That he did. No doubt those powers of observation would serve Jacob well when he became primus, but in the meantime, they were just as likely to get him into trouble. “I will try,” Jeremiah replied.
Emma nodded, and an uneasy silence fell. Jeremiah hoped that she had let the matter of Danica go, for his sister seemed to have been sidetracked by the discussion about their brother Samuel. But then she said, “I wonder now that I did not see it, for she did have something of our look about her. But of course I would have had no reason to think of such a thing.”
Perhaps Jeremiah might have wondered the same thing himself. However, there were many dark-haired women in the world, even ones with tresses as coal-dark as Danica’s had been.
Including the woman he had seen entering the San Francisco Hotel. Everything about her, from the jaunty black-plumed hat on her head to the merest peep of the shiny black boots beneath her skirts, spoke of someone with a good deal of wealth. What was such a woman doing, traveling alone? Surely she must know that she would be a target for the sorts of predatory men who would not scruple at making her their prey.
Then again, something about the glint of her eyes and the curve of her mouth seemed to indicate that she would spot such mountebanks from a mile away.
“You’re doing it again,” Emma remarked as she retrieved her teacup.
“Woolgathering?”
“I’m afraid so.”
At that point, all Jeremiah could do was shrug. He certainly would not tell her about the woman he had seen, for doing so would only make Emma smile sadly and then tell him that he should get the stranger out of his mind as best he could.
Unfortunately, he feared it would not be quite that easy.
Josie had many qualities that made her an excellent lady’s maid, including a deft hand with the curling iron and an almost mystical ability to remove the most stubborn of stains from a silk gown. However, Lorena thought that perhaps her maid’s most valuable asset was her ability to extract the most amazing amounts of information from the most taciturn people, which was why she’d sent Josie forth with the innocent request that the girl discover something of the town where they would be spending the next few days…and of the dark-haired man who had stood on the porch outside the hotel.
Left to her own devices for a time, Lorena mulled over the two dinner gowns that had been laid out for her and attempted to determine which would be most appropriate for dining alone in the hotel’s restaurant — for while she wanted to appear fashionable, she also did not want to give the impression that she was at all approachable. Too many men saw a woman sitting by herself as something to be conquered, rather like climbing a mountain or setting their flag in an undiscovered piece of land. She had had plenty of time to become used to her solitary existence, and although she hoped she would not spend the rest of her life alone, neither did she want to encourage the wrong sort of person.
She had no idea whether the man she had seen earlier that afternoon was the right sort of person, of course. But there was something deliciously attractive about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Certainly she’d never met anyone who looked like him back in New York, or in San Francisco…or in any of the places she’d traveled in between.
After being gone for a scant half hour, Josie returned, blue eyes sparkling. She closed the door behind her and shot her mistress a pleased smile.
“Well,” Lorena said, “from the look on your face, I would guess that your expedition was successful. But here — I am still not sure what is best for dinner. The striped black silk? Or the blue damask?”
“The black,” Josie replied immediately. “For your first dinner here, I think it is better to wear something more subdued. And it also may make people wonder whether you are still in mourning.”
At first Lorena was not sure that was such a good thing. But then she lifted her shoulders and said, “You are probably right. It is better to be modest at first, to take in the lay of the land.”
“Exactly.” Josie waited for Lorena to take a seat in front of the dressing table, so she might begin to pile her mistress’ hair on her head in an elaborate evening coiffure. Then, as if she could not wait any longer, she said in a rush, “His name is Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox, and he is one of the richest men in town.”
“Indeed?” Lorena opened her jewel case and began sorting through the pieces inside. But although she wished to appear casual, she could not keep her heart from beating a little faster at the news. So her instincts had been right. This Jeremiah Wilcox had about him the air of someone comfortable with his affluence, even if she doubted he was at quite the same level of society as her circle of acquaintances in New York, or even in San Francisco.
“Yes,” Josie said, casually but deftly braiding Lorena’s hair. “His family owns a great deal of land around town — they supply lumber for the mill, and also own sheep and cattle ranches as well.”
“His family?” Lorena queried. She had passed by him so quickly that she hadn’t been able to determine whether he wore a ring on his left hand or not. But surely such a fine-looking man — and one of some years, as she surmised he must be in his mid-thirties, or a bit older — had to have a wife.
“He and his brothers. There are three brothers, and a brother-in-law. They all have grand houses built side by side over on Leroux Street.”
“Indeed?” Perhaps she would have to invent an excuse to take a stroll down Leroux Street. Such a ploy might seem terribly transparent, but Lorena could not think of a better way to put herself in Jeremiah Wilcox’s path. It was not as if they had any shared acquaintances, and so might meet at a supper party or a dance. Then she wanted to laugh at herself. Only a few hours in town, and she was already plotting how she might insinuate herself into this man’s world. Such behavior was most unlike her. She’d always been the pursued, not the pursuer.
Then again, there was something strangely hypnotic about him, even after such a passing glimpse. And that one murmured “ma’am,” just enough to tell her that his voice was warm and low and deep. Quite the voice one might want to hear whispering endearments….
Somehow she managed to shake off that entrancing vision so she might focus on what Josie was saying.
“…and they all have quite large families, although not Mr. Wilcox himself. He has only the one son, for he is a widower.”
Lorena knew she should be ashamed of herself at the relief that flooded through her at that particular revelation. Certainly it was very unChristian to be pleased that another woman had passed away, just so her husband might be unattached, and available.
She was spared from having to comment, however, for Josie forged ahead, remarking in somewhat awed tones, “A widower four times! Why, it is quite the talk, how unlucky Mr. Wilcox is with his wives.”
Yes, that would be quite unlucky, to have buried four wives. “That is…rather extraordinary,” Lorena allowed, not sure she could trust herself to say more than that.
“Most extraordinary,” Josie agreed. “There was some talk of him and the schoolmistress last autumn, apparently, but it all came to nothing, for she ran off with Mr. Robert Rowe, and — ”
“Who on earth is Robert Rowe?”
Josie’s shoulders lifted, but she did not pause as she slipped another hairpin into a braid, securing it firmly in place. “Someone who came to town to buy land or some such. No one knew him. But he and the schoolmistress disappeared at the same time.”
Obviously, the whole matter must have been quite the scandal, or people wouldn’t still be gossiping about it a year later. Then again, for all that Flagstaff had grown quite a bit in the recent past — according to what Lorena had read in the papers, at any rate — it was still quite a small town, with not much more than its spectacular scenery to recommend it. There would be no social whirl here, with the accompanying whispers about who had taken a new mistress and who might be headed toward a scandalous divorce.
“Well, if she disappeared, then it would seem she is no concern of m
ine,” Lorena said, then lifted an enamel and pearl earring to one ear, and a diamond filigree piece to the other. The diamond earrings had been a gift from Walter on their second anniversary and she loved them, but perhaps they were a bit much for the restaurant at the Hotel San Francisco. Not quite sighing, she set down the diamond and took up the mate to the enamel and pearl earring, and slipped it into her ear.
“But it seems Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox is?” Josie asked, quite pertly, Lorena thought. But then, they had been sharing confidences for several years now. Josie knew her deepest secrets, and would never betray her.
“Only as a diversion,” Lorena replied calmly. “I had already intended to stay a few days here, so it can hardly be anything other than that. But I see nothing wrong in a bit of harmless flirtation — if such a thing can be arranged, of course.”
“Of course,” Josie said, but her eyes danced. Clearly, she had already begun to spin scenarios in her head, scenarios where her mistress and the famous Mr. Wilcox might be compelled to cross paths.
Lorena could not rebuke her for that — after all, she had done rather the same thing herself. And while it was somewhat unusual for a man of his age to have buried four wives, it was not so terribly strange, either. Life must be harder out here on the frontier, and good doctors scarce. Women had to take such terrible risks, after all. She knew that as well as anyone else.
It was good, though, that this Jeremiah Wilcox had a son. After the doctor’s final visit, when he had declared that she was as healed as she would be from the carriage accident, Lorena had confessed the terrible truth to her mother, whereupon Madeleine Sims had said stoutly, “Well, then, my dear, you must look to a man who has already been married, and has children of his own. Then perhaps he will not find you so terribly lacking.”
At the time, Lorena had only nodded, for she knew her mother was merely attempting to be practical. Inwardly, though, past the hurt and the grief, she had experienced a brief, sharp flare of anger.
Was her worth only to be measured in her ability to bear a child?
3
Jeremiah found himself at loose ends that evening, for it was his nephew Clay’s birthday that day. Clay was Samuel’s son, which meant Jeremiah had no desire to spend the evening in his brother’s house, pretending to be civil. He would never prevent Jacob from attending his cousin’s party, but he saw no reason to be there himself, Emma’s words notwithstanding. Besides, he had never been one for children’s games and amusements; while he was glad enough that his nieces and nephews were able to enjoy themselves, he could never unbend enough to take part in their frivolities.
So he had made his excuses to Grace, Samuel’s wife, and sent Jacob over to their house for supper. To be perfectly honest, Jacob hadn’t seemed terribly eager to go, either; he was not overly fond of Clay, who was loud and boisterous and rough and tumble, all the things Jacob was most certainly not. However, Jeremiah had told his son he must go, and take his cousin his birthday gift. Perhaps there had been some defiance in the flash Jeremiah glimpsed in his son’s eyes, but Jacob knew better than to refuse his father’s wishes. Accompanied by his nanny, he’d left the house with his brown paper–covered package, tied with a blue ribbon, and headed reluctantly toward Samuel’s house.
The cook would have prepared supper for one, if Jeremiah had ordered it, but he found he had little inclination for such a lonely meal. From time to time, because of circumstances like this evening’s birthday party, he had eaten at the restaurant at the Hotel San Francisco, where he could sit at the bar with the other unattached men and pretend there was nothing so strange about taking his meal in such a solitary fashion, and that seemed the best solution now.
He did not quite wish to admit to himself that some of his desire to go to the restaurant had to do with a certain black-haired stranger in a wine-colored bustle dress.
If she would even be there. Times were changing, and it wasn’t quite as scandalous for a woman to be seen eating alone as it might have been once upon a time, but still — she was a stranger in a new place, and it was quite possible that she would decide to take her meals on a tray in her room, hiding herself away until it was time for her to get on the train again and head to her final destination.
Jeremiah entered the hotel’s lobby, taking off his hat as he did so. The clerk at the front desk nodded at him and said, “Good evening, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Good evening, Harold,” Jeremiah returned, but he did not stop to exchange any pleasantries beyond that.
From the dining room came the clink of glassware and the low murmur of voices. It being a Friday evening, the dining room appeared to be quite crowded, those in Flagstaff’s polite society who could afford a meal at a restaurant filling the tables. The maître d’ was not at his usual post by the door, and Jeremiah immediately saw why — he was off at the far end of the room, seating Mr. Brannen, owner of the general store, and his wife at a coveted corner table.
As Jeremiah’s gaze tracked the room, it came to a sudden halt. There she was, seated at a table for two next to the wall, her slender form partly hidden by a large parlor palm. But he could still glimpse the raven-dark gleam of her hair, the elegant outline of her neck and chin.
For a long moment, he hesitated. Although Flagstaff was certainly not New York or even San Francisco, where such a thing would be unthinkable, still it would be quite out of the ordinary for a man to approach a woman to whom he had not been previously introduced. Those sorts of niceties were certainly what must have protected the woman so far; Jeremiah saw several of the men seated at the bar sending her surreptitious glances, although none of them appeared quite ready to make his approach.
That settled it. He could not rely on those scruples to leave her unmolested forever, and he did not wish for another man to get his chance first.
Assuming, of course, that she did not politely rebuff him the second he approached her table.
He recalled the way she had smiled at him earlier that afternoon. Surely a woman would not bestow such a smile upon a man unless she had some interest of her own. Unless he was utterly deluded, he thought he had seen more than simple politeness in that smile.
Thus resolved, he straightened his shoulders and walked over to her table, assured as if they had already set up an assignation. That is, he hoped he looked assured. Inwardly, he was already planning how he would make a dignified exit if she should tell him he had no right to approach her in such a way.
Dark eyes glinted at him as she looked up from the menu she held. For one painful second, he was sure she was about to reproach him, or perhaps call over to the maître d’ to have him removed. But then there came that smile again, accompanied by the flash of a dimple in the creamy skin of her cheek.
Feeling encouraged, Jeremiah said, “Forgive me, ma’am — I couldn’t help but notice that you are dining alone. Would you like some company?”
“I would,” she replied, still smiling. “If you will not think that too forward of me. Traveling necessitates such solitary pastimes, I fear, enough that I am willing to put aside society’s expectations.”
Her voice was sweet, but low-pitched as well, the sort of voice that might awaken heat in a man’s blood. Cultured, too — the women of his own family spoke in such a way, with their eastern upbringing, but he detected more than merely a New England pedigree in her tones. Judging by the costliness of her silken gown and the earrings of black enamel and gold and pearl she wore, she came from money. Most likely, a lot of money.
Then he spied the gold ring on her left hand. Disappointment coursed through him, but he made himself offer a smile in return. “I do not think it forward at all, Mrs. — ”
“Mrs. Simms,” she said. “Mrs. Walter Simms.”
“Jeremiah Wilcox,” he supplied.
“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Wilcox,” Lorena said. “Do sit down.”
He accepted her invitation and seated himself, although at the same time he couldn’t help but wonder how he might extricate himself from the si
tuation. If only he had thought to look for a wedding ring when he first saw her, but of course she had swept past so quickly that he had no time for such a close inspection. Even then, he did not think he would have spied a ring, for now he seemed to recall that she had been wearing gloves.
One of the busboys hurried over to fill Jeremiah’s water glass. The entire staff knew him by sight, of course, and would hasten to make sure that every need was granted with alacrity. Mrs. Simms was about to experience the very best service the Hotel San Francisco had to offer.
“Your husband does not travel with you, Mrs. Simms?” Jeremiah inquired. Best to get it out in the open as soon as possible.
Some of the light in her eyes dimmed, and she shook her head. “Mr. Simms is no longer with us, I fear. I have been a widow these past five years.”
Terrible to feel relief at her reply, but Jeremiah couldn’t quite help himself. “I am so very sorry,” he murmured.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox.” She reached out to pick up her water glass. On her right hand was a ring that matched her earrings, and a bracelet from what was clearly the same set gleamed on her slender wrist. Yes, it was clear that the widowed Mrs. Simms was not lacking in material wealth. “It has been long enough that I’ve become accustomed to the situation, but it is still not easy.” Pausing there, she gave him a quick glance from beneath her lashes. “And yourself?”
“Much the same, only my son’s mother passed away a little more than eight years ago.” Why precisely he had mentioned Nizhoni’s death, rather than the more recent ones of the two wives who came after her, or the one who had come before Nizhoni, Jeremiah wasn’t entirely certain. The guilt of all those deaths weighed with equal heaviness on him. Perhaps he did not wish to admit to this alluring woman how many times he’d actually been married.
Lorena Simms nodded, her expression sympathetic. Certainly he could see none of the same relief in her that he’d just experienced in himself. But then, it sounded as if she was used to traveling alone. No doubt she had had plenty of time to learn how to guard her reactions, lest she give someone the wrong impression.
The Arrangement (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 10) Page 2