The Knickerbocker Bride: A Gilded Age Romance

Part Two

Cora trailed Harry into his workshop. While she knew he was busy, perhaps she could steal a few more minutes of his time today to discuss John Drexel.

Even the name caused Cora's chest to flutter. John. Drexel. It was a strong and beautiful name for a strong and beautiful man.

If only he realized she existed.

Soon, Cora. Soon.

Harry would help her. One did not befriend a genius and fail to reap the benefits of said friendship. In this case, the benefit was access to Harry's quick mind. He had an astounding ability to study a problem, break it down, and offer solutions.

Cora had witnessed this skill of his more than once. In fact, Harry had been helping her near her whole life. Cora's three older brothers had teased her mercilessly growing up. Harry, however, had been kind, never ignoring her or sending her away, and exhibited limitless patience with her. For as long as she could remember she had considered him her fourth brother. The perfect partner to help her get revenge on her biological brothers.

Like the time she and Harry put soap in their whiskey.

Or when they scattered "gold" coins in a muddy field...only for her brothers to discover they were painted wood.

And when they wrote fake passionate love letters to all three of her brothers anonymously and requested they show up at Bethesda Fountain at the same time wearing a white carnation in their buttonhole. Cora and Harry had watched through the binocular glasses as all three brothers arrived, saw one another, and realized it all had been a hoax. They had been furious but Cora had laughed for days.

"Are you giggling?" Harry switched on his desk lamp.

She settled in the plush velvet chair he kept in here just for her. "I was just remembering when we sent Charlie, Tommy, and William the love letters."

"They deserved it. Was that not in retaliation for when they took you riding but purposely lost you? Then it started to rain and you nearly froze to death."

Ah, she'd forgotten. Harry had such a superb memory. "Yes. I caught a nasty cold and mother was cross with all three of them."

"As she should have been. You could have caught pneumonia and died."

Harry tended to think the worst about any given situation. "It was not as bad as all that."

"Indeed, it was," he said, picking up his pencil and pad. "You are too forgiving of those three rascals."

She smothered the urge to roll her eyes. This was an old battle. Harry held no fondness for Cora's brothers. "What are you working on today? More light bulb designs?"

"Those are finished and sent off to Mr. Edison's laboratory in West Orange. As my cultures are not yet ready, I will attempt some calculations. I am theorizing how energy may be transmitted through the air."

Through the air? Cora could not imagine such a thing. "That seems impossible."

"Mr. Tesla believes it can be done. I heard him speak on it several weeks ago."

"Harry, how do you plan to meet a nice girl when the only places you go are science lectures and demonstrations?"

"I do not need a nice girl," he grumbled, put on his eyeglasses, and bent over his paper. He had already removed his coat and the crisp white shirt he wore pulled tight across his broad shoulders. She knew he swam almost every day in the indoor pool in his home, and the modest exercise was reflected in his tall, lean physique.

The back of her neck burned and she forced her gaze off his body. Stop ogling Harry. It was wrong to think of him in physical terms, not when he'd been her closest friend forever.

She returned her concentration to his face, where it belonged. "Of course you need someone. You merely must find someone as bright as you. Perhaps there is someone I know, a friend I am able to introduce you—"

"No," he snapped, taking off his eyeglasses to fix hard blue eyes on her. "Absolutely not. I do not want a witless society girl forever jabbering in my ear."

Well, that stung. "I am one of those witless society girls."

"Nonsense. You are nothing of the sort. Those girls would be fortunate to claim an eighth of your intelligence."

"I cannot tell if that was a compliment or not, considering your low opinion of everyone else."

He sighed, put down his pencil, and crossed his arms. "Cora, what is this about? Ever since this Drexel business, you have started to disparage yourself. He has caused you to question your worth."

There was truth to that statement, so Cora did not argue. However, there were other thoughts rattling around in her head, too. She picked at a stitch on her dress, hesitating. Why was this so hard? She had always been able to confess her fears to Harry. "It is more than that," she forced out. "You, Lily, and I grew up together. Now she is off, married to Calvin and helping to run an empire. I feel a bit left behind. As always."

His expression softened. "You have forever followed in her shadow, wanting to be Lily. You are not Lily, Cora. She is a lovely woman but she is headstrong and stubborn, and she acts without thinking. You are far more thoughtful and considerate. Frankly, you are smarter as well."

Her chest expanded with a familiar warmth, gratitude for this man who was her friend. "Thank you, though it is not just Lily. My brothers, my friends. All the girls with whom I debuted are married, many with families. I am jealous, I suppose."

"There is nothing wrong with waiting. For God's sake, most everyone in society is unhappily married. The men spend more time with their mistresses than their wives, and the women shop from sheer boredom. Is that the life you want for yourself?"

"No, of course not."

"Exactly. It is better to wait and marry the right man then rush into a marriage with the wrong one."

He made sense. She merely needed to be logical about the situation rather than emotional. Furthermore, if she had rushed into marriage, John Drexel would have married someone else—which was dashed unacceptable. She would marry him or die trying.

That cheered her up considerably. Cocking her head, she grinned at Harry. "What would I do without you? You always know just what to say to make me feel better."

He swallowed hard, looking for a moment like he might speak. Instead, he merely took up his pencil and went back to sketching or calculating or whatever he was doing over there. She bit her lip and wondered, what had he been about to say?

Harry's behavior had grown quite strange over the last few months. His patience seemed thinner, his responses terse. Not that he had ever been particularly loquacious but she sensed he was annoyed with her, though he denied it any time she voiced concerns.

He needed more than this workshop, she decided. Someone who would make him smile. Harry used to laugh and smile when they were younger, before her debut. She wanted that version of her friend back.

"Harry, I have an idea."

"Oh, bully for me," he muttered.

"Now, now. You shall like this one, I swear. I have decided we should help each other. A pact, if you will."

He finally glanced up from his papers, his brows drawn low. "Help each other for what?"

"You help me land John Drexel and I help you in finding a wife."

A loud snap echoed through the room. The pencil in Harry's hands had cracked directly in half.