"When are we to leave?" she asked.
"As soon as we can be ready. I shall call the troupers together at dawn and share the good news." He clasped his hands. "Ah, it has turned out to be a much better night than events would suggest! Who knows where such patronage might lead?"
Indeed. Harry always found the good in everything, but she felt the same sense of anticipation.
Of one thing she was certain. Their lives were about to change—hers, Morgan's, everyone's. She couldn't begin to guess where those changes were leading, but Fate had intervened with a vengeance.
After tonight, nothing would be the same again.
The tall, familiar figure strode up the drive, and Athena rolled away from the parlor windows to face the door. Niall had come home.
He had been gone a very long four months. Strange that in spite of their last argument, she had missed him terribly. Not even the constant social and philanthropic commitments had been completely successful in easing her loneliness.
When did it begin? she asked herself, listening for the door and Brinkley's greeting. When did I become… dissatisfied?
She could not pinpoint the precise day or date, but the feeling of emptiness had been growing, and it troubled her. She had spent wasted hours looking out the window at her friends and neighbors walking and riding in the crisp autumn air, and remembering what it had been like to kick at piles of leaves and dash across the park on a high-spirited horse.
But her friends and fellow Society members had been as attentive as always in their visits, just as generous in their contributions. The orphans and poor folk still responded to her visits with solemn gratitude. There was no good reason for her disaffection.
Surely it was the change of seasons that made her feel so restless. Now that Niall was back, those troublesome emotions would dissipate. His opposition to much of her work might even fire a renewed determination. Yes, that was what she needed—fresh inspiration, something to fight for.
The front door opened. Brinkley's voice welcomed his employer home, and Niall's footsteps echoed in the vestibule.
Athena sat up straight and had her best smile ready for him when he walked into the parlor. She held out her hands.
"Niall, welcome home! It is so wonderful to have you back."
He bent to take her hands and kissed them. "Athena. You are looking well—and lovely, as ever."
Athena searched his face. He, too, was looking well; his ordinarily sober gray eyes were almost sparkling, as if with some hidden mischief. They reminded her of the old days, when Niall had been… when it had been so much easier for him to laugh. So much easier for both of them.
"Sit down, and tell me all about your business," she said, signaling for the parlormaid to bring tea, coffee, and biscuits. "Was it very successful?"
Niall smiled and sat in his armchair facing the fireplace. "You have never taken any interest in my business."
"Perhaps it is time I did."
"And perhaps it is past time that I take an interest in yours."
She grew alert. "I am… sorry about our argument before you left—"
"No. You were quite right. I have been too harsh, without understanding."
Her heart swelled with hope. "That is kind of you, Niall. Nothing would please me more than if you wished to help."
"Then I trust you will be pleased with what I have brought you today."
Athena did not allow herself to show vulgar excitement. Niall often brought her gifts upon his return from business trips, but never with such pleasure.
"I do not see a package," she said, leaning as if to look behind him. "I cannot imagine what you can have brought from the mines in the south!"
"Oh, it will not fit in any sort of box," he said with mock solemnity. "Indeed, you will have to come outside to see it."
Alarm stopped the air in her lungs. "Here at the house?"
"It would not even fit on the grounds. You must come out with me, in the carriage, if you want your present."
She looked down at her lap and the carefully arranged folds of her gown. "You know… that is not easy for me, Niall."
"You go out to the orphanage and among the poor."
"Yes, but that is different—"
"Because they have no right to pity you?"
She flinched at his too-acute observation. For a moment he looked uncomfortable. "I realize that you do not enjoy going into the city, or even on social calls," he said. "But I think you will wish to make an exception in this case."
She met his gaze. There was a hint of a challenge in it, and that was shock enough to win her full attention. He was so apt to want to protect her, and now he urged her to go out. There was something special about this, indeed.
"Very well," she said slowly. "If you will take refreshment while I prepare—"
"Nonsense. You are fine as you are." He rang for Brinkley. "Please call Miss Munroe's maid, and tell Romero that we will be needing the rockaway."
Fran appeared to settle Athena's wrap about her shoulders and pushed her chair down the hall. Only moments ago Athena had been wishing for some new source of inspiration, and her wish seemed to have run away with her.
Fran, Romero, and Niall bundled her into the carriage and covered her legs with another wrap. She forced herself to look out the window as they set off, catching glimpses of several women she knew walking arm in arm, a new mansion going up on Welton, the streetcar on its way to the business district. Everything about Denver was moving, too busy to slow down for an instant.
She expected Niall to stop the carriage at any time, but they rattled on out of the better part of town, past more modest dwellings with livestock kept in dusty yards, and on to an area near the outskirts of the city. The Munroes owned several empty lots there, and Niall had often said that he expected the investment to pay off when the city expanded and required the land for new construction.
Curious despite herself, Athena looked for anything unusual. The carriage made a turn down a dirt track, and there, spread across a field of autumn grasses, was her surprise.
A circus. She recognized the tents, the colorful wagons, the peculiar folk moving about with their animals and bright costumes. Niall smiled, pleased at her confusion.
"You wonder why I bring you to a circus?" he asked. "Before I left, you chided me about my failure to help those in need. You will be pleased to know that I have listened. I have not only assisted these people in their time of need, but I have engaged them to perform for your orphanage at my expense."
Athena stared at him and realized her mouth was agape. "Niall… I am… I could never have imagined—"
He signaled Romero to stop at the edge of the lot. "I wanted you to see this for yourself, and meet those I've hired to entertain your children."
"Oh, Niall. The children will be so delighted, I know it."
He reached across the seats to press her hand. "So long as it delights you, Athena. Shall we?"
He and Romero helped her down, and her chair was taken from its special rack in the boot. Athena was too busy absorbing the view to notice the bumpy, uncomfortable ride over the rough ground as Niall pushed her chair toward the tents.
A fat, jolly-looking man with white whiskers came to meet them as they approached the largest tent, the one she supposed must house the main performances. He was eccentrically dressed, but quite normal in contrast to a few of the people she had glimpsed at work or practice on the lot.
"My dear, dear Mr. Munroe!" the stout man said effusively. He pumped Niall's hand and looked down at Athena. "And this must be your lovely sister!"
"Athena," Niall said, "may I present Mr. Harry French, the manager and owner of French's Fantastic Family Circus. Mr. French, Miss Athena Munroe."
"Delighted, delighted beyond words." French beamed at her. "May I say how very charmed I am to make your acquaintance?"
Athena liked Harry French instantly. She returned his smile and pressed his hand.
"I am glad to meet you, Mr. French. My
brother tells me that you have come to Denver to entertain the children of our orphanage. I know they will consider it the experience of a lifetime."
Harry blushed, his skin contrasting even more vividly with the white of his moustache. "We shall do our best, indeed we shall. Your brother has done us a great favor. You see, we had suffered a number of misfortunes, and he offered a solution to our difficulties. He is most generous. Oh, yes, most generous."
Niall looked away. "I hope that you will not find it inconvenient to show my sister something of your establishment, Mr. French," he said gruffly.
"My pleasure. Oh, yes. We are still setting up, but I am sure—ah, there are a few of my troupers, if you would care to follow—"
He set off at a waddling trot. Niall sighed and steered Athena after him.
"Do you think this is the right circumstance for introductions?" Athena asked. "Perhaps it would be better to invite them to our home instead."
"You astonish me, Athena," Niall said. "One doesn't invite such people to one's home."
She could not argue. From all she had heard, circus folk were deemed little better than vagrants, dirty and ignorant. They were not the sort of people she usually dealt with—neither needy and dependent, nor wealthy and cultured.
But surely it was a matter of finding the right way to speak to them. The troupers Harry French had mentioned were standing in a group looking at the large tent, talking amongst themselves. Athena noticed the new look of the canvas, without so much as a scuff or tear. Many of the other tents had a worn appearance, as did the wagons.
"Miss Munroe," Harry said, waving her and Niall forward, "I am pleased to present to you my troupers, whom I feel I may boast are among the finest in our nation." He rocked back on his heels and swept out his arm in a grand gesture. "Caitlin Hughes, our graceful Lady Principal or equestrienne; Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield, also known as the Little Professor, genius and prognosticator; Tamar the Queen of the Snakes, and Morgan, our—"
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Munroe." The girl French had introduced as Caitlin stepped forward, began to hold out her hand, and dropped it awkwardly. She was pretty in an unusual, impish way, very small in her circus costume of tights and short skirt. She glanced at Niall. "Harry told us that we'll be performing for the orphans you care for. It is very kind of you and Mr. Munroe to help children who don't have a home."
Athena smiled. The girl could not be very well educated, and certainly was not refined, but Athena warmed to her as quickly as she had to Harry French. "Good afternoon, Miss Hughes. I know that I will look forward to your performance."
Caitlin blushed as red as her hair and stepped back. The small man beside her bowed to Athena.
"Ulysses Wakefield, your most obedient servant," he said with a soft Southern drawl. "I trust that you will find our humble company worthy of your highest expectations."
How strange it was to look upon another person who carried a physical burden so much greater than her own. Here was a gentleman, by his clothing, manner, and speech, yet though she was seated he could meet her gaze while standing straight on his own two, short legs. His face was handsome, and he carried himself as if he were of average height. But he, like Athena, must often face a world that could not understand.
She offered her hand. "I know I shall not be disappointed, Mr. Wakefield," she said. He kissed the air above her knuckles, leaving her feeling unaccountably flattered. She looked up at the third person and lost any sense of comfort.
Tamar was tall, voluptuous, and beautiful, but her black eyes were devoid of warmth. Her lips remained flat and unwelcoming. A darting, reptilian head thrust out from under her dark wrap.
"Miss Munroe," she said, her voice low and heavily accented. "I hope you do not find it inconvenient to come here."
"No. Not at all, thank you." Athena kept her hands folded in her lap and held Tamar's gaze, resolved not to let her unease show. It was clear she would receive no friendlier greeting from the Queen of the Snakes. But an even more disturbing sensation centered on her temple, seeming to emanate from the direction of the man Harry had not quite finished introducing.
She turned her head. Her eyes met those of the last man. She could have sworn that even her legs felt the impact of that golden gaze.
"Oh, yes," Harry said, bumbling up beside them. "How remiss of me. Miss Munroe, please meet Morgan Holt."
Chapter 5
So strong was the sense that they had met that Athena almost asked him where he had been and how he had fared over the years.
She caught herself before she made an embarrassing mistake. They had not met before. He was a stranger, though her heart insisted otherwise. A stranger who compelled her to stare in defiance of all good manners and propriety.
Morgan Holt was tall, though not quite so tall as Niall. He was broad through the shoulders and lean through the hip in the way of a natural athlete. While the others wore coats and wraps against the autumn wind, he was dressed in an open-necked cotton shirt and simple trousers, and his feet were bare.
But his face made such oddities insignificant. Oh, he was handsome enough—not in the conventional way preferred by the women in Denver society, but undeniably attractive. "Rugged" was the word that came to mind. He was clean-shaven, making no concession to the fashion for long side-whiskers and moustaches. His black hair fell to his shoulders, like an Indian's, and his brows were dark slashes above piercing golden eyes. Yet something in his face, in his expression, held a fascination for her that went far beyond looks.
Secrets. His face was full of secrets, a calm surface over hidden currents that bubbled and boiled. Utter fearlessness. Fierce independence. All the things she wished she possessed.
Morgan was a man who would never beg for a place in the world. Never have to prove anything. No one would pity him.
He blinked like a cat in the sun. She came to herself abruptly and realized that he was giving her the same methodical examination to which she had subjected him. His eyes grew hooded as they tracked from her face to her lower body and the chair with its special wheels. And then he met her gaze, and she saw what she had dreaded… and expected.
When men looked at her, they did not see a woman. They saw a cripple, a girl never permitted to grow up, a creature to be protected and pampered but never loved. Not as a man loved a woman, as her father had loved her mother.
Most of the time she was able to ignore masculine discomfort with her affliction. Most of the time she didn't allow herself to think of Niall's business partners, or her friends' brothers, as men at all. That entire part of her being remained safely locked away.
Until a man like this one came along. And suddenly, painfully, she was aware of his potent maleness and her own shortcomings as a woman.
"Miss Munroe," he said.
She started, hardly expecting him to speak. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holt," she said, grasping at the rote phrase. "What is your area of expertise in the circus?" She smiled cautiously. "Are you the lion tamer, perhaps?"
He made a sound in his throat that she guessed was a laugh. "There are no lions here. No animals in cages, except for one. You could say that I tame him, as much as he can be tamed."
His voice was baritone, a little rough, without the accents of refinement that Mr. Wakefield's held, or the hint of a more advanced education that marked Harry French's speech. It had its own particular music, like the sighing of wind in mountain pines.
"And what sort of beast is it, Mr. Holt?" she asked.
"One you have never seen before."
"Rare and deadly, I suppose?"
"Yes." He stared at her face as if he could discern her thoughts through sheer determination. "What do you do, Miss Munroe? What is your… expertise? Or do you have one?"
He was mocking her. She prided herself on reading voice and expressions, and there was no doubt that Morgan Holt meant to provoke.
She glanced around to see if Niall was listening, but he was deep in conversation with Mr.
French and Caitlin Hughes. Ulysses had gone, and only Tamar watched from a distance, her snakes coiling about her upper arm.
"You refer, perhaps, to this?" she said, gesturing at her lower body. "Do you judge that one in my situation is unable to do anything of worth? I assure you that neither my mind nor my heart are paralyzed, Mr. Holt."
As soon as the words left her mouth she wondered where they had come from, and why she had revealed so much to a hostile stranger. He did not know her, nor she him, yet already she felt as if they were at odds, engaged in a battle for which she did not understand the cause.
And that was ridiculous. If anything, he was an employee, part of a world separated from hers by class, money, and inclination.
"I am sorry," she said coolly. "I misunderstood your question."
"Harry says your family are important people in Colorado," he said. "Your brother hired the troupe knowing Harry had to accept his offer, whether he wanted to or not."
He scraped a hollow in the earth with his foot. "When you have money, anything is possible, isn't it?"
Now she understood his antagonism. He did not feel contempt for her disability, merely for her wealth. He resented what he and his people lacked, and what they owed Niall. Perhaps his own background was one of poverty.
That was no excuse for his discourtesy. "I think I see," she said. "You have decided that having money renders a person incapable of virtue or honest work. It is wealth that you object to, even when it provides you with employment. I am truly sorry that your life has been so difficult, Mr. Holt."
Ah. That penetrated his armor. "Very kind of you, Miss Munroe," he said with a curl of his lip. "I guess when you spend your life helping your inferiors, you don't notice what your own life is missing."
She did not allow him to see her flinch. Who in heaven's name did he think he was? He did not know her, or anything about her. She held on to her temper, bewildered by her growing anger. She had almost forgotten what real anger was. It distressed her far more than anything Morgan Holt had said.
"I can see that my activities would not interest you," she murmured. "I do not tame dangerous beasts, merely persuade reluctant ones."
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