Read Online The Lady of Bolton Hill by Elizabeth Camden - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Camden
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Opera House. She’d always been on the petite side, but now Daniel towered above her and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the old sycamore trees that sheltered the top of the outdoor amphitheatre, now empty of visitors. Daniel’s hand guided her to the low stone wall that divided the amphitheatre from the gardens outside of the Opera House. How wonderfully strange this felt. Was Daniel the big, bad wolf described by the matrons of Baltimore? Or beneath the fine frock coat of the fully grown man, was he still her oldest, most cherished friend?
“I must congratulate you on the splendid Opera House,” Clara said. “I heard you had a lot to do with getting it built, and it is quite an improvement over the old Music Conservatory.” Clara sank onto the low wall while Daniel remained standing beside her, resting his booted foot on the wall as he leaned over her.
“It is certainly more modern than that ramshackle old firetrap,” Daniel said. “Besides, I wanted my sisters to have an appreciation for music, and Katie was terrified of the Conservatory. She was convinced ghosts were living up in the turret on the north side.”
“And how is Katie?”
“She’s competing in a cycling race as we speak. Last summer I was foolish enough to purchase one of the newfangled bicycles from Paris for her, thinking it might keep her amused within our own neighborhood. Now she’s off most weekends with the Baltimore Cycling Club and who knows where else. She’ll be lucky to see her seventeenth birthday if she keeps trying her hand at every sport known to mankind.”
“And Rachel and Lorna?”
“Both safely married and no longer my responsibility. Thank heaven. I keep hoping some naive young man who can be bribed to take Kate off my hands will stumble into my life.”
She smiled up at him. “What a liar you are. You try to sound so fierce, but your face positively radiates when you speak about your sisters.”
“Nonsense. That’s the look of howling anxiety from raising girls. No one should be foolish enough to embark on such an endeavor.”
“Foolish or not, you are to be commended for the way you raised your sisters,” she said. Her gaze flicked to the fine silk of his vest and the heavy gold watch chain hanging at his waist. “What a shame you had such spotty luck in business, though.”
“Clara, the only real tragedy is that awful scrap of fabric on your head.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Daniel Tremain! Never once, in all the years we have known each other, have you ever said a single nice thing about any bonnet I have worn.”
“That’s because they’ve all been atrocious.” With his serious face and bland delivery, it was easy to see how people would think Daniel cold and blunt . . . but Clara had endured too many years of Daniel’s teasing to mistake the humor lurking in those pale gray eyes.
She untied the ribbon beneath her head, lifted off the offending garment, and then smoothed her hair into place. “Is it all bonnets you dislike? Or just mine?”
“All bonnets, because a woman’s hair is one of her best features and should not be hidden. Your bonnets are especially loathsome because you have particularly beautiful hair.”
Clara looked up in surprise. It was true that she was shamefully proud of her hair, but Daniel had never, never complimented her on her looks before. And it was more than his words, it was the way he was looking at her, with admiration and almost a hint of tenderness. He swiveled and took a seat beside her on the stone wall. “So tell me, Miss Endicott, what caused a promising young writer to become diverted into the world of muckraking journalism?”
“If you think I’m going to take offense at the word muckraker , you are destined for disappointment.”
“No. I’m simply dying of curiosity to know how the timid girl who left Baltimore ended up a convicted felon in London.” Humor danced behind his eyes.
“I must congratulate you on the splendid Opera House,” Clara said. “I heard you had a lot to do with getting it built, and it is quite an improvement over the old Music Conservatory.” Clara sank onto the low wall while Daniel remained standing beside her, resting his booted foot on the wall as he leaned over her.
“It is certainly more modern than that ramshackle old firetrap,” Daniel said. “Besides, I wanted my sisters to have an appreciation for music, and Katie was terrified of the Conservatory. She was convinced ghosts were living up in the turret on the north side.”
“And how is Katie?”
“She’s competing in a cycling race as we speak. Last summer I was foolish enough to purchase one of the newfangled bicycles from Paris for her, thinking it might keep her amused within our own neighborhood. Now she’s off most weekends with the Baltimore Cycling Club and who knows where else. She’ll be lucky to see her seventeenth birthday if she keeps trying her hand at every sport known to mankind.”
“And Rachel and Lorna?”
“Both safely married and no longer my responsibility. Thank heaven. I keep hoping some naive young man who can be bribed to take Kate off my hands will stumble into my life.”
She smiled up at him. “What a liar you are. You try to sound so fierce, but your face positively radiates when you speak about your sisters.”
“Nonsense. That’s the look of howling anxiety from raising girls. No one should be foolish enough to embark on such an endeavor.”
“Foolish or not, you are to be commended for the way you raised your sisters,” she said. Her gaze flicked to the fine silk of his vest and the heavy gold watch chain hanging at his waist. “What a shame you had such spotty luck in business, though.”
“Clara, the only real tragedy is that awful scrap of fabric on your head.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Daniel Tremain! Never once, in all the years we have known each other, have you ever said a single nice thing about any bonnet I have worn.”
“That’s because they’ve all been atrocious.” With his serious face and bland delivery, it was easy to see how people would think Daniel cold and blunt . . . but Clara had endured too many years of Daniel’s teasing to mistake the humor lurking in those pale gray eyes.
She untied the ribbon beneath her head, lifted off the offending garment, and then smoothed her hair into place. “Is it all bonnets you dislike? Or just mine?”
“All bonnets, because a woman’s hair is one of her best features and should not be hidden. Your bonnets are especially loathsome because you have particularly beautiful hair.”
Clara looked up in surprise. It was true that she was shamefully proud of her hair, but Daniel had never, never complimented her on her looks before. And it was more than his words, it was the way he was looking at her, with admiration and almost a hint of tenderness. He swiveled and took a seat beside her on the stone wall. “So tell me, Miss Endicott, what caused a promising young writer to become diverted into the world of muckraking journalism?”
“If you think I’m going to take offense at the word muckraker , you are destined for disappointment.”
“No. I’m simply dying of curiosity to know how the timid girl who left Baltimore ended up a convicted felon in London.” Humor danced behind his eyes.
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