Moonlight With Alice (The Matchmaker's Ball Book 3)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Moonlight with Alice

  The Matchmaker’s Ball Book Three

  by Amelia C. Adams

  With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Barbara, Cindy, Dorothy, Joseph, Mary, Renee G., Robin, Suzy, Teresa, and Theresa.

  Cover design by EDH Professionals

  Click here to join my reader group on Facebook!

  Don’t miss the previous books in the Matchmaker’s Ball series:

  Two-Step with Tess by Jo Noelle

  Allemande with Angel by P. Creeden

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  Alice Givens stepped out of the mercantile, her arms loaded with bundles, and nearly lost her footing as she ran full tilt into an unexpected obstacle. Maybe . . . maybe it was just the porch railing, but no—the obstacle made an “ooph” sound, and porch railings did not say “ooph.”

  Alice peeked around her tower of packages, shame flooding her like a hot blanket. Standing before her was Seffi Morgan, one of Creede’s most influential citizens, pressing a hand to her chest as though she’d just had the fright of her life. She probably had.

  “Oh, Mrs. Morgan, I’m so sorry,” Alice said. This was terrible—almost as though she’d mowed the mayor’s wife over in the street. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, my dear,” the older woman replied, managing a gracious smile. “Thankfully, all your packages seem to be rather soft.”

  “Yes, it’s fabric for new costumes. Is there anything I can do? Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m sure. You, on the other hand, seem a bit rattled.”

  Alice never had been good at hiding her feelings. “I am rattled, actually. Things have been . . . and I don’t know how to fix it . . . and then I nearly killed you right here on the porch . . .”

  Mrs. Morgan chuckled. “It’s that bad, is it? Well, I’m sure we can find a way to smooth it out.” She craned her neck and looked inside the store. “Oh, good. Will Meeks is still here. Will!”

  The young man ambled onto the porch. “Hello, Mrs. Morgan. What can I do for you?”

  “Would you please take these packages from Miss Givens and deliver them to the theater? That is where you’d like them, isn’t it, Alice?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I can manage—”

  “No, she really can’t manage.” Mrs. Morgan shook her head at Will. “She just tried to murder me right here in public—this poor girl needs help. Take her packages to the theater, please, while I try to undo this sad mess.”

  “I’m not a sad mess,” Alice protested, but it seemed no one was listening to her. Will took her packages and headed off in the direction of the theater, and Mrs. Morgan tucked her arm through Alice’s.

  “Now, you come with me,” she said. “We’ll have some tea and talk things over, and I’m sure you’ll be as right as rain in no time.”

  “I don’t think tea can solve my problems,” Alice replied.

  “Then we’ll have some cake, too. Come along.”

  Mrs. Morgan guided Alice down the street to the tea shop, where they situated themselves at a small table and breathed in the spicy scents that filled the air. Once they each had a warm teacup in front of them, Mrs. Morgan turned her compassion-filled gaze on Alice, who was realizing the futility of trying to escape this conversation.

  “All right, we’re nice and cozy, and here’s our cake,” Mrs. Morgan said as Ariadne Thurgood slid plates of sweets onto the table. “Now let’s hear what’s troubling you.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing that would bother anyone else, I’m sure,” Alice began, wishing she’d never said anything in the first place. “I’m just having one of those days when everything seems to be going wrong. Our new soprano is struggling to learn her second aria, and Mr. Westcott asked me to help her. She’s a lovely girl, but memorizing . . . well, it’s not her strength.”

  “Especially difficult in a foreign language, I’m sure,” Mrs. Morgan said sympathetically. “What else is troubling you?”

  “I cut a pattern incorrectly this morning, and instead of one full ball gown, I ended up having to make a blouse and a skirt because of my mistake, and I can’t just sew the two pieces together because that would make it too short-waisted. No one in the audience will know it’s two pieces, but I’ll know, and I hate knowing I’ve done something badly. Then I kept dropping my scissors and my pins, and then I almost pricked Mrs. Gooding, who’s taking our lead alto role this time. I’ve been so clumsy and addle-brained today, I’ve about given up on being a useful member of the human race at all.”

  Mrs. Morgan fixed her with a look. “That seems rather dramatic to me, my dear. Are you sure all this time spent at the theater has been good for you?”

  Alice laughed. “You’re right—I’m carrying on like scene four of act three. Perhaps I have lost some of my perspective and should dip my toes back into reality once in a while.”

  “Let me assure you that I enjoy the theater as much as anyone else, but yes, we should always keep a grasp of what’s real and what’s just a story.” Mrs. Morgan sipped her tea, then placed her cup back in the saucer. “So, explain to me how you’re not a useful human. It seems to me that you came up with a good solution to the ball gown problem.”

  “I suppose I did, if you ignore the fact that I’m the one who created the problem.”

  “Well, of course we’re ignoring that fact. We’re concentrating on the positives right now, not the negatives.”

  “In a case like that, yes, I did solve the problem rather well. I also managed to remake Juliet’s costume over into something nice for Ophelia.”

  “There you have it.” Mrs. Morgan took another sip, then became thoughtful. “When you say that you remade it, what all does that entail?”

  Alice thought that a rather odd question for someone like Mrs. Morgan to ask, but she didn’t mind sharing. “I take out the seams and trim the fabric into a different shape, then I sew it back up again,” she explained. “That allows me to use the same fabric over again while creating a different style altogether.”

  “Have you ever done that to regular dresses and not just costumes?” Mrs. Morgan asked.

  “Oh, yes. All the time.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Morgan finished her tea, then sat back and contemplated Alice, who had barely taken her first sip. “You know, when you get to be my age, you end up with a closet full of gowns that used to be the height of fashion, but have since become dull and frumpy. I wonder if you could take them and do what you said—remake them into something more suitable for today.”

  “I’m sure I’d be more than willing to give it a try,” Alice replied.

  “And I’m sure I’d be delighted to pay you for your time. If I could actually save the lives of those poor dresses and save the expense of having new ones made, that would make me very happy.”

  “I don’t know if I could charge you,” Alice said falteringly.

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Morgan fixed her with that look again and thumped her finger on the table. “You’re quite skilled, my dear, and you deserve to earn a little extra income from time to time. I can’t imagine Mr. Westcott’s paying you what you’re worth at the theater.”

  Alice wasn’t used to discussing financial matters with mere acquaintances while out in public, but she also wasn’t used to being rude to her elders, and she didn’t know how to respond. “I would
like to put more in savings,” she said at last, hoping that answer would pass muster.

  “That’s a very wise use of your money.” Mrs. Morgan seemed pleased, so Alice supposed she’d done all right. “I’ll have my dresses brought around, and I suppose you’ll need my measurements and so forth.”

  “Yes, I will. And thank you for the opportunity, Mrs. Morgan. I’m sure I’ll enjoy the task very much.”

  “I’m excited to see what you invent. I want to look fresher, more in the moment—but still appropriate for my age, of course. I might secretly want to look like one of you young ladies, but once you’ve crested a certain hill, you can never go back.”

  “I’ll come up with some beautiful things—age-appropriate things,” Alice promised.

  “Excellent. You realize, of course, that we still have something else to discuss.” Mrs. Morgan tapped the table for emphasis.

  Alice blinked. “We do?”

  “Yes. You’ve just given me a nice long list of all the evidences that you’re rattled, but you haven’t told me why you’re rattled in the first place. Perhaps it’s none of my business, but you might feel a tad better if you had someone to share it with.”

  Alice looked into her cup and sighed. If she had her way, she’d never discuss it with anyone, but if holding it in was making her drop scissors and stab opera singers with pins, she’d likely be better off letting it go.

  “I got a letter this morning,” she said at last. “It was from a friend of mine back home. We went to school together, and we’ve stayed in touch since I moved to Creede.”

  “And this letter brought you upsetting news?”

  “Yes, even though it shouldn’t have been upsetting.” Alice glanced up and gave a little smile. “Have you ever . . . well, I don’t know if I should be asking.”

  “You can ask me anything you like. I might not answer, but at least you’d have a chance at it.”

  Alice smiled again. “I was just going to ask if you’ve ever been in love with someone who didn’t love you back.”

  Mrs. Morgan sat back and made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, of course. Everyone has. It’s part of the human experience, isn’t it?”

  “I . . . suppose so.”

  “But I don’t mean to make light of your situation. Do go on.”

  Alice pulled in a deep breath. “Well, there was a boy in town . . . a young man, rather . . . about eight years older than myself, and I fancied myself quite in love with him. I was just sure that one day, he’d realize what a lovely girl I was and we’d end up married, but then he went away to school and I came here to find work . . .”

  “And now he’s marrying someone else?” Mrs. Morgan guessed.

  Alice nodded.

  The older woman sighed gustily. “Ah, the young girl falling in love with the older boy and waiting for the day when he’ll finally notice her. Such a familiar story, my dear, and such a sad one. I’m very sorry that you didn’t get your wish, but I’m even sorrier for him because you are truly lovely, and he’s missing out.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering about it, though—I need to put it from my mind and focus on the things I actually can control in my life.”

  “There’s the spirit! You’ll do just fine, Alice Givens. Be grateful for the experience, for the things it taught you, and push onward to the next big adventure.”

  The clock on the shelf gave a chime, and Mrs. Morgan glanced at it with surprise. “Oh, my. It’s later than I thought. I’d best be off, and I’m sure you want to get back to your work as well. I’ll be in touch with my dresses soon, and I may even enlist your help making over some gowns for my balls.” Mrs. Morgan’s face lit up as though she hadn’t even thought of it until she said it aloud. “Yes, that’s it exactly. Do you know how many ladies in this town feel too shabby or out of style to attend my ball? If they had the chance to make over a gown . . . or perhaps, they could trade gowns and have them made over to suit them . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then she came back with a bright smile. “We have much to discuss, and I’ll be in touch.”

  “All right,” Alice replied, watching as Mrs. Morgan tossed a few coins on the table and then bustled out the door. That had certainly been unexpected, but not unwelcome. She could use the extra income, and she’d heard of Mrs. Morgan’s balls—it seemed that people fell in love while twirling under the domed ceiling of the Tivoli Ballroom, and Mrs. Morgan considered herself a matchmaker of sorts. If Alice could play a role in bringing two lonely people together—even if it was just making a nice dress for the woman to wear on the most magical night of her life—it would be an honor.

  And it might even help take her mind off her own troubles.

  Chapter Two

  Deputy Ranse Hawkins leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms high over his head. He’d been bent over his desk for what seemed like hours, and he was ready to move around and get some fresh air. He gathered up the papers he’d been working on and stood, crossing the room and placing them on KC Murray’s desk.

  The marshal looked up from his own paperwork. “Report’s done?”

  “Yes, sir. Thought I’d go walk around town for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s fine. Do me a favor and check in at the Frog Knees, would ya? Make sure they’re keeping their promise?”

  “Sure thing.” Ranse grabbed his hat from the peg on the wall and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He and KC had visited the saloon the night before when the noise coming from inside had irritated the neighbors. Ab Helm, the proprietor, had explained that there were some new men in town who’d come in for a drink and didn’t quite understand what it meant to keep things orderly, and KC had assured them all that before he was through, everyone would understand what was meant by it. The exchange had made Ranse chuckle. KC was a pretty level fellow, but crossing him was never a good idea.

  Ranse took a deep breath of fresh air and looked up and down the street, noticing the people strolling along the sidewalks or exiting the stores. Everything looked rather typical for a Tuesday afternoon. Sometimes that was good and sometimes it was bad—he’d learned early on that when things were too quiet, that could mean something was brewing.

  When he entered the Frog Knees, he paused in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He never could figure out why saloons were always so dark. Maybe so the patrons couldn’t see how much their whiskey had been watered down. Maybe so they couldn’t see that the girls were a good ten or fifteen years older than they claimed to be. Whatever the case, after a few seconds of blinking, he stepped the rest of the way into the building and approached the bar.

  Ab Helm was there, counting out the money in a cash box, and he looked up with an eyebrow raised.

  “Back so soon, Deputy? Seems like we saw you just last night.”

  Ranse sat down on one of the barstools and took off his hat. “Does seem like it was just yesterday. How’s business been?”

  “Fairly decent. That’s how it is in Creede, though—the saloons and the hotels make the most profit. Best line of work to be in.”

  “Except for when you’re drawing the attention of the law.” Ranse glanced around the room. It was early yet for any sort of clientele, so he wasn’t surprised to see just one man over in the corner. “Where are your guests from last night? Staying here or somewhere else?”

  “They’re camped just outside of town while they’re getting their bearings. They came to work in the mine.”

  “Where from?”

  Ab shrugged. “Didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. As long as a customer pays up their tab, I don’t worry too much about their other business.”

  Ranse knew Ab wasn’t the most talkative fellow and that he had plenty of his own that he was trying to keep hidden from the marshal’s office, but still, he sensed the man was holding back a little more than necessary, and he decided he’d be making the Frog Knees a regular stop on his rounds.

  “Well, we’ll be
keeping an eye on things, so I hope your new friends manage to get themselves under control,” Ranse said. “This isn’t the only building on this street—you have a lot of neighbors, and we don’t want them getting upset.”

  “Understood, Deputy. Same as I understood last night. You know I don’t want any trouble from the law—trying to keep my fingers clean, as it were.”

  Ranse nodded, then stood up. “Have a nice afternoon.”

  As he stepped back outside, he blinked again to adjust to the sunshine, then continued his stroll. The town of Creede was certainly an interesting combination of rough and smooth—all in the same stretch, he could see a theater, a ball room, a bookstore, and also saloons and the questionable sorts who seemed to inhabit them. Whatever a person was looking for, they could find it here, and he wondered about these new men in town and their aspirations.

  Silver mining had been the staple of Creede’s economy from the very beginning, and even though the output was unpredictable, if a man owned a mine, he could count on being in business for a very long time. Ranse had heard a number of stories about men being killed for their mine claims and whatnot—it wasn’t the most peaceful line of work, that was to be sure. It did provide a living for a great many people, though.

  “Deputy Hawkins?”

  He turned at the sound of his name and saw Mrs. Seffi Morgan bustling toward him, her skirts kicking up a bit of dust as she moved. He took off his hat and nodded as she approached. “Afternoon, Mrs. Morgan. What can I do for you today?”

  She fanned herself with her handkerchief. “My goodness. It’s certainly gotten warm this year, hasn’t it?”

  “Sure has. I’m feeling plenty warm myself, and I’m not layered up with all these contraptions you ladies wear.” He motioned down at her voluminous skirts.

  She laughed, then leaned forward. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she said quietly. “I wear trousers from time to time depending on what I’m doing, and if a day ever comes when it’s proper for women to wear them every day, I’ll have a dozen pairs made.”