Whiskey Wreckage

Another stuffy dinner with another completely inappropriate suitor. Mother was never going to give up on trying to find me a husband. I was tired of the endless parade of fake smiles, forced small talk, and sweaty old men. Why did they all have to be at least twenty years older than me? Why couldn’t Mother find me someone closer to my own age? These men were ancient and still single for very good reason. They were all simply disgusting.

Last night was Walter Franklin, an overweight pompous banker who was nearing fifty years old. Before the second course had even been served, he had already upset his water glass and sweat through his dinner jacket. Naturally, he blamed poor Gretchen for setting his glass too close to his plate, when I had watched him take a sip and set it there himself. He insisted on talking numbers all evening. I nearly fell asleep before dessert.

The night before that was Edgar Salazar, a rail thin, balding book publisher. He was so nervous throughout the entire dinner that I feared he would simply keel over of heart failure right at the table. It was no wonder he was still single. He simply did not have any personable qualities. Sure, he was rich, but he had spent far too much of his time with his nose in a book and nowhere near enough time out in society. I enjoyed reading, sure, but I also enjoyed conversation, and poor Edgar about jumped out of his seat every time I tried asking him a question.

And don’t even get me started on Mayhew Cricket. What kind of a name is that, to start? The Cricket family was well known as one of those families that enjoyed their notable status. The sheer ridiculousness of his wardrobe choice was proof positive that he, too, enjoyed his status as a distinctive and exceptional fool. No one in their right mind would pair a dusty rose jacket with a lime green vest; especially not when trying to impress a possible wife.

Mr. Cricket got me into quite a bit of trouble after his visit. I will admit that I probably could have held my tongue when he spoke of his horse’s new purple and lime saddle, but I could not help myself. What was wrong with a simple and elegant mahogany saddle? Where did he even find a Saddler willing to put their name to something like that? Granted, I was a bit harsh when I told him I would rather ride the pig before I sat in that saddle, but honestly, can you really blame me?

Tonight’s disaster belonged to Robert Alfred, a 38-year-old steel tycoon who was in the process of procuring a railroad line that he was ridiculously proud to boast about all...night...long. I found out very quickly that he was not interested in my opinion in the slightest. He simply enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

“It’s a matter of money, first and foremost, yes, but there’s a level of cunning involved,” Robert boasted. “Investing too much is simply poor business practice. You must consider all possible scenarios before even putting forward a dime.”

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his haughtiness. “Surely there is a level of risk to every investment,” I said and he laughed.

This man laughed at me.

“Oh, I never take risks, child,” he said arrogantly.

I clicked my tongue, earning a dirty look from Mother.

Pompous, egotistical Robert Alfred had officially worn out his welcome. It was time to get rid of this swine. Should I settle for the more conventional method of simply asking him to leave? Or did this call for a more creative approach? I looked over at Mother’s rapt expression; she was soaking up every word Mr. Alfred uttered. She would be angry and I would be punished, surely, but getting rid of Mr. Alfred would be well-worth whatever she had in store for me.

It was Father that concerned me the most. I always hated to disappoint him. I wanted to make him proud, but I simply could not settle for any of the idiots that Mother kept throwing at me. I hoped he would understand what I was about to do.

“The steel industry is on the rise and I intend to be at the forefront of it,” Mr. Alfred continued to boast.

I tried to catch Father’s eye, but he was looking away, nodding tiredly at Mr. Alfred’s words. He had a glassy, disinterested look on his face, that Mr. Alfred had clearly missed.

It was now or never.

“Oh, Mr. Alfred,” I said, interrupting whatever self-promoting posh he was about to say next. “I simply cannot wait to get my hands on your fortune. I have been dying to get at least a dozen new dresses. And I simply must have all the top-of-the-line accessories to match. Oh, there will be jewels and hats and gloves and the most exquisite shoes. I do so love shoes, Mr. Alfred,” I lied.

I watched as his eyes bulged and his face turned red. “I am sure that whatever wardrobe you already have would be more than sufficient if you were to become my wife,” he said loftily.

“Oh, no, Mr. Alfred,” I said, adopting a hurtful expression. “I wouldn’t dream of going out in society as Mrs. Alfred in these rags.”

My mother scoffed indignantly.

“Rebecca Anne,” she scolded. “Those are hardly rags.”

“Indeed,” my father said with an indulgent smile. “You look very beautiful tonight, Becky.”

“Thank you, Father,” I said sweetly, then turned to Mr. Alfred. “But surely, Mr. Alfred would want his future wife to look her best. Right, Mr. Alfred?”

I watched in satisfaction as he spluttered to find an answer that would not offend everyone at the table. “Of course, of course,” he stammered. “Surely, you won’t require more than one or two new dresses.”

I held my hand to my heart and let my eyes well up with false tears. “One or two?” I whined. “You expect me to sit at home all day, don’t you, Mr. Alfred?” I let a tear fall for effect and was not disappointed in his reaction.

“Oh, good heavens, child - ”

“Do not call me child,” I said fiercely, and was extremely pleased to discover that interrupting Mr. Alfred was evidently a cardinal sin.

“When you are my wife, you will learn to hold your tongue.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and clenched my jaw.

“You think I have nothing to offer?” I demanded.

Mr. Alfred said nothing.

“I think I’ve got my answer,” I said, throwing down my napkin. I stood from the table and let my chair fall to the floor. “Excuse me, Father. I have suddenly lost my appetite.”

I stormed from the room, and slammed the dining room door, listening for the telltale clatter of the portraits on the walls.

“Well, I never...” I heard Mr. Alfred roar.

“Thank you for an eventful evening, Mr. Alfred,” I heard my father say as his chair scraped across the floor.

I scrambled away from the door just in time. Father opened the door and held it for Mr. Alfred who stormed out in a huff. Father eyed me with a frown and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

I sighed audibly and heard Mother’s scoff from clear across the dining room.

“That’s the fifth suitor you’ve scared away this month, Becky,” Father said quietly in a tired voice.

“They’re all either completely ridiculous, or incredibly full of themselves, Father,” I said. “I could never be happy with any of those old fools.”

“I will not have a spinster for a daughter, Rebecca Anne!” Mother called, still seated behind the table.

“So, let me choose my own husband, Mother,” I called back and smiled as Father buried his face in his hands.

“You wreak havoc on this entire household,” she said, finally entering the drawing room.

“Oh, I do not, Mother. Stop forcing me to entertain old farts every evening, and you’ll have a much more agreeable daughter.”

“Stop running that mouth of yours all the time and you might have more interested suitors,” Mother shot back.

“Okay,” Father interjected. “That’s enough for one evening.” He ushered Mother away from me.

I was too wound up for bed, so I called for Gretchen to bring me my coat, determined to stay out of the house until after Mother had gone to bed.

It was a lovely Spring evening, with just a hint of crispness to the air. I pulled my coat a little tighter around me and shook out my black curls. With no real destination in mind, I contented myself to strolling the nearly empty streets. The gas lamps were already lit, lending their light to the beautiful storefront window displays.

I was so caught up in admiring the apothecary’s display, that I was startled to notice that I was no longer alone. A man moved slightly and I caught his reflection in the window.

I sucked in a sharp breath and turned to face him. The man that stood before me was devastatingly handsome and quite tall. He had a mop of untidy black hair, over the most piercing set of icy blue eyes. Eyes that were staring at me a little too intently.

“Good evening, sir,” I said, swallowing audibly.

“Evening, miss,” he said with a small tilt of his head. “It’s a bit late for you to be out without a chaperone.”

“I have no need of a chaperone, sir.”

“Oh, really?” he said. “Awfully brave of you.”

“And why is that?” I asked. I had been down this street countless times and had never seen anything even remotely threatening. Granted never at night, but surely it was all right.

“Tis not safe for such a beautiful young lady to be alone when there are unsavory characters about.”

“I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you,” I said with a confidence I no longer felt.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he said. “No doubt. But why don’t you let me walk you home just in case.”

“I’m not quite ready to go home just yet, but I thank you kindly for the offer,” I said hoping he wouldn’t pick up on my uneasiness.

“Maybe you should let me walk you home anyway,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to get a sense of his character, but I couldn’t figure him out. “All right,” I said, throwing caution to the wind.

He offered me his arm and I hesitated before taking it. It did not go unnoticed.

“You’ve no need to fear me, miss. My name’s Jake. I live just down the way.” He gestured vaguely behind him.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jake,” I said formally.

He chuckled lightly. “Just plain Jake, ma’am.”

“All right,” I said with a small smile. “Just Jake, it is. Rebecca.”

He smiled back in a way that put me a little more at ease with this handsome stranger.

“What did you mean when you said there were unsavory characters about?” I asked, excited to hear about the less than perfect side to this picturesque city.

As though sensing my excitement at the possibility of danger, he flashed a wicked smile in my direction and laughed heartily. “You are not like the other rich folk around here, are you?” he said. “I can already tell.”

I shrugged, trying not to give myself away too quickly.

“Well, then, let me ask you this,” he said stopping and turning me toward him. “Could you truly handle yourself if the situation arose?”

“I believe I could,” I said confidently. I was no stranger to schoolyard scuffles, much to Mother’s dismay, and I was an excellent swimmer with very strong arms and legs as a result.

He smiled a wide, dazzling smile and chuckled lightly. “You’re truly not ready to go home?”

“I am not,” I said, returning his smile.

“Hmm,” he said and scratched his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, but the effect only proved to enhance his features, not detract from them. My heart picked up its pace at the hope of a nighttime adventure.

“How are you with blood?”