The Dashing Dutch

Part 20: Grubby Little Fingers

Wednesday arrived and you woke up with a mixture of elation and anxiety at seeing Tom again. Your mind fought against your heart, conflicted about the things he told you, unsure of where it left you, uneasy about the steps it would take to be together, if that was even possible.

Richard was eager to show Tom up on the polo pitch. He fretted ridiculously over his uniform.

"Don't be so fussy," you said buttoning his shirt. It was apparent it's been years since he wore these clothes. The seams were practically screaming for mercy.

"I just want to see the look on his face when I beat him," Richard said with conceit. He looked in the mirror and smoothed his shirt down.

"I'm sure you're far better than him. He's never been good with horses," you said dismissively.
Richard caught your eye in the mirror and frowned.

"How do you know that?" he asked, his jaw clenched the way it always did when something stoked his temper.

Your mind raced with a million reasons that you could give. All of them nonsense.

"Well, just look at him, Richard," you said matter of factly, "all pomp and pageantry. I can't imagine he'd take the time to actually be skilled in anything. I bet he forfeits halfway through." The lies seemed to pour right out of you. Is this what it was like for Tom, you wondered.

Richard seemed pleased with your response and gave you a doting kiss on the lips.

"Remember who you're cheering for," he said softly with a lift of your chin.

You gave a practiced smile and pulled away before he could touch you anymore.

"Don't be silly," you said more to yourself.
He turned around and eyed you while he fastened his boots.

"There's something off about him, don't you think?" Richard asked.

"I don't know what you mean," you said with a gulp. Could Richard have found something out? He has connections all over the place and his grubby little fingers have always been in several big pies. You still didn't quite understand what he did exactly when he went to the city for business. He always told you it was far too complicated for you to understand. Richard was no stranger to condescension, especially when it came to you.

"Things just don't add up," he said, standing back up, "He lives in that mansion all by himself, has no schooling, no family. Parker Industries went bankrupt in '13. I did some digging."

"Why would you waste time on something like that?" you scoffed, folding his handkerchief. You kept your eyes downcast, focused on the cloth. You were concerned the dread behind them would betray you. Richard had many horrible qualities certainly, but his tenacity could be more of a curse than a blessing depending on that endeavor. He wasn't going to stop at bankruptcy. He was the type to put every last cent and drop of energy into exposing Tom.

"Anyway," you continued, "aside from his fortune, he seems so dull. He has to throw parties like the one the other night just so he can make friends."

"Harrison seems to like him," Richard stated, then he brushed his knuckles down the soft skin of your arm, "and he's taken a shine to you."

You wrinkled your nose in mock disgust and stuffed the handkerchief into this pant's pocket. Your hand lingered there a bit longer.

If Richard got wind that there was even the slightest interest in that dashing Dutch, it would be the end of both of you. You needed to be more careful, more clever. Mostly, you needed to remind him where your loyalties lied before he poked and prodded any deeper into Tom's past. After all, Tom's past was your own.

You rubbed the bulge beside his pocket and gave a little smile. Richard raised his eyebrows with a lustful smile.

"Are you trying to make us late for the match, Vi?" he teased with such excitement it made your skin crawl.

"Oh, we've got time for a little match of our own, big fella."