Emily French - Illusion

Seth craned his neck, searching the crowded street for another glimpse of the woman. A tantalizing swirl of skirts and then she was gone.

Frowning, Seth stared up at the piling masses of clouds, then down at the slowly moving line of carriages. He was sure it had been Sophy. What the hell was she doing in Greene Street?

“—nothing but a ceaseless round of parties these past seven months celebrating the end of the war. Do you agree, Seth?”

“Definitely. Richard, I’m sorry, but I must go. Just remembered something important I must do. I’ll have a look at the inventory lists another time.”

Seth did not wait for Richard to call a servant. He had collected his walking stick and bowler hat and was clattering down the stairs before the agent had a chance to reply. At street level, he realized how importunate he must have appeared. He glanced again at the ominous clouds, and his mouth thinned.

Greene Street was definitely not a place for an innocent young woman. Even Bishop Simpson proclaimed there were as many whores in the vicinity as there were Methodists!

Could Sophy have seemed so untouched, so innocent, if she was indulging in an illicit affair? He couldn’t—didn’t want to — believe it. Headstrong and spoiled, perhaps, but he knew his wife was fiercely loyal. So what was she doing in the area?

Sophy ran downstairs light-footed and flung open the door of the dining parlor. All round the room the gaslights were blazing, and the table was set with an astounding array of crystal and silver. In the center of a simple floral decoration burned one scarlet candle.

Her mouth curled. Seth would soon be home. She felt excited and no longer afraid. It was as if she had shed the last shrinking of anxiety about the future like a discarded skin and was now emerging with wings. A conqueror about to discover a new and unknown land.

There was a wild elation at the knowledge of the marriage act as explained by Madame Bertine. Exhilarated, Sophy spun in a pirouette. As though released by a spring, her wide-skirted gown of stiff corded black silk followed her body’s movement.

The mere contemplation of such delight was too much for her to face just now. She had to push it away from her, hold it off like some dazzling dream that she must not think of yet, Now there was dinner to consider. Now she must join the company in the drawing room.

The cold drizzle had started during the ride back to the house on Fifth Avenue and, an hour later, with the rising of the wind, it was battering at the window of the large drawing room. A maid had just drawn the heavy brocade drapes when Seth came into the room.

A faint chill washed over Sophy at the grim expression on his face. His brows were straight dark slashes in a face so pallid that it might have been hewn from marble. The glance he swept her felt like iced water as the magnificent blue eyes glimmered with strong emotion.

Concentrating almost fiercely upon his wife, he seemed unmindful of anyone else in the room. The silence stretched, broken only by the tap of his cane as he came to her, dragging one leg and leaning heavily on his stick.

The clear shining of the wall sconces seemed to gather about his shapely head in a nimbus of light. The brilliance of it was entangled in the piratical darkness of his hair and there seemed sparks in his jewel-bright eyes.

Forehead furrowed, Sophy stood staring at him through her mothwing lashes. There is nothing wrong, she repeated over and over to herself. Why then was her heart beating so madly that it constricted her breathing?

Their eyes locked.

Seth studied her face with the innate fierceness with which he had applied himself to the preservation of the Union. Abruptly, he felt idiotic, like a madman trapped in the nightmares of his own mind.

He drew a breath, torn between reason and instinct. His wife’s misty gray eyes were wide and shy, her soft lips quivering, ready to broaden in a smile at the slightest provocation. He found himself staring at those lips, waiting.

Sophy clasped her hands together, as they went up instinctively to quell the tumult in her breast. Something flickered in the pools of his eyes, and she felt some of her apprehension dissipate. She smiled, and once more that magical transformation took place, giving her face light and warmth. It was as if the sun had come out.

“Isn’t it splendid? Uncle Heinrich, Cousin Pieter and Cousin Bernard called, in this weather, too, to see how we have settled in. They are to stay for dinner.”

Seth started, his eyes slanting to the van Houten brothers. He shifted a cramped knee, and the preoccupied expression left his face.

“Hello, sir.” He held out his hand, with a brief flash of the smile that Sophy so longed to see. “Pieter.”

His grip appeared strong and confident, but tonight the poor man looked worn-out. He moved with a queer jerking motion as if he were manipulated by strings. Sophy longed to ease his suffering.

The warmth was still in his countenance when he greeted the younger sibling. “How are your designs for a steam engine that runs on roads coming along, Bernard?”

Despite his harsh appearance, Seth had the gift of inspiring confidence. The boy’s ruddy complexion deepened a shade. At fourteen, Bernard van Houten retained the snub nose and the chubbiness of youth, but his mouth and chin were determined to the point of obstinacy, and he had the same direct gaze that characterized his cousin.

“I am working on a prototype using compressed air, piston rods and valve gears.” A thought occurred to him. “Have you seen the hydraulic elevator that Mar. Otis has constructed at Haughwout’sDepartment Store?”

“No, but if you would care to come down to the plant room at Weston’s Textiles, you can inspect our new rotary engine; which is driven by gears.” Seth’s eyes, alight with unholy amusement, met Sophy’s. “If she has nothing better to do, I am sure Sophy would love to accompany you.”

He was speaking lightly, but there was something in the look of his eyes that made Sophy uncomfortable, and she felt a sudden sense of relief when dinner was announced.

A few minutes later, a large uncovered dish was placed in front of Seth. He blinked at the huge crusty pie filled with chunks of beef and redolent of fresh vegetables and herbs.

Sophy’s spirits soared, and her eyes danced as his gaze followed the dish of potatoes mashed with butter, cream, sautéed cabbage and a sprinkle of chopped young onions, which the maid placed in front of her.

“One of the reasons I called so late, Sophy, was because I knew you would invite me to a meal,” Pieter confessed, accepting a good-size portion of pie on his plate.

“Good management of a household leads to domestic happiness.” Heinrich’s voice carried its own conviction. “Sophy was never interested in sensible things like crewelwork and watercolor painting or the pianoforte, so we were relieved when she made friends with Marcel and learned to cook.”

“Much better than stuffing her head with all that mathematics, politics and financial knowledge, which is neither attractive nor necessary in a woman,” Pieter teased, with considerable glee.

Bernard simply enjoyed the food. It was, after all, no use trying to slip the least word into the conversation with Sophy and Pieter becoming immersed in one of their endless arguments on women’s rights.

Sophy glanced at Seth, who had a mouthful of pie and was chewing with enjoyment. He was satisfyingly engrossed in the meal. There was no reason to dissemble, so she took up her cousin’s taunt, a fire of righteous indignation heating her words.

“Don’t be so idiotic, Pieter. The winds of change are already blowing. It won’t be long before women take their rightful place in society.”