The Legacy Read Online Free PDF Page A

appeared in front of them and she barely heard Charlie Montgomery’s introduction because she was captured by the newcomer’s frank gaze and the warmth of him; and when she blushed he did too, and he fumbled his first words to her, saying, “Hello, how are you?” as though they were two odd fellows meeting over a game of whist. He grasped her hand in its embroidered glove as if to shake it, realized his mistake and dropped it abruptly, letting it fall limply into her skirts. At this she blushed more, and dared not look at Bathilda, who was giving the young man a most severe look. “Sorry, miss . . . I, uh . . . won’t you excuse me?” he mumbled, inclining his head to them and disappearing into the crowd.
    “What an extraordinary young man!” Bathilda exclaimed, scathingly. “Where on earth did you find him, Charlie?” Charlie Montgomery’s black hair was as slick as oilskin, flashing light as he turned his head.
    “Oh, don’t mind Corin. He’s a bit out of practice at all this, that’s all. He’s a far off cousin of mine. His people are here in New York but he’s lived out west for years now, in Oklahoma Territory. He’s back in town for his father’s funeral,” Charlie said.
    “How extraordinary,” Bathilda said again. “I never thought that one should have to practice one’s manners.” At this Charlie smiled vaguely. Caroline glanced at her aunt and saw that she had no idea how disliked she was.
    “What happened to his father?” she asked Charlie, surprising herself.
    “He was on one of the trains that collided in the Park Avenue Tunnel last month. It was a right old mess,” Charlie said, pulling a face. “Seventeen dead, it’s now reported, and nigh on forty injured.”
    “How dreadful!” Caroline breathed. Charlie nodded in agreement.
    “They must run the trains with electricity. Automate the signals and remove the opportunity for sleepy-headed drivers to cause such tragedies,” he declared.
    “But how could a signal work with nobody to operate it?” Caroline asked, but Bathilda heaved a gentle sigh, as if bored, so Charlie Montgomery excused himself and moved away.
    Caroline searched the crowd for the stranger’s bronze-colored hair, and found herself sorry for him—for his bereavement, and for his fumbling of her hand in front of Bathilda’s flat, unforgiving eye. The shocking pain of losing close family was something she could sympathize with. She sipped absently at her wine, which had gone warm in her hand and was making her throat sore. And she felt the emeralds press into her chest, felt the watery fabric of her gown on her thighs, as if her skin suddenly longed to be touched. When Corin appeared at her side a minute later and asked her for a dance, she accepted mutely, with a startled nod, her heart too high in her throat to speak. Bathilda glared at him, but he did not even look up at her to notice, giving her cause to exclaim: “Well, really !”
    They danced a slow waltz, and Caroline, who had wondered why Corin had chosen a dance so slow, and so late in the evening, guessed the reason in his unsure steps, and the tentative way in which he held her. She smiled uncertainly at him, and they did not speak at first. Then he said:
    “You must please excuse me, Miss Fitzpatrick. For before, and for . . . I fear I am not an accomplished dancer. It has been some time since I was lucky enough to attend such a function as this, or to dance with someone so . . . uh . . .” He hesitated, and she smiled, lowering her gaze as she had been taught. But she could not look away for long. She could feel the heat of his hand in the small of her back, as if there was nothing at all between her skin and his. She felt naked suddenly; wildly disconcerted, but thrilled as well. His face was deeply tanned, and the sun had lingered in the hair of his brows and moustache, tinting them with warm color. His hair was combed but not brilliantined, and a stray lock now fell forward onto his brow, so