Beside her, Sadie, attired in a youthful blue-and-green winter frock, ate quietly, but the maids across from her only stared at their plates. Cook and Miss O’Conner made a clink or two in the kitchen, but the whole room seemed quieter than a grave.
If she’d never attached herself to Sebastian, these ladies wouldn’t have been exposed. “But I don’t understand why he’d do this. His slogan is ‘making every Kansas county a moral county.’ You’re doing what he campaigns for—helping stop immorality by getting ladies out of there.”
“It’s just a slogan, Lydia. I didn’t want to tell you before, but I don’t think Sebastian’s father truly wants to shut down the red-light district. The fines he collects from the saloons and brothels pay his bills, and he won’t want to give that income up.”
“Sebastian told me the city uses the fines, but his father surely wants the laws to be followed, and Mrs. Little wouldn’t support a husband who profits from immorality. And why would he back his son’s political campaigns if he didn’t agree with him?”
“I only suspect.” He turned to the ladies on his right. “Do you know anything about the Littles?”
Miss Nance suddenly became extremely interested in the roast beef on her plate, and the wisps of honey-blond curls that had escaped her cap hid her eyes. But Miss Michaels turned her sharp green eyes toward Nicholas. “I never bothered learning the men’s names, not that they often used their real ones when . . . when”—she glanced over at Lydia and gave her an apologetic look—“when they visited. But I know many of them were men of high standing in the community. Councilmen, police officers—”
“I can’t believe that.” Lydia wrung her hands. “At least I don’t want to. And I’m not sure we should be talking about this in front of Sadie.”
The young lady beside her no longer looked like the worldly woman she’d rescued just over a week ago, who likely knew more about the ways of men and women than Lydia might ever know. But still . . .
Lydia turned back to Nicholas. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make sure you eat something.” He slid the biscuits closer to her. “Other than that, I’m unsure.”
“We’re leaving.” Miss Michaels smashed her crumbled biscuit on her plate. “Other than Bessie, who’s going back to her ma when she’s well, there’s only me and Effie and Sadie. We talked it over, and we won’t be giving you any more trouble.”
Nicholas shoved the plate of ham toward Lydia. “If the judge finds me guilty of this nonsense, I still have to pay fines whether you three are here or not. Leaving doesn’t stop what’s already in motion.”
“But we can save you from future fines,” Miss Nance whispered.
“I don’t deserve them even if you are here. I’m not running a brothel.” His fist hit the table.
Lydia’s empty coffee cup clattered onto its side. She felt like hitting the table herself—or at least clobbering Sebastian the next time she saw him. “Are you sure leaving’s wise?” It might save Nicholas from scandal, but surely scandal was a light consequence compared to what these women would face. And what if their testimony could clear Nicholas of Sebastian’s accusations?
If she’d feared how she’d be treated by simply being nice to these women, then what treatment would they endure out in the world without Nicholas’s protection?
Miss Michaels glanced at her shy friend. “I’m not going to lie, we’re not sure it’s a good idea. Finding work other than prostitution is going to be difficult.” She scowled at her plate. “But it was hard enough here, hiding and acting like we don’t exist, knowing no one would ever accept us. Knowing we’d never get to go out, do anything—”
“We’d have to go farther than we’ve ever been, and we’d have to lie,” Miss Nance volunteered.
“There’s bound to be trouble if our lies find us out.” Miss Michaels huffed. “But what else is there to do? Who’d hire us if we told the truth? And I’m not sure lying is gonna keep people from seeing right through us. But we’re going to try, for Sadie. Try to get her into a school . . .”
Sadie flashed a smile at Lydia, causing a lump to form in her throat. If only one or two things had gone differently that night, would this girl even have had a chance at school? According to Miss Michaels and Nicholas, she might not have much of one even now.
Oh, how had she ever believed her life had been miserable? Sure, her father had left a handprint on her face or bruises on her backside occasionally, and when her mother died, she’d have to fend for herself, but at least she had respectability.
When she’d decided to end things with Sebastian, all she’d had to say was no and that had finished it. Even if she couldn’t have escaped the relationship, she’d only have had to endure tedious dinner conversations and perhaps a longing for a husband who’d love her better. But these ladies couldn’t extricate themselves so easily—or perhaps at all.
“Sadie might be able to have a normal life since she hasn’t, uh . . . worked long, and she’s young.” Miss Nance wiped her mouth on a napkin despite the fact nothing on her plate looked disturbed. “We’ll try for her.”
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Now, let’s not do anything rash. We have time to think.”
Miss Nance ducked her head, and Miss Michaels sighed before grasping her fork and moving noodles around her plate again.
But did they really have time? Or had Sebastian already ruined everything Nicholas had done to help these women?
Knowing what Sadie faced if they couldn’t escape, what could she do to help?
Oh, Lord, if there is anything I can do, I’ll do it. You allowed me to extricate myself from my mistakes. You’ve forgiven me all I’ve done and have blessed me with a job, though I am undeserving considering how I’ve looked down on people more desperate than myself. And I’ve ruined these ladies’ hope to be secreted here because of my wishy-washy heart. Whatever I can do, even if it hurts me, it couldn’t be worse than what they’re facing.
38
They ate in silence, but the thoughts swirling around in Nicholas’s head were anything but peaceful. Maybe he didn’t need to worry about what to do anymore. It seemed God was changing everything.
He couldn’t argue that his maids should stay, not with that letter under his plate. How had he believed he could continue keeping their secret? He’d changed few people’s minds in the past handful of years. Having only Lydia and Caroline supporting him wasn’t enough to fight the backlash the politicians would stir up.
And considering the over-the-top fines mentioned in the letter, it was clear Sebastian had grown attached to Lydia and believed it was somehow Nicholas’s fault he’d lost his girl.
Nicholas looked over at her as she sliced her potatoes with a faraway look. When she’d broken things off with Sebastian, had she mentioned him in some way that made Sebastian think she might have feelings for him, or had the man simply not liked how he’d turned Lydia against his method of campaigning against immorality?
He’d hand over his entire fortune to know what she’d said.
She caught his gaze, and he schooled his features.
He rubbed a hand over his face and turned to the women whose immediate futures depended on him. “I’m afraid you may be right, Miss Michaels. I’ve prayed you’d be able to rejoin society here, but maybe that’s not what you are supposed to do.”
Effie shook her head at Josephine. “We’ll never have friends, besides each other.” She looked at Lydia and shrugged. “You wouldn’t even be eating with us if it weren’t for Mr. Lowe. And he only helps us because he’s God’s angel of mercy.”
Before he could clear his mouth to refute that, Lydia spoke. “You’re right, Miss Nance. I . . . I wouldn’t be here except for Mr. Lowe. I didn’t think we’d have anything to say to each other, but if we could find some common interests, perhaps we could become friends?”
He sat back in his chair. Friends? Had she really come that far?
“You mean that?” Effie sounded skeptical.
/>
Nicholas gestured toward Josephine. “She reads.”
“Only dime novels.” Josephine shook her head. “I’m sure Miss King doesn’t—”
“Have you read Libbey’s Daisy Brooks?” Lydia clasped her hands in front of her like she was praying Josephine had read it. “The wayward child, the dead mother, the kidnapped babe, the beggar demanding the key—all stuffed into the first chapter? I finished that one within a day.”
“No, but did you read her Pretty Madcap Dorothy?” Josephine’s face brightened, but when Lydia shook her head, she went back to frowning.
“You should.” Nicholas fiddled with his biscuit. “It’s about a girl who loves books as much as you do, works in a book-binding factory, gets into all sorts of trouble.”
They all turned to look at him, their eyebrows crazily cocked.
He shrugged. “Miss Michaels left it on the table one day, so I skimmed through it during breakfast. Mostly girlish nonsense.” He wouldn’t tell them he’d read the entire silly thing.
Lydia’s grin wriggled adorably. If pointing out how dime novels were nothing but over-the-top dramatics would make her eyes light like that, he’d read all of Laura Jean Libbey’s tomes.
“I appreciate you trying to find something to talk to us about, Miss King.” Effie gave Lydia a soft smile. “But we can’t stay here now that it’s hurting Mr. Lowe.”
“And we won’t be accepting any money to be housed elsewhere.” Josephine speared him with a glance. “So don’t even try.”
He cleared his throat and took another bite. What was it with these ladies being so set against accepting monetary help when they needed assistance of every kind? He’d just have to buy them stuff before they left, as he’d done with Roxie. “I won’t argue, but if you reconsider, you can stay. I don’t care about fines.”
And maybe they could stay. Lydia had actually tried to befriend them. If she could change so much in two months, surely there was hope for others.
“Maybe it can work out for other doves, but not for us, not while there’s an uproar.” Josephine nodded slightly toward Sadie. “It ain’t good for her to be here either.” She placed her wadded-up napkin on her plate and stood. “I can’t eat any more. Are you ready, Sadie?”
The girl frowned at her plate, the only empty one on the table. “Is there dessert?”
Nicholas laughed. “Don’t worry, Miss Michaels. I’ll send her down with Miss O’Conner as soon as she’s finished.”
When the three of them each had a slice of pecan pie, Lydia sipped at her coffee. “Won’t this place seem empty without maids in it?” She shook her head. “I’ve never heard rumors that you’ve courted any woman in town, but now that you don’t have the maids you could get . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she fidgeted. “Well, of course you’d still have to have maids, though . . .” She swirled a spoon in her coffee, as if mesmerized.
He’d never thought of looking for a wife again until lately, but that wasn’t because he feared a wife wouldn’t want maids of their background working at his mansion. But now that Lydia . . .
No, contemplating marriage now was unwise. She’d just broken off with Sebastian, and he’d only known her for two months.
He’d courted Gracie for five before he proposed, and he’d been wrong—so very wrong.
But his throbbing heart kept ramming his chest, and he couldn’t pull in any air. He couldn’t keep lying to himself.
God help him, he wanted another wife.
He glanced up at the ceiling. Her, Lord. I want her.
Admitting to God the desire of his heart took his breath away. Now that she wasn’t with Sebastian, he had plenty of time to think things through in detail, make sure this was right.
No rush. They should just continue to get to know each other.
Sadie scraped the last bit of gooey filling off her dish. “May I be excused?”
Nicholas nodded, and the girl popped up and planted a kiss on Lydia’s cheek before scurrying away with her dirty plate.
“Good night, dear.” Lydia’s hand flew to the precious spot. A warm stain of tears rimmed her eyes, but she blinked to keep them from falling.
How could she have ever thought that helping people in the red-light district was none of her concern? The spring in Sadie’s step was because she’d had the courage to steal her away from a madam’s clutches, and if she hadn’t, would anybody have saved her?
And yet, she’d only done so because she knew Nicholas would help—the first thing she’d told Mr. Parker was to drive her to him.
Nicholas shoved away the pie slice he’d barely touched. “Since you’re finished, how about I walk you home?”
She tried not to let her hands tremble as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. If he was worried about her safety, she could remind him he had a driver for this very purpose—and that it was rather cold for him to walk when he didn’t need to. But a little cold never hurt anybody. “All right.”
He pulled out her chair and preceded her into the hallway, where he retrieved their coats. When he helped her on with hers, she couldn’t keep from wishing this could be an everyday occurrence—except for the going home part.
A strong gust of cold flooded the entryway when Nicholas opened the door, causing the lights to flicker. She glanced back at the beautiful Christmas tree still aglow, and then they pulled up their collars, tugged down their hats, and with hands in pockets, forged off into the elements.
All right, maybe she should’ve reminded him he had a driver . . . but then she’d not have this time to talk to him—if she could do so with her chattering teeth.
There had to be something wrong in her head—or perhaps her heart—for choosing to walk in this weather just to steal a few extra minutes with him. Thankfully, by the time they made it down his small hill, her body felt warmer.
At the fenceless gate, Nicholas stopped to rehang a wreath before continuing to plod toward town.
Why had he asked her to walk if he wasn’t going to talk?
She might as well fill the silence with some of the clamoring questions in her head. “Can I ask you something . . . personal?”
He shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind if I choose not to answer.”
“Fair enough.” It took her a bit to summon up the courage to ask him something that would likely make him uncomfortable. “My question is . . . why did you build the mansion since Gracie wasn’t around to enjoy it?”
He shuffled along for a while. “Guilt,” he finally answered.
“You had to be drowning in it to spend so much.”
“Yes.” He glanced at her for a second before returning to watching his feet. “The pox is normally a slow killer, but not long after the doctor informed me of that, she died of complications, an apoplexy. I didn’t figure out what a heel I was until after she died.”
She chuckled. “I just can’t imagine you as a heel.”
“I bet it’s difficult.” He looked over at her, a ghost of a smile under his serious eyes. “Believe it or not, I’ve not always been sunshine and roses.”
Definitely not sunshine and roses, more a light in the darkness with a hint of sandalwood.
“Since the day we married, Gracie told me she wanted a house with a ballroom, a bowling alley, a conservatory, and all the rest.” He looked back over his shoulder.
She looked back too. The roofline of his mansion just slightly visible above a stand of trees.
“But I refused her.” He trudged forward again, head down, as if he found the shine on his shoes engrossing. “I told her I couldn’t afford to build it, which wasn’t exactly true. I was simply more focused on stockpiling money than making her happy.”
“Well, a mansion isn’t exactly a reasonable request.” Had his wife also asked for an elevator, the forced-air system, the Tiffany lamp, and the hand-painted Italian wallpaper? She’d heard the New York lamp maker traveled to Teaville to hang the lamp personally, and the Italian designer had actually crossed the ocean to paint the wall
s himself.
“No, but a pearl necklace, fashionable hats, a trip to the theater . . . I could have given her all of those when she asked for them.”
“No woman actually needs those things.” Lydia repositioned her well-worn scarf since the wind had broken through. She’d once dreamed about being that rich, but with a decent meal sometimes being difficult to obtain, she no longer cared about much more than essentials—and books.
“I had money enough, but I was too tightfisted. Would ten dollars every now and then have been a terrible price to pay to show her I loved her?” He clamped his arms tighter to his body. “But the real problem was I didn’t love her. I loved money more than her, and after two years together, she knew it. She went off to find love with someone else.”
Lydia’s step faltered. He’d never loved his wife? What had Gracie possessed that he’d married her without love?
Lydia had nothing worth giving a man other than how she felt about him.
And after this mishap with Sebastian, she wouldn’t marry unless love was exactly what her groom was looking for.
Nicholas’s slumped posture and slow gait bespoke sadness and self-loathing. Too bad he hadn’t offered her his arm, or she would’ve given him a good squeeze.
His wife hadn’t been a saint, though. He shouldn’t beat himself up. “Gifts don’t equal love.”
“They did to her. And if I had really loved her, I would’ve compromised. But I’m not really known for that, now, am I.” He flashed her a stiff grin, then shrugged. “When she returned, any affection I’d once had for her had evaporated since she’d left me for a lover—though I’d taken up with one myself.”
Her step completely faltered this time. Things were going from bad to worse now.
“Making money was my mistress.”
She blew out a breath and sped up before he realized she’d lagged behind.
“Once Gracie left me, I threw myself into wealth’s arms with a vengeance—investing, concocting new business schemes, speculating. Not until she died did I realize I’d never loved my wife more than money. Though by then, my wealth had blossomed.” He pulled a hand out to rake his hair but knocked off his hat instead. He bent to pick it up and smashed it back on, but he didn’t continue walking, so she stopped beside him. “There are so many more people God ought to have given my wealth to.”
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