only envy, and who
could blame him? If their positions were reversed, Rupert knew he
would feel as Aubrey did. He wouldn’t be able to help it.
“If you mean at the Moores, yes.” Rupert left it at
that. No need to remind the other men he was family. They were
hardly likely to forget it.
In fact, Rupert had been invited to the Moores’
house along with Ian and Eleanor. It would be a reunion of sorts,
Rupert thought with a smile. He hadn’t seen Ian or Eleanor in over
ten years, when they’d all been little more than children.
He remembered his little schoolboy adventures with
Ian well enough; they’d boarded together for nearly two years. When
Ian had run away, Rupert had kept his secret, even though his
conscience had been sorely tried. Had he done the right thing?
Rupert mused now. Perhaps; Ian had certainly done well for
himself.
Eleanor he could not remember as much more than a
pale slip of a child, with masses of hair and a gentle way about
her. Harriet had told him she was widowed; he wondered what else
the years had made of her.
He enjoyed the walk from Henry’s offices near Quincy
Market to the Moores’ elegant row house on Tremont Street. Rupert
did not miss the new shops opening in this prospering section of
the city, including a purveyor of pianos that claimed to produce
four thousand of the instruments in one year, as well as a gourmet
food shop, S.S. Pierce, apparently the first in Boston.
“I’d no idea Boston residents required so many
pianos,” Rupert told Margaret with a twinkle as he entered their
drawing room, divested of his hat and top coat.
“Of course they do,” Margaret replied without
missing a beat, her cheek pressed to his for an instant. “It’s a
sign of prosperity, no doubt.”
She looked, as always, elegant and refined without
any of the excess frippery so many of the wealthy society women
favoured. Her dress was of rose silk, the hem flounced a good six
inches, not the two or more feet most society women preferred, and
her waist was cinched tightly with a belt in deeper rose.
“Indeed.” Rupert gazed out at the purple hued skies
meditatively, his mind turned once more to the pianos he’d seen,
and the prosperity it indicated. “Indeed.”
A few minutes later Ian Campbell
and Eleanor McCardell were admitted to the drawing room. Rupert
pumped Ian’s hand enthusiastically. Ian had grown up to look quite
distinguished, he thought. Tall and thin, with auburn hair and
vivid green eyes like Harriet, he was dressed in an excellently cut
tail coat with the points of his collar nearly brushing his
cheekbones.
Rupert immediately felt every inch the country boy
he was in his ill fitting frock coat and modest collar. There was
no need for such fine clothes on island, and he’s only managed to
buy one new suit of clothes on his modest salary.
At the moment Ian looked
preoccupied and drawn, and Rupert wondered if one of his cases at
the hospital were troubling him.
He turned to Eleanor, who had been no more than a
dreamy child when he’d left. The woman in her place bore little
resemblance to the placid natured girl he remembered.
Eleanor stood by the drawing room door, her hair
caught into a neat bun and covered with a modest cap, making her
look older than her years. Her green brocade dress was plain, the
sleeves not nearly as full as fashion required, although the belt
cinched at her waist showed it to be admirably trim.
Her hazel eyes were alert with interest, yet her
hands were folded modestly over her middle.
Caught between matron and maid, Rupert thought
immediately. And who could blame her, a widow at twenty-three years
of age?
Henry came in to greet his guests, and soon they
were all being shepherded to the dining room for an elaborate
meal.
“This is an up and coming neighborhood,” Rupert
remarked as he started on his pigeon pie. “The homes look quite
elegant.”
“Yes, the South End has quite a bit of promise,”
Henry replied. “The South Cove
could blame him? If their positions were reversed, Rupert knew he
would feel as Aubrey did. He wouldn’t be able to help it.
“If you mean at the Moores, yes.” Rupert left it at
that. No need to remind the other men he was family. They were
hardly likely to forget it.
In fact, Rupert had been invited to the Moores’
house along with Ian and Eleanor. It would be a reunion of sorts,
Rupert thought with a smile. He hadn’t seen Ian or Eleanor in over
ten years, when they’d all been little more than children.
He remembered his little schoolboy adventures with
Ian well enough; they’d boarded together for nearly two years. When
Ian had run away, Rupert had kept his secret, even though his
conscience had been sorely tried. Had he done the right thing?
Rupert mused now. Perhaps; Ian had certainly done well for
himself.
Eleanor he could not remember as much more than a
pale slip of a child, with masses of hair and a gentle way about
her. Harriet had told him she was widowed; he wondered what else
the years had made of her.
He enjoyed the walk from Henry’s offices near Quincy
Market to the Moores’ elegant row house on Tremont Street. Rupert
did not miss the new shops opening in this prospering section of
the city, including a purveyor of pianos that claimed to produce
four thousand of the instruments in one year, as well as a gourmet
food shop, S.S. Pierce, apparently the first in Boston.
“I’d no idea Boston residents required so many
pianos,” Rupert told Margaret with a twinkle as he entered their
drawing room, divested of his hat and top coat.
“Of course they do,” Margaret replied without
missing a beat, her cheek pressed to his for an instant. “It’s a
sign of prosperity, no doubt.”
She looked, as always, elegant and refined without
any of the excess frippery so many of the wealthy society women
favoured. Her dress was of rose silk, the hem flounced a good six
inches, not the two or more feet most society women preferred, and
her waist was cinched tightly with a belt in deeper rose.
“Indeed.” Rupert gazed out at the purple hued skies
meditatively, his mind turned once more to the pianos he’d seen,
and the prosperity it indicated. “Indeed.”
A few minutes later Ian Campbell
and Eleanor McCardell were admitted to the drawing room. Rupert
pumped Ian’s hand enthusiastically. Ian had grown up to look quite
distinguished, he thought. Tall and thin, with auburn hair and
vivid green eyes like Harriet, he was dressed in an excellently cut
tail coat with the points of his collar nearly brushing his
cheekbones.
Rupert immediately felt every inch the country boy
he was in his ill fitting frock coat and modest collar. There was
no need for such fine clothes on island, and he’s only managed to
buy one new suit of clothes on his modest salary.
At the moment Ian looked
preoccupied and drawn, and Rupert wondered if one of his cases at
the hospital were troubling him.
He turned to Eleanor, who had been no more than a
dreamy child when he’d left. The woman in her place bore little
resemblance to the placid natured girl he remembered.
Eleanor stood by the drawing room door, her hair
caught into a neat bun and covered with a modest cap, making her
look older than her years. Her green brocade dress was plain, the
sleeves not nearly as full as fashion required, although the belt
cinched at her waist showed it to be admirably trim.
Her hazel eyes were alert with interest, yet her
hands were folded modestly over her middle.
Caught between matron and maid, Rupert thought
immediately. And who could blame her, a widow at twenty-three years
of age?
Henry came in to greet his guests, and soon they
were all being shepherded to the dining room for an elaborate
meal.
“This is an up and coming neighborhood,” Rupert
remarked as he started on his pigeon pie. “The homes look quite
elegant.”
“Yes, the South End has quite a bit of promise,”
Henry replied. “The South Cove
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