“Cheers to that.” Richards clinked his glass against Arthur’s and lumbered off.
Harry’s eyes stayed on Arthur, and as soon as Richards was out of hearing range, he shook his head. “Arthur—”
“Oh, please,” Arthur snapped. “What does it matter if Thomas enjoys the masquerades, or even the company of men? It’s bad enough our medieval government gets involved; you can’t actually care what a man does in the privacy of his rooms.” He swallowed. “Can you?”
Harry glanced around them, then pulled Arthur just a little closer to the wall. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What does Father always say about politics?”
Arthur sighed, feeling five years old again and very much the runt of the family. “Don’t make it personal.”
“He and John caught enough heat over suffrage and immigration. I know the solider in you wants to charge in and protect everyone, but if you take a loud stance on this, you’ll make their lives even harder.”
Arthur clenched his teeth. Harry had said it kindly, his hand gentle on Arthur’s shoulder.But what do you think?Arthur wanted to ask.Do you think like Richards? What would you say if you knew how I feel when I look at Rory—?
He pushed it all down. “I’ll watch my mouth.”
“John and Father will appreciate it.” Harry squeezed his shoulder. “You know, Stevens’s sister has curly hair—”
“I’m afraid I forgot to get one of those dreadful mousse cups,” Arthur bit out. “Do excuse me.”
He passed the table of food without stopping, his practiced society smile on his face for the women as he accepted claps on the back and “good to see you, old boys” from men in suits like his own. He disappeared perfectly into the crowd, but then, being surrounded by men who looked exactly like him only ever made him more aware he was different.
Cigars and cigarettes had been lit around the room. With the windows tightly shut, the smoke hung in the air and stung his eyes, but Arthur found his way to the window anyway and leaned against it. His eyes stayed on the empty gray street below an empty gray sky as he waited for his temper to cool, letting the hall’s chatter wash meaninglessly over him without bothering to take part. It wasn’t like anyone was particularly excited to see him here anyway.
Oh, he was wasting time brooding. He should find someone who wanted to gossip about Mansfield, or at least find the governor’s son, Walter. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to talk football with people who actually knew something about the sport. He’d tried to talk about his city league with Rory once and got only a confused but sweetI dunno what a first down is, but I bet you look good doing it.
Arthur bit back a smile at the memory. Maybe Rory would finally let Arthur do something for him and they’d come back to the country, without all the family and responsibilities. Arthur could rent a private cottage, so they didn’t have to explain themselves to any curious innkeepers. Then again, if they went somewhere like Paris, they wouldn’t have to hide quite as deeply in the first place.
But as far as Arthur knew, Rory had never left New York. Would he even consider going abroad?
“Enjoying the view?”
John’s voice cut through the generic chattering and soft clinks of fine dishes. Arthur looked up. Of all the Kenzie siblings, he and John were the most matched. They had same blue eyes paired with Kenzie black hair, John’s touched with gray at the temples, and were within an inch of each other’s heights with the same muscled build.
Arthur pushed off the window with a twinge of guilt. He might not want to be here, but he’d agreed to come, and he needed to soldier up and work the crowd for John. “It’s a very quaint street. But I was just thinking I’d find your friend Walter and see if he’s interested in the new National Football League.”
John gave him a flat smile that said he knew Arthur was full of shit. But to Arthur’s surprise, he didn’t turn and head back to the donors. “When do you return to the city?”
“Tomorrow.” Where was John going with this? “You?”
“Tonight, right after this.” John stared out the window. “I can’t really afford to be away. City Hall is absolutely inundated right now, thanks to that Coney Island windstorm.”
“Oh. That.” Arthur took an awkward sip of ginger ale. “Yes, I suppose that would be a nightmare for the aldermen.”
“It’s a mess. Did you even know there was a Ladies Society for the Promotion of Boardwalk Welfare? I know all about it now, because their lead girl has been in my office every day for a week.” John was still staring at the street, and then he said, very suddenly, “Do you still dream of the war?”
Arthur nearly spit out his drink.
John had been a new politician when President Wilson requested the declaration of war. Harry had just taken over two of the family businesses. Will had served as an army lawyer in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, although he’d returned to private practice after the treaties had been signed. Arthur had been the only one of the four Kenzie boys to see combat. His service was often praised in family get-togethers, but only in the broadest of terms, sugarcoated and vacuous, as if the war had been nothing more harrowing than another of Arthur’s eccentric jaunts around Europe.
His family meant well, but when any potential weakness could make one a target for the papers or political adversaries, things like shellshock and nightmares just simply weren’t discussed.
“Do you still dream of your first election night?” he said lightly. “Everyone revisits certain times in their sleep. Why?”
“Hmm.” John’s shoulders were oddly stiff. “Come see me tomorrow.”
“What’s that? Why yes, I am frightfully busy and I do already have plans—”
“I need to speak with you.”
