Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  Then, as was his habit, David retreated to an inconspicuous corner to observe. Though the women wore different colors and fabrics, all wore long skirts drawn back, bunched into an elaborate arrangement at the hip and, over a supporting bustle, draped into a train that swept the floor. No doubt the latest Paris fashion. He imagined Lucinda in such a gown.

  He jerked himself up short. He must keep his wits about him if he was to get the judge’s signature tonight. He forced himself to stay in the present by studying the gentlemen’s attire. They wore flowery waistcoats, impeccably tailored. Most were embellished with watch chains from which jeweled charms dangled. Precious stones anchored wide, colorful cravats. Black or dark blue swallowtail tuxedo jackets, the rage this winter, hung over fawn-colored pantaloons. He couldn’t help but notice that in most cases they stretched across ample stomachs.

  David ran his hands over his own black frock coat. Thanks to Rosella’s excellent tailor, it fit perfectly. He imagined Lucinda next to him, promenading gracefully across the room. A waltz played in his head, and he could feel her in his arms as they pirouetted around the floor. He became so lost in his fantasy he almost missed Judge Tillotson motioning him to join a small group of community leaders.

  The judge was short and ruddy of complexion. He had one badly squinting eye, which he habitually kept closed, and his head was oversized for his body. His thick white hair was his best feature. Tonight its sheen glowed in the lamplight like a halo. On the judge, however, the halo effect missed being regal because he had been forced since birth to hold his head stiffly inclined toward his left shoulder. His detractors said his head was askew like a cow with horn-ail. David, on the other hand, thought that Judge Tillotson had a fine presence, giving the impression of a successful and happy man. That is, until one caught him off guard and looked deep into his eyes. Behind the judge’s pleasant, summer blue eyes lurked a chained darkness writhing to break free. David had only looked there once.

  He came to stand with the group. “Good evening, Judge Tillotson,” he said and nodded to the other gentlemen.

  “Glad you could join us, my lad. I want the boys to meet a first-rate new lawyer. You’ll be hearing of this young man, gentlemen.”

  David could feel heat rise above his cravat to his cheeks. He clasped his hands behind his back and squared his stance, ready to listen to the judge’s current monologue.

  Instead, the judge said, “Please excuse us, gentlemen. Business never takes a holiday.” He put his strong hand around David’s back and guided him to the side of the room. “David, I must admit, I’ve never worked with a lad that I’ve enjoyed as much as you.” He took a long swallow from his glass of sherry. The judge usually drank nothing stronger than watered wine. Was this his attempt to ease the pain of this day?

  The judge continued. “You know that I’ve come to care about you. Your quick wit and diligence have touched a chord in me. You’re a young man with a future.”

  David flushed again, realizing that praise was harder to handle gracefully than criticism. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m sad to think you’ll be moving on soon.”

  His words caught David off guard. He started to protest, but the judge held up his hand. “Nothing to be ashamed of, son. Be ashamed if you didn’t want to strike out for yourself. Besides, you’re ready. Where is it you’re thinking of going?”

  “Well, sir, I do have an article about the possibilities.” He pulled a newspaper clipping from his tuxedo pocket, but before he could unfold it, the dinner gong sounded. The judge glanced around the room and then gave David a pat on the back. “I don’t believe Mistress Tillotson has arrived yet, but we will be dining without her. Excuse me, David, perhaps we can talk later. Right now I must claim my dinner partner.”

  “Of course.” David mumbled something about finding his own partner. Without Mistress Tillotson, the table would be short one lady. This was not the first time he had waited at the back of the line, ready to escort a neighbor hastily invited.

  The double doors to the dining room swung open. Under the scrutiny of the well-organized Mr. Button, the judge and his lady led the guests in to dinner. The table, set for twenty, created a forest of French crystal and English bone china. Holly and evergreen cascaded down from a regiment of tall silver cones spaced along the center. Kerosene lamps on the sideboard, along with rows of candles down the center of the table, gave off a romantic glow. A pair of footmen hired for the occasion stood at attention at the head and foot of the table.

  David’s dinner partner had a difficult name he never seemed able to recall, a great many large teeth, not to mention arthritic fingers that occasionally gripped his arm or twisted a long rope of pearls. David braced himself for an evening of her nonstop conversation. She immediately launched into the intimate details of how she came to be unmarried.

  The woman seated on the other side of David managed to engage him in conversation. But each time David’s dinner companion sensed the slightest break, she skillfully turned his attention back to her story, beginning precisely where she had been interrupted. She did not require answers, making it possible for him to contemplate Lucinda. She had the most unusual eyes and a square chin with a delicate cleft. She was captivating yet with a disturbing resemblance to Rosella Tillotson as she must have looked in her early years. That connection gave rise to all manner of speculation.

  Thinking about Lucinda was not wise. She so completely took over his concentration that David lost track of the table conversation. He must keep an eye on the judge and anticipate when he would be approachable to sign the referral letter.

  To occupy his thoughts, David tried to plan the best route across the prairie in the morning. He tried to think what to take with him. He tried to envision all the things he had to do. He tried, and all he saw was Lucinda’s face, Lucinda’s smile, and the sadness in her eyes. He could easily drown in the emerald depths of those eyes. He longed to let his fingers trace her delicate forehead and high curving cheekbones, the straight nose, and her full mouth. His hands flexed with the urge to feel her chin with its intriguing cleft and the smooth line of her throat. Is she the woman for me? He thought about the circumstances of their meeting. Is there a divine plan behind this day?

  He scolded himself. This was not the time to be thinking such things.

  Just at that moment, across the room from David, a door opened noiselessly. Half-hidden by a carved wooden screen, a maid emerged wearing one of those absurd English caps. She delivered a large silver tray into Button’s hands. He in turn passed the tray to the footman to begin serving.

  David forgot all else when he recognized the maid. It was only a glimpse before Lucinda vanished behind the screen, but he knew well that intense, pale face with a copper-bright lock of hair escaping from the cap. His heart leaped, and he remembered the feel of her small, soft hand in his. She speaks like a lady; her hands are soft and manicured. What is she doing here? Why is she a serving maid? Questions reeled in his head.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Dazed, David blinked up at the footman who served the fruit compote, then discreetly slipped a piece of paper into his hand and moved on.

  David excused himself politely and left the table. Once in the hall, he read the note. Meet me at the servant’s entrance immediately. No signature. He burned with curiosity as he hurried along the hallway. How very odd. Was it Rosella? No, she would never step foot near the servant’s door. Lucinda, perhaps? David reached the back hallway. In the dim light he could see a figure in the shadows.

  A frail little woman stepped forward to greet him. “Thank you for coming. I apologize, but this is a desperate situation. I have no one else to turn to, and they say you are a just man.” The woman bowed her head. “My name is Pearl. Lucinda told me that you brought her from town this afternoon. I am Rosella’s sister.”

  “Rosella’s sister? I can assure you, madam, all between us has been most proper in every respect.”

  “I am in no way suggesting otherwise,
Mr. Morgan.”

  “Then may I inquire how it is that you know Lucinda?”

  “All I can say at this moment is that I am Lucinda’s friend. I apologize for taking you from dinner, but time is of the essence. You are a stranger to me and Lucinda, but I understand you are well thought of by the judge and my sister. Lucinda is in danger, and I am helpless to do anything.”

  David came to full attention. “Danger? How? She arrived not two hours ago.”

  “The story is long and tragic. I shall try to give you only the briefest details. Please understand, sir, that Lucinda knows nothing of what I am about to tell you. For years, I thought it best she never know. Now my deceit could cost Lucinda her life.”

  She took a breath and hurried on. “Rosella and Marshall had a daughter, a beautiful child named Meghan that Marshall was so taken with he failed to give Rosella the attention she demanded.”

  The frail woman looked stricken. “Twenty years ago today, at Rosella’s insistence, I secretly spirited that child away to New York to a wealthy family who was desperate for a child. The couple paid a huge sum of money for her. They made Rosella a rich woman, so rich she didn’t mind not knowing any details of the transaction. I became nanny to that child, Meghan. The couple renamed her Lucinda. As she grew, she looked more and more like Rosella. Certainly you have noticed the strong resemblance. Twelve years ago, the family moved to Chicago, and for Lucinda’s safety, I told them the truth. It frightened them, so they took Lucinda to England. She married the earl of Northland, and just over a year ago, he died. Lucinda and her parents returned to Chicago.”

  Pearl paused and wiped the tears streaming over her cheeks. She hastily summed up the story of the fire and Lucinda’s financial situation. “Left with nothing, Lucinda chose to make a new beginning. Do you understand the danger of her being here? If my sister recognizes her …” She looked up, pure terror reflected in her eyes.

  David stared. He most certainly understood the peril. If Rosella so willingly sold her child, then how far would she go to keep her secret? “What do you want from me?”

  “I have no plan, sir. But Rosella is no fool. Even disguised in that horrid uniform, Lucinda’s identity will be obvious. Rosella loves Marshall, but she is beauty to his beast. She will not allow anyone or anything to come before her. Lucinda inherited her mother’s great beauty, and Rosella will make certain Marshall does not see his daughter. Ever.”

  Icy fingers of dread squeezed David’s heart. The torment hiding in the judge’s eyes finally made sense. So did the melodrama Rosella had staged on this date every year since he had known her. David’s first inclination was to dash into the serving pantry, grab up Lucinda, and flee far and fast.

  He spoke in an urgent whisper. “A new storm has begun. I can’t take her away tonight without someplace to go. So how do we keep her hidden until morning?” David chastised himself. Ordinarily he could solve any predicament with a logical plan. But he had never faced a problem of this magnitude. His thoughts tumbled over each other and refused to be ordered.

  Pearl’s look told him she had no answers. “You must get back, now.” She touched his arm before she scurried along the hall and disappeared through the fanning doors.

  David started back to the dining room, his mind churning. What if the judge wasn’t as drunk as he pretended? David was a successful lawyer because he seemed to have a sixth sense. Maybe he felt the unrest in the house. He had been uneasy all evening but had chosen to ignore it. Now he had to get Lucinda hidden. But where? How?

  Entering the dining room through the serving door, he returned to his seat. At the end of the table, the judge was deep in conversation; he didn’t look up, but David had the distinct feeling he had been missed. His dinner partner immediately turned to him and launched into a new story as though he’d never left. David glanced toward the drawing room. Please, Rosella, don’t come through those doors.

  Lucinda spotted David halfway along the table, sitting with a coquettish older woman who never seemed to stop talking even while eating. The princeliest man at the table, David had on a beautifully tailored tuxedo that showed his broad shoulders to their best advantage. Though Lucinda tried subtly to attract his attention, he seemed unaware of her efforts. His faraway look told her that his thoughts were elsewhere. Reluctant to leave, she picked up a tureen and backed through the door to the hall, only to bump into Molly. “Lucy, you best get a run on. Cook’s screaming for your scalp.” She rolled her eyes.

  Lucinda rushed toward the kitchen, the aromas of food filling the hall. Unexpectedly, hunger overwhelmed her. Her knees started to buckle; she caught her balance against the wall inside the fanning doors. In a lightheaded moment, she saw herself seated as David’s dinner partner. Felt his eyes warm and loving as he lifted a spoon of soup to her lips. Their gazes linked and the warm soup trickled onto her tongue …

  “You, be quick with this platter of lamb!” Mrs. Kidd screeched, shattering Lucinda’s dream. She deposited the tureen on the mountain of dirty dishes and, under Mrs. Kidd’s eagle eye, raced to lift the enormous silver platter. Concentrating, Lucinda picked up the platter without sending the slightest shimmer through the delicate rope of mint jelly decorating its edges. She caught the cook’s slight smile of approval.

  “Now hurry along,” Mrs. Kidd added in a much kinder voice, but Lucinda had already cleared the top of the stairs, rushing as fast as her burden allowed toward the dining room. There, David waited to be served. And after dinner they would meet. Quivers of anticipation lightened her spirits.

  Chapter 6

  Mr. Button took the tray from Lucinda. “That will be all in the dining room tonight, Lucy. Molly will show you the way to the card room. Polish the furniture one last time. Then see that the tables are prepared for playing whist.” He looked hard at her. “You know about whist?”

  Lucinda curtsied. “Yes, Mr. Button,” she said and groaned silently. She hadn’t eaten since this morning, but there was no mention of food. She remembered those who had served her so faithfully and lamented that she had been raised to think of servants as having few needs. When she was again in a position to be served, she vowed to be a different mistress.

  While she polished the Chippendale tea table until it gleamed in the candlelight, she thought of David. How, when, where would they meet? She placed whist cards and score sheets on each of the five gaming tables and arranged the chairs into more suitable conversation groupings. She surveyed her handiwork and, satisfied that all was in readiness, pulled the bell cord that signaled Mrs. Kidd in the kitchen. Soon Molly arrived with a Sheffield tray of teacups and a heavy silver teapot. She dashed back to the kitchen, leaving Lucinda to set out the tea service. That done, she scanned the room once more. Numerous candelabra and wall sconces cast a warm glow over the brocades and velvets, all in shades of golden peach. The fire in the large marble fireplace burned in silent and smokeless perfection. The slight fragrance of oriental incense added a hint of mystery. Everything was as ready as she knew how to make it.

  In the Florentine mirror, Lucinda reviewed her appearance and looked carefully at her apron to be sure it was still clean. At least she had been allowed to wear her blue wool dress instead of a gray, shapeless maid’s frock. She tucked the stubborn lock of copper hair under the giant mushroom cap and made sure her hidden necklace didn’t show. Satisfied she was presentable, she turned from the mirror. Were those lights in the lane? Mistress Tillotson’s coach perhaps?

  Hurrying to the window, she pulled aside heavy lace curtains and stared into the dark. Oh my, that coach is having a sorry time in this snow and wind. The coach and four, battered by the storm, drew up before the house. Down from the driver’s box vaulted a dark figure carrying a ship’s lantern to light the way. He leaned into the wind and struggled to reach the broad front steps of the baronial house.

  Disregarding the driving snow, a woman called from the coach window. “Button! Where are you? Is there no one to answer the door?” Her voice shrilled above the wind.r />
  The staff was busy serving dessert, so Lucinda went to answer the summons. She had survived dinner without being thrown out with the chickens. Could she now please a mistress who came late and screamed for assistance? She set her face in a smile and, with quick, efficient steps, hurried down the stairway to the front door. All the while the mistress was caterwauling at the top of her lungs.

  Lucinda held the oversized door open enough to see the footman leap from the box. He opened and steadied the coach door against the wind. A second footman lifted Rosella Tillotson from inside the coach. Carrying her, he staggered against the driving snow and deposited her at the top of the steps.

  Judge Tillotson came hurrying down the hall and pulled the door wide open. The wind swept inside, blowing out the lamps and casting everything in darkness. Stepping into the doorway, the man with the lantern held it high to furnish light. The judge braved the storm and stepped outside to meet his wife. The wind flapped the tails of his long black coat and rearranged his cravat and hair. Mistress Tillotson, standing erect and as tall as her husband, presented her cheek for his kiss. His lips brushed the general vicinity as he reached to take her arm. She pushed him away.

  His expression remained pleasant, but Lucinda noticed a muscle working along his jaw. He ushered Rosella into the foyer, but it was so shadowed Lucinda could see little of the large woman except for a square chin under the bill of the bonnet.

  David came striding along the dark hallway with Mr. Button and Molly at his heels. Immediately, the butler ordered the candles in the wall sconces relit. He looked straight at Lucinda.

  David stepped beside her. “I’ll show her where the safety matches are, Mr. Button.” With the briefest of nods at David, Button turned his full attention to the Tillotsons.

  Taking Lucinda’s arm, David set a breathtaking pace down the hallway and into the dimly lit drawing room. He sat her in a large wing-backed chair facing the fireplace. “Stay here while I take the matches to Button.” And he was gone.