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 intended to draw eyes to her ample cleavage, her dress disregarded all convention of color, style and modesty. 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—an exquisite neck that beckoned a man's lips...
She could indeed lead a man to hell. And she knew it. She walked toward him with all the stealth and wile of a sleek, lissome feline—furtive eyes assessing her prey, claws retracted but poised for attack. Alluring. Mesmerizing. Lethal. He rather looked forward to dallying with this enticing little hellcat. "Good evening, Miss Ashley."
She smiled. "Good evening, Governor." The glow from the fixture above sparkled in her eyes, wide-set eyes with an upward slant that made them seem almost feline, drawing his gaze into their golden-green depths. Although her initial demeanor had been one of reserved modesty, she presented quite a different picture now. One that unquestionably caught his attention—an alluring, seductive fille de joie who undoubtedly knew how to satisfy a man's needs. A titillating thought. That enticing body, soft and warm against him, the act performed without the distraction of sentiment to muddle his perception. With nightbirds like Miss Ashley, it was just a game, a sensual, hedonistic game.
As he pondered that intriguing thought, a lazy 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 a glass of sherry, or perhaps Madeira?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied. "Madeira would be lovely." Lowering herself to the sofa, she glanced around. "Louella and Josephine? Won't they be joining us?"
Jon moved to a silver tray with a cut-crystal decanter. "I'm afraid not," he said. "They'll be taking supper in their rooms and retiring early."
"Oh. I rather looked forward to seeing them tonight."
Pouring a glass of wine, Jon offered it to her, his eyes resting where her gown dipped dangerously low on her bosom. "Yes, I did too, but my sister allowed them far too many liberties while they were on holiday," he said, taking in the sight of creamy white flesh pushing upward from her low bodice. The scent of blossoms wafted to him, 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, he peered into dangerous sea-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 enticing curves, primed his body for action. Lustful, passionate 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, not a common tart. A tart perhaps, but not a common one. Best to divert his thoughts to safer ground. He focused on the confrontation he'd had with Josephine before dinner, an argument concerning the purchase of a gown that dipped in front, revealing a portion of her chest. He knew now where the idea for the gown had originated. "My daughters seem very impressed with you," he said.
"Well, I'm impressed with them, too," Sarah replied. "They are both truly lovely. Josephine is so spirited. An absolute delight."
Jon took a swig of brandy and rolled it around in his mouth. "Josephine is also easily distracted from what's expected of her, and determined to have her way. And I am equally determined to instill in her" —his gaze dropped to Sarah's bosom—"high morals."
Sarah opened her fan and fluttered it at her chest, masking the décolleté neckline. "Both girls seem especially anxious to please you," she said. "That should make you very proud."
"Proud, but concerned," Jon replied. "Josephine sometimes finds it difficult to accept her position in life."
Wide green eyes stared up at him. "Her position?"
"As a woman," Jon said. "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," Jon said. "It's her manner of expressing them that concerns me. She's far too forthright and outspoken."
"Forgive me, Governor," Sarah said in a clipped, dry tone, "but I fear I too have been outspoken. After all, Josephine is your daughter, and you have a perfect right to be an autocratic, overbearing father if you so choose."
Jon cocked a brow. "When I deliver my daughters to the altar," he said, "I can assure you they will be" —his gaze dipped to Sarah's bosom again— "untouched. And if it takes an autocratic, overbearing father to accomplish that goal, then that's exactly what I'll be."
Sarah's lips tightened angrily. So the man based his wrong assessment of her character on the fact that she wore a stylish gown. Or... had the dreadful scandal followed her here? To her surprise, and alarm, he brushed a finger along her jaw and said in a low, suggestive tone, "Innocence, however, is only for my daughters. I prefer an experienced woman.”
Shocked by the man's implication, Sarah struggled to think of a proper retort, one that would exonerate her virtue while putting him in his place. But before she could respond, Esther appeared, accompanied by a small, gray-haired woman who stepped with a lively gait. "I would like to present our mother, Lady Cromwell," Esther said, directing the dowager Viscountess to where Sarah slowly stood to receive the older woman.
Lady Cromwell stared first at Sarah's gown. Then she raised the gold-rimmed spectacles that were attached to a gold chain pinned to her bosom and propped them on her nose. Her brows arched, and her thin lips gathered with distaste as she scrutinized Sarah's dress more thoroughly. 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?" Her cool tone seemed unusually husky for such a frail looking woman.
Sarah caught the jaded overtones and noted the spark of challenge in the woman's eyes, and wondered again if the scandal had made its way from San Francisco. Or if, perhaps 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's eyes narrowed, and she gave her a brittle smile. "Unfortunately, the best claims in the Cariboo have been taken," she said. "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," she said. "Swindlers, rowdies, and overcrowded streets."
"But we have all that right here in Victoria with the prospectors," parried Lady Cromwell.
"Yes, I see that you do," Sarah admitted, trying to hold her voice steady, feeling a growing unrest in the face of the woman's blatant hostility. As gracious as Esther had been on the ship, Sarah had not expected anything less from her mother. Struggling to hold her voice calm, she said, "But when the goldfields play out and the prospectors move on they should leave behind a prosperous city."
Lady Cromwell pinned her with an icy glare. "They will leave behind a city populated by greed-driven Americans."
Esther took her mother's elbow. "Come, Mother. Dinner is ready." She glanced back at Sarah, giving her a contrite smile.
Lady Cromwell looked over her shoulder at Jon and scowled, clearly displeased that he was not the one to escort her to dinner as protocol demanded. Jon ignored his mother. Collecting Sar
ah's hand, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Covering it with his palm, he looked down at her with hooded eyes, and said, "You'll have to excuse our mother. She was unprepared for visitors." He ushered her toward the dining room.
Sarah's palm, trapped beneath Jon's large hand, rested against a rock-hard forearm. "Yes, I can see that everyone was," she said, her attention divided between the gist of their conversation and the feel of an unusually muscular arm. Looking up at him, she added, "My maid and I will see to finding other quarters at once."
Something wickedly dangerous flickered in the dark depths of Jon's eyes. "That would be a bloody shame," he said, "and would hamper things greatly. If you spirit yourself away, how are we to conduct a proper dalliance?" His gaze lingered on her mouth.
Sarah gave him a faint, insolent smile. "We aren't."
Jon leaned toward her. "Now there's a grim thought which I'll simply dismiss."
Sarah looked at him sharply, and he gazed steadily back, giving no indication that her sharp look affected him. Rather, he seemed to derive amusement from it. Ignoring him, she focused on a table graced with exquisite porcelain dinnerware, fine crystal goblets, and a pair of elegant silver candelabra. Adjacent to the table stood a carved sideboard displaying an ornate silver tureen filled to the brim with steaming green pea soup; a silver tray with a poached salmon fancifully decorated with black olives, small onions, and egg slices; a white and gold porcelain platter holding a honey-baked ham garnished with whole cloves and pineapple slices; and several elegant silver serving bowls and trays containing glazed carrots, steamed chard, muffins, banana fritters, rhubarb tarts, cheeses, and an assortment of small cakes.
Jon seated first his mother, then Sarah, and lastly Esther. After the soup was served, Lady Cromwell, who sat opposite Jon at the end of the long table, took a dainty sip, swallowed, then looked down the table at her son and said, "Jonathan, there is need for more illumination in the streets. There was another incident in town. Young John Work stumbled on the planks on Government Street and fell into the ditch."
Snickering, Esther took a banana fritter from the platter offered by Ida, and said, "The way I heard it was that young John Work stumbled out of the Brown Jug, dizzy as a goose, and that’s why he fell into the ditch."
Lady Cromwell shot a stony glance at her daughter, who sobered immediately. "Be that as it may," the older woman said, "the problem still persists."
Sarah, certain she'd seen lamps lining the main thoroughfare as they'd driven through the streets of Victoria, looked at Jon and asked, "Does the city not have gas lighting?"
"Yes," Jon replied, "but they're not in use, as we have been plagued with air leaking into the mains. But the problem will soon be remedied and the streets should again be well-lighted, at least in the mercantile district."
"I'm relieved to hear that," Sarah said, reflecting on the tall storefront she'd fancied as one day being hers, a building with two brass lanterns adorning its fine brick facade. "It's important that the mercantile district be well-lighted."
Jon looked at her with curiosity. "Is there a particular reason for your concern about our mercantile district after sundown?"
"Well… yes," Sarah replied. "I plan to establish my own business."
Jon cocked a brow. "A business that requires lighting at night?"
Glaring at him with undisguised annoyance, Sarah said, "At times. I plan to establish a modiste, which will be supervised and operated by women, for the manufacture and sale of women's garments. It will frequently require my being in the building at night to sew garments and work on the books."
Jon steepled his fingers, and said contemplatively, "Why, I ask myself, would a woman, who is obviously capable of finding a husband, burden herself with such a task? It seems senseless, if not downright absurd."
Sarah looked at him steadily. "I am doing it because I want to," she said simply.
"Have you operated such a business before?" Jon asked.
Sarah raised her chin. "My father was a very successful clothier."
"I'm not asking about your father. The manufacture of clothing is a man's trade," Jon said. "I'm asking about you."
Sarah held his gaze. "I spent countless hours working with my father in his business and helping with his books," she said. "I even drove the delivery wagon on many occasions.”
"Many women in Victoria also help their fathers and husbands," Jon pointed out. "However, none burden themselves with the sole management of such a business."
Sarah bristled. Obviously, the man believed that women should stay at home busying themselves with all manner of tedious handiwork, as his late wife had no doubt done. Well, that might be fine for some, but for her it was not enough. "A woman is more than a mere butterfly content to lead an aimless, frivolous life," she said. "That we are incapable of handling a man's business is a most absurd bit of twaddle. We are responsible, intelligent beings, Governor, so why should we not be allowed to make our own way in this world?"
Jon stared steadily back at her. "Because women, as the gentler sex, are not conditioned to the harshness and brutality of the business world."
Sarah's mouth twitched with suppressed anger. "I beg to differ with you, but through the ages, women have borne greater harshness and brutality from drunken and abusive husbands. Men lead women to believe that as the gentler sex they are incapable of honorable independence. But, in truth, men fear that if women were given equal education and allowed to work in men's professions, they might excel and, in fact, be capable of performing all the duties in the positions men now hold exclusively, including those in government."
Jon eyed her with mounting interest. There was more to this particular night bird than he'd initially thought. She was articulate and astute and obviously intelligent. And she definitely had an independent streak. But she was also illogical, impractical and unrealistic. "Surely, Miss Ashley, you don't truly believe that a woman could hold public office?"
"I most certainly do. I assure you, we have the ingenuity, creativity, and skills for achievements higher than cooking, darning, and washing!"
Esther looked at Jon. "Perhaps you should heed what Miss Ashley says and not underestimate today's more independent woman, Jon. I suspect you have at least one daughter who shares her views."
"Josephine is naive and impressionable, as are all young women her age," Jon said. "She may believe she shares Miss Ashley's views, though she hasn't been brought up with such unconventional notions, but I trust it will pass eventually, and she'll come to her senses."
Lady Cromwell looked on with a disapproving air. Her voice had the sharp snap of a whip, as she said, "That is precisely why the girls should attend St. Ann's Academy, where they would receive moral guidance, or the next thing we shall see is Josephine flaunting herself in trousers."
Esther gave Sarah a bland smile, then promptly changed the subject. "Sarah brought with her two Singer sewing machines," she said. "and she has offered to teach the girls and me how to operate them."
Lady Cromwell peered over the gold rims of her spectacles. "There is no need," she said. "Both girls have a deft hand with the needle."
"But with a sewing machine a seam can be stitched in a fraction of the time," Esther argued.
"Which will undoubtedly create a crude, uneven seam," countered Lady Cromwell.
"On the contrary," Esther parried, "the seams are quite straight. Sarah showed us a sample. You will be greatly amazed when you see for yourself. I'm anxious to give it a try." She turned to Sarah. "When do you expect to have the machines operating?"
Sarah dabbed her mouth. "Soon I hope." Turning to Jon, she said, "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me where I might go to apply for a business license. I'd like to get started at once."
Jon hadn't expected her to pursue her venture so soon. "Applications for licenses are at the legislature building." He regarded her speculatively. "But what makes you think you can compete with the Hudson's Bay store? It stocks a complete line of women's apparel."
"Bloomer costumes?" Her announcement brought Jon to the brink of outright laughter. "I doubt you'll find a woman here who'd be inclined to wear something as ridiculous as bloomers."
Sarah pinned him with eyes darkened by anger. "You being a man would see it that way, which is to be expected," she said, "and I have taken that into account."
"My being a man has nothing to do with the facts, Miss Ashley. The ladies here are traditional, conservative women who adhere to popular sentiment. I assure you, they won't condone anything as unconventional as bloomer costumes."
"Perhaps at first they won’t," Sarah admitted, "but I intend to change that. Women need freedom of limb and motion if they aspire to higher levels of employment, to move out of sewing circles and into the professions men now hold. Dress reform is one of the most important aspects of our emancipation. So in addition to selling my costumes, I shall enlighten women as to what is considered healthful attire. Of course, I plan to discuss other aspects of liberation as well."
"To obtain your business license," Jon said, "you'll first have to offer your business plan to the city council, members of which are openly opposed to women in business. I'm afraid you won't find them very supportive."
"Is there an ordinance prohibiting a single woman from setting up and operating her own business?" Sarah asked.
"No," Jon replied, "but you won't be setting up anything without a business license, which must be approved by the city council and signed by me. I'd hate to find you locked away with scurrilous men, but as yet we have no facility for women in our jail, and we do strictly enforce the law regarding business licenses."
"Then, if I end up in jail, you shall have that on your conscience. Make no mistake, Governor. I will sell my garments to the women of Victoria," Sarah said. "And if you think you can stop me just because I am a woman, you'll soon find yourself with a fight on your hands."
Come Be My Love Page 3
