Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Watters

  Sarah wasn't certain how to take the man's comment. "Then it is available?" she asked.

  The man nodded. "Come inside and we'll talk about it." He took her arm.

  At first Sarah started to walk with him, then she became frightened. She knew nothing about the man other than he owned a building for let. "Not now. I have to go." She tugged against the man's grip, and to her relief, he released her.

  As she walked away, the man called after her, "I look forward to seeing you, soon."

  She didn't respond, but when she looked up, Governor Cromwell's eyes were fixed on her. The dark look they held, and the hard line of his mouth, left no question as to how he'd interpreted what he'd seen. She gave him an uncertain smile, then scurried past him and climbed into the coach and sat beside Esther.

  The coach dipped as Governor Cromwell swung inside and sat opposite the women, his long legs and broad-shouldered frame seeming to fill every available space in the coach. He rapped on the window behind him, and the coachman cracked his whip, giving the command. The coach moved forward, the wheels rumbling over cobblestones.

  The governor's dark eyes on Sarah, he said, "You mentioned Victoria offers many opportunities. Does that mean San Francisco does not?"

  "Maybe not the same kind of opportunities," Sarah replied, and offered nothing more. The man set her on edge. Not only was he opposed to Americans encroaching on his domain, but he had eyes like a raptor.

  His gaze still on her, he said, "I'm surprised you expect to find something in Victoria that a thriving city like San Francisco lacks. What, may I ask, would that be?"

  "It's not that I expect to find anything... exactly," Sarah replied.

  "Then I assume you hoped to leave something behind," Governor Cromwell said.

  "For heaven's sake, Jon!" Esther snapped. "Why are you interrogating Miss Ashley as if she left San Francisco under a cloud?"

  For a long moment Governor Cromwell looked at Sarah in silence, then one corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and he said, "I apologize, Miss Ashley. I did not mean to imply that."

  But Sarah knew, from the look on his face, that he'd meant precisely what he said. It was also the bitter truth. She had left San Francisco under a cloud.

  Turning away from his assessing gaze and the unsettling effect it had on her, Sarah peered out the window at the row of false-front brick and wooden buildings lining walks of fresh-cut cedar planks. Her heart quickened with excitement as she took in the bustling town. It resembled San Francisco in the days of the gold rush, and she too would build a successful business, just as her father had. No, not father. Stepfather. It was easy to slip back to a time before her mother died when she hadn't known the truth, but struggled to understand the enigma of her father. But that was behind now. Glancing at Esther, she said, "I haven't seen a women's apparel store here."

  "Most of the women fashion their own garments or buy ready-made wear from the Hudson's Bay Company store," Esther replied.

  Sarah couldn't suppress her smile. It was as she had anticipated. Women would flock to her store for bloomers and shirtwaisters, eager to shed their corsets and petticoats.

  "Jon," Esther said, "have any more women disappeared since we left?"

  Jon nodded. "Two. Both prostitutes. It's assumed they left on their own for the goldfields."

  "Assumed?" Sarah eyed the governor, annoyed with his callous attitude. "Does that mean the authorities aren't searching for them?"

  "It hardly warrants a search," Jon said. "The women will practice their trade whether here or in the Goldfields."

  Sarah felt her temper rise. "The women are after all human beings, Governor, many of whom have no doubt been cast into their demeaning profession by ruthless men."

  "That may be," Governor Cromwell said, "but right now we're more concerned with stopping the smuggling of contraband rum and whiskey to the gold fields and arresting Americans trying to avoid the purchase of mining licenses."

  "Yes, I suppose you would find that more important than the welfare of a couple of women of questionable character." Clamping her mouth shut, Sarah intended to say nothing more. After all, she was to be a guest in the man's home.

  As the coach turned off the main street, the grating of wheels on cobblestones ceased, and they followed a hard-packed dirt road that skirted the bay. Several minutes later the carriage pulled to a halt in front of an impressive two-story white house with turrets, gables, and wide porches that followed the varied lines and curves of the house. When they entered, Jon excused himself, and Esther gave Ida instructions as to where Sarah should stay.

  Gathering her skirt, Sarah followed Ida up a wide bank of stairs, down a long hallway, and into a room with a window facing the bay. After Ida left, Sarah took in her surroundings. It was obviously a woman's room. A floral bedcover of pinks and dusty blues covered a turned-wood bed, with a grouping of needlework pillows against the headboard, and a dressing table with an ornate silver brush, a matching comb, and a hand mirror graced one wall of the room, along with a ladies desk. Sarah lifted a scrap-work screen from the desk and examined the cutouts of rosy-faced cherubs, and snippets of lace with satin ribbon. A meticulous person had planned it, and a steady hand had tediously pieced it together.

  Her eyes were drawn to a large oil painting above the fireplace. In the scene, a woman of exceptional beauty sat on a sofa, her golden-brown hair caught in a coronet of braids and flowers, her glacial blue eyes staring out at the world. Beside her, two young girls looked on. The younger, a child with blue eyes and golden-brown hair, bore a striking likeness to Louella. The older, a girl with large brown eyes and dark hair, resembled Josephine. Peering into the icy blue eyes of Jonathan Cromwell's deceased wife, Sarah had an almost overwhelming urge to withdraw from the room. Those eyes were so like the eyes of her stepfather. Cold. Distant. With no trace of warmth or affection. Even when his health began to fail, her step-father didn't look to her to run his business, but turned it over to Hollis and Lester, and by the time he died, Hollis and Lester had depleted the capital, running up large debts from gaming.

  On learning about her account, Hollis set into motion his plan to obtain her money. The scandal that followed was intended to sway the judge in Hollis's favor in his lawsuit against her, but before Hollis could serve papers, Sarah liquidated the account and fled. She prayed he wouldn't track her down and press the lawsuit. She needed the money to start her business so she'd never be dependent on a man again. Only then could she set aside the tug of jaded emotions that dragged her down, and come to terms with the fact that her entire life had been a lie.

  She was a love child, conceived in lust. The only truth was that her real father had not wanted her, the man she believed to be her father had not wanted her, and her stepbrothers despised her. Men were an abject, contemptible lot, she decided, and determined to give them no further thought.

  Within the hour, Sarah's trunks arrived. While she was unpacking, sixteen-year old Josephine sallied into the room, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation, and said in a hushed voice, "Miss Ashley, may I see the bloomers?"

  "You certainly may." On the ship, Sarah described her shirtwaisters and bloomer costumes to Esther and the girls, and Josephine had shown particular interest.

  Josephine eyed the crinoline collapsed on the bed. Fingering one of the wide steel hoops, she said, "Louella wants one of these, but I think crinolines are the absolute height of absurdity, props for yards of unnecessary material, sweeps for gathering dirt and dragging it into the home."

  Sarah looked at Josephine in curiosity. Her words seemed far too opinionated for such a young woman. "Louella may have that crinoline if she wants it," she said. "I intended to leave it in San Francisco but it found its way among my things when my maid packed."

  Josephine shook her head. "Papa wouldn't allow Louella to have it. He says when they swing back and forth they show the limbs and that's bad, so he insists Louella and I wear layers of petticoats instead. But Aunt Esther's not as strict as Papa. She would ha
ve bought Louella a crinoline when we were in San Francisco, but she won't go against Papa's wishes."

  Sarah removed a gown of emerald-green duchesse from her steamer trunk and looped the hangar on a hook on the door of the armoire next to a gown of plum and fuchsia foulard. She pressed her hand along the skirts of her gowns to smooth away the wrinkles then looked askance at Josephine. "Does your grandmother agree with your father?" she asked, curious about the older woman, wondering if she could find an advocate there.

  "Not always," Josephine replied. "Grandmother thinks we should go to St. Ann's Academy where we'd have the benefit of a virtuous upbringing, but Papa insists we go to Madame Pettibeau's Seminary for Young Ladies so we can learn to be poised and proper like Mama was."

  Sarah whisked out a pair of black bloomers from her trunk. "This pair should fit you, and you may have them if you'd like." She handed the bloomers to Josephine. "You wear them over your pantalettes and under a short skirt or tunic."

  Josephine draped the bloomers from her waist and peered into the mirror. "They seem very practical."

  "They are, but you mustn't wear them unless your father approves."

  Josephine gave a vague nod of agreement. Walking over to the armoire, she touched the sleeve of Sarah's plum and fuchsia gown and trailed a finger down the skirt of the green duchesse. "These are surely pretty. I've never seen such bright colors."

  "Those are the new aniline dyes," Sarah said. "Vivid colors are all the rage in Paris."

  Josephine traced a finger along the scooped neckline. "The front is surely low."

  Sarah eyed the gown. "It's the latest fashion. In the boxes at the San Francisco opera, the woman whose dress is not décolleté is presumably a maid or a theater attendant."

  "It sure is pretty," Josephine said in a wistful voice, "but Papa would never let us wear anything so bright in color, and with the front so low he'd say we were trying to tempt the devil, yielding to base sin. Papa's a God-fearing man."

  "Then you'd best listen to your papa," Sarah said, finding Josephine's comment incongruous with what she'd seen of the man. Jonathan Cromwell seemed anything but a God-fearing man.

  After Josephine left, Sarah fetched her journal from the trunk, sat at the lady's desk, and made an entry dated September 3, 1864: Dear Diary, Victoria is everything I dreamed it would be. Every woman we passed on the ride through town wore yards of skirt, and I am here to change that. Tonight will be my overture. I shall wear a gown to dinner, and without the layers of petticoats, and before long, the women of Victoria will see the reasonableness of shedding layers of petticoats and the practicality of wearing bloomers and flock to my store. My hope is that the ladies of Governor Cromwell's household will set things in motion. I have at least two allies in the governor's sister and eldest daughter.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jon poured a brandy and walked over to the parlor window. While slowly swirling the spirits in the snifter, he watched as the sun crept low on the horizon, the coppery-gold sky reminding him of the color of Sarah Ashley's hair. He couldn't deny, the American woman with her jade green eyes, delicate features, and unblemished skin possessed uncommon beauty. But he suspected she left San Francisco under a cloud. Five minutes off the ship and she'd arranged a liaison with a merchant. She was also travelling as a single woman to a town where she knew no one and had no relatives, and had come without a letter of introduction.

  Admittedly, he was a cynic now, but he hadn't always been. Before Caroline, he'd simply been a guileless fool with utopian notions. And then he saw her at the cotillion. Dressed in a gossamer gown, she was like an exquisite fairy creature with eyes of crystal blue that sparkled with laughter, and hair like spun gold glittering with diamonds, and as he stared, absorbing her beauty, he fell in love. The blood-heat of possession began to pump in his veins until he burned with the desire to possess her body and soul, and she, and only she, was the woman who could make his life whole. So theirs had been a fairy-tale wedding.

  What a blind fool he'd been, so susceptible to her whims that her every request became his promise. He'd been ambitious because he wanted to be everything she wanted him to be—something of each of the suitors he'd bested. He'd have the fortitude of one, the ambition of another, until he wasn't sure who he was. And then came the fire... And the truth. And he awoke to the realization that the elusive, intangible thing he'd waited for during his romantic youth didn't exist. Now he didn't hate women because of Caroline, nor did he avoid them. He romanced them, dallied with them, used their soft willing bodies for his pleasure, but he'd never again find himself caught in the emotional labyrinth in which he'd been trapped with Caroline...

  Short, quick footsteps brought his head around.

  Too stunned to speak, he stared as Sarah Ashley approached wearing a satin gown of the most brilliant shade of green he'd ever seen. Richly embroidered in purple and blue, and with a décolleté neckline that emphasized her cleavage, her dress disregarded all convention of color and style. She wore her hair parted in the middle and pulled back over her ears, and a coppery bun decorated with silk pansies rested near the curve of her neck, a long, smooth neck that beckoned a man's lips. He raised his gaze to meet hers. "Good evening, Miss Ashley."

  "Good evening, Governor." The glow from the fixture above sparkled in her eyes, drawing his attention to their golden-green depths. Although her initial demeanor had been one of reserved modesty, she presented a different picture now, one that unquestionably caught his attention—a seductive siren who undoubtedly knew how to satisfy a man. He rather looked forward to dallying with this enticing little hellcat. As he pondered that intriguing thought, a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Please sit down," he said. "My mother and sister will be joining us presently. Can I offer you sherry, or perhaps Madeira?"

  "Yes, thank you," she replied. "Madeira would be lovely." Lowering herself to the sofa, she glanced around. "Louella and Josephine? Will they be joining us?"

  Jon moved to a silver tray with a cut-crystal decanter. "I'm afraid not. They'll be taking supper in their rooms and retiring early. My sister allowed them far too many liberties while on holiday." Pouring a glass of wine, he offered it, his eyes taking in the sight of creamy white flesh pushing upward from her bodice. The scent of blossoms wafted, sending a sultry heat rushing through his veins. He filled his lungs with the sweet woman-scent of her.

  "Governor, is there something wrong?"

  Raising his gaze, Jon peered into green eyes fringed with dark, coppery lashes. He stood straight, realizing he'd lost himself for a moment. The fact was, Sarah Ashley, with her provocative smile and womanly curves, primed his body for action. "No," he said. "There's nothing wrong..."

  ...that a lively romp in the sack wouldn't cure...

  A glaringly idiotic idea, he decided. She was, after all, Esther's guest. Deciding it best to divert his thoughts, he focused on the confrontation he'd had with Josephine before dinner, an argument concerning the purchase of a gown that dipped in front. He knew now where the idea originated. "My daughters seem very impressed with you," he said.

  "I'm impressed with them, too," Sarah replied. "They're both lovely. Josephine's so spirited. An absolute delight."

  "She's also easily distracted from what's expected of her and determined to have her way, and I am equally determined to instill in her" —he lowered his gaze to her bosom— "high morals."

  Sarah opened her fan and fluttered it at her chest. "Both girls seem anxious to please you. That should make you very proud."

  "It does, but I'm also concerned. Josephine has trouble accepting her position in life. She's overly headstrong and independent."

  Sarah gave him a cool, crisp smile. "And you think she should be less assertive, better yet, a servile creature without an opinion of her own?"

  "Josephine is entitled to her opinions. It's her manner of expressing them that concerns me. She's far too outspoken."

  Sarah held his direct gaze. "Forgive me, Governor, but I fear I too have been outs
poken. After all, Josephine is your daughter, and you have a right to be an autocratic, overbearing father if you choose."

  Jon absorbed that rebuke. "When I deliver my daughters to the altar, I can assure you they will be untouched, and if it takes an autocratic, overbearing father to accomplish that goal, that's what I'll be." His attention was again drawn to her ample bosom, which was rising and falling with her quickened breaths, then brushing a finger along the curve of her shoulder he added, "Innocence, however, is only for my daughters. I prefer an experienced woman."

  From the doorway came the sound of footsteps, and Esther appeared with a small, gray-haired woman on her arm, who stepped with a lively gait. "I'd like to present our mother, Lady Cromwell," Esther said, directing the dowager Viscountess to where Sarah stood waiting to receive the older woman.

  On seeing Sarah, Lady Cromwell raised a pair of spectacles attached to a gold chain pinned to her bosom and propped them on her nose. Her brows arched, and her lips gathered with distaste as she scrutinized Sarah's dress. Then a glint of fire came into her eyes, and she said, "My daughter informs me that you are removing to Victoria, Miss Ashley. Why, may I ask, have you chosen our city?"

  Sarah noted the spark of challenge in the woman's eyes, and wondered if that old harridan from the ship, Harriet Galbraith, had already come to call. Trying to dismiss that uncomfortable thought, she replied, "With the goldfields up north drawing so many people to the area, I feel that in Victoria there are many opportunities for success."

  Lady Cromwell gave her a brittle smile. "Unfortunately, the best claims in the Cariboo have been taken, and when those play out, there will be another exodus from the city. As in '59, stores will close, merchants will leave, and Victoria will slip into an economic depression. But even if that does not happen, certainly your American cities with their wealth of modern comforts offer more than our meager colonial outpost?"

  Sarah looked into a pair of cool, unfaltering eyes. "I'm afraid our modern cities also attract problems such as swindlers, rowdies, and overcrowded streets."