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past two hundred years or I'm out of practice." She blinked back tears, dizzy and feeling a little green
around the gills.
Should she give it up or try again?
To be frank, the whole experience brought back memories of her first cigarette, smoked behind her
parents' suburban house, in order to impress an older and more sophisticated cousin. The experience had
left her short of breath, dizzy, and light-headed. And yet&
There it was, the familiar feeling of nicotine running through her veins, the call of the smoker to answer his
bad habit, the memory of a million blissful smokes with as many steaming cups of coffee.
"Nothing like being an addict," Laurel informed the flat man in the portrait, and settled back in her wing
chair for another drag.
She didn't cough at all on the second pull of the pipe, and the third was even smoother.
By the time she was on to the fifth, Laurel was a happy confirmed smoker again. She sat in front of the
fire, her slippery skirts bunched around her waist, her cotton petticoats covering her thighs, her long legs
crossed comfortably, and enjoyed her pipe.
She wondered if she could get away with taking the pipe, decided against it, and debated how she could
best go about getting one of her own.
She had seen a tobacconist's shop on the way to Mistress Kimball's earlier that day. Perhaps she could
ask Seth for some money tell him she needed some ribbons or something and go buy a pipe and a
little pack of tobacco. She could sneak out of the house on the pretext of going to the outdoor privy, and
that would be it, clean and simple. She'd be smoking again.
True, it was a little harsher than she would have liked, but there wasn't any help for that. A girl had to do
what a girl had to do. And if anybody didn't like it
"Mercy on us!"
Laurel's eyes, which had been shut in blissful contemplation of her tobacco-filled future, flew open in
horror.
Apparently, it was time for the "musical portion" of the evening to begin, and the Williamses' servants had
thrown open the double doors to admit the guests and the guests were there, in droves.
Laurel sat, still with shock, the smoking pipe still in her mouth, staring.
A hundred sets of eyes stared back. Ladies with careful coiffures fluttered their pale hands over their
paler faces; gentlemen in stiff waistcoats and cravats regarded her with stiffer expressions. A collective
murmur of dismay and disapproval ran through the gathering crowd.
Laurel tried not to think about what she looked like, with her beautiful skirts bunched around her knees,
slumped in the chair with a pipe hanging out of her mouth.
"Seth Goodwin's cousin& " she heard someone whisper, and she felt her face flushing a brilliant red.
She dropped the pipe with a clatter and tugged her voluminous skirts down.
And suddenly, Seth appeared out of the crowd, his face set in tense lines, his dark eyes gleaming with a
dangerous light.
"Excuse me& excuse me, please& " He made his way across the room with quick, purposeful strides
and seized her hand in a none-too-gentle grip, pulling her to her feet.
"What in the devil are you doing?" he hissed beneath his breath.
Laurel offered him a weak smile.
"Never mind." He began to pull her from the room. The crowd parted silently as they made their way, as
if making room for a leper. The women drew their skirts away as she passed; the men avoided her eyes.
Laurel wished she could disappear through the floor.
Seth was making weak apologies they had to leave early, his cousin didn't feel well, the recent shock of
her parent's death, and things like that. Beneath his dulcet tones, Laurel could hear plain, cold fury.
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He was silent all the way out the front door and halfway down the street, never releasing his firm grip on
her elbow.
She darted a quick look up at him and looked away immediately, unnerved by the sight of his glittering
eyes, his tightly set mouth. She decided to be grateful for his silence.
It was over too quickly.
"What in the devil did you think you were doing?" The words were an explosion, loud in the quiet street,
and Laurel jumped, stumbling on her hem.
"Well? What was that? What possible excuse in God's realm could you have! What were you doing?
What? Tell me, please, because I'm completely befuddled! What was& " He gestured back at the house
with an erratic, impatient thrust. "What was that?"
Laurel scratched at her shoulder, where the stiff lace and artificial roses were making her itch. "I found a
pipe," she offered in a feeble voice.
He dropped her elbow then and covered his eyes with his hands. "You found a pipe," he repeated
quietly. "You found a pipe."
"Well, yes. It was just lying there. I guess somebody forgot about it."
He dropped his hands and regarded her with stark disbelief. "And?"
Laurel gave a weak shrug. "I guess& well& I guess I felt like having a smoke."
"You felt like having a smoke."
"Well& yeah. I mean, I didn't think anyone would find out. I just& felt like it."
Seth looked around, as if checking to make sure the street was still there, or the sky was still overhead,
or maybe to see if they were still on the same planet.
"You felt like it," he repeated softly. "She felt like it," he explained to an invisible audience. "She just saw
a pipe, and she just felt like it. No great matter, nothing odd at all; she just felt like it. That's all."
Laurel nodded in hasty agreement.
"Have you lost your bloody mind? What do mean, you felt like a smoke? You can't do that! What in
the devil came over you, Hope Garrick? I take you to one of the finest houses in the city, I introduce you
to the people who'll be your neighbors and friends, and you decide to take up a pipe? Do you have any
idea what those people must think?"
"They think I'm crazy?"
"Yes, they think you're crazy. And what's more, they're right. What possessed you, Hope?"
Unable to think of an adequate answer, Laurel shrugged.
"Is this a habit of yours?" The words were sharp, spoken in the kind of tone you used to a disobedient
child or a not very bright dog, and Laurel felt her temper rise.
"Yes. Yes, it is," she retorted in defiant tones. "There. I'm a smoker, and I haven't smoked in weeks, and
I've just been dying, and there was the pipe "
"Women don't smoke! It's simply not done. Are you trying to tell me you were smoking on that
godforsaken farm of yours?"
"Well," Laurel said, struggling to keep up with Seth's furious stride, "no. Not there. But before that, I
smoked."
"Before that? What do you mean, before that? You were born on that farm; you've lived on that farm all
your life. What do mean, before that?"
Laurel rushed along at his side, wondering what had possessed her to say such a thing.
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