That hunger? The passion? Maybe that was why her writing was off as of late. Maybe she’d lost it all to the stress of age and failure.

  Behind her teacup, she bit her lip. The man now sitting next to her, arms crossed tight over his dusty coat, wasn’t that boy either, despite their similar appearances. Unfortunate, because that kind disposition would be quite useful in the present as David’s sour expression wasn’t improving matters.

  The three sampled cucumber and butter sandwiches as well as salmon and dill, along with several sweets and a full-bodied tea in silence. Well, almost silence. There was some slurping and nibbling. And a few murmurs.

  Finally, the man of the house—rather, the son of the man of the house, ceased his chewing. Ethan dabbed his mouth with his napkin before setting it on the table. “So, is there an issue with the documents? We are divorced, are we not? It went through. You said you knew how to do this and I didn’t have to worry and anything. You promised.”

  Really? He was whining. Already? At least Ethan whined in a charming, melodious, elegant way. Because her first husband was nothing if not charming. But whining was still whining. Expected though, as there was a chance, in his mind, he’d have to do actual labor.

  She folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, struggling to keep calm and not appear the least bit—what else did he call her after the sheen on their relationship wore off? Oh yes, high-strung. Only a small step up from vapid, vacuous, and verbose. “I promise you the decree wasn’t forged. We’re divorced. Besides, you obtained the Get—the religious divorce. If there’s anything wrong with that it’s your fault.”

  But there wasn’t. It was over. Terminated. Finished. Which was for the best. The marriage should never have occurred in the first place. And wouldn’t have if Ethan hadn’t fit her description so well. And hadn’t been available on short notice. Her stomach clenched.

  “Thank god.” Ethan had the decency to appear chagrined the moment the words left his mouth. He dabbed a nonexistent spot with his napkin. “Sorry. But I mean...”

  “I know.” She giggled. She couldn’t help it—it really was a relief. David shifted in the seat next to her. He adjusted his spectacles as if he was working to obtain a better view of Ethan.

  “Interesting response.” David scooted forward in his seat. “Why is it so important? Is there a reason you’d like to make sure your ex-wife is no longer part of your life?”

  What was he doing? He was supposed to be protecting her, not interrogating people. Also, if that was his interrogation technique, it could really use some finesse. It was only one step up from: “Do you want your ex-wife dead?”

  “I suspect my new wife wouldn’t like me being married to my former.” Ethan tugged at his collar before lifting his head to give them both that full-toothed smile. “Especially given there’s a baby on the way.”

  Amalia heaved a deep breath. Damned corset. She could never get enough air in the thing. She perhaps should’ve had fewer sandwiches. Or not made David tie her so tight. Or had all her dresses let out.

  “Don’t be sore, Amalia. It’s not m
y fault my second marriage worked out and yours didn’t.” Ethan leaned on his elbow. “Especially when you’re still wearing my jewels.”

  “My jewels.” Amalia tightened her grip on her saucer so it wouldn’t clink. Ugh. Why did she marry him in the first place again? Stupid war, stupid constantly shifting expectations. Stupid desperation. “You gave them to me as a gift.”

  Though some people opined that one—well, she—should get rid of presents from former husbands, gifts were gifts. Why would anyone throw away or sell gifts? She touched her ears.

  The diamonds’ gradual dropped shape made her neck look longer. Use jewelry to catch the eye and draw it to your most attractive features. Sound advice. Succinct too. Verbose, ha. She refolded her hands.

  Amalia opened her mouth to make a polite inquiry about his wife’s condition, when David interrupted her. “Did Amalia require a lot of expenses while you were married?”

  Her teacup clattered. What did David mean by that? Or more, what did her spending habits have to do with anything?

  Ethan frowned and glanced at the ceiling for a moment. “No? I don’t believe so. Not that I noticed. I don’t do the books, but no one said anything. She seemed to purchase the normal amount of women’s things. She just talked about them more than anyone else—nonstop chatter. It’s surprising she had time to spend any money at all.”

  David coughed, loud enough that Ethan’s mother’s cuckoo clocks rattled on the wall. It was a wonder the little farmers didn’t pop out and scold her like she always imagined they did during the few prior visits she’d made to the house. Especially when she bumped over that vase. Or the decanter. Or the figurine.

  “I made excellent conversation and have excellent taste. People seek out my advice on those topics.” Amalia gripped her own fingers so tight they were probably turning blue beneath her gloves. This was not how the meeting was supposed to progress. She needed to get things back on topic. She lifted her chin to Ethan. “How is business?”

  “Fine.” He shrugged. “We’re expanding. We recently purchased a small stake in the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe.”

  Amalia near licked her lips. Now that was promising. Especially if President Grant got his way and Colorado became a state. Then Ethan could certainly afford a donation.

  “Has it turned a profit yet?” she asked.

  “I believe so.” Ethan narrowed his eyes a little. “Why do you care?”

  “Just making conversation” She fiddled her fingers, glancing at the coffered ceiling. How did she approach this?

  “No, you’re hinting at something.” Ethan’s tone transformed from suspicious to what could only be described as annoyed elder brother, as that’s what he basically was to her at this point. “What do you want, Amalia?”

  Her cheeks heated. Caught.

  “Are you sure you don’t have any animosity towards her?” David must have missed the twinkle in Ethan’s eye, because his voice dropped into that low, threatening range that made her shiver. In more ways than one. Ugh. She was a complete loon.

  “Who is he again?” Her former husband pointed a thumb at her companion. “He isn’t your lover, is he?”

  Fire, her face was on fire and Ethan was enjoying every minute of it. He’d better make a humongous contribution now.

  She flipped her curls with the back of her hand. “When have I ever had a ‘lover’? How long do you fancy one would last with Thad and my father skulking around? My new nephew wouldn’t be the only one having something in his nether regions cut.”

  “They’d do it publicly? Is this an invitation?” Ethan’s lips quivered as he worked not to smile.

  “You’re absolutely terrible.” She attempted to make her expression offended but failed and dissolved into giggles, in which Ethan, not David joined her. Though his lip might have twitched. Maybe.

  Finally, after her ribs were thoroughly bruised—blasted boning—she was able to speak again. She inclined her neck towards him. “He’s a friend of Thad’s.” She twisted her closest curl over and over, unable to even glance at David. “A Pinkerton. Head of the Philadelphia office.”

  Both of David’s eyebrows shot up. Fine, half-truth, but he was going to get the promotion and “soon-to-be head,” was a bit of a mouthful and didn’t have the same impact. Certainly, there was no Talmudic prohibition against shading for expediency.

  Ethan scooted forward in his chair and blinked, all attention on David. “A Pinkerton? Really? I’ve never met one of you in real life.” A lock of light brown hair fell in his eyes, giving him an almost boyish, gleeful, appearance. “Where do you carry your pistol?” Ethan shifted so his elbows lay on his lap and his hands created a resting place for his chin.

  The wheels in her former husband’s mind were turning. Winding in their most natural direction—back to mischief. Amusing, but she was running out of time to ask for what she needed.

  Amalia held up a finger. “I—”

  “How big is it?” Ethan skidded his chair forward, a sly glint in his eye.

  “Ethan.” She shook her head. “Mr. Zisskind is not showing you his pistol.” The words echoed in her ears—Oh. My. God. Her face burned. Maybe David wouldn’t notice the double meaning, since his humor had disappeared.

  No such luck.

  “I can assure you, it’s an impressive size, but there is no need to reveal anything so we can measure. At least not here.” David even kept a straight face through the entire line.

  Did he realize what he said?

  Ethan certainly did. He burst into raucous laughter. Hands over his mouth, he flew backwards onto his couch, his teacup flying into the air. The servants were going to have quite the evening.

  And David had thrown his head back as well, his legs kicked out.

  Men were so male. And rather annoying because if his was of an impressive size, why couldn’t she see it? Or feel it? Last time, it was only through his clothing so she never had a full sense. She threaded her hands together to beat back the memories. But blast it, she licked her lips.

  Her heart stopped as David’s eyes met hers. He slid farther down in his chair, legs so wide his knee skimmed hers through her skirt. And winked.

  Ugh, why was that sort of teasing so attractive to her?

  If only she had ladylike swooning impulses or theatrical skills, because if ever there was a time to use them... This is why her mother should’ve sent her to etiquette classes instead of Hebrew School, even if the latter was more interesting and the only academic endeavor in which she ever excelled.

  Time to get things back on track. She coughed into her hand. “All right. Since you two have locked horns or marked territory or whatever you just did and both survived, are we finished here? We do have a train to catch. I’d like to get back to Centerville before Thad and Belle’s baby is out of bunting.”

  Next to her, David inhaled and tapped his fingers on his knee once, twice, three times. “I agree. It’s been...nice, but we should really reconvene with the others.”

  He and Ethan rose at the same time. David extended a hand to her. She accepted and the tingles were back, despite the fact they had no place in the room and were most certainly distracting her from...everything.

  “Thank you so much for seeing us, Ethan.” She inclined her head so she could indicate that she had more to say to him, more to ask.

  Ethan’s face softened as he held her gaze, his expression almost as kind as it was when they first discussed marriage—a chance call regarding his parents’ loan when they’d both been lost and in search of something. “Anytime. I’m glad you’re doing well.” His eyes were wide and sincere as well.

  “You too. Best of wishes to you and your wife.” And the lump was back. Because he did deserve happiness. Even if she hadn’t found the same. She released David’s hand and hurried towards the exit, signaling again for Ethan to follow.

  Her ex-husband was
quick and met her beneath the stairwell. “What do you want to ask me? What do you need? Are you in trouble?” Ethan’s voice was low as his butler placed her hat in her hand. “You know I’d do anything for you, especially after you helped my sister through...all that.”

  The poor, poor girl. She’d needed more than money to get out of her marriage unscathed. Ethan and his parents had been beside themselves. But Amalia had the knowledge and know-how to work the system and get her former sister-in-law someplace where she could be safe and start a new life.

  Amalia swallowed.

  So very lucky.

  All of them.

  She dropped her voice as well and leaned over so she could speak directly into her former husband’s ear as she adjusted her hat. After all, David didn’t need to know Ethan’s personal business. “It’s not me. It’s my fund. The one I started for women without means.” She stuck the pin through the side and weaved it into her hair. “It’s in a little trouble. There’s so much demand. I’m going to ask my parents, but it needs an influx.”

  “How much?” Ethan clasped his hands together. “What do you need?”

  “Just a little. I know you have a baby on the way, so there will be extra expenses and your allowance isn’t much bigger than mine.” She toyed with a cuff. It was so awkward sometimes. Even if Ethan was a dear.

  “I’ll give all I can. You know I believe in this, Amalia.” His voice was earnest.

  “I do.” She nodded. “Just send it to Indianapolis. To my lawyer.”

  “Gladly.” He gave her a playful elbow. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Same.” She elbowed back. Because she was.

  “Are you ready?” David muscled between them and offered his arm, breaking the moment.

  “Yes.” She threaded herself next to him. “Thank you again, Ethan. For everything.” The two exited into the sunshine and bustling street. She tilted towards David and forced herself right up against his side. Yes, he was indeed armed. In his jacket pocket was real, not metaphoric, firepower.