George, the restaurant’s head waiter, approached then. “Good evening, Mr. Wilcox. Have you and your companion made a decision?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance yet to look at today’s menu,” Jeremiah replied. “What do you recommend?”
“The beef tenderloins au jus are very good this evening.” The waiter’s gaze flickered toward Lorena Simms and then back to Jeremiah. Face still neutrally polite, he added, “And I would suggest claret with that.”
“Excellent,” Jeremiah said. “A bottle, Mrs. Simms?”
If he had discomfited her, she did not show it. She inclined her head toward George and said, “I will also have the tenderloins. And yes, Mr. Wilcox, I believe a bottle will do very well.”
Clearly, she was not the sort of woman to be put off by such a gambit. And not a teetotaler, either. He found himself additionally relieved by that revelation. Most of the abstinence-minded women he had met had proved themselves to be quite dreary.
“So what brings you to Flagstaff, Mrs. Simms?” he inquired as George walked away, presumably headed toward the wine cellar.
“Lorena,” she said with a smile. “Let us pretend that we have known each other for years. I do find it so off-putting to have one’s conversation continually peppered with ‘Mr.’ this and ‘Mrs.’ that.”
A woman after his own heart. While he understood the necessity for such niceties, Lorena was right — they did tend to get tedious after a while. “Very well…Lorena. Might I assume that Flagstaff is not your final destination?”
“Yes, you may assume that.” She looked away from him and twisted the golden wedding band on her finger. “I am going to San Francisco for the winter. My family owns a home there. Indeed, before Walter — my late husband — passed away, we had visited each year that we were married. After he was gone, I found I did not have much stomach for travel. But the New York winters have begun to wear on me, and so I told myself that this year I must go. It was time for a change of scenery.”
Her voice was steady enough, but Jeremiah could see how she didn’t quite meet his gaze as she spoke of her husband, of the plans they had made. That was always the hardest part, he thought. To have dreamed of what the future might hold, only to have it taken away forever.
Voice gentle, he said, “I have heard the winters in San Francisco can be quite mild.”
“Have you been?”
“I fear not. When I traveled west with my family, I had thought we might go on to California. But the train stopped in Flagstaff, and we all found it so beautiful that we decided to make our home here.”
“From what little I have seen so far, I must say I agree with you.” This time she did look over at him, expression thoughtful. “It is so wild and free, so very different from New York.”
“That it is.” Even though he and his brothers and sister had been forced from New England, Jeremiah could not say that he missed any of the region’s large cities. Witch-kind tended to avoid those places when possible, preferring the smaller towns of the countryside. Still, business had occasionally compelled him to go to Boston, and the entire family had stopped in New York at the beginning of their journey toward the Arizona Territories. “I hope you will be able to see a little of it before the next train comes through.”
“I had planned to.” She stopped there, for George had arrived with the bottle of claret, holding the bottle so Jeremiah might inspect the label.
He hardly glanced at it, for he knew the waiter would not have brought anything except what he’d promised, a good claret aged some six years. A nod was sufficient, and George pulled the corkscrew from his apron and then skillfully extracted the cork. Immediately afterward, he poured a measure of the ruby liquid into Jeremiah’s glass.
One sip told him the vintage was very good. “Yes, that will do well,” he said.
“Excellent, Mr. Wilcox.” George poured more wine into the glass, then took care of Lorena Simms as well, although her pour was not quite as generous. Then he took himself off after murmuring something about their dinners being out quite soon.
Jeremiah found he was content to wait. For now, it was enough to sit at this table and share the wine with such a beautiful woman. “To seeing the sights,” he said, raising his glass.
Lorena took hers and clinked it gently against his wine glass. “To the sights,” she echoed.
They both drank, Lorena allowing herself only a small sip. Well, perhaps she was being careful. Yes, they were in a public place, certainly nowhere that even a bold man might attempt to take a liberty, but she didn’t know him. It was probably better to be discreet.
Jeremiah surprised himself by saying, “Perhaps you would permit me to show you some of those sights. If you’re amenable, of course.”
To his relief, she did not appear offended by such a bold suggestion. Smiling, she asked, “Are you an expert on those sights, Jeremiah?”
“I have lived here for nearly nine years.”
“Ah, well, I suppose that is a good enough qualification.” She sipped a bit more of her wine, but still sparingly. “Actually, I had thought to stay here over the weekend, even though the next train will be here tomorrow afternoon. Is that enough time to see everything Flagstaff has to offer?”
Was he seeing things that weren’t there, or had he glimpsed just the slightest wicked curve of her mouth as she asked that question? As smoothly as he could, he said, “I suppose that depends on what you want to see, Lorena.”
She chuckled. “I fear I did not bring anything fit for mountain climbing, although those are some beautiful mountains I spied earlier. But the woods do look lovely for walking, and if there is anything in the way of a cultural event….”
It was Jeremiah’s turn to chuckle. “I fear we aren’t much for what you might consider culture here in Flagstaff. Artists travel here to paint the landscape, true, but they take those paintings back to exhibitions in New York and Boston, or even Chicago.” A sudden thought struck him, but he hesitated. Perhaps she would think him far too forward for suggesting such a thing on such a short acquaintance. Then again, what he was considering was probably the closest thing to “culture” that the mountain town currently had to offer. “But tomorrow night is our harvest dance. I’m sure it will be a small thing compared to the balls you must have attended back east, but you might find it worthy of a few hours of diversion.”
“A dance sounds lovely,” she said. “This past summer was the first time I attended any balls since…well, since I went into mourning. But after such a long deprivation, a single season’s worth of dancing was not quite enough to satisfy me. So I would very much enjoy going to this dance of yours.”
There, that had been easy enough. Jeremiah found himself relaxing slightly as he spoke of how they transformed one of the schoolrooms into a chamber fit for dancing, of how it was an event the town looked forward to every year. The food arrived soon after, and the conversation moved on to Flagstaff, of how much it had grown in recent years, and how more and more new people came there to live and work every week.
And then somehow it was the end of the meal. Jeremiah sent a surreptitious nod at George, letting the waiter know that the bill would be handled discreetly later on. Lorena noticed, he could tell, but she made no protest, only thanked him for a lovely meal, and said that she would see him the following evening. They made their goodbyes politely, in full view of everyone present. In the next moment, he was pulling out her chair so she might rise and go up to her room.
He watched her go, admiring the slenderness of her waist in the striking black gown, the graceful, easy way she moved. The next evening, he would dance with her, would be able to wrap his arm around that willowy waist, use the excuse of a waltz to hold her close. Who could say what might happen after that?
Nothing will happen, he told himself with some weariness. For you will not be able to get any closer to her than that. You dare not.
No point in protesting those words. They were only the truth. He did not know Lorena
Simms very well yet, but he did know one thing.
He would never put her in harm’s way.
4
Lorena did her best to while the day away. That morning, she took Josie with her so they might walk on the more accessible paths in the woods around town and admire their autumn foliage, the aspens and the sycamore trees blazing bright against the deeper hues of the tall pines and firs. Afterward, she had a late lunch in the hotel’s restaurant — a solitary meal, for even though her heart had begun to race every time a tall, dark-haired man entered the room, she did not see Jeremiah Wilcox. Apparently he had taken her statement that she would see him at the dance at face value, and did not plan to intrude on her before then.
Because she would be dancing, she’d ordered a light supper of soup and had it sent up to her room. Now she stood in her undergarments as Josie brought out possible dresses for inspection.
Lorena’s ball gowns had been sent ahead to San Francisco in steamer trunks, for she had not thought she’d have any need of such things while going by train. Her meager travel wardrobe consisted of only five day dresses and three dinner dresses, and nothing more than that. Of course she could not wear a day gown to such an event, and so that meant she must wear one of the dinner dresses. Jeremiah had already seen her in the black silk stripe, and she was not sure if the pale rose-colored watered silk was quite smart enough. Besides, the color had never been her favorite, even if it had been in vogue last spring.
That left the steel blue. It was the newest of the three, with an extravagantly draped bustle accented by navy blue velvet bows and rows of knife-pleated ruffles around the hem. With it she could wear the sapphire and diamond parure that had been her grandmother’s, and which had come to her upon her death.
Lorena announced her selection to Josie, who obligingly tightened her mistress’ corset enough to accommodate the bodice of the gown. Then it was time to put on the bustle and its petticoat, the underskirt, the drape, and finally the bodice, which fastened up the front with a line of small velvet-covered buttons.
Although the fashion was now to wear one’s hair entirely up, Lorena decided to let a few long, heavy curls fall down her back. The effect was far more romantic, and she doubted whether anyone here in Flagstaff would notice such a sartorial faux pas.
Indeed, by the time the ensemble had all been put together and Josie had just finished fastening the sapphire necklace around her throat, Lorena wondered if the dress and the jewels might be too much for this frontier town. But it was far too late to change now. Besides, she only truly cared for the opinion of one person.
Jeremiah Wilcox.
She was not sure she’d ever met a man who had made such an impression upon her in such a short amount of time. Those jet-black eyes, that aristocratic nose and proud chin — the way he seemed to take quiet command of a room simply by entering it. Yes, she had loved Walter, and still grieved for him every day, but Walter had been familiar, comfortable, a childhood friend who became her husband because the two of them had both decided there was no one else in the world who would make a better lifetime partner.
That she might encounter someone as intoxicating, as exotic, as Jeremiah Wilcox in a far-flung place like Flagstaff had never entered her mind. She had thought that perhaps once she was in San Francisco, among people she knew peripherally but not well, then it was possible she might meet someone who could help to fill that void in her life. New York society was too intimate; she’d known all those men since her youth, knew which of the eligible widowers drank to excess or had been unfaithful to their wives while those unfortunate women were still alive. In her case, familiarity had most certainly bred contempt.
And yet here she was, about to go to a dance in a hall full of strangers, invited there by a man she had known for less than a day. Such a thing could never have occurred in her former life. Now, though, she was out on the frontier, in a place where no one knew her. She could do as she wished, with no gossips to send the scandalous news through an ever-buzzing grapevine that had existed before she was born, and no doubt would linger long after she was gone.
Here in Flagstaff, she could indulge herself.
“You’ll definitely be the finest lady there tonight,” Josie said as she gave one of the bows on Lorena’s bustle a small twitch so it might lie in a more elegant fashion. “Probably the finest lady in all the Arizona Territories.”
“Perhaps,” Lorena replied, peering into the mirror. She’d allowed herself just the slightest touch of rouge, the faintest trace of stain on her lips. No more of a flush than she might have gotten wandering in the woods — if she’d been careless enough to go out into the bright October sunlight without carrying her parasol.
A knock came at the door, and Josie hurried to answer it. Outside stood one of the hotel’s chambermaids. She bobbed a quick curtsey, then looked past Josie to tell Lorena, “Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox is waiting for you downstairs in the lobby, ma’am.”
“Thank you so much,” Lorena said, giving Josie a faint nod. At once her maid fished a nickel from her pocket and gave it to the girl, who stammered her thanks and then hurried off.
“Your cloak, ma’am,” Josie offered as she went to the wardrobe and pulled out the heavy woolen garment with its velvet collar embroidered with jet beads.
Lorena came over and allowed Josie to lay the cloak over her shoulders, taking care not to catch any of the curls that fell down her back. Then it was time to collect her reticule and her fan, and hurry out of her room and down the stairs.
As she had been informed, Jeremiah stood in the lobby, looking at one of the paintings hanging there while he waited for her. He wore a heavy overcoat over his frock coat, and held his hat in his hands.
No white tie, and she felt the smallest stab of disappointment, even as she told herself that expecting him to dress as if he was attending an anniversary ball at the Vanderbilts’ was a bit much. Certainly they had no need of such finery out here on the frontier. Even so, it would have been wonderful to see what Jeremiah Wilcox looked like in tails.
However, the look of admiration he gave her was quite enough to erase any initial dismay she might have felt. He approached, holding out an arm. “I hope you don’t mind if we walk. The evening is quite fine, and the hall where the dance is being held is only a few blocks away.”
“No, I don’t mind at all,” she replied, inwardly glad that she had been forced to wear her evening boots of embroidered kid, as the satin shoes with the jeweled buckles that would have gone with one of her actual ball gowns had also been sent ahead via steamer trunk.
He smiled, and she looped her arm through his, trying to repress a shiver at being this close to him. Her own height had troubled her sometimes during her youth — although Walter had also been tall, and so they were evenly matched — but Jeremiah Wilcox was taller still, making it seem as if he towered over her by a good half a foot or more. His arm felt strong and sturdy; if she should stumble on the uneven ground, she knew he would be there to catch her.
As he had said, it was a fine night, if chilly. A nearly full moon blazed overhead, and it appeared as if there were at least twice as many stars here as she’d ever seen back in New York.
She said as much, and he nodded. “The air is a good deal clearer here. In New York, there is the smoke from the coal fires, and from all the industry. There, too, the elevation is much lower. We are closer to the stars here in Flagstaff.”
“How much closer?” she asked.
“A good six thousand feet or so. And if you were to climb to the peak of Mt. Humphreys, the tallest of the San Franciscos, well, then, you would be another six thousand feet above that.”
“I daresay I won’t attempt such a feat on this trip at least,” she replied, mind reeling somewhat at those numbers. “I can already tell that the air here is much thinner than what I am used to, so I am not sure I can imagine what it might be like on the top of your Mt. Humphreys.” Tilting her chin up at him, she asked, “Have you ever climbed up there?”
It would be too impertinent to comment that he was still in the prime of life, capable of conquering mountains or anything else he might set his mind to. So Lorena held her tongue and let him guide her down the street, then another, until they came to the schoolhouse.
It was a sturdy, four-square building set off from the road. Light blazed from the windows and also from the front door, which stood open to allow all the guests entry. Even now several people approached and climbed the front steps. From within came the sound of lively music — a violin accompanied by a piano. Of course she could not have expected a full orchestra, but for some reason she had thought they might muster more than that.
You are being a New York snob, she told herself. One doesn’t need a symphony to dance a waltz.
Even so, although she was glad of Jeremiah’s invitation, she couldn’t help quailing slightly at the thought of having to face so many strangers all at once. No doubt most people in the small town already knew who she was…and also knew that she had shared supper with Mr. Wilcox at the hotel’s restaurant…but for the first time in more years than she wanted to count, she would not be surrounded by those she had known since she was a child. Even San Francisco society was familiar enough, since she had visited there as a young girl, well before she married Walter and spent her winters there with him. But this….
Jeremiah seemed to sense her diffidence, for he leaned down and murmured, “I cannot promise that they will not stare, but I am fairly confident they will not bite.”
Those words made her chuckle, then shake her head. “Am I so very obvious?”
The Arrangement (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 10) Page 3