by Megan Chance
Her answering smile was sour. “How wonderful.”
That night in the carriage, Nathan said, “You must try to do better, Ginny.”
“I am trying,” I said. “But they all look at me as if I’m the devil himself. Mrs. Wilcox’s cut—”
“Try harder. Perhaps you should pay a call on her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nathan. She wouldn’t admit me. It would only be one more humiliation. Haven’t I been humiliated enough?”
“We’ve all had to make sacrifices. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be more repentant.”
“More repentant? What should I do? Genuflect in the streets?” I stared out the carriage window at the passing streetlamps and whispered miserably, “I’ve done everything I can to appear contrite. It’s not enough for them.”
“To appear contrite,” he repeated. “Perhaps that’s the problem. Perhaps we all recognize that you don’t truly mean it.”
Bitterly, I said, “I do mean it. But they would not be happy until I was whipped and pilloried before their eyes.”
He was quiet. The carriage jostled over the roads, the lights passed over his face and then fell into darkness, and I could not see his expression.
“These people … They don’t want to like me, and so they won’t. I haven’t met anyone who even cares to make the attempt.”
“Remember who you are, Geneva,” he said impatiently. “Use your charm.”
“They seem immune to it. Perhaps they’ll never forgive me. What would you do then, Nathan?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?” he said.
The invitation to the Stebbings’ spring ball came the next afternoon. Two days later, Nathan told me that the territorial governor had telegraphed his intention to be in Seattle on that date, and that he would also be at the Stebbings’ ball. Suddenly the occasion was much more than a simple supper with dancing to follow, and my behavior was to be more important than ever—if that were possible.
The night of the ball, I was nervous; not only was the territorial governor to be there, but also the Dennys. They had refused my dinner invitation, but I had not yet seen them in company, and I still had some hope that they might find me acceptable. I dressed with considerable care, trying to look dignified without looking severe, in a washed silk gown of deep topaz.
The carriage ride was silent, but when we pulled to a stop before the Stebbings’, Nathan said, “Remember what you must do, Geneva.”
As if I didn’t think about it nearly every moment.
We were ushered quickly in, not the last to arrive, but still later than most. Governor Semple held court in the parlor. He was just now surrounded by several people, Mr. Stebbing among them. Nathan made no attempt to have me introduced to the governor but got me a glass of sherry and became immediately embroiled in some conversation about city politics. I listened until there was no more sherry in my glass, and then I caught sight of Mrs. Stebbing speaking with a woman who I thought might be Mrs. Denny. I put the glass aside and started in that direction, but a man I’d never seen before stepped in my way so suddenly I nearly fell into him. He caught my arm to steady me.
“Please excuse me!” he said with a jovial smile. His dark hair was cut short; a bushy mustache covered his upper lip. “Tell me I didn’t step on you.”
“Not at all,” I told him.
“Thank God for that. I was searching for my wife when the tide apparently shifted. Now, I fear, she’s lost.”
“One would think it not easy to do in a house so small,” I said.
“Small, yes, but every inch seems to be filled.” He gave me a slight bow. “I don’t think we’ve met. Let me amend the error. James Reading.”
I offered my hand. “Geneva Langley.”
He looked surprised. “Ah! So you’re the beauteous Mrs. Langley. The talk of the town, I hear.”
“I hope to live long enough that such a thing is no longer true.”
“I hope you come from a long-lived line then,” he said. His smile was charming, broad and even.
I laughed; he was the closest thing I’d yet found to someone of my own kind. “Where do you come from, Mr. Reading? Please tell me you’re not just a visitor here.”
“My wife and I are residents, much to my dismay. Came up from San Francisco three years ago.”
“Three years? How have you managed to survive so long?”
“Bourbon, mostly,” he said, and then, when I laughed again, “society tolerates me well enough. It helps that I’m with the water company. No one wants to die of thirst.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible to do in this town. Surely all one has to do is go outside and open one’s mouth.”
Just then a little woman in russet pushed up beside us, wrapping her hands around Mr. Reading’s arm. “Mr. Reading, there you are! I’d quite lost you in the crowd.” Her fine dark eyes shifted to me. “Tell me you haven’t been boring this lovely lady.”
“On the contrary!” I exclaimed.
Mr. Reading said, “Mrs. Langley has been keeping me entertained while I searched for you. Mrs. Langley, this is my wife, Martha Reading.”
Mrs. Reading gave me a friendly look. “I’m certain she’s too well bred to complain of you. Please, Mrs. Langley, you really must feel free to scold him for all his theater talk. He’s really most single-minded.”
“We have not yet broached the topic of the theater, madam,” Mr. Reading said with mock outrage. “But I assume you share my love of it, Mrs. Langley, given the talk.”
“Oh yes. I would go every night if I could. Do you attend often, Mr. Reading? Are you a critic? Apart from your water duties?”
“A critic? Good Lord, no, no. An actor, morelike.”
“A temporary actor,” Mrs. Reading corrected. “James has taken up with the Willis troupe at the Palace just now. He’s hired them to act with him in Julius Caesar.”
I said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You hired them to act with you?”
Mr. Reading nodded. “To tutor me in acting. I’d always fancied the stage, but unfortunately, the siren call of business—and my father—was too difficult to ignore. The Willis troupe has been kind to give me an opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream.”
“For a fee,” Mrs. Reading put in.
“Well, yes, yes. But they’ve been most obliging. I shall be playing Brutus at the Palace in a few weeks. I would be most gratified if you would come, Mrs. Langley.”
I’d never heard of such a thing. Even in Chicago, no one I knew had gone slumming with an acting troupe. I admired Mr. Reading immensely for it and was intrigued as well. “I would be delighted to attend, Mr. Reading.”
Mrs. Reading said, “How nice for you, James! But you mustn’t be too kind, Mrs. Langley. I fear only that would dissuade him from continuing on.”
I laughed. “I feel I should praise you for the attempt alone.”
“As long as you’re honest, ma’am. God knows there’s little enough of that in the world. Now that you’ve seen fit to grace our little town, Mrs. Langley, I do hope you mean to turn it on its ear.”
I shook my head reluctantly. “I’ve been warned I should not.”
He leaned close, lowering his voice to whisper, “One should not allow dragons like Mrs. Wilcox to get the best of one, you know.”
“Unfortunately that seems a difficult undertaking. I am a stranger here, and I wish not to be. It means I must follow more shoulds than I like.”
Mrs. Reading sighed. “It is a pity Mrs. Wilcox has so much influence. I find you delightful.”
“Tell me, Mrs. Langley—is it true what they say, that you kept a quite famous salon in Chicago?” Mr. Reading asked.
Wistfully, I said, “It was very well attended.”
“Do you intend to continue it here?”
“No, I think not. Much as I wish it otherwise.”
“You should not let them stop you,” he said. “They control too much of the city as it is.”
Mrs. Reading
leaned forward, her plump face etched with compassion. “He’s right, I’m afraid. Do you know, Mrs. Langley—and I mean this in the best possible way, you understand—I believe it would be best if you not try to placate those who cannot be pleased and simply … be as you are.”
Her kindness, the sentiment, the hope she raised … I remembered Nathan’s words from the other night. Remember who you are, Geneva. Though he had not meant it the same way. I said simply, “I wish I could.”
“You will consider the salon, then?” Mr. Reading asked.
“Assuming I did start it, Mr. Reading, who would even attend?”
Mr. Reading said, “We would. And I am quite certain there are others who would welcome the opportunity.”
“Welcome what opportunity, my dear?” Nathan was suddenly at my shoulder. He said hello to the Readings, then leaned close to say, “They’re calling us to dinner. This way.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” I said to Mr. and Mrs. Reading before Nathan led me away, and it was the most sincere thing I’d said in weeks. The few moments I’d spent in their company had been like breathing again. As we went to the dining room, Nathan said, “Ginny, there are twenty people here at least it would be better for you to meet. Trust you to land in a conversation with James Reading.”
I glanced at him. “He isn’t … inappropriate?”
“Inappropriate? No. But he is unconventional. People were watching. It can’t have done you good.”
“Do you know he’s paid a troupe to rehearse a play with him? He’s always wanted to be an actor.”
“He’s a laughingstock, is what he is,” Nathan said shortly. “The perfect example of what happens to a fool and his money.”
“Perhaps.” I could not help sounding wistful. “But it’s a clever idea. I don’t know why I never thought to do it myself when I was in Chicago.”
He gave me a look that made me wish I’d said nothing. In fact, I wished James Reading had never told me of it. Because all I heard the rest of the night was his laughter, and the things he’d said danced in my head, and I knew I was not done with them, and was afraid of myself, of the things I wanted, of everything I could no longer have.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Nathan seemed strangely thoughtful. We sat silently at breakfast, but his gaze rested on me now and again as if something troubled him, and finally I put down my coffee and said, “Was it so bad last night, do you think? I … I didn’t realize the Readings were … well, I didn’t realize. It’s a pity, you know. They’re the first people I’ve met here that I actually enjoy.”
“I had a visit from a playwright yesterday afternoon,” Nathan said abruptly.
I blinked in confusion. “A … what?”
“A playwright. I had not wanted to mention it last night, what with the ball, and the governor, but yes, a playwright came to my office. DeWitt, I think his name was. Yes, that was it. Sebastian DeWitt. Have you heard of him?”
“Sebastian DeWitt? No, I don’t think so. Why ever did a playwright come to see you?”
“Because I’ve invested in the Regal Theater.”
I stared at him in surprise. “You invested in a theater?”
“I was looking for opportunities, and the Regal was suggested to me. It’s a popular theater and a good return for my money.”
“And that’s all you care about, the money,” I said bitterly.
He gave me an impatient look. “Your father doesn’t buy art just because he likes it, Ginny. It’s also a good investment.”
“He’s not quite so mercenary as that. And unlike you, he doesn’t care what people think.”
“Don’t deceive yourself. And people understand a good investment, art or no.” He sighed. “In any case, I thought you’d be pleased. It is art, of a sort.”
“I thought you cared nothing for art anymore.”
“It’s not that I care nothing for it so much as I care nothing for how foolish you make yourself over it.”
“You once thought my enthusiasm fascinating.”
“I once thought toy soldiers so as well. But eventually one must put aside childish things.”
I was wounded. But I reminded myself of my purpose, my vows, and I managed to keep my voice even as I said, “Why are you telling me all this, Nathan? What has your theater to do with me?”
“The playwright,” he said. “I mentioned him for a reason. He came to me with a play he wanted me to buy. Apparently the manager at the Regal is interested but has no ready cash.”
“And you do.”
Nathan nodded. “DeWitt did his research, I’ll give him that. Few enough people know of my involvement there.”
Carefully, because I wasn’t certain what Nathan wanted from me, I said, “A play. How interesting.”
“Yes. Interesting.” My husband’s tone was dry. “And if it proves to make money, it would be more interesting still. I thought perhaps you would take a look at it. You have an incomparable eye for this sort of thing, and I’m too busy just now to read it. I need you to advise me whether my money would be well spent.”
I felt a surge of excitement. Still, I was cautious. “Why, yes, of course. You know I’d be more than happy to read it.”
“It could be drivel,” Nathan warned.
“Even so. It’s something better than sitting here staring out the windows all day.”
A quick glance, though he made no comment. “I’ve invited him to dinner here tonight to discuss it.”
A playwright. To dinner. “Tonight? Oh … then … well, I’ve so much to do—”
“Try to contain yourself, Ginny,” Nathan said. “Remember what I need from you. This isn’t an invitation to return to your Chicago ways. I thought you would enjoy this, and I value your opinion when it comes to art. I’m trusting you won’t embarrass me. He’s poor as a church mouse, and he could use a good tailor. Just your kind, so don’t think I haven’t considered whether it would be wise for you to meet him at all.”
He’d worded it just precisely enough that I was ashamed. “Nathan, please. Have I not been on my best behavior these last months? Have I done anything the least bit untoward? Deliberately, I mean.”
Nathan hesitated. “Perhaps this is a mistake.”
“How could it be? It’s only dinner, isn’t it? You’ll be there, and I’ll meet him and read his play and tell you what I think. No one can complain of it.”
He considered me, and finally he nodded and put aside the newspaper. “Very well. I’ll be home at my usual time. I’ve told him to come at seven.” He rose, tossing his napkin to his chair. “Don’t make a pet of him, Ginny.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Once Nathan left for the office, I was in a flurry of anticipation. I told myself that any playwright of worth wouldn’t be in Seattle. I told myself I would be lucky if he had a shred of talent. This could simply be a waste of time, one more pedestrian poet angling for a patron. I had known some like that in Chicago. Poor intellects, worse conversationalists. Only opportunists. Why should I think this Sebastian DeWitt would be anything different?
Still, I called in the cook and changed the menu for the evening. Still, I spent some time considering what would be the best gown to wear. This was no member of Seattle society; there was no need for the more sedate fashions they required. And so I chose one of my favorites, an off-the-shoulder gown in burgundy silk, with a low décolletage, heavy with gold and black embroidery. I wore rubies like plump tears and was satisfied with how their color set off my pale skin and dark eyes. If nothing else, I would measure this man by his reaction to my appearance. I smiled a little as I remembered all the little gallantries, men stumbling over themselves vying for my favor. Was it so bad to admit how much I missed the attention?
I was ready far too early, and all the rest was impatience. I paced, I tried to read, I watched the clock and its slow count of the seconds. I checked the table settings; I went into the kitchen to be certain the cook was not spoiling the beef bourg
uignon and that the Nesselrode pudding was chilling. I checked the decanters in the parlor—all full: sherry, port, bourbon, and scotch. A bottle of absinthe, for which I had the maid bring ice water and sugar.
I expected Nathan by six; by six-thirty, he still had not returned home. I stared out the window over the haphazard lay of the city as the sun set, the Olympic mountains on the other side of the Sound fading into deep blue shadows against pink and gold and then disappearing altogether into the empty darkness beyond the haze of the streetlamps. I wondered if he’d forgotten. I wondered if perhaps the dinner had been canceled and he’d neglected to tell me. Six-forty-five, and twilight, and still no Nathan. Then, promptly at seven, there was a knock on the door. Sebastian DeWitt. I felt a little stab of excitement, and worry too, because I could not imagine Nathan meant for me to receive him alone.
But I’d received far more important men alone, and there was the maid, and … I hated that I must think of this. For God’s sake, I intended nothing untoward; what did it matter?
Still, as I heard Bonnie go to the door, murmured talk, I crossed my arms and stared out the window, willing Nathan’s carriage—this was unlike him, to be so late. An hour past his usual time. Undoubtedly something had happened to keep him.
I heard the footsteps down the hall, the pause at the parlor.
Bonnie said, “Mr. DeWitt, ma’am.”
I turned from the window, and when I saw the man standing behind her, I forgot Nathan and everything else.
Sebastian DeWitt was a lean, clean-shaven man with longish dark hair and pale eyes. He was attractive in an underfed way, but more important, he had that muse-driven confidence I recognized. I’d seen it enough in those who’d come to my salon, and his frock coat, which was not in fashion and very worn, only emphasized it. He reminded me immediately of Claude; he had that air about him, whether studied or not, that said art was the only thing that mattered. I was fascinated by him already.
I smiled and held out my hands. “Mr. DeWitt! You are very welcome.”