Love at Large Part 18

Just thinking of the handsome Jake McCabe gave her a sudden thrill, the same feeling she had when she first saw his tall form striding through the hallowed halls of Winters, Quinn, and Schmidt. A tremor had started in her knees, fast making its way up her spine to lodge in her chest. Her current thoughts set off that chain reaction all over again.

He was such a gentleman; always opening doors when her arms were full and even when they weren't. When she arrived late to work, which was more often than she liked to admit, he held the elevator for her. And whenever they saw each other, he always greeted her with a smile and a few pleasant words about the weather or some other safe topic. All in all, he made a nice big brother.

But that wasn't what she wanted. She already had a big brother living in Montana. What she wanted was the das.h.i.+ng hero of her dreams to ride in and save her from a lonely single life. She wanted friends.h.i.+p, love, and romance. And she wanted it from Jake. Tonight, with a little luck and a lot of courage, she hoped to get her wish. She blew the errant ringlet out of her face again and crossed her fingers for luck.

She stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk and glanced up at the clock tower of the nearby Methodist church. It was ten after eight. She sighed. Late again. The ball had started at seven-thirty, and she knew everyone from the office was probably already there. Oh well, she would just have to make the best of her tardy entrance. She caught the flicker of a bright star hanging just to the left of the tower, and allowed herself a moment to enjoy its sparkle, like a diamond nestled in an endless swath of indigo velvet.

"Star light, star bright..." A vision of smoldering green eyes, black hair, and soft sensual lips floated before her. "...you know what I wish tonight."

The star seemed to wink in response, and Franny smiled then continued on toward the hotel, her confidence level strangely boosted.

The Fairlawn's stately limestone facade and arched doorway, framed by a scarlet awning and matching carpet, beckoned to her. Willing her heart to stop its fluttering dance, Francesca started up the wide steps and was greeted by a regal white-haired doorman, dressed in red velvet and white lace with small silver-rimmed eyegla.s.ses perched on his beaky nose. She caught an appreciative glance at her daring cleavage. There may be snow on the roof, she thought, and grinned.

"Good evening, miss." He smiled in return and gripped the lapels of his coat. "Welcome to the Fairlawn, Boston's oldest and most majestic hotel, and proud host to this year's Colonial Ball. May I see your invitation, please?"

Fran gave a slight nod in reply and began to root around in her small red satin purse for the invitation Mr. Winters had given her a month ago. After what seemed like forever, she brought out a rumpled buff-colored square of parchment.

He adjusted the wire-rimmed gla.s.ses on his nose and scrutinized the invitation. "Excellent, Miss D'Amore." His white-gloved hand pressed the paper back into hers. "The Grand Ballroom is just to your direct left inside, at the end of the hall. You'll find the ladies room to the right, before that. Enjoy your evening." He grabbed the bra.s.s door handle with his left hand, pulled it open, and ushered her inside with a magnificent sweep of his right arm.

Fran made a quick reconnaissance of the s.p.a.ce of the door, compared it to the extension of her dress, and turned sideways. She noticed that the doorman's grin was now a bit wider as she sidled through the doorway. She lowered her eyes and felt the warmth on her cheeks again.

The lobby was a huge, airy s.p.a.ce lit by the dancing light of dazzling crystal chandeliers. The beams were reflected back by white marble floors and columns polished to a high sheen. Gilt edging seemed to cover everything, even the coffered ceiling with its mural of a lovely azure blue sky filled with clouds as fluffy as a lamb dancing across it. For an instant, she'd entered some provincial estate in eighteenth century France.

A bobby pin slipped out of place, and she felt her hair s.h.i.+ft, bringing her back to the mission at hand. She set out in search of the ladies room.

She ducked inside and was engulfed in animated chatter and a rainbow of gowns. The excited women were the very height of Colonial elegance with their curled and teased hair piled high, and dazzling jewels on their necks, wrists, fingers, and ears. Most had taken off their masks, and some were cooling themselves with ornate fans.

Fran spotted an empty chair in front of a mirror and made a beeline for it. She pa.s.sed by a woman in jet black velvet threaded through with pin stripes of silver, who was talking to another in a satin gown of tangerine stripes alternating with yellow ones, so bright and colorful it put Fran in mind of spring daffodils.

Behind the empty chair sat an older, regal woman fanning herself. On another settee reposed a woman who wore a stunning mask of peac.o.c.k feathers with a dress that matched the iridescent colors perfectly. But instead of having a white wig, hers was a startling shade of lilac topped by more of the peac.o.c.k's rich plumage.

The woman caught Fran's stare and nodded. Fran smiled shyly in return.

"What a beautiful gown," Lady Peac.o.c.k said. Her voice was soft, feminine, and very aristocratic. For a moment, Franny wondered if this woman really had stepped out of the past.

Fran put a hand on the chair back as she stopped beside it. "Thank you," she replied.

"It appears to have been made for you."

"My aunt is a seamstress for the Boston theater crowd."

"She did a marvelous job. It's nice to see a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown, and not a sad and ill-fitted rented old thing." Peac.o.c.k lady cast a disdainful glance at the other ladies in the room.

"Thank you," Fran said again.

The woman a.s.sessed Francesca's gown once more, and smiled her approval. "You are beautiful, you know." She stood up and held her mask over her face. "You'll turn many heads out there."

"Perhaps." Fran gave an uncertain laugh, just as another ringlet slipped out of place. She sat down at the mirror and flinched at the way her corset cut into her.

"You will." The woman dropped a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And I'm sure the right one will be among them."

Fran took her eyes off the reflection of the stranger and focused on her once tall crown of hair that was now a lopsided blob. She fingered the loose tendril tickling at her nose. "I hope so."

But there was no response. She checked the reflections behind her and discovered that Lady Peac.o.c.k was no longer there; the woman was no longer anywhere. Fran scanned the room, but seeing no sign of the kind gentlewoman, she shrugged and returned to her primping.

After ten minutes, she knew beyond a doubt that without Aunt Judy's extra hands, her hair was not going to return to the glittering pile of tawny-gold ringlets that it had been before she'd left her apartment. Drumming her fingertips on the vanity top, she debated on what to do. A motion in the mirror caught her attention, and she saw the jet black and daffodil ball guests pa.s.s through the door as another giggling gaggle of women pushed their way in. Fran groaned to herself as she recognized the newcomers as the "I can't eat that" crowd of single ladies from work. Every Friday, Mr. Winters would bring in luscious bakery treats for the staff, but these girls just stood around, patted their barely-there bellies and exclaimed stupid catchphrases like, "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips." But somehow, it was always Franny's hips they looked at when they said this.

At the helm of the group was Tiffany Webber, the permanently "temporary" receptionist. Tiff the Temp spent most of the day gossiping about everyone and everything, and telling anyone unlucky enough to get caught by her that what she really wanted was to be a model or an actress. She'd only taken the job at Winters, Quinn, and Schmidt to cover the cost of her new "a.s.sets," which she'd put on daddy's credit card, wink-wink.

Fran shook her head at the sight behind her. Tiff's new additions were dangerously close to falling out of the white peasant top she'd chosen to wear with her Colonial serving girl costume. Leave it to Tiffany to forgo the standard elegant gown for something more alluring, yet utterly common.

The gigglers huddled on the nearest velvet settee, heads together, and whispered amongst themselves. They were so intent on their gossiping that they seemed oblivious to Fran's presence. She went back to the issue of her hair, and finally decided that if Tiff could go against the norm, so could she. She began to pull out the half-box of bobby pins she and Aunt Judy had painstakingly used to keep the ma.s.s of waves in place and dropped them into her evening bag.

"Isn't he handsome?" Tiff's sultry voice burned into Franny's ear. "He could sail me around anytime."

Fran figured she was talking about Jake, unless she'd set her sights on some other man tonight.

"I thought Fran was supposed to be here." That was Jane, from accounting. Nice enough on her own, but such a mouse in the face of Tiff's cattiness.

"She probably couldn't find a dress that would fit over her fat gut." Tiffany giggled.

Fran's breath whooshed out of her, as though the thoughtless receptionist had punched her in said stomach.

"And so she decided to stay home and drown her sorrows in a gallon of chocolate ice cream."

The women laughed, and for an instant Fran felt like she had ballooned 12 dress sizes. But she inhaled deeply, went to that "safe place" inside, the one where her high school counselor had forever tried to usher Fran and her cla.s.smates if, in the face of peer pressure, they felt like taking a hit from a joint. She tried to shake off the stinging hurt and continued to pull pins. She congratulated her reflection for not giving away the emotions roiling inside her.

"Besides, Fran probably realized that since it's a five-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner, she couldn't afford second helpings." Another round of guffaws followed.

Fran slammed her eyes shut and willed herself to envision her safe haven-Grandma's garden on a perfect, still summer's day. She was too old to let those brainless women make her feel like a hapless, helpless high school freshman lost among the most popular seniors.

The memory of Jake's first day at her office flooded her mind. These same women that were making fun of her now had done it then too. They'd been grouped together in the break room, talking the usual "girl talk" about him being single, each one vowing to be the girl who caught him. Tiffany had declared that they didn't have to worry about compet.i.tion from Fatty Franny. "After all, what man would want a girl like that?"

Fran was frozen in the doorway, unable to move forward and face them down or to retreat to somewhere else. The childish conversation died when the unkind crowd saw her standing there, then they'd turned their backs and busied themselves with a.n.a.lyzing the doughnuts near the coffee mugs.

"Buy you a cup?" A gentle, masculine voice had said, just as two strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind.

Fran glanced back and connected with the kindest, greenest eyes she'd ever seen. She'd nodded and let him propel her towards the coffee pot, his hands still on her shoulders, the warmth of them radiating through her s.h.i.+rt, making her feel safe, and something else.

The other women in the room had swooped in on him like a flock of harpies, trying to wedge their way into his line of vision. But Jake just made mundane conversation with them as he filled two mugs, handed one to Fran, winked, and then let himself be swallowed up by his entourage of admirers.

After that, Fran hadn't cared that she had been suddenly left alone. With his support, she'd been able to walk into the room with her head held high.

Since that day, she'd never been sure if his heroics had been because he liked her, or if it was just the thoughtful gesture toward a woman who'd been teased and embarra.s.sed by her co-workers.

Hopefully tonight, she'd get the chance to find out the answer.

The last of her curls cascaded down past her shoulders and over the back of the chair. With a shaky hand she pulled up the sides, pinned the sections together behind her head with the gold barrette she'd used in the other style, and pulled a few strands down around her cheeks.

She stuffed the last of the bobby pins into her purse then pulled out the mask Aunt Judy had made for her. It was gold satin on the front and soft jersey cotton on the back, so it would be comfortable to wear. She positioned it over her eyes, tied the gilt ribbons behind her head and fluffed her hair.

She stood up, drew in as deep a breath as possible in her corset, and headed for the ball.

Fran pulled the mangled invitation from her purse, careful not to bring out a shower of bobby pins with it, and handed it to the blue-velvet-clad usher at the ballroom door. He nodded and motioned for her to follow him to the company table. As she glided into the room, the feeling of her mask against her face made her feel bold and ready to accomplish her mission.

And there he was.

Jake McCabe dressed as a proper Colonial navy captain, right down to the fake sword on his hip and knee-high black boots. Though masked like the others, Fran had no trouble recognizing the body she'd fantasized about for the last few months, which now lounged at the table, relaxed and casual, the pose of an un-self-conscious man. His legs were stretched out to the side, a champagne flute dangled from his right hand and rested against his muscular thigh. Fran's trepidation turned into excitement when he did a double take at her arrival.

"Good evening, miss." He eased himself out of the small chair and stretched to his full height. "Will you be gracing us with your company?"

"Why, yes, captain." She joined in his game.

He reached around her shoulder and plucked a gla.s.s of champagne from a pa.s.sing tray. "Buy you a cup?" He grinned and handed her the delicate goblet.

She blinked at the echo of the familiar words and accepted his offering with a smile. "Thank you."

She took a tiny sip; half wis.h.i.+ng she could toss it back instead to bolster her nerves. She glanced around the room. "It's quite a party, isn't it?" She gave herself a mental smack in the head. Wittier, Fran. You gotta do better than this!

"I suppose." He set his half-empty gla.s.s on the table. "Though I'd rather be leading my crew and s.h.i.+p through the waves, drinking rum, and singing stupid sea chanteys as befits a sailor of my ilk."

Jake's mentor Jack Malone slapped the table and guffawed. "You mean like you did last May on that moonlight dinner cruise around the harbor, when you lost the first, second and third courses?" He gave a p.r.o.nounced sniff of the air around Jake. "In fact, it smells like you've already tapped into a keg of rum before arriving here tonight!" He grinned at his supposed wit.

Jake returned the smile and tilted his head. "That's just my Bay Rum aftershave, and thanks so much for reminding me about last May in front of all these lovely ladies."

"Ooooh, I like it!" Tiffany sang as she grabbed his arm. Some of Fran's enjoyment evaporated. "I think it smells great on you!" She nestled against him. "My, captain, isn't that music wonderful?"

"Yes it is." He patted her hand and scanned the room, his handsome profile hidden behind his mask. He turned to Franny. "Would you excuse us a moment?"

"Of, course." Fran wasn't sure he'd heard her reply, as small as her voice had become. She watched the attractive couple glide across the room and had to mentally nail her shoes to the carpet, so as to not give Tiff the Temp the satisfaction of seeing her slink away in defeat.

She took an unladylike gulp of champagne, slos.h.i.+ng some when her gla.s.s froze at her lip. Jake had stopped in front of a gangly Minuteman soldier. He slipped from Tiff's grasp, made a deep bow to her, and handed her off to the exultant scarecrow of a man. It was all Fran could do to keep from running out to meet Jake, but she kept those mental nails in place, just in case she was reading the situation wrong.

"Now." He drew up before her. "Where was I?"

"I suspect you were going to ask me to dance, captain." She pursed her lips in playful thought.

"Oh, yes. That's right." He took the gla.s.s from her fingers, set it on the table, and took her hands. "I was."

Two waltzes and many laughs later, Jake and Fran walked arm in arm back to the table. He pulled out a chair, and she settled herself into it.

"Captain." Tiffany had appeared again and was patting the back of the chair beside her.

"Thank you, miss, but I already have my place." He made himself comfortable beside Fran.

The green light to go flashed in Fran's mind at his declaration. She threw back her shoulders, which pushed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s out to nice effect, and prepared to employ every seductive move she'd ever read in a romance novel.

As the six courses came and went, she was the most earnest of listeners as he spoke with the people around them, caressed his sleeve with her finger, and between the main course and the dessert, laid her hand on his thigh. He'd instantly retaliated by taking her fingers and squeezing them tight.

When the dessert of ice cream and strawberries arrived, Fran was feeling quite bold. She speared one of the smallest berries from her pewter plate and offered it to him. He licked his lips and gently grasped the berry in his teeth, making low moaning noises of delight at the flavor of the fruit.

"Why, Franny," Tiffany laughed as Fran pulled the fork from Jake's lips. "You shouldn't be offering him the strawberry. You should be offering him the ice cream since that's much more fattening."

Leave it to Tiffany to ruin her meal.

But this time, instead of being rewarded for her remark with giggles from the other women, the table went silent. Jake reached out and brought Fran's shaking hand to his lips. He stared at her with a warmth that made her feel like she'd just been wrapped up in a soft, cozy blanket on a cold night.

"Thank you for the sweets, my dear," he whispered into her glove. "I'll repay you later."

Tiffany's eyes widened at the silence around her, and the exchange of the two people across the table. "For goodness sakes," she exclaimed. "I was just trying to give her some diet tips."

Tiffany swung her arms out to her sides and connected with a tray of dirty dishes the waiter beside her was holding. The whole mess came cras.h.i.+ng down into her lap. The women gasped, the men stood up, and Tiffany burst into tears and ran from the room.

The others around the table watched her race away then slowly continued their conversations as if nothing had happened.

Fran almost felt sorry for Tiffany, and the way the tables had turned on her.

Almost.

The strains of another waltz began as the guests finished eating. Jake shoved back his chair and took Fran's hand. "Shall we work off our meal, my dear?"

"Another diet tip?" she asked.

"Never. You're beautiful as you are." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles.

He took her in his arms, and they whirled around the ballroom as if they'd been dancing together for years instead of hours. She was lost in his eyes when they locked onto hers. She melted into his strong arms, wanting nothing more than to lay her head on his chest. Jake smiled, a warm gleam in his green eyes. She smiled back, and lowered her gaze. He tightened his right arm around her back and pulled her closer to him.

When the music ended, they were standing on the garden patio with only a few other couples.

"You look perfect tonight, Fran," he whispered. "Just the way I always thought a Colonial lady of means should look. But-"

"But what?"

He grinned. "Those poor Colonial men must have had a devil of a job to imagine just what a.s.sets their ladies held secret under all that fabric."

She laughed. "Leaves more to the imagination that way."

"Which is why us modern gentlemen let you ladies get into cars, and go in through doors before us. That way we get to enjoy the view our forefathers were denied."

"Like when we go up the steps?"

"Mmmm, curvy legs and well-padded derrieres are among my favorite views."

"Well." Fran took a deep breath and ignored the complaint from her corset. "Maybe sometime I'll let you get a better look at them."

Suddenly, his face turned serious, and he led her into the shadows of a lilac bush. "Does that mean I can ask you out?"

Fireworks exploded in her head, but she kept her cool. "Sure. But I never thought you were interested in me for anything more than just a friend."