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As the evening moved into dusk and the temperature dropped, he felt her shiver a bit. “We should probably go inside.”
“I suppose,” she said, sounding disappointed. “It’s been nice out here with the peace and quiet. Reminds me of our evenings in Charleston.” She looked up and met his eyes. “I wanted to put the bed to good use tonight but I’ve changed my mind.”
He stilled. That had been his plan as well. “May I ask why?”
“Call me prudish but I can’t possibly be scandalous knowing my mother may and probably will hear us through those paper-thin walls.”
He laughed.
“Do you mind waiting until we get to your home?”
He leaned down and kissed her lightly. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for. I want you to enjoy yourself, not be worried about what our parents are thinking, even though they don’t seem to give a fig about what we might think of them.”
“I’m hoping to be that carefree at their age.”
“Me, too.” And he wanted that carefree Raven to be with him.
At nine o’clock the next night the train pulled into the Boston station. For appearance’s sake, Hazel and Harrison were supposed to stay the first few nights at Brax’s large home, but the lovebirds opted to go to Harrison’s flat instead.
“We’ll move in with you tomorrow,” Harrison told his son.
They hailed a hack for themselves and were driven away.
“So much for avoiding scandal,” the amused Brax said to Raven. “Let’s find a hack for us.”
They secured one with a White driver. When he got them under way Raven asked, “Hacks don’t segregate here?”
“Some drivers do. Others don’t. Boston is well-known for its abolitionist roots but there’s bigotry here, too.”
The ride didn’t take long. After he paid the driver, they climbed the short set of steps to the front door of the tall, flat-faced brick house. Raven eyed the many windows and thought the structure looked more like a business establishment than a home. He used his key in the lock and allowed her to enter ahead of him into one of the largest foyers she’d ever encountered. There was a big chandelier hanging from the tall white ceiling above her head, and she was admiring its size and beauty when he came up behind her.
“Go on in,” he said quietly.
The parlor was equally spacious. Not even the turned-down lamps could hide the rich carpet on the floor or the fine furnishings gracing the room. Raven had seen the interiors of some of the houses of the wealthy Black Creoles back home, but not even those could compete with this luxury.
“You live well,” she said, taking in the beauty of the lamps, the crown molding, and the gleaming wood of the furniture. On one wall above a large stone fireplace hung a gilt-framed portraitof a stern-looking gray-bearded man dressed in blue seaman’s garb. “Is that your grandfather?”
“Yes. Nelson Rowley. Known as The Captain.”
“Welcome home!”
Raven turned to see a middle-aged White woman wearing a white robe over her nightclothes entering the room. She was small and birdlike, like Raven’s cousin Etta.
“Oh my word! Where’s your hair!” she asked.
He laughed. “Hello, Kate. Yes, I’m home. Raven, this is my housekeeper, Kate Dublin. Kate—Raven Moreau.”
Kate did a little curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”
“Same here,” Raven said hiding her shock at finding he employed a White servant.
Kate said, “And thanks for sending the wire earlier that you’d possibly be home today. I was starting to worry when I didn’t hear from you or Mr. Harry.”
“He’s home, as well, and brought his intended, Raven’s mother, Hazel.”
