The Knickerbocker Bride: A Gilded Age Romance

Part Ten

Harry Belmont is madly in love with you.

Those words repeated themselves as Cora pushed open the gate separating the Belmont and Hampton estates. She'd just returned from dinner at Delmonico's with John. God, what a disaster.

How could she ever have thought herself in love with John Drexel? He was disgusting. An earthworm in a black tailcoat. If given a choice I'd actually prefer the earthworm.

She picked her way along the gravel path that crisscrossed the Belmont gardens, still wearing the impractical evening slippers she'd worn to dinner. It didn't matter. There was one person she needed to see immediately, footwear be damned.

Harry.

Harry was her friend. Were her feelings for him deeper than friendship? She wasn't certain. Yes, she'd experienced a childhood crush on him for a number of years . . . but who wouldn't? He was smart and funny. They liked almost all the same things, such as rhubarb, and they both hated the parties and pomp that went with high society. Also, he was the first person she thought of when she needed advice or wanted company. He made her laugh. And smile.

But he'd never shown any interest in her like that.

No lingering glances or innocent touching. In fact, he went to lengths to always have physical space between them. When she had touched his arm yesterday, he'd frozen in apparent horror. Not once in all the years she'd known him had he flirted or made suggestive comments. And he'd arranged for her to dine alone with another man tonight, for heaven's sake.

Lily had to be misreading the situation. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Though there was a chance Cora could convince him to care for her. After all, Harry had never married. Never shown interest in anyone, really. He'd resisted any attempt on her part to help him find a wife.

She was tired of guessing. On the way home from Delmonico's she had decided to find Harry tonight and talk to him. She'd confess her burgeoning—

The light was on in Harry's workshop. That was odd. He'd moved his projects inside to the ballroom, she thought.

She approached the rear of the house, to the attached room Harry used for his experiments. He was there. She saw him moving around through the glass. Was he . . . ? Were those boxes?

Forgetting all about her awful evening and her plans for a heart-to-heart, she threw open the door. Harry spun, his expression of surprise quickly turning into the calm stoicism she was so familiar with. As if he'd dropped a curtain over his feelings. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Packing."

"I don't understand. Are you giving this all away?"

"No, Cora. I'm moving."

She blinked, certain she'd misheard him. "Moving? To where?"

He turned back around and began stacking books into the box. "Sixty-Third Street. Remember?"

Right. His parents had purchased a townhouse for him. "I thought you were staying here?"

"I decided not to fight them. Perhaps it is time I move on."

The choice of words was not lost on her. "Don't you mean move out?"

"What's the difference? They want me on my own and there's no reason for me to stay here."

Me, she wanted to say. Stay here for me.

Goodness, what would she do without Harry right next door? Her chest constricted. The idea of not seeing him felt as if someone was tying her lungs into a knot. "You can't leave. You'll be miserable over there."

"Miserable here, miserable there. The location hardly matters." He looked up from his task. "What are you doing here, by the way?"

"I . . . " She cleared her throat. Why was this hard? It was Harry, for goodness sake. "I wanted to tell you about tonight."

"I'm surprised you're home this early."

"It didn't go well."

He straightened, his shoulders punching back in a purely aggressive manner. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, nothing like that. He . . . was not what I expected."

"In what way?"

She ambled around the open boxes on the floor, peeking inside as she gathered her thoughts. Most of Harry's laboratory equipment had been carefully packed. Her stomach clenched. "He treated me as if . . . as if I was a woman he'd hired for the night."

Glass shattered on the hard floor. Her gaze flew to Harry and the broken jar at his feet. "Are you—"

"Did he touch you? Inappropriately?" His hands curled into fists at his side. "If so, I will strangle him with my bare hands."

She studied his flushed face, the wild glint in his eyes. His body was tense, angry. This seemed more than a friend defending another friend. This felt personal. With feelings involved. She had to find out where things stood. This was the perfect moment, and she'd never forgive herself if she didn't try. "Harry, are you jealous of John Drexel?"

"Of his venereal diseases and poor life choices, you mean?"

"No. Are you jealous of John Drexel and me."

"I wasn't aware there was a John Drexel and you. Did he propose at dinner?"

"Far from it," she said. "And don't deflect from the question. You know exactly what I mean."

He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets, looked down, and toed a piece of broken jar aside. "What difference does it make? I only want you to be happy."

The lack of answers emboldened her. She took a deep breath. "John Drexel does not make me happy. Do you know who makes me happy?" She paused and waited for him to look up. When his eyes met hers, she said, "You make me happy, Harry. You always have."

He blinked, and she could almost see the gears in his brain turning as he digested this new information. Used it to adjust his theories and draw new conclusions. "The same has always been true for me," he finally said. Then he dragged a hand through his hair. "All right, fine. Lily told me I had to tell you, so here goes. I am jealous of John Drexel. So jealous that I want to murder him every time you mention his name. I cannot bear the thought of losing you to him or another man. I have been in love with you for years and even if you never return—"

Cora launched herself at him, trapping whatever he'd been about to say between their mouths.

She was actually kissing Harry Belmont.