Unseemly Honeymoon

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“How was your lunch?” David asked.

Concordia gave a grunt as she rummaged through her trunk. “It was good to see Miss Lester again, although the poor girl seems overworked.”

She was leaving out a great deal, but had already decided there was no point in going into detail. She would caution Rusty to keep an eye on his granddaughter. Beyond that, there was nothing else to be done. “Help me find my opera gloves, will you?”

“What do they look like?”

She stopped short of rolling her eyes. What else would opera gloves look like but…opera gloves? “They are black silk, long—extending to the elbow, with a row of tiny buttons down the side. They are my only pair. We cannot leave until I find them.” A lady may as well attend the theater barefoot if she was to go without her gloves.

She continued sifting through the trunk. “Have you and Dr. Hayden finalized the symposium arrangements?”

He shrugged. “Mostly, except for the panel I am to present. And he wants to see a draft of my speech as soon as possible.” He pulled open another drawer. “Ah! Found them.” He handed them over. “They were mixed in with my socks.”

She smoothed them out, checking that the buttons were still secure. Traveling with a husband created more chaos than her former solitary life had prepared her for.

“Any sign of the books Rusty was to have delivered?” David asked.

Concordia shook her head. “We should have expected them by now. Something must have come up. I’d like to stop by the bookstore again tomorrow anyway. We could retrieve them then.”

David nodded. “Good idea.”

As it turned out, they would not visit the bookstore for another three days. Concordia wondered afterward if that would have made all the difference.

It was a short drive to Hoyt’s Madison Square Theatre at Twenty-Fourth and Broadway. Concordia felt a tingle of anticipation as they found their seats in the balcony and settled in for the performance of William Gillette’s Because She Loved Him So. A professional theater production was a rare treat, particularly when her recent experiences were limited to directing student Christmas Revels and the senior Shakespeare play on the small stage at Hartford Women’s College. But here—ah, the grandeur of the professional milieu took one’s breath away: the orchestra, the stage set, the thrilled hush of the crowd as the lights dimmed—all of it created an atmosphere one could not get elsewhere.

David grasped for her hand in the dark, and she let it rest in his, strong and warm, for the entire first act.

When the lights came up for intermission, she pulled out her fan. The cooler roof air blowing in from beneath their seats—part of the Hoyt’s famed air conditioning system—couldn’t quite counteract the hot lights. She was glad her mother had insisted upon taking her shopping for a sleeveless, low-necked evening gown of emerald green to add to her wardrobe. David’s bright, lingering gaze as he tried not to fix his eyes upon her décolletage suggested that he approved, too.

“Shall I get us some punch?” he suggested.

She nodded her thanks. “I’ll come with you. I’ve been sitting for much too long.”

It was difficult to maneuver in the reception area, crowded with patrons on the same mission of fresh air, a change of scene, and a cool beverage. Concordia stood in a corner, away from the crush of people, catching glimpses of her husband threading his way to the punch line.

“Concordia!” a female voice exclaimed. “How lovely to see you here.” A young lady approached, dressed in a striking gown of burgundy satin. Every strand of her brown hair was smoothed in place, elegantly tucked at the nape. Such an arrangement served to emphasize her strong, square jawline.

“Charlotte, what a surprise!” Concordia said, clasping her hands. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Charlotte Crandall had been a senior at Hartford Women’s College during Concordia’s first year as a professor. Shortly after graduation, the young lady had returned to teach at her alma mater and had stayed ever since. Concordia considered herself lucky to count her as a friend and colleague now.

Charlotte nodded toward the tall, gray-haired gentleman standing just behind David in line. “Uncle Anthony has business here these past few weeks and invited me to come along to see Because She Loved Him So. Mr. Dodson is among his favorite actors.” She waved a hand back toward the open doors and the stage. “It’s refreshing to attend a play done by professionals, isn’t it?” She winked.

Concordia chuckled. “Enjoy it while you can.”

Charlotte would be taking over Concordia’s former duties at Hartford Women’s College, which included directing the annual senior play, a chore Concordia certainly would not miss. Charlotte was also taking over her position as teacher-in-charge of one of the student dormitory cottages. A married woman could not possibly hold such employment. Concordia’s mouth quirked at the thought of David—and then, mercy, children—living among those harum-scarum young ladies.

Children. The mere notion made her abdomen clench in a very uncomfortable way.

“Where’s your aunt?” she asked, to take her mind off the subject. Lady Dunwick always enjoyed a good play.

“She went straight on to East Hampton. She said she needed a little time to herself and wanted to oversee the servants opening up the summer house for the season.” Charlotte clasped her hands in excitement. “I am so happy that you and Mr. Bradley are coming to stay with us! We shall have such fun. Canoeing, hiking, fishing, surf-bathing, riding—both bicycles and horses”—she winked, all too aware of Concordia’s antipathy to the beasts—“and of course, there are to be garden parties, dances, even an old-fashioned country fair.”

“Sounds delightful,” Concordia said with a straight face, wondering where her peaceful, quiet honeymoon had gone. She had not thought there would be a great many social events at a seaside cottage.

Charlotte frowned. “But we don’t want to intrude upon your leisure. You aren’t obliged to attend any of it.”

“No, no,” Concordia said quickly, “it was incredibly kind of your aunt and uncle to invite us in the first place. I’m sure we’ll enjoy the activities.”

David and Sir Anthony Dunwick returned with brimming cups of punch for everyone.

“It’s good to see you again, sir,” Concordia said.

Sir Anthony gave a little bow. “The pleasure is mine, Miss—Mrs. Bradley.”

For a gentleman in his early sixties, he carried himself with the erect carriage and bright-eyed alertness of a younger man. He did seem to move more stiffly than she remembered, however, as he passed the punch cup to his niece.

Sir Anthony caught Concordia’s look. With a self-deprecating laugh, he flexed the fingers of his right hand. “Got banged about in the carriage last week. Infernal city traffic. Good thing I have Pickering to dictate letters for me.”

“Pickering?” David asked.

“A stenographer-typist who works for the brokerage firm I use. They have very kindly lent him to me, at least until I find a permanent assistant. I’m writing my memoirs, you see, now that I’ve retired from my law practice.”

David moved closer to Concordia, adjusting her stole over her shoulder, for which she smiled her thanks. “I’m sure you have fascinating tales in that regard,” he murmured absently.

Sir Anthony’s bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched David. “Enjoying your stay in the city, I hope?”

“Yes, quite,” David answered, giving his wife a warm glance.

Concordia blushed and changed the subject. “We are also looking forward to visiting you in East Hampton, Sir Anthony. It was most kind of you to invite us.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “There’s plenty of room. Stay as long as you like. We’re getting a late start and won’t be closing up the place until the end of September.”

“We will have to return sooner than that,” David said. “The fall semester starts at the end of August.”

Concordia felt a prickle of excitement. Although she would miss living with her students at Willow Cottage, she was fortunate enough to have been awarded the position of lecturing fellow at Hartford Women’s College this coming year, which meant she would be teaching a few seminars and supervising independent study projects. It was the first time in the college’s history that a married woman held any sort of faculty position, although the school was keeping it quiet. If it were widely known, everyone would have an opinion, most of them stridently expressed.

“We’re looking forward to it, all the same,” David added.

Concordia hid a smile behind her punch cup. David didn’t realize the bounty of activities that Charlotte had in store for them. They might need a rest from their holiday.

“What is your business in town, Sir Anthony?” Concordia inquired politely. “You mentioned a brokerage?”

“Terribly dull stuff, I’m afraid. Meetings with my investment broker to look over quarterly reports, shift some commodities that have been under-performing, seek out new prospects, that sort of thing.”

David leaned forward in interest. “I have considered putting more money into my current investments and perhaps diversifying.” He glanced at his wife. “With the possibility of starting a family soon, it would be wise to have a solid plan.”

Concordia gave him a sharp look, and it wasn’t about David expanding his stock portfolio. He smiled blandly. Easy for him to smile—he wasn’t the one who would bear the children, feed them, and…well, whatever else was expected maternally.

There it was again, that feeling of unease. Would she even be a good mother? She had never been fond of children to begin with, although a woman should never say such a thing aloud. In her opinion, children were snotty-nosed, loud, messy, always needing something. Could she be unselfish enough to subsume herself to the needs of such a creature? Would she resent the loss of her freedom? She suppressed a sigh, realizing she had not been attending to the conversation.

“—plenty of opportunity to pick up some pointers during your stay in East Hampton,” Sir Anthony was saying. “When we dined with my broker and his colleagues at the club last week, I invited the whole lot of them and their families to join us at the cottage.”

Concordia started. Lunch at the club. Investment brokers. Could this be the establishment Miss Lester had referred to? Here might be an opportunity to learn something.

“You’ll be interacting with the best investment minds on the East Coast,” Sir Anthony went on.

David frowned. “How many people can your summer cottage accommodate, sir?”

Charlotte laughed. “‘Cottage’ is rather a misnomer. The main house has eight bedrooms, in addition to the four cabins on the grounds. In fact, Aunt Susan plans to have our nicest cabin prepared for you two. Very secluded.” Her eyes twinkled.

Had the lobby become warmer all of a sudden? Concordia plied her fan to her reddened cheeks. Time for a change of subject. “Where did you say you dined with your broker?” she asked Sir Anthony.

If he thought it a strange question, he was too polite to let on. David, on the other hand, raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“The Stock Exchange Luncheon Club, on Broadway,” Sir Anthony answered. “It’s a members-only establishment, but they bent the rules for me. Quite comfortable, and the prime rib is stuff of legend.”

“I believe I have heard of it,” Concordia said. “From what I understand, it has all the latest amenities, isn’t that so?” She could tell by David’s frown that it must sound strange to be discussing a venue she could never patronize.

“It opened less than a year ago,” Sir Anthony said, “so naturally it has the modern conveniences one would expect.”

“Private telephones, perhaps?” she pressed.

David’s frown grew deeper.

Sir Anthony nodded and drew breath to speak when the gong sounded for the patrons to resume their seats. He held out his arm for Charlotte. “Shall we?” With a nod to Concordia and David, he added, “A pleasure to see you both again. I look forward to your upcoming visit.”

“What was that about?” David hissed, as Concordia tucked her hand in his arm as they made their way back to their seats.

She widened her eyes. “What was what about?”

“That innocent look doesn’t fool me. I know you too well,” he murmured. “And your voice goes up just a bit when you’re evading a question.”

Drat. She’d have to work on that. Not that she wanted to deceive him, of course, but it could not be good for a relationship if one’s husband always knew what one was up to.

The lights dimmed as he settled her into her seat. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered. The curtain went up to a fresh wave of applause.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered back.