A Summer Affair

by Susan Wiggs

  “I wish you had let us find you something to wear,” said Belinda.

  “We know how challenging it is to keep one’s gowns in order while traveling,” Eliza added diplomatically.

  Isabel enjoyed a moment of anticipation. “It was so kind of you to offer. But you mustn’t worry. I’ve found just the thing.” She and June unzipped the muslin garment bag. “We took the theme seriously,” she explained, and pulled out a pair of Turkish trousers made of deep blue-green silk with gold piping. There was a matching gold-beaded cropped waistcoat with gauzy split sleeves and a veil to match.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Belinda said.

  “She’s right. It’s simply luminous,” Amanda said.

  “Thank you,” Isabel replied. “But I take no credit at all for this. The first credit goes to Sancha Montgomery Calhoun—this was made from a dress from her collection. The dressmaking prodigy is June Li. This is her creation.”

  The girl blushed so deeply that Isabel made her sit down.

  “You’re a genius,” Belinda declared, giving June’s hand a squeeze. “I believe Blue mentioned that you were clever with needle and thread, but we had no idea.”

  “I wish we were going to be here long enough for me to order my entire wardrobe for the cruise from you,” said Amanda. “When we return from our trip, I must order some gowns.”

  “I would be honored to sew for you,” said June. Then they got down to the serious business of dressing, a process that would take a delightfully long time. Isabel surrendered her hat and gloves to June and stepped behind a folding upholstered privacy screen.

  “What do you think of this jade and crystal pendant?” Belinda asked, holding a lovely piece on a black velvet ribbon over the top of the screen. “I think it will be perfect with your costume.”

  June helped her with the myriad fastenings of the costume. Once the ocean-colored veil was pinned in place to trail down her back, she stepped out for the final primping, preening and perfuming.

  “Wicked,” said Amanda.

  “Is it too much?” asked Isabel.

  “Heavens, too much what?” Belinda demanded. “You’ll be brilliant tonight.”

  “The goal is to raise money for the Benevolent Aid Society,” Eliza pointed out.

  Isabel twirled, loving the feel of the sheer silk swirling around her. “In that case, disguising myself as Scheherazade is bound to be useful. I will do my level best to get every hideously wealthy man present to pledge a huge amount.”

  “Scheherazade,” said Amanda. “Isn’t she the one who kept herself alive by making up stories?”

  Then I should be a master at it, thought Isabel. “You’ve all been so good to me,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “We have an ulterior motive,” Belinda told her.

  “Do you?” Isabel offered June a shrug of bafflement.

  “We want you to marry Blue,” Amanda stated as matter-of-factly as one might speak of the weather.

  Isabel let loose with a blithe laugh, although deep inside, she was on fire. “Do you, now? Then I shall do so right away. Is tomorrow soon enough?” She was determined to make light of the outrageous notion.

  They smiled at her pleasantly enough but were clearly not going to let her off the hook. “I realize you haven’t known him long,” said Eliza, “but we’re hoping you will take the time to learn who he is.”

  The futility of their mission was so clear to Isabel that she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “Do you do this often?”

  Amanda, who was as guileless as a spring lamb, puckered her brow in a frown. “Do what?”

  “Hunt down unattached women and parade them in front of your brother?”

  “Why, no,” said Belinda. “Of course not. You’re the first.”

  “Then I suppose I should feel honored, but the truth is, I’m simply not interested in marrying anyone.”

  June Li crouched down to tie the trousers into soft gathers at her ankles. The girl was obviously memorizing every word of this absurd conversation and would no doubt share it with the entire household. Eventually it would get back to Blue himself. He would undoubtedly find it as preposterous as she did.

  The Calhoun women watched her with compassion and hope in their eyes.

  “Ladies,” she said, feeling slightly desperate, “I admire your loyalty to Blue—Dr. Calhoun—but I’m afraid I can’t be…what you want me to be.” She was surprised to feel how close her feelings edged to fear. Dear God, fear. That was it. That was why she lashed out. It scared her, how much she wanted to do exactly as they suggested. “Perhaps I had better leave.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” said Eliza. “Please.” Her quiet maturity, along with a gentle hand on the shoulder, had a calming effect on Isabel.

  She resisted the kindness she saw in those eyes. “Please. I know you love him. I know you want him to move beyond the tragedies he’s endured. But I have my own life to live. My own path to travel. I can’t make him get over the past.”

  “It’s not so much a matter of getting over the past as needing someone now,” Amanda said with a wisdom beyond her years. “Look how he is with you, Isabel. He’s a different person when he’s taking care of you.”

  “If you think he needs someone to look after, get him a puppy.”

  “Don’t you think if that was the answer, we would have thought of it years ago?” Belinda paced in agitation. Blond and queenly, she showed a temper that matched or even surpassed Isabel’s. “You have to understand, you’re the first.”

  “The first what? The first woman to be shot in the back and rescued by him?”

  “Heavens, no,” said Amanda. “Women adore him, whether or not they get shot. He could have a different lover each season if he chose.”

  “But you’re different from most women,” Belinda explained, clasping the ribbon with the jade pendant around Isabel’s neck.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You don’t need him as much as he doesn’t need you.”

  The twisted logic nearly made her laugh, except that she didn’t feel like laughing. The truth was, she didn’t need anyone. She never had. She was certainly not about to begin now. Yet the terrible regrets that crept through her made her wish that love was within her reach.

  “Well, that’s very interesting,” she said. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

  “One senses these things,” said Eliza.

  “We’ve seen, over and over, how simply being needed is not the answer,” Belinda said. “It’s a prison, needing someone. Being needed. That’s not the answer for my brother.”

  Isabel was fascinated. “You mean I’m different because he doesn’t need me?”

  “Exactly.” Belinda clapped her hands. “He doesn’t even like you. That’s why you’re so perfect for him.”

  “So he neither needs me nor likes me, and that’s why you think we’re perfect together?”

  “Indeed. Because that means he wants you. He can’t help himself. Oh, it’s so wonderful when that happens.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why?”

  “Because it’s a sure sign of true love. When you want someone in spite of yourself, when you want him even though you know he’s all wrong for you and you know he will change your life, then it must mean love.”

  “Or stupidity,” Amanda said.

  Eliza looked sharply at Belinda. “Are you talking about Isabel or yourself?”

  Belinda blushed even as she lifted her chin in regal disdain. “Isabel, of course. She has a perfect life of travel and adventure. Loving Blue could change all that forever, and that frightens her. And being scared makes her angry and defensive.”

  “But it doesn’t make her want him less.” Amanda touched Isabel’s hand. “Nevertheless, I feel I owe you an apology. I was rude and presumptuous to tell you we want you to marry Blue.”

  “We just want you to have a wonderful time tonight.” Eliza smiled at Isabel with such warmth that it felt like an embrace.

>   “I think I can manage that,” said Isabel. “About the other…”

  “About loving Blue?”

  She flushed. “I really don’t think I can do much about that.” After being with him and feeling for the first time in her life that her heart could be touched, she was starting to doubt herself. Initially, she thought she had finally discovered what love meant. But now, observing his family and seeing the far-reaching, all-consuming expectations in the eyes of these women, Isabel knew she was only at the beginning of her discoveries.

  Love was not simple. It was not just one uncomplicated matter. It was a whole huge, unseen world unto itself. She had sailed the seven seas, had traveled across the vast continents, had seen wonders of both nature and man, had kissed the ring of a bishop and had broken bread with Wild Bill Hickcock. But she had never realized that another universe existed, invisible to some people yet wholly real to those who knew what it was to love and be loved by another.

  Seeing nature’s marvels was as simple as boarding a steamship or train. Seeing the world inhabited by those who understood the meaning of love from the inside out was a different matter altogether. It was a puzzle whose secrets she had not yet unlocked: dark, mysterious, forbidding in some aspects.

  Meeting Blue and Lucas, and now the rest of the Calhoun family, had given her a glimpse into that life, but just a glimpse. It was frustrating, because she saw it in flashes she couldn’t control, a beautiful dream that evaporates upon waking.

  “I think there’s plenty you can do about the situation between you and my brother,” Belinda said. “You just have to decide to do it.”

  The weight of their expectations sat like a rock on her chest. They didn’t care about her, she thought resentfully. They only cared about Blue, so much that they would do anything, go to any lengths to assure his happiness.

  And that, she supposed, forgiving them before she even accused them, was what love did to people.

  She conceded the battle, thankful for their friendship, however fleeting. She stood up and turned in a slow circle. “How do I look?”

  Twenty-Six

  In the gilded ballroom of the Excelsior Hotel, Blue dropped his drink on the floor. His companion, Clarice Hatcher, gave a little shriek and stepped back.

  “Theodore,” she snapped, “how clumsy of you. You’ve spilled whiskey all over the hem of my dress.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. It took an almost physical effort to tear his gaze from the arched doorway, where Isabel stood. She was an exotic vision in blue-green silk, a translucent veil obscuring the lower half of her face, bangles clinking lightly from her ankles and wrists, a shocking hint of bare skin showing at her waist. He summoned a waiter to clean up the spilled drink, but his mind was filled with images of her. Her arrival had been heralded by a general hush in the crowded room, followed by a hectic buzz of conversation. “You’ll want to call for your maid,” he said to Clarice.

  “No need,” she said, shedding her temper and slipping her arm through his, suddenly companionable again. “The damage is minimal. The carpet absorbed the spill.”

  “Indeed, but you should check to see if it ruined your dancing slippers.”

  She laughed, the sound like a brass bell. “You don’t dance anyway, Theodore, so I needn’t miss a moment of the party for the sake of my slippers.”

  He barely heard. He could no longer pretend to pay attention to her. Though he fought it, his gaze was drawn to Isabel.

  There was something different about her. It was not just the costume of silken veils; nor was it the way she wore her hair. Her appeal had little to do with the lavish costume. No, it was deeper than that. It was the charm in the way she held herself—the tilt of her head and the rhythm of her slow descent down the stairs, the gemstone brilliance of her shining eyes as she greeted people, the genuine warmth in her voice when she spoke.

  Here again was an Isabel he hadn’t seen before, not the secretive outlaw barging into his life nor the charming guest making friends with his hired help, nor the compassionate woman looking after children at the Rescue League. This Isabel was simply mesmerizing.

  Eliza and his sisters had been interfering again, he thought, watching Isabel unhook her veil in order to sip from a glass of champagne. He recognized the jewel she wore on a ribbon around her throat. Clearly they had been working on her.

  “Who is that strange woman you’re staring at, Theodore?” Clarice asked, jarring him.

  “A…former patient,” he said. It felt odd to have to define her. She was so much more, so much he didn’t want to admit. And she was walking directly toward him, a dazzling smile on her face.

  God, she knew, he thought. She was aware of how she looked tonight. She had been transformed into a glistening vision out of a dream, and she seemed intent on using her powers to the fullest.

  He was not the only man in the room to notice the way she shone. As she moved across the room, they gravitated toward her. Clarice’s hand pressed into his arm. “I wasn’t aware you’d adopted a habit of bringing your ailing patients to private social functions. Good lord, I hope she’s not contagious.”

  “I didn’t bring her, and she’s no longer ailing, as you can see.”

  The dainty hand pressed harder. “We can all see that, Theodore. Well, since you’re acquainted with the creature, it would only be polite to introduce me to her.”

  “Of course.”

  They skirted the periphery of the ballroom, making way for dancing couples and groups of patrons posturing for each other. His stepmother and sisters had outdone themselves this year in planning the event. The huge room had been transformed into a Persian Kingdom, the walls hung with silken swags, the orchestra conductor garbed in a robe and burnoose, the buffet tables laden with Middle Eastern delights—dates stuffed with pistachios, small triangular tarts filled with spiced meat, lemons preserved in salt.

  Most of the ladies had entered into the spirit of the event, wearing stylized veils and Turkish trousers, bells around their ankles and slippers turned up at the toes. Clarice wore a voluminous costume in white and royal blue, but her garb lacked the graceful gleam of Isabel’s turquoise silks.

  Isabel turned toward him, as though sensing his presence like an invisible electrical current in the air. Her gaze took him in with a grand sweep. The smile that lit her face made him forget to exhale.

  “Dr. Calhoun,” she said, closing the distance between them.

  He let out his breath in a rush, feeling a prickle of irritation. “Miss Fish-Wooten, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Clarice Hatcher,” he heard himself say.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Hatcher?” said Isabel with a gracious curtsy. When she looked up at the tall woman, she held her head tilted to one side. “I beg your pardon, but have we met? Your name sounds familiar to me.”

  “My late husband was famous for his collection of rare wines and antique weapons,” said Clarice. “Perhaps you heard his name in that capacity.”

  “No.” Isabel pursed her lips. “That’s not it.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Tell me, do you do business with the Far East Tea Company?”

  Clarice tilted her head to one side and regarded her with a slightly patronizing smile. “I have never heard of the outfit. And I certainly don’t do business of any sort. I am a widow. A respectable widow. But I take it you are a woman of commerce?” She made it sound like a social disease.

  As always, Isabel evaded any question that would require her to disclose personal information. “That’s odd,” she commented, “I have a good memory for names, and I would swear I’ve heard yours before.”

  Blue was half amused, half alarmed. The two women circled each other with the wary dislike of rival hens.

  “I’m sure you’ve confused me with someone else.”

  “Oh, I rarely confuse such things. For example, I’m certain I didn’t see your name on the Patrons’ list. Have you pledged a donation yet, Mrs. Hatcher?”

  “As a matter of fact, I plan to make a generous one. Enough to buy my way o
ut of trouble with Theodore.” She tapped him playfully on the arm, then gestured at the arched entryway of the ballroom. “Oh, look, Theodore, it’s Lydia Stanford and her new beau. We should go and greet them. I haven’t seen Lydia since the benefit for Mercy Heights. And will we be seeing Dr. and Mrs. Vickery tonight?”

  “They’ve sent their regrets. Mrs. Vickery is unwell.”

  “A pity. Then we must surely visit with the Coopers, too. Mrs. Cooper is one of my dearest friends, so I’m sure Miss Fish-Wooten will excuse us.”

  Blue watched Isabel, who watched Clarice with amused tolerance. “How fortunate that you’re acquainted with all the city’s finest people,” said Isabel. “Why, it reminds me of a conversation I had last year with Prince Rupert. He pointed out that it’s a blessing indeed to be provincial enough to meet one’s neighbors.”

  “Prince Rupert?” Clarice’s eyebrows arched in skepticism.

  “Regent of Prussia. I met him in Saratoga Springs, and he’s desperately lonely. He would find your local social scene quite enviable, I’m sure. It’s like living in a tiny provincial town.”

  “I’d hardly call San Francisco provincial,” Clarice said, her smile tightening at the edges.

  Across the room, Blue caught Rory’s eye and sent him a look of desperation. As one of the few men game enough to wear a costume, Rory looked absurd in sheik’s robes and burnoose, yet women couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

  Rory detached himself from a group of admirers and strolled to the rescue. “Clarice,” he said, bending gallantly over her hand. “Charming as ever, I see.” He did the same to Isabel and added, “May I steal you away for a dance?”

  Isabel sent Blue a triumphant look. “I’d be honored.” She and Rory walked together to the dance floor.

  “…can’t imagine how she made the acquaintance of a prince, for goodness sake.” Clarice was bristling as she offered all sorts of speculation about Miss Fish-Wooten.