Unseemly Ambition

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Week 3, Instructor Calendar, February 1898

I am bound to thee for ever.

III.iii

Concordia’s first impression, when she peeked through a side door into the nave, was that of a profusion of blooms. Sophia’s family must have raided every hothouse in Hartford and the surrounding environs. Lilies, oleander, and chrysanthemums spilled over from vases tucked into alcoves, beside doors and windowsills. While beautiful, the sheer volume of floral sweetness was overwhelming. Concordia held a gloved finger under her nose to hold back a sneeze.

She had left a restless Sophia in the anteroom. Although Concordia had never before been a maid of honor—and hoped never to be one again—she knew Sophia well enough to see that her friend craved solitude before the ceremony. After all, marriage was a big step for any woman, but especially one such as Sophia, who had carved out an unconventional life as a tireless advocate for women and the poor at Hartford Settlement House.

So, once Sophia was dressed and ready, Concordia ushered Sophia’s stepmother and little sister out of the room and left her alone.

Concordia checked her watch. Just a few more minutes. From her vantage point, she saw David Bradley escorting several women from Hartford Settlement House to their seats. The church was getting crowded now. Someone had pulled open a couple of windows to dispel the stuffy air.

David looked quite dashing today. Instead of his customary lumpy-pocketed houndstooth jacket with the worn elbows, he wore a tailored morning coat and pinstripe trousers, with a crisp white shirt that set off his dark eyes and wavy black hair. His hair curled just at his collar in a way that made her want to smooth it with her fingers. She smiled. Land sakes, weddings were rife with romantic impulses.

As she surveyed the congregation, she saw that Mother and her escort were already seated, in the second row. Concordia craned her neck for a better look at the man. She didn’t know much about Robert Flynn, except that he was a native of Ireland, worked as an attorney for the prestigious law firm of Barrows and Hodge, and was younger than her mother. His exquisitely tailored jacket fit him beautifully. His neatly trimmed mustache and beard, heavy eyebrows, salt-and-pepper hair and steady gray eyes bespoke intelligence and reliability.

Mother had only recently told her about Mr. Flynn, describing him merely as a friend who accompanied her to various social functions. Concordia hoped she could learn more about his intentions. Her mother was an attractive widow, though only of modest means. Still, one could not be too careful.

Concordia became aware of movement in the chancel. Opening the side door a bit wider, she recognized the tall, gaunt figure of the groom: police lieutenant Aaron Capshaw, his bright red hair and mustache unmistakable. Gone today was his perpetual gloomy expression, and his habit of walking with a slight stoop, as if looking for clues he had missed. Instead, his carriage was ramrod straight, with a spring in his step. He took his place next to the minister and his best man, eleven-year-old Eli.

The boy looked exceptionally presentable today, although one stubborn cowlick refused to stay slicked down in his wavy hair, and his wrists and ankles showed beneath the ill-fitting borrowed suit. He looked across the nave, smiling when he noticed Concordia. She gave him a little wave before he turned back to Capshaw with luminous eyes, waiting to respond to any direction he’d give.

Concordia scurried down the hall and rapped on the anteroom door. An anxious Sophia poked her head out. “Is it time?” she whispered. “Thank goodness.”

Concordia grinned and gave her a careful hug so as not to muss her dress. “You look beautiful, dear.”

More than beautiful—radiant, she thought, admiring the short-trained gown of elegant ivory satin overlaid with antique lace. A simple circlet of pearls adorned Sophia’s light hair, and she carried a bouquet of orange blossoms.

With no father living, Sophia had decided to keep the procession simple, with Concordia preceding the bride as the organist played the Wedding March. Concordia was glad she wasn’t the center of attention. It was a bit unnerving to have so many eyes fixed upon her merely in passing. She concentrated on not tripping over her hem.

As they got to the chancel steps, Concordia caught a glimpse of a patchwork-colored tail swishing behind a vase. Oh dear. Eli’s cat had decided to join the wedding party. Wherever Eli was, the cat was sure to follow, Concordia knew. But she had to admit, the creature had been the saving of the boy—and herself—last year. She could only hope it wouldn’t wreak havoc today.

The bride and groom hadn’t noticed. Sophia only had eyes for Capshaw, who stopped shifting his long legs to take in the sight of his bride. Concordia realized she had rarely seen an out-and-out grin on the typically somber-expressioned policeman. She felt as if she had intruded upon a private moment between the two as she stood so close to them.

Her throat prickled with a mix of emotions: joy for her friends, awe at the union between them, and uncertainty for herself. Would she ever feel that way toward a man? She stole a sideways glance at David Bradley, sitting in the front row between Sophia’s stepmother and sister. Or did she already feel that way? If so, was she willing to sacrifice her independence for love?

As if aware of her gaze, David turned to Concordia with softened eyes. Oh, this was trouble. The man was getting ideas.

A loud crash made everyone turn to see Eli’s cat bolting through the debris of flowers, water, and the ceramic shards of what was once a large vase. With a final acrobatic leap, balancing briefly upon the enormous hat of a shrieking lady, it fled through a window.

Several men rushed forward to help as the unflappable minister observed the event with nary an “oh my.” Sophia had a gloved hand to her mouth, doing her best not to laugh. Eli looked aghast, and Capshaw pulled him away from the cleanup.

“No matter, son,” he said, keeping a firm grip on the boy’s shoulder. “Your place is here with me. You’re my best man, remember?” Eli gulped and stood up straighter.

Capshaw really has a way with the child, Concordia thought. She wondered if he and Sophia might adopt him. That was a happy outcome she’d love to see.

At last, the mess was cleaned up, the vows were spoken, and the ceremony was over without further incident.

Concordia stood to Sophia’s left in the receiving line as the happy couple greeted their well-wishers.

Soon David Bradley appeared at her elbow, followed by several ladies Concordia recognized from the settlement house. She made the required introductions.

“Are you acquainted with Mr. Bradley? He’s a childhood friend of the bride, and godfather to Sophia’s little sister.”

The women nodded politely.

David gave a courtly bow. “Have you found a replacement for Sophia?”

The ladies exchanged blank looks.

“Now that she’s a married woman,” David added.

“Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Bradley,” one woman huffed. “Sophia is irreplaceable. We would be lost without her.”

David’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “But she has other responsibilities now: a husband, a home to run...later, a family.”

Concordia plucked at the folds of her gown to hide her irritation. Although she understood how impractical it would be—absurd, even—for a married woman to have an independent life outside of the home, it rankled that a lady would be expected to abandon her former life like last year’s worn jacket. Was any endeavor taken up during one’s single years simply a way of marking time until a marriage proposal came along?

“Miss Wells?”

“Hmm?”

“What is your opinion of Sophia working once she’s married?” the head of the settlement house, Martha Newcombe, demanded.

David looked at her expectantly.

Drat.

“We-ell, I’d say it should be decided between the couple,” Concordia said.

David waited for more. Concordia turned away slightly, giving her attention solely to Miss Newcombe.

“We know she won’t be living at the settlement house, naturally,” Miss Newcombe was saying, “but Sophia has told me she intends to remain in charge of the kindergarten program, make her usual rounds of the Colt factory workers’ housing, and speak at the occasional suffrage rally.”

Concordia glanced back at David. Judging by his expression, he was either wincing at the thought of suffrage rallies, or he’d caught a pebble in his shoe.

“She certainly has a talent for the work,” Concordia said, smoothing her skirts and looking around.

And with that, David and the ladies moved down the line to congratulate the Capshaws.

Her mother and Mr. Flynn—the man was taller and leaner than Concordia had realized while he was sitting down—came along next.

“Concordia dear, your dress is absolutely lovely,” Letitia Wells said, admiring the duchesse satin of soft myrtle green, adorned with pale green tulle rosettes at the sleeves.

Concordia smiled. “Thank you. Sophia helped me pick it out.” And thank goodness for that. Rarely could Concordia find a shade that suited her green eyes, unfashionable red hair, and pale, freckled complexion. Fortunately, she didn’t have much need of ball gowns and other fripperies at the college.

Her mother nodded in approval. “So much nicer than those plain skirts and horrid shirtwaists you usually put on. And you’ve done your hair differently. You should wear it that way all the time.” She turned to Mr. Flynn and shuddered. “She inevitably has a pencil stuck through a topknot.”

Concordia bit back a retort and said instead, “Mother, why don’t you introduce me to Mr. Flynn before informing him of my customary manner of dress and comportment?”

Mr. Flynn laughed aloud. “Ah, Miss Wells, ’tis grand to make your acquaintance at last. Robert Flynn, at your service.” His voice had a melodic, Hibernian lilt that Concordia found mesmerizing. He took her hand and made a gallant bow over it. “Your ma’s after talking about you so much, I feel I know you already.”

Mrs. Wells flushed. Concordia nodded politely. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Flynn. Have you lived in Hartford very long?”

“So I have, a number o’ years now,” Flynn answered. “‘Tis a fine town, though a shame it is that I didn’t meet this lovely lady all the sooner.” He gazed warmly at Letitia Wells, which made the woman blush more deeply and shake her head.

“You see how Mr. Flynn turns on the Irish charm,” Mrs. Wells said in mock severity. “Don’t encourage him.”

With a nod, Concordia’s mother and Robert Flynn moved on to speak to the Capshaws.

The line had thinned as guests climbed into carriages for the reception.

Mr. Flynn, now on the outside steps conversing with Capshaw, turned his head abruptly toward the far side of the street. Concordia, Sophia, and Capshaw followed his glance.

A woman in her late twenties, standing on the periphery of the crowd, was staring at them.

“Do you know her, Robert?” Mrs. Wells whispered to her companion.

Flynn turned away with a shrug. “I cannot say she looks familiar. I suppose something about her caught my eye.”

Concordia didn’t have to wonder at that. The woman was ordinary enough in appearance, thin and slightly built, bundled in a shabby gray wool coat against the February chill, but the intensity of her gaze made her stand out. She interacted with no one, a still pebble in a stream of people.

“I don’t recognize her, either,” Capshaw said.

Concordia felt a vague uneasiness as she realized that the woman seemed to be staring at Eli in particular. When the lady noticed the group was watching her, however, she quickly turned on her heel and hurried away.

“Does anyone know her?” Sophia asked. She stooped to point her out to Eli, but when they turned back, she was out of sight.

“How odd,” Capshaw said.