“Gentlemen,” he said, and then he left.
Outside of the club he pulled on his overcoat, and went to stop one of the passing cabs. Though it was late, the sky fully dark with an inky black and tiny pinpricks of light, the cabs were heavy in this area, as popular as it was. One pulled to a stop in front of David and the driver looked to him.
“Where to, sir?” he asked, and David was about to tell him as he stepped forward and placed his hand on the frame of the cab to steady himself as he climbed in. He stopped though, and stepped back, looking up to the driver as he realized he had no money now, and couldn’t pay for a ride home.
“Never mind,” David said, shaking his head. “It’s a nice night for a walk, I think.”
The driver shivered in the cool air as the wind picked up, and he smirked. “Sure,” he said, and with a crack of the reins the carriage rumbled off down the street, and David began to walk. He was worried what his father would say.
3
Elizabeth Crawford was nineteen, three years younger than the man who loved her. He was named Rupert Eastman, and sat in the Crawford garden with Elizabeth as they drank tea, and he tried to steal glances of her long slender neck. Her neck was the most attractive part of an attractive package, at least in Rupert's eyes. She was fair skinned and fair of head, with long blonde hair which often sat flowing down her shoulders and to the small of her back. He body was shaped like an hourglass, with a thin waist and robust hips, and a large bosom. Most men looked there, Rupert new, at the top of her pale breasts as they sat in the low necklines of her gowns and dresses. But her neck was what he enjoyed most.
There was a small freckle there, on the right side of her neck, a lone dark spot in a sea of milky white. He imagined kissing it, imagined nibbling it. But Elizabeth he knew, was promised to another man. A scoundrel, a rake named Weatherby. He was a compulsive gambler younger than Rupert was, and though he had nary a quality which Rupert appreciated, for some reason Elizabeth was taken with the man.
The Crawford’s and Weatherby’s were long-time friends, both in the banking business, but never letting their competing banks get in the way of friendship. Often they would find ways to work together.
Elizabeth sipped from her tea cup and then set it on the small saucer. A table sat between her and her friend Rupert. She looked him over as he appeared lost in thought, though he was looking right at her. They had known each other for a decade, ever since Rupert’s father had come to manage her daddy’s bank. She liked the man, and he was handsome, but she had been promised to David by the time she began to take notice in men, so she never entertained the idea of Rupert. He had a strong jaw, and broad shoulders, and she knew there wasn’t a man stronger than him in the city. She also knew there wasn’t a man who cared for her more.
“What are you looking at?” she inquired, smiling a bit as Rupert jerked back slightly in sudden surprise as she spoke.
“Nothing,” Rupert said, reaching for his cup of tea and lifting it to his lips.
“Well, you were looking pretty intently at nothing,” the young girl teased. Rupert set his cup down and smiled.
“Very well, can I show you what I was looking at?”
He stood and stepped forward. Elizabeth looked up to him. “You may,” she said. He held out his hand and she took it, and after standing he led her into the beautiful garden. She wore a beautiful dress, which was the color of eggshells, with pink lining. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders, as the weather was growing colder, and that morning was chill. There wouldn’t be many opportunities for tea in the morning outside for a few months.
Rupert led her past a large thicket of rose bushes, to a small bench. He sat down and she sat next to him.
“Lizzie,” he said, using a pet name he had used for years. “I was looking at you. Or rather, a part of you.”
Elizabeth laughed, turning towards the man. “I am used to men looking at that part of me, but that isn’t where I saw your eyes.”
Rupert grinned and reached over and took her hand. “I am not talking about… that part… I’m talking about the small freckle you have on your neck.”
Elizabeth turned her head so he may see it easier, looking straight ahead instead of at him.
“My freckle? Why would you look at that?”
“I adore it. And you. Your neck, your hands, your eyes, every part of you. But that freckle, it made me want to kiss it, to nibble it.”
Elizabeth felt something grow inside her, a yearning, a want. She closed her eyes, and he next words were almost so low he couldn’t hear them. “You may.”
Rupert leaned forward. “I may?”