No brick, but the building held a graciousness of its own. Its wooden walls were painted a bright yellow with white trim and many windows. Baskets of flowers hung from hooks around the edge of the wide porch and stone steps led down to the street. Every inch of it looked well-cared for, with a clean, new appearance her old home could not have offered.
He allowed Harvey to help him down then turned and took her hand. She stepped to the stone walkway and tilted her head back, taking in the attractive façade. "It's quite lovely, Father. I never knew there were such homes in the silver mining area."
He led the way toward the door, using his cane more than she liked to see. A butler in a suit as fine as her father's opened the door and closed it behind them.
"Henderson, is everything ready for my daughter?"
"Yes, Mr. Stokes. Nellie has prepared her room and her maid's." He peered around her as if expecting someone else to be there. "Miss, is your maid coming with the luggage?"
She blew out an exasperated breath. Even the butler knew she should have help. But there had been no changing her father's man's arrangements, even if she could have delayed the new owners of her old home from taking up residence. "She was unable to accompany me. I assume I will be able to engage someone suitable for the duration of my stay?"
The two men gaped at her, and she realized her mistake. She had not yet begun her campaign to make her visit just that, and didn't want to tip her hand.
"I mean," she struggled to hold a pleasant smile and tone, "are there any lady's maids in this area whom I might hire? Or someone on staff whom I can train?"
"The duration of your stay?" Her father's steely gaze pierced her. "My darling, I can assure you that this is not a temporary situation. You live here, now."
A trickle of sweat made its way between her breasts and her itchy, dusty skin itched even worse. Her feet burned in her boots and her less than clean underthings stuck to her legs. A headache throbbed behind her eyes. And her good sense fled.
"I will live where I choose. I came only because you sold my home, where I'd lived most of my life, and sent money to your man only for the purposes of travel. I had no choice but to make a hellish trip here to try to convince you otherwise. I do not want to stay here. I do not want to be in this place of dirty men and women of ill repute. I want to go home!"
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs to the second story. She was older, with a kind, lined face and a surge of guilt pushed aside the temper Marguerite had given in to but too late. Her father grabbed her by the arm and spun her to face him.
"I will tolerate no such libel of my staff or anyone else in this town. Your attitude is inexcusable, and I will assist you to improve it. Is this what they taught you at that school?" He released her arm and cupped her chin. "You will dwell under my roof until such time as you are wed. If you leave under any other circumstances, you do so penniless. Am I clear? Then you can choose to find a way to earn your living." Giving her a push toward the stairs, he murmured, "and, as you pointed out, there are few savory ways to earn a living for a woman on her own. And none that would provide you the luxuries you've enjoyed so far in your privileged life. We will expect you at breakfast at seven o' clock. Do not be late."
She stumbled away from him, in great turmoil. Without intending to, she'd revealed her intentions. The happy man who'd greeted her at the train knew she wanted only to leave him, preferably with as much of his money as would help her to find a husband and a life in Boston. The lines were drawn, and she would have to give up on "charming daughter" and find another way to convince him that having her under his roof was less than desirable.
Marguerite allowed no one to force her against her will. So he thought he'd marry her off to some filthy miner? Or perhaps one of his wealthy silver mine owner friends? Some ugly old man with cigar stained teeth and whiskey breath? She had only begun to show him why she always got her way. In Boston or Virginia City, it mattered not. Trailing up the stairs, she began to lay new plans.
Chapter Two
Breakfast the next morning was a terse event, with no one speaking past "Pass the salt." Marguerite's desire to make her home in the East, with her friends and people she thought worthy, had overwhelmed her good sense and she needed to backtrack to show her father she was a sensible young woman who could make a life on her own. With his money. Father spoke true. Without him, she had few, if any, ways to survive—most involving the unspeakable, and the others paying so poorly as to suggest starvation. All her knowledge of the birds of the Americas and her ability to quote Plato would only serve to garner her a position as a schoolmistress with few coins in her purse.
She toyed with her food, sipping coffee and stirring eggs, while her father dug in with far more enthusiasm than the early hour merited. He wore a fresh starched collar, a gray suit cut in a style a year or so behind the times, yet well pressed, and his hair and beard were neatly groomed. In contrast, her own hair was haphazardly pinned up and her corset not nearly tight enough, resulting in gaping buttons down her bodice. She shrugged her shoulders, but nothing helped.
Rays of sunlight lit the east-facing room. The wooden furniture gleamed with sweet-smelling wax, as did the wide-boards of the floor. Heavy maroon velvet window curtains, with intricate silver embroidery at the top and bottom hems, bracketed the tall windows and the walls were papered with matching flocked wallpaper. Every detail arranged by the housekeeper, as directed by her mother from far away. As if she'd planned to live there. But she'd never indicated for a moment any desire to travel across the country, nor could Marguerite image her frail, genteel mother riding the rails for weeks to accomplish such a move.
Marguerite lifted her cup and took a sip. While the coffee was inordinately strong, the china was bone and thin enough to see shadows through when she held it up to the light. The pale pink roses in full bloom scattered across the pieces looked lovely with the silver trim. Even though gold gild was much the fashion, her mother had felt her father's crockery should reflect his success in the silver mines.
The gaslights in the Stokes home were extinguished by nine o'clock, but the lights of C Street with its saloons and gambling houses had beamed through her windows until nearly dawn. As well as the cacophony of raucous crowds enjoying its many not-to-be-thought-of activities. Shouts, laughter, even the occasional burst of gunfire. Where had her father brought her? What if one of those bullets flew through her front window? Perhaps she could request another room, at the back of the house, which would lack the expansive and a bit frightening view of the desert and mountains, and perhaps some of the noise.
"Father, I shall need a maid as soon as possible." There, a practical subject to broach over breakfast. She would use the time to settle this detail and then, when he left for his business, return to bed for several hours of recovery from her sleepless night and travels. "I think I should write to Boston and have someone sent immediately. I cannot be expected to dress my own hair or care for my garments." The butler, standing behind her father, lifted his eyes to stare past her and she pressed her lips together, praying none of the buttons on her dress had slipped loose. Crass local help would not be acceptable. "I think I should write to Boston and have someone sent immediately."
He set his heavy sterling fork next to his plate and wiped his mouth with a silver-thread monogrammed napkin. Mother had assured Father's new home held every luxury. She'd claimed it was for the necessity of entertaining colleagues and potential investors in future mines, but was that the entire picture?
"I did wonder about your rather unorthodox hairstyle but thought perhaps it was merely the latest thing in Boston." As she reached a hand to her coiffure in dismay, he rose from the table, tossed the cloth onto his plate, and straightened his jacket. "But before we discuss a maid, I have considered your request for independence."
Hope surged. "Father, you are sending me home?"
He frowned, bushy black and grey brows drawing together. "Kindly remember that this is your home." Henderson disapp
eared into the front hallway, then returned and handed him his hat and cane. "But I have taken your wishes into account and will spend the morning making arrangements to accommodate your desires." He limped toward the door. "I shall return at dinnertime and inform you of the outcome."
Excited, relieved, and cheerful, she bounced out of her chair and skipped to embrace him. "Thank you, Father. I know I was difficult yesterday. I'd had a long trip and was tired and out of sorts." Pressing a kiss on his cheek, she squeezed him tight. "But you are the most understanding man, and I don't deserve your kindness."
He patted her back and set her away from him. "Daughter, you are only too deserving of my actions. A strong-minded woman is not fashionable, but I was married to one and can appreciate all your qualities."
As he left, his booted steps clomping unevenly down the hallway, the door closing behind him with a sharp click, she spun back to the table and shoveled her plate full of eggs and sausage. Her appetite for the excellent victuals present on the table rose with her happiness. She'd be on a train to Boston soon. Maybe tomorrow. If Father set her up in her own household, perhaps a small one, she could rejoin society and find a proper husband. If her first choice in gentlemen was spoken for, after all, that maid-thieving Eloise Van Dyk sought everything that she chose, she knew of a half dozen suitable other young men. It wouldn't take long and she'd have the life she had long since desired. Even if she couldn't put her education to use. But she'd never expected mathematics and philosophy to be part of a high-society wife's life anyway.
Pushing back from the table, she patted her full belly and drew a deep, satisfied breath. Her loose corset offered some advantages, but not any she could afford to indulge for long. Inside of a few weeks she'd be tightly laced, coiffed, and swaying in the arms of her doting beaus in the ballrooms of Boston.
With such pleasant thoughts occupying her mind, Marguerite flew up the stairs to her room and shook her head at her partially unpacked trunks. It would all need to be repacked as soon as possible so she could avoid any delay. Humming under her breath, she began to fold and tuck things into the camphor scented depths. She needed no assistance for such a happy task. The morning passed in but a moment, and soon she heard the heavy door close and men's voices below.
William Melton stepped into the enemy's demesnes with curiosity and more than a hint of suppressed rage. So this was how the Stokes family lived. Only the finest of everything, from the heavy, carved door to the butler who took his hat and ushered him into the dining room. How despicable to invite him there to flaunt it in his face.
"Have a seat, my boy." John Stokes waved him toward a table set with china and heavy silver cutlery, heavy velvet window curtains closed to keep out the heat of the day. An embroidered white cloth hung nearly to the floor. William thought bitterly of his own dinner, usually taken at his desk or at the head of a table of students, simple food on simple plates. "I'm delighted you finally accepted my invitation."
"Thank you, sir." He carefully concealed his anger and pulled a chair from the table to sit down. "You said it was urgent." And what could he possibly offer the silver baron? Perhaps something he could withhold and cause him the slightest discomfort?
"Indeed. I have a request to make, and you are in a unique position to grant it."
Excellent. Then he would be in a unique position to withhold it… perhaps. He could only dream it was so. Lifting a crystal goblet, he took a sip of water before responding. "What might that be?"
"It relates to your position at the school. I would like you to take my daughter as a student. I find her fancy Eastern education to have left her more civilized than civil. She will not be pleased, but I will not have such a rude young woman in my home." He paused and glanced past William. "Oh, here she is." Stokes rose, as a vision sailed through the door. Blonde hair piled on her head, wisps falling around her flushed cheeks in the warm air. She wore a blue and gray striped morning dress with a modest ruffled bustle, fitted to her form in a way that dried his mouth. Her skirt swept the boards and, as she approached, he leapt to his feet and just beat the butler to pull out her chair. A scent of night roses wafted from her hair as he settled her closer to the table.
She cast her glance between him and Stokes, who gave a low chuckle. "William Melton, headmaster of the local school and the son of my departed business partner, might I present my daughter, Marguerite Amanda Victoria Stokes, lately of Boston and recently arrived here in Virginia City to brighten my home with her presence."
He bristled at the mention of his father. How dare he speak of him, after what he'd done? His cheeks heated and fist clenched but suddenly he became aware of the woman's arched brow and extended hand and forced his emotions back into place. No matter what a paragon of beauty he faced, his enemy's daughter should not sway him from his goals. There were many pretty women in town. Not with eyes that blue and a sweet blush to their cheeks, rosebud lips that need kissing.
Sucking in a deep breath, he took her hand and bowed over it. "A pleasure, Miss Stokes." Her fingers, soft and small in his grip, sent all his senses to the point of contact and he struggled not to raise them to his lips. After a moment, she gave a tug, and he flushed again and released her hand.
He resumed his own seat across from her. "I was not aware until today you had a daughter, Mr. Stokes." William kept his attention on her as she took a small portion of meat and vegetables from the butler at her elbow and rested her hands in her lap.
"Well, I have. And quite a beauty, as you can see. If I'd let it out about her arrival, every young stud in the county would have met her train." A twitch at the corner of the man's moustache gave away his amusement, as did his jovial tone. In fact, his eyes, the same unusual and striking blue as his daughter's, snapped with good humor, annoying William even more. Not only did the man have every material possession, half of which should have been his, but he also had the company of the loveliest creature west of Kansas City. Did God have no mercy on those wronged?
"And a fully-grown one as well." Stokes served himself from the platter and the butler arrived at William's side. "Quite the young woman."
He'd sooner eat poison than share the man's table, but preferred to maintain the façade of civility until he learned how to disappoint Stokes in even a small way, so when the girl lifted her fork, he also partook.
One more disparity. He swallowed the bite of tender beef in its savory gravy and patted his mouth with the napkin. "Your cook is quite skilled, Mr. Stokes." Unable to resist the first rich meal in months, he continued to eat. The façade was furthered by the disgrace of filling his belly with such perfectly seasoned food. Why should he not have a bit of what was, after all, his due?
"Thank you, William. Nellie will be happy to hear you feel so. As I recall, your father enjoyed his food as well. Josiah's appetite was well known."
Stop mentioning my father. If he didn't, William could not be responsible for his behavior. Fortunately, Miss Stokes chose that moment to flash him a gracious smile, pink lips parting to reveal even, white teeth and a dimple in one cheek he almost reached out to touch. "So, you are a schoolmaster, Mr. Melton? What kind of school is it?"
Glad to change the topic while he recovered his self-control, William beamed back at her. "It is a finishing school, of sorts, Miss Stokes. The sons and daughters of the mine owners and some of the other merchants and well-to-do of the area who wish to better themselves attend."
"Both young ladies and gentlemen, how progressive." She laughed, her bosom shaking with her mirth. "A finishing school? Here? Whatever do you teach them? How to navigate the barrooms and gambling parlors with aplomb? How to pick clothes that shed dust easily?" Her eyes gleamed, flashing sparks. "How to find their way back to real society?"
He snorted, distracted by her flair and her insults. "Perhaps, Miss Stokes, you have some suggestions for the subject matter we should be sharing with our students. The young ladies in particular." Cocking his head, he forked a bit of beef into his mouth when, to his chagrin, a d
rip of gravy fell onto his shirtfront. Biting back a curse, he wiped at it with the heavy linen napkin, avoiding the two-inch high silver S.
Miss Stokes covered her mouth with her own napkin, but the dimple reappeared. "Pardon me, Mr. Melton. I shouldn't find humor in your gaffe, but for one who claims to teach fine manners to spill gravy on his shirt—well, the dichotomy is hard not to appreciate."
"Yet another reason why your expertise would be welcome. Tell me, Miss Stokes, if you were to design the curriculum for our young ladies, what would you have us impart to our pupils?"
She straightened in her seat, chin held a bit higher, and tapped a finger on her cheek. "First, good manners, deportment. How to conduct herself in society. A true lady never behaves differently whether she is with beggars or royalty."
William nodded. "Excellent. Go on, what else?"
Launched onto her topic, her eyes brightened, her body language animated. "How to dress for different occasions. Even if she should never leave this state, there will be—I assume—dinner parties, church attendance, shopping, even supervising of staff. You did say these were the heirs of upper class people?"
"For the most part, yes. How about languages?"
"French, Latin, German… and of course you would teach the sciences and mathematics." She stood and, in her excitement, wrung her hands together. "So many schools do not teach young women these things, but it's so important." Marguerite paused and fixed him with a stare. "And, do you teach your young ladies these things, Mr. Melton?"
"This is the first year we are admitting the girls, Miss Stokes." He also stood, dropping his napkin on the table. She was certainly getting excited, for a woman who would have nothing to do with their school. Where would he find teachers of these things, even if the parents of the students wanted them to learn something as scandalous as biology?
"You are avoiding the question." They faced one another across the table, challenge in her pose, while he considered how far to push a philosophical discussion of what was appropriate for the female of the species in education with his enemy's daughter. Especially under the circumstances.
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