Elusive Lovers

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  "Come in, come in, monsieur."

  Kristin, who was wearing a sheer dressing gown over her corset and petticoats, hunched her shoulders and pulled the dressing gown protectively across her breasts.

  "What do you theenk, monsieur?” asked Yvette, standing back to admire her handiwork.

  Jack studied his wife in the mirror. “If you shaved her head, she'd still be the most beautiful woman in Colorado, but that is a charming coiffure."

  "It's too elaborate,” said Kristin. A pile of curls rose at the crown of her head with wisps of fringe on her forehead. In back a jeweled clasp held a feather decoration that rose above the curls. “None of the other women—"

  "I theenk ze green dress, don't you agree, monsieur?” Three dresses were spread across the bed. “Madame wants to wear ze lavender, but eet eez a year out of style."

  Jack's eyes gleamed. “I'm flattered that you chose the lavender, Kristin. Put it on for me before we go down."

  Alarmed, Kristin wondered if he expected to stand there watching while Yvette helped her to dress. Obviously he did, and she couldn't say anything in front of the maid.

  Pouting because her choice had been refused by Jack, Yvette swept up the lavender dress and held it out to Kristin. “Does Madame need help weeth ze dressing gown?"

  Kristin scowled at them both, turned her back, and allowed Yvette to slide the sheer material off her shoulders and then button her into the dress. “Ah, madame, you must sit down at the mirror again. We have disarranged your hair and feathers.” Kristin had stepped away from the mirror so that Jack could not see her reflection. Now she returned.

  Jack, once she was gowned, leaned over to kiss her shoulder, whispering, “Many thanks, sweetheart."

  Kristin turned pink. “I only choose it because—"

  "Because you know how much I like it."

  "That wasn't my reason at all,” said Kristin.

  "Ladies are supposed to take ze advice of zeir lady's maids,” said Yvette sternly.

  "What? Before the wishes of their husbands?” asked Jack as Kristin resumed her seat in front of the mirror. Jack pulled from his pocket a necklace of amethysts. “I was hoping you'd wear the lavender,” he said and bent to fasten the necklace at her throat. The piece had a chain of small stones set in gold links with larger stones hanging from the chain, two to either side and one longer pendant which fell into the first rise of her cleavage. Having carefully locked the clasp at the back of her neck, Jack adjusted the pendant so that it and his fingers lay a second between her breasts. “Lovely, isn't it?"

  Kristin trembled under the brush of his fingers, her eyes fastened on the mirror image of herself, of Jack, of one long, brown finger against the pale curves that rose above the low neck of her gown. He straightened slowly, both hands trailing across the sensitive skin until his fingers curved over her bare shoulders as he whispered into her ear, “Princess.” His breath made her shiver again. “Hurry now,” he murmured. “Our guests will be arriving."

  "Wait,” she called. “Do you realize that they were dynamiting under the house today?"

  "It's all right,” he assured her. “They know what they're doing."

  "We'll be lucky if we're not all killed."

  Jack laughed and walked through the door into the hall. “Five minutes,” he called over his shoulder.

  The table was beautifully set with a fine linen tablecloth, heavily embroidered in blue and white to match the china. When had that come? she wondered. Her husband was always ordering some new thing. There was crystal and silver, and Jack at the other end, smiling at her through the candles’ glow, looking handsomer than ever in his evening clothes. She recalled too clearly the last time she'd seen him in evening clothes—just before he took them off and made love to her.

  "This is some meal,” said Connor, who was sitting beside her.

  "Not a restaurant in town can duplicate it,” said Mr. Horace Parker, who sat to her left.

  Mrs. Parker and Kat flanked Jack. The Parkers’ marriageable daughter, Mattie, Sean and Augustina Fitzpatrick, and Cal Bannister filled in the middle seats.

  "Do you have a dog?” asked Augustina.

  "I just bought two hunting hounds,” said Jack.

  "Their mother has the best nose this side of the Continental Divide,” said Connor.

  "The pigs hate them,” said Kristin.

  "I think one or both of your dogs are under the table, Jack,” said Augustina.

  Jack squinted at Kristin. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, she lifted the floor-length tablecloth and peeked under. “Gwennie,” whispered Kristin. The pig, who was investigating Augustina's petticoats, ignored Kristin. Kristin sighed and rang the silver bell that summoned Maude from the kitchen. “Maude, I'm afraid that Gwennie's under the table."

  "Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry. I didn't think to look,” said Maude and crawled under between Sean Fitzpatrick and Mrs. Parker, calling, “Come here, Gwennie. Come on. You can eat in the kitchen."

  "What's that?” cried Mrs. Parker.

  "It's Gwennie, ma'am,” came Maude's voice from under the table. “She won't hurt you."

  "Is Gwennie one of your hounds?” asked Augustina.

  "She's Kristin's pet pig, Gwenivere,” Jack replied. Mrs. Parker gasped. Kat and Connor Macleod began to laugh while Maude continued to crawl around under the table, trying to catch the elusive Gwennie, ruffling skirts, bumping into people's legs and feet, crying, “Excuse me, ma'am ... excuse me, sir,” popping out between Miss Mattie Parker and Cal Bannister. “She just won't come to me, Miss Kristin. You're the only one she ever minds."

  Kristin sighed and rose, placing her napkin neatly beside her plate of venison in a superb wine-and-cream sauce. She pulled her chair away and dove under the table, saying, “Gwennie, come here this minute.” Quickly she emerged with the pig under her arm and headed for the kitchen.

  "You let a pig in the house?” exclaimed Augustina.

  "Well, this is a sausage factory,” said Kat. “And doing very well too. If you worked as hard at interior decoration, Augustina..."

  "I consider myself a homemaker and mother first,” said Augustina, “not a business woman."

  "Which is as it should be,” Mrs. Parker agreed. “I've taught my daughter that when she marries"—Mrs. Parker beamed at Cal Bannister—"her husband should come first. I don't how you put up with a wife who's absent so often, Mr. Macleod,” she added sympathetically.

  "I'm under contract, ma'am,” said Conner, referring to the pre-marriage contract he'd written to lure Kat to the altar. “Besides, Kat makes it worthwhile when she is home.” Connor grinned, shocking Mrs. Parker.

  Kristin reentered and said, “Gwenivere is settled for the night. Can I help anyone to more of Mr. Braddock's delicious string beans prepared in the French style?"

  "I suppose Abigail's complaining about Gwennie again,” said Jack.

  "Yes, but it's not as if I invited Gwenivere in. Oakum says Gwenivere thinks she's one of us rather than one of them because she lost her mother at an early age. In fact, Oakum suspects her of dieting so she doesn't get fat enough to be slaughtered. She's a very intelligent pig,” Kristin added to Connor. “I wouldn't allow her to be slaughtered, unless she did something really terrible."

  "Like knocking over an unfinished painting,” suggested Jack.

  Mrs. Parker looked horrified. “Pigs are dirty. How can you allow one in your house? Especially in your dining room and your kitchen?” Mrs. Parker stared down at the food on her plate as if Gwennie had been rooting through it.

  "Oh, Gwenivere's housebroken,” said Kristin. “More potatoes au gratin?"

  "No, thank you,” said Mrs. Parker.

  At that moment a loud groaning resounded under foot, and the china jiggled on the table.

  "If that doesn't feel like an earthquake, I don't know what does,” said Mr. Parker.

  "We don't have earthquakes in Breckenridge,” said Connor, who had lived in the town long enough to know.

  "Well, I've
been to California, and I know what an earthquake feels like."

  "I told you the blasting was too strong today,” said Kristin to Jack. “And I don't care how knowledgeable that dynamite man is."

  "Dynamite man?” cried Mattie Parker, who was torn away from her flirtation with Cal Bannister by the fact that her venison had jumped off her plate.

  "Just to be on the safe side,” said Jack, “perhaps we should retire to another room.” The timbers supporting the dining room floor creaked alarmingly, the table tilted slightly, and the china began to slide.

  "In which direction?” asked Kristin.

  Jack rose calmly, taking his wine glass and the bottle with him. “The veranda, I think,” he replied. “Isn't it fortunate that we were almost through with the main course."

  "I wasn't,” said Kristin.

  Augustina and the two Parker women fled toward the hall. Kristin followed and joined Kat, having called into the kitchen, “Out of the house, Abigail, Maude. It's collapsing because of Mr. Cameron's furnace.” She had picked up her plate and silverware, for she found the venison delicious, even if Jack had shot the deer in cold blood. Kristin walked calmly through the folding doors to the hall and out onto the veranda, all the gentlemen following politely.

  "Downstairs and out of the house, girls,” Jack yelled up the stairs, and the sausage girls, who had been huddling upstairs, came flying down in various states of disarray to cluster in the front yard like a flock of chickens, clucking with alarm at the approach of a fox.

  "Considering what I remember about the house structure, I think we're safe enough out here,” said Jack and sat down on the veranda beside his wife, who was forking up another bite of venison in cream-and-wine sauce. Quite a bit still remained on her plate because she had spent so much time under the table coaxing Gwennie out.

  "That ought to cure you of entertaining,” she murmured under her breath. A terrible crash echoed behind them.

  "What's happening?” asked Mrs. Parker, her voice trembling in a terrified quiver as she looked longingly toward the sausage girls, safe in the yard.

  "What a shame you didn't bring your dinner with you,” said Kristin to Mrs. Parker. “As sour a disposition as Abigail has, she cooks like an angel."

  "You certainly seem to be enjoying her efforts,” said Jack, grinning.

  At that moment Abigail herself appeared around the side of the house, Maude trailing behind her. “Excuse me, ma'am, but the dining room furniture just fell into the basement. Not all of it, but quite a bit, taking the dishes with it. Do you want me to serve the rest of the meal out here?"

  "Yes, please, Abigail."

  Abigail strode back around the corner of the house, again with Maude in tow. “Elaborate dinners, fini,” murmured Kristin.

  "Not at all,” said Jack. “We can have the floor replaced, and I have a new dining room suite on the way. What man wants to entertain from a secondhand table?"

  "Not you obviously,” said Kristin and finished her venison.

  "What's the news from Cripple Creek?” asked Sean as if nothing had happened, although his wife looked pale and frightened in the fading summer light. He and Augustina were sitting as far away from each other as the arrangement of chairs on the veranda would allow.

  "Good,” said Cal Bannister. “All good. That's what I'm here to tell you. We just dug down to a six-inch vein on the Bull Hill Locomotive claim, and it's looking good on two more."

  "Hello, Miss Ingrid,” called Fanny.

  "What are you girls doing out here?” asked Ingrid, who had just reached the gate with a valise in her hand.

  "The dining room fell in, Miss Ingrid,” said Bea. “We're waitin’ to see if any more of the house falls down before we goes to bed."

  "Sounds smart to me,” said Ingrid and continued up the gravel walkway to the veranda.

  "I can't believe this,” exclaimed Augustina.

  "You said she wouldn't be back,” Kristin murmured to Jack.

  "Sean!” cried Ingrid, a delighted smile lighting her face as she climbed the steps. “How are the children?"

  "Just fine."

  The gentlemen had risen. Mrs. Parker, who had been assured that Ingrid would not be in the house if she agreed to come to dinner, narrowed her eyes in ladylike indignation.

  "You're back early, Ingrid,” stammered Kristin.

  "I got seven orders."

  "Good for you,” said Kat. “You're turning out to be a fine business woman."

  Augustina glared at her sister-in-law.

  "Well, if I do some of the selling, Kristin can spend more time in her studio, but there wasn't much use my staying in Aspen overnight, not when people kept offering me drinks. That's the idea of all this, isn't it? To keep me from drinking?” She eyed the chair beside Sean, and he eagerly rose and held it for her. The two fell into conversation about Phoebe's progress on the piano. Augustina jumped up and went into the house.

  "Augustina,” called Jack, “I think I'd give it a moment to settle."

  "The drawing room seems safe enough,” replied Augustina and turned sharply in that direction.

  "I believe I'll join her,” said Mrs. Parker. “Come along, Mattie. There's a chill in the air."

  Mattie Parker followed reluctantly. Ingrid watched them go with a tight mouth, and Kristin felt sorry for her. They could have been less obvious in their disapproval. After all, Ingrid was sober and respectable, if a little flirtatious, all the time now. She was certainly flirting with Sean. Although they were discussing their children, the very lines of Ingrid's body trumpeted seductiveness. Kristin wondered how Ingrid did that and whether one could catch it on canvas. Painting Ingrid would be like painting herself larger than life and a hundred times more womanly. Kristin sighed and wondered why Jack continued to pursue her. Probably just for the devilment of it.

  "Why the sigh, sweetheart?” Jack murmured to her. “Your dining room will be better than it ever was."

  He was stroking the palm of her hand. Did he know, she wondered, how that felt to her? “Who cares about the damn dining room?” she retorted and jerked her hand away.

  "I believe that's the first time I've heard you swear."

  "Well, if any more rooms fall into the basement, you can certainly expect to hear it again,” Kristin muttered.

  Maude appeared, carrying a tray with coffee and delectable cherry tarts in heavy English cream. There was after-dinner brandy for the gentlemen and a light, sweet wine for the ladies.

  "You'll have to serve Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mrs. and Miss Parker in the drawing room, Maude,” said Kristin.

  "Is it safe, ma'am?” asked Maude.

  "There's a good support timber running down the hall that wouldn't have been touched at all,” said Jack.

  "You mean the kitchen will be the next to go?"

  "No, there's another under the kitchen. The cross timbers that held up the dining room must have cracked."

  "Sorry about that,” said Connor and burst out laughing.

  "Really, Connor,” said Kat, “I'm sure Kristin doesn't find it funny that her dining room just disappeared."

  "I suppose I should go into the drawing room,” said Sean reluctantly.

  Ingrid rose. “Why don't we all?"

  Kat tried to catch her arm. “Ingrid, I don't think—"

  "Maybe you shouldn't have let him get married again,” said Ingrid. “Just because we weren't married in the church doesn't mean we weren't married. And I've looked up the law. The notice of desertion was supposed to have been published wherever you thought I might be. As I heard it, you received news that I was in Aspen."

  "Yes, but we never heard of you after the first time, so we thought it must have been a rumor,” said Kat.

  "Well, it wasn't, and I still consider myself married."

  Sean, looking stricken, said softly to his former wife, “I'm sorry, love."

  "Sorry doesn't give me back my husband and children,” said Ingrid. She gave him a long look, then sailed into the house, coffee in one h
and, tart in the other. Everyone noticed that she had refused the wine. As the others trailed in, Ingrid sat down across the drawing room from Mrs. Parker and Augustina. When Augustina stared at her husband and patted the seat beside her on the sofa, Sean went to her, looking somewhat reluctant. Kristin saw Ingrid blink rapidly and realized that she had hoped Sean would choose to sit by her.

  Kristin started toward Ingrid to offer the support of friendship and to ensure that Jack could not take her hand again, but Cal Bannister beat Kristin to the settee. “Well,” said Ingrid brightly, “who might you be?"

  "Calvin Bannister."

  Mattie Parker's lower lip quivered in disappointment. Obviously she had hoped that Bannister would sit beside her.

  "Oh, the Cripple Creek man."

  "Yes. Are you one of my investors, Miss—"

  "Mrs. Fitzpatrick.” Ingrid supplied the name and glanced defiantly at Augustina and Sean. Mrs. Parker was watching disapprovingly as Ingrid set about charming Cal Bannister. Not another word was said about Cripple Creek that evening because nobody could get Cal's attention. The more Ingrid flirted, the more woebegone Sean looked.

  Kristin found herself making desperate conversation, mostly with Jack, although Connor and Kat pitched in occasionally to ease the awkward silences. “Mrs. Parker,” said Kristin, trying to get the woman's attention away from the drama being enacted on the settee, “you have the loveliest hairline and hair.” Even the compliment couldn't distract Amelia Parker. “I'd love to do your portrait,” said Kristin, her voice even louder.

  That did get Mrs. Parker's attention. “I wasn't thinking of having my portrait painted,” said the lady stiffly, “and certainly not in a house that has pigs wandering about, sausage making going on, and—and goodness knows what else.” She was staring resentfully at Cal, who she had hoped would court her daughter.