An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,58

just a romp in the dressing rooms.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, and she laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and claimed her mouth with his. They kissed with all the passion of two people making up for lost time.

Flowers and champagne were forgotten.

“I feel like we should be catching up,” Dalton murmured in between kisses. “The last time I saw you, you were waving from the deck of a ship, on your way to England.” Dalton had gone down to the docks to watch the famous New York duchess leave. He knew that he needed to see her sail off, otherwise he feared wandering the city, anticipating a chance encounter. “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Nothing,” she sighed.

“No, really. It’s been sixteen years, Beatrice. How did you spend your days?”

He already knew about her nights.

She undid his tie and let it fall to the floor.

His jacket was shrugged off and tossed aside.

“Literally nothing. The dowager duchess did not trust me to execute the tasks of a duchess—menu planning, correspondence, hostessing, that sort of thing—as I was some lowborn, new-money American with no knowledge of how English society worked. So I languished in various rooms, took epically long strolls through the countryside, and considered flinging myself off a turret.”

He fixed his attentions on the process of removing her hat and jacket and tossing them on the settee, just like they were at home together, the thought of which caused a sharp pang in his chest.

“What have you been doing all this time, Dalton?”

“Working.”

“And?”

“I attended some parties, the opera, a few society events. But working, mostly.”

“Women?”

“Some.”

“Sounds like you haven’t had much fun at all. It sounds lonely.”

Lonely. That word again. He stepped back and poured her a glass of champagne, one for himself, and they sat upon the settee.

“It wasn’t the worst of times. I never considered flinging myself off, say, the top of the World Building.”

“Of course not. It was only recently built,” she replied. Her eyes sparkled. “Sounds like we have some lost time to make up for.”

“Excellent plan. As long as you aren’t too busy with your lecture series, typing demonstrations, and musicals.”

Beatrice sipped her champagne. “You read my newspaper profile! Or rather, one of them. It’s been so hard to keep up with the press. It pays to be friends with all the female reporters in town. And to be living a story they want to cover.”

“I’ll be honest, I have someone read the newspapers for me. They provide me with all the necessary clippings. Especially with regards to my competition.”

“Too busy launching an art gallery? Or is that new department dedicated to women’s ready-made attire and children’s toys taking up all your time?”

“How did you know?”

“I have spies. I have to keep up with what my chief competitor is up to.”

“We launch on Tuesday.”

She leaned in. Stroked his chest. Played with the buttons on his shirt. “Can a woman get a preview?”

“I might need to be persuaded,” he murmured. But it was a lie. He needed no persuasion. Which made him tremendously vulnerable to her. But in this moment—so intimate and perfect, lounging on the settee, sipping champagne, speaking about their day, the promise of pleasure later—he couldn’t remember why that would be so terrible.

He raised his glass.

“Your new window display is causing quite the sensation,” he said. “The crowds on the sidewalk are making it difficult to walk past. Who knew that dressing cats up in baby clothes and letting them roll around in bassinets would be so appealing?”

“Margaret knew,” Beatrice said, laughing. “The display was her idea. I foresee a great future in dressing cats up in adorable outfits. People can’t seem to get enough of it.”

She raised her glass to his for another toast.

“Cheers, by the way, to Dalton’s making The White List. I love that we both claimed top spots.” A local woman on a crusade to better the world, Josephine Shaw Lowell had recently published a pamphlet detailing the department stores that offered the best treatment for their female employees with the noble goal of encouraging shoppers to patronize these shops. The effect was already being seen. Female employees received higher wages and breaks where they might rest their feet. And there were dire repercussions for stores that failed to meet her criteria.

“If it weren’t for you, I never would have made it. You saved me, Beatrice.”

“I was never worried,” she said.

“If I hadn’t had to raise wages to meet the ones you were offering,