Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  His eyes were intense beneath his black top hat, but when he spoke he had them at ease immediately. “I can do some wonderful tricks.” He paused and his dark eyes darted around his audience.

  “Disappearing cards, appearing rabbits—yes. But I cannot bring people back from the dead, so I am very happy to see you alive and well amongst us.” He made a smiling bow in Graysie’s direction.

  Nathan slipped into the empty chair on Graysie’s right and took her hand. “All for you, my love,” he whispered as he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them, gazing reverently into her eyes. The room erupted into more exuberant applause that faded into mirth and merriment as, over the next half hour, Max displayed his unrivaled dexterity with a succession of sleight of hand tricks.

  He filled his top hat with silver dollars, poured them into a box, then turned them into candy. He produced a pack of cards from behind his knee, put them in a goblet, and then mysteriously made selected cards rise one by one. He took the pack out of the goblet, tossed them upwards and they appeared to melt in thin air. Graysie could see it wasn’t just the children who were captivated as the show continued.

  “And now ladies, gentlemen, and little girls… Our finale.”

  He produced a toy drum from nowhere and beat a jovial roll. He took the top hat off and tipped it upside down to demonstrate it was empty. He spun it twice on his index finger and then—Voila!—drew out a white rabbit.

  He stroked the rabbit and then it disappeared up his sleeve, leaving no discernible bump. He spun the hat again, and the rabbit reappeared in the crown. This time he gently carried it to Minette and deposited it in her lap.

  “He wants a cuddle,” he said. He gazed about, milking the suspense, and then spun the hat again. This time it wasn’t a rabbit he withdrew, but a prettily wrapped gilt parcel topped with a white bow. “For the heroine of the story,” he said with a bow to Graysie. “And I’m not making that one disappear again. Open it.”

  Graysie’s eyes flicked to Nathan. He was watching her with a strange expression, at once intense and whimsical. What was he playing at? She pulled the gilt paper aside and saw there were two smaller parcels within.

  The first was tiny and wrapped in tissue paper. She unwrapped it delicately and found a beautifully crafted gold brooch, decorated with a miner’s pick and a miniature gold pan engraved Ophir Mine, 1868. Tears jumped to her eyes.

  “You were right all along,” Nathan said softly.

  The second parcel was much larger. It was soft, probably some kind of fabric, she guessed. Aware of the eyes on her, she ripped the paper away to reveal a flowing white and gold gown, modeled on the lines of her favourite stage costume. Her mouth dropped open. “How did you …?” She couldn’t complete the sentence.

  She took some deep breaths and turned to Max. “Dear friend, thank you for a most wonderful performance.”

  The table went wild as Max bowed again and retrieved the rabbit from Minette.

  Graysie turned to Nathan. “Nathan, what can I say? First you saved my life. And now you arrange these wonderful surprises—the mine pay-out, and marvel upon marvel.” She choked up. “Words fail me. Except, thank you a million times over.”

  Later when the table was cleared and Minette was tucked up in bed, they talked. Nathan explained the gold miner’s brooches depicting the tools of trade were a popular item in Victoria, where his mine was located. Like nowhere else in the world, diggers celebrated their success and expressed their pride at overcoming the hard knocks with designs depicting the tools of their trade.

  “It seemed appropriate. Graysie, you are beautiful. You are fiercely loyal. You sing like a nightingale. But the thing I most value about you is your resilience and integrity. You absorb the hard stuff and just keep on rolling.

  “You’re not afraid to be yourself. You truly deserve to see the Ophir prosper. You didn’t let anything deter you from doing what you believed in. I want that quality—I want you—by my side for the rest of my life, no matter what course you choose.”

  He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. The charge she’d felt from the first day they’d met lit up again within her. She anticipated what he was going to say next, and she jumped in ahead of him.

  “Nathan. One thing I want you to know without any doubt. You are the right man to work with Basil on the mines, no matter what. You are the one we both want. Whatever else happens, don’t doubt that.”

  Nathan gazed deep into her eyes and brushed his lips across hers.

  “Will you marry me, Graysie Castellanos? Mine owner or the star of the stage, or indeed, anything in between. As my gifts have tried to symbolize, the important thing is that you’re there. We’ll work on the rest.”

  Fifty Seven

  Saturday, August 15

  Starlight nuzzled Minette’s hand gently, scooping up the apple pieces that lay there, while Minette giggled. It always tickled when her pony ate apples, but it was a nice sort of tickling.

  She turned to Uncle Nat, who was standing watching her, smiling down at her in a way which made her heart feel warm and squishy.

  “Starlight’s mine now,” she said, speaking to herself as much as Uncle Nat. Aunt Pania had told Sir John that Starlight liked Minette more than anyone else in the whole world and he’d agreed it was only right he should go with her.

  She did a little dance on the grass in her excitement. Since they had come back to Grass Valley she’d felt so happy. Uncle Basil and Aunt Alycia had bought this house which they said she and Sissy could live in as long as they wanted. She had started at Father O’Brien’s school with Seraphine, and she was in the choir and making lots of new friends.

  Best of all, Uncle Nat had been visiting nearly every day, mostly for long talks with Uncle Basil about business things, but he still had time to take her to the duck pond and tell her and Sissy stories that made them laugh. They’d both been having so much fun it was hard to remember when the scary things happened.

  There was a field next door to the house where Starlight stayed, with good grass and a stable where he could sleep. She gave a huge sigh of contentment and turned to Uncle Nat.

  “Think it’s time we went back to the house to see Sissy and the others for lunch, little angel,” he said and took her hand. “Come on. We can come and see Starlight again later.”

  They walked across the grass to the side gate which let them into the Stockton House garden. As they came up the path, Sissy appeared on the side veranda overlooking the garden. She waved.

  “Come on, you two. We’re all waiting!”

  They’d only slept in this new house for two—or was it three—nights, but the Major and Mrs. Cook the housekeeper had made everything look like they’d been here for ages. The beds were soft and snuggly, and the windows big enough to let in lots of nice cool air and allow you hear the birds singing outside. You couldn’t even hear much noise from the mining stampers. Minette hoped they would never have to leave.

  Sissy led them into the dining room where Uncle Basil, Aunt Alycia, and Auntie Pania were already sitting around a big table piled with food. Seraphine and her mum and Mr. Pete were waiting for her.

  “Seraphine, you sit here, next to Minette,” said Sissy, showing them both their chairs. “And Lisette and Pete, sit here next to Nathan and me.”

  Uncle Nat said grace and then they helped themselves to cold meat, potatoes and salad. Everyone was talking and laughing and soon it was time for dessert. Mrs. Cook cleared away the dishes and brought in some peach ice cream she’d made especially for the occasion.

  Before Sissy served everyone, Uncle Nat banged a glass with a teaspoon and everyone was quiet. He stood by his chair. When he was around, Minette felt good inside. She felt safe.

  “Graysie and I have something we want to share with you all, and this first celebratory lunch at Stockton House seems exactly the right time and place,” he said, looking around the table at everyone and especially at her.

  “Graysie has made me the happiest man i
n the world by agreeing to become my wife. We plan to marry before the end of the year.”

  Everyone clapped and Mr. Pete cheered and then they laughed and drank something they called a toast where they clinked their glasses together before they drank. And Minette was sure this was the most perfect day she’d ever known.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my developmental editor Faith Black Ross who gave me the confidence to believe I could do it, huge thanks. To my proofing editor Nikki Crutchley for identifying overlooked grammar and continuity snafus—so grateful for your discerning eye. And to my family and many friends who never seemed to doubt I could write fiction—don’t know why that was—but a big thank you for your confidence!

  (And, of course, as they say, any remaining gaffes—hopefully very few—are entirely my responsibility and no one else’s!)

  To the Birkenhead (Auckland) Library staffers who are unfailingly polite and helpful in sourcing Interloan books and pushing the limits on my borrowings.

  To the resourceful Romance Writers of New Zealand organisation for more than a decade of timely conferences—and amongst those wonderful writers, special thanks to pioneer romance writers Daphne Clair and Robyn Donald and to former president Abby Gaines for encouragement and inspiration in my early days of exploring fiction.

  Treasured life partner Tim Bickerstaff and fellow director Sam Kamani were essential co-workers in the supplements business which, when sold, gave me the breathing space to launch myself on this next adventure.

  So many others who should be here, including my publishing support crew—sorry I can’t name you all—but know I deeply appreciate your feedback and support.

  And last but not least, Senior Pastors Paul and Maree de Jong at LIFE Auckland who always bring the right word in season and never fail to inspire me to “enlarge the place of your tent” – Isaiah 54:2.

  TANGLED DESTINY

  A Christmas Novella

  OF GOLD & BLOOD

  BOOK FOUR

  By Jenny Wheeler

  “But then, there is no satisfaction?”

  “No satisfaction whatever, at any time,” she cried passionately.

  “There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest, that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

  — Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille, quoted in Martha, The Life and Work of Martha Graham, Random House, 1991.*

  *Thanks to Jane Ellen, of the Glistening Particles Podcast, for bringing the Martha Graham quote to my attention.

  One

  December 6, 1847

  “To the belle of the ball — Elanora! Happy birthday, my dear daughter!” Her father’s normally embittered face carried a faint, benign smile that she’d seldom seen since her mother’s death two years ago. He reached for his lemonade glass and raised it in a toast.

  “May the coming years bring you all the happiness you deserve.”

  She glanced from her father’s wheelchair to the man standing an arm’s length away. If she reached out, she could take his hand in hers. She resisted the impulse.

  The happiness her father wished for her, that she hoped for, all rested in his lithe, muscular form, with the quicksilver mobile face that responded to everything around him, the startling aquamarine eyes and long-fingered expressive hands that were seldom at rest. An artist’s hands, out of place juggling import and export files.

  Eustace Reverdy Mountfort, twenty-three, the man she’d been secretly hoping would “pop the question” on this milestone night of her twenty-first birthday. They’d been whispering of it for months, and she’d been certain he’d recognize the significance of the occasion tonight, would take the opportunity to ask her to be his wife. As of tonight, didn’t she step into some degree of autonomy, as well as a comfortable inheritance from her maternal grandfather?

  She caught his eye, and he shot her a look of longing that made her heart bang against her ribs. She moved her hand surreptitiously to rest under her breasts, holding herself in check, calming her restless hope. It certainly wouldn’t do to let anyone see how she felt. Rather, she made a deferent bob of her head towards Henry Travers. “Thank you, Father.”

  Henry inclined his head toward Eustace. “Obviously I am not capable of taking up the honor of dancing with my daughter on this Coming-Of-Age occasion, more’s the pity. Eustace, can I ask you to stand in for me?”

  Eustace smiled and bowed — a semi-mocking, good-natured swoop from the waist. “With great pleasure.” His voice rumbled within her chest cavity, setting off another wave of trembling as he stepped towards her and offered her his arm. “Elanora Grayson Travers, would you do me the honor of the first post-dinner dance?”

  Twenty-five of the Travers’ family’s closest friends and relatives had gathered for this St Nicholas night birthday celebration in Broadway’s luxurious Rainbow Restaurant, famous for welcoming ladies through its doors when many other establishments still only permitted men to dine.

  They’d supped on smoked salmon and crème brulee on gold plates which reflected sparkling light from walls lined with gilded mirrors. With the marble floors, elaborate ceiling scroll work and richly upholstered seats, visitors were put in mind of the excesses of Versailles, and the Rainbow had been a sensation ever since opening.

  At one end of the restaurant was a dancefloor equipped with a ten-piece orchestra, so guests could end the night with a waltz. Eustace and Elanora had made one circuit of the floor when she felt a tap on her shoulder, and Eustace’s warm reassuring arm at her waist tensed into rigid constraint.

  “I’m sure my son is happy to allow fleeting youth to accede to wisdom.” The words were jocular, but the tone was determined and humorless. William Mountfort’s six-foot-four frame loomed over them as his son shuffled aside.

  “Of course, Father.” The hooded pleading of the sea green eyes didn’t need translation: Humor him. Please.

  Eustace’s father had bestowed upon his son his virile good looks and military bearing, but the younger’s winsome charm was completely lacking in the senior. The barrel chest, the iron-willed stance of his tree-trunk thighs, and the bulldog dewlaps that hung either side of his chin, all communicated at a glance William Perrin Mountfort’s drive to dominate at any cost.

  He grasped Elanora tightly and expertly propelled her into a dizzying series of twirling spins which left her feeling slightly nauseous.

  He settled back into a more sedate rhythm and gave her a slow self-satisfied smile, happy to have stamped his control. “You’re looking particularly ravishing tonight, young Elanora.” He raised a strong arching brow in a query. “Not for anyone’s particular benefit, I hope?”

  She flushed at his ham-fisted insensitivity. William Mountfort was famous for his indifference to other people’s feelings, especially those of his long-suffering wife Connie, her beloved Aunt Coco.

  Although she should have been fully prepared for his bumptious nosiness, she felt a hot temper rising. “I’m really not sure what you mean, Mr Mountfort. I think it’s generally recognized a girl wants to look her best on her twenty-first birthday. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course, my dear, of course.” He slowed his dance steps and drew her more closely to him. She could smell the after-dinner cognac on his breath and suppressed a shudder.

  “However, I wouldn’t like a beautiful young woman like you to have her heart broken.” His steel gray eyes slid over her, cool assessment rather than concern clearly mirrored there.

  “Now you really are talking in riddles.” Her voice was over bright and too sharp to sound casual. She gave a throaty laugh. “And at twenty-one, I really am too old for guessing games.”

  She gave her best display of amused bewilderment. “Why don’t you just come right out and tell me what’s concerning you. I’m sure I’ll be able to set your worries to rest.”

  There. The challenge had been issued. And didn’t she know better than to challenge William Mountfort on anything? The way she’d see
n him treat Connie, who’d been nothing but a dedicated compassionate wife over many years, should have taught her that.

  William Mountfort stopped dancing. He was a technically expert dancer, so the sudden arresting of his fluid movement brought them to an abrupt stop. He gazed down at her with a look far removed from fatherly concern and offered her his arm with a decisiveness which could not be defied.

  “It’s rather warm in here with all those gas heaters at floor level. Let’s take a turn along the pergola.”

  As she hesitated, he hooked her right arm over his and strolled towards the doors onto the enclosed terrace that adjoined the restaurant. The promenade lights accentuated the sinuous lines of grape branches that entwined the pillars — bare now in December, but promising green fruitfulness in late summer.

  As they walked, he spoke in a low measured tone, pitched exactly for her ears alone. “What I’m about to say is very much for your own good, Miss Travers. A father’s heart, and all that.” He glanced down at her with his cold assessing eyes.

  “Let’s just say I would be concerned if you had any thoughts of setting your very lovely blond head in my son’s direction.” He glanced down at her again, as she fought to continue the nonchalant strolling, while inside she locked up in shock.

  “If that were the case, I have to warn you, you’ll be waiting a very long time. Eustace is ill-prepared for any commitments other than learning the family business right now, and he understands that very well.”