“And there is nothing like a new wardrobe to cheer one up!” Mrs. Menloe proclaimed. “This color is divine with your eyes and hair, my dear, and the gown is in perfect taste, as are all that you chose today. Jonathan will be prouder than ever to introduce you as his wife.”
“I’ve never been very interested in clothes,” Katie admitted, “so I am counting on you to be painfully honest. I welcome your advice, and hope that you will speak up if I err.” Her eyes swept enviously over the older woman. Hope Menloe appeared to be in her fifties and she was still a beauty. Tall and elegant, she had wavy titian hair laced with silver that was cunningly styled in a coil at the base of her neck. Her keen gray eyes were set off by arching brows, and high cheekbones lent her a timeless dignity. Every detail of her appearance was perfect. Small deep purple bows of moire d’ antique marched down the bodice of her silk gown, which was black because she was still in mourning for her husband, and there were graceful gathers at her hem. Tasteful pearl-and-diamond earrings added the perfect finishing touch. When they had arrived at Madame Braust’s shop, Katie had honestly admitted her ignorance, and Hope had tactfully helped to choose styles and fabrics that showed Katie’s figure and coloring to exquisite advantage.
“You are a rare beauty,” Mrs. Menloe said now, “and it is exciting to witness this transformation.”
“I have to admit that I am quite excited myself!”
“Next we will go to the milliner’s, and tomorrow I will take you to be fitted for shoes. You must have Jonathan show you his mother’s jewelry collection, so that you will know what you lack. I know the very best place to go....”
They were finished for the morning, and Katie put on one of the gowns Madame Braust had in stock that fit her already: a lovely confection of sea-green silk with cream lace at the neck and sleeves, and a wide skirt that belled out over a hooped petticoat. The color was perfect with her ebony hair and somehow made her eyes look even more blue than usual. When Hope turned Katie to face the mirror and described the ideal bonnet and jewelry for the gown, the younger woman nodded happily.
“I have always been too busy working and using my mind to bother with such things, but now I am determined to enjoy my femininity!” Katie laughed. The thought of Jack’s reaction to her enhanced beauty intensified her self-satisfaction.
“Your husband will fall in love with you all over again,” Mrs. Menloe assured her, as if reading Katie’s mind. “And that reminds me, we must purchase a large assortment of lacy undergarments for you. I know of some that are imported from France. They are very expensive, but they are made of pure silk.”
They walked together into the shop’s main salon, where Hope looked for Madame Braust so that she could confirm the details of Katie’s order. As they talked, Katie stood off to one side and observed the other women who had entered the shop. All seemed to have achieved a level of sophistication that she feared she could never match. But perhaps she didn’t have to. Katie felt an instinctive twinge of resentment at the notion that she might be pressured to change in order to fit in with San Francisco society. She decided then that she wouldn’t try. Either she would win the acceptance of Jack’s friends on her own merits or not at all. Katie couldn’t change to win Jack’s love, either. The gowns, bonnets, and jewelry were only useful to enhance her physical beauty; she must not allow them to alter her character.
A stunning, slim young woman with pale blond hair had come into the shop and now stood near Katie talking to a companion who appeared to be her mother. Even from a few feet away, Katie could smell her light, lavender-scented perfume. The young woman wore a unique gown of soft pink cambric, stamped with a design that resembled black braiding, and her face shone as she whispered excitedly:
“Oh, Mother, wasn’t it fortunate that we encountered Marabelle on the street just now? If we had arrived here a few minutes later, she would have already been gone and I still would not know that Jonathan is home!”
Katie froze, wondering if it were possible that this could be the woman whose name she had heard so frequently since arriving in San Francisco.
“Marabelle said that she saw him in his carriage, Genevieve,” replied Elizabeth Braithwaite. “She may have been mistaken.”
“Mother, she saw Elijah, too, and the carriage was in front of the newspaper offices. I hardly think it could have been a mistake.” Genevieve’s voice rose impatiently. “Oh, how I have missed him! We must hurry with our errands so that I will be at home if he should send word, or even come himself. What shall I wear tonight?”
“Perhaps Madame Braust will tell us that the pearl silk gown is ready,” Mrs. Braithwaite suggested. “I must admit, I hope you are right, and I hope that Mr. Wyatt will stay put and declare himself at last.”
“I’m certain that he shall!” Genevieve fairly sang. “A Christmas wedding—isn’t that a sumptuous prospect?” Sensing that someone was staring at her, she turned and met the wide eyes of a complete stranger. The young woman looked somewhat uneasy in what was obviously a new gown. Although pretty enough, she seemed out of place, and Genevieve guessed that she had probably just arrived from some tawdry provincial outpost like Sacramento or San Jose. And of course she stared because she hadn’t the manners to know any better. Deciding that she was to be pitied, Genevieve gave her a condescending smile and turned back to her mother. “I do wish that Mrs. Menloe wouldn’t monopolize Madame Braust. Doesn’t she realize that there are other patrons in the shop?”
Moments later, Hope Menloe bade the dressmaker good day. Turning, she saw Mrs. Braithwaite and her daughter, smiled and nodded at them, and then took Katie’s arm as they exited the shop.
Genevieve was curious now, for Hope was a pillar of San Francisco society. “Madame Braust,” she said sweetly, approaching the statuesque German woman, “who was that young woman with Hope Menloe? I don’t think I know her. Is she some relation from the foothills that Hope has taken under her wing?”
A slow, vaguely malicious smile spread over Madame Braust’s powdered face. She had never cared for Miss Braithwaite’s incorrigibly superior airs, and now she relished the opportunity to deflate them. “My dear Miss Braithwaite, hadn’t you heard? That was Jonathan Wyatt’s new bride. They just arrived in San Francisco last night, and Mrs. Menloe was arranging for an exquisite new wardrobe for Mrs. Wyatt—at Mr. Wyatt’s request, of course. He insists that no expense be spared.”
The blood drained from Genevieve’s face as she managed a hollow reply: “How... lovely.”
Outside on Kearny Street, Hope Menloe was all business as she steered Katie through the crowds toward a charming millinery shop on the corner.
“That young woman we just saw,” Katie began tentatively. “I heard her talking about Jack, and I heard her mother call her ‘Genevieve.’ People have been mentioning that name to Jack ever since we arrived last night, and I am not a fool. Mrs. Menloe, won’t you tell me what existed between them?”
Hope put an arm around her and squeezed reassuringly. “My dear, I think that is a question for your husband.” Then, seeing Katie’s crestfallen expression, she relented. “I know very little. Yes, it is true that their names have been linked for some months, but marriage was never proposed, at least as far as anyone knows. I saw them together on many occasions, and I did not perceive that Jonathan was in love with Miss Braithwaite. If he were, would he have married you?”
Katie tried to smile. “No, I don’t suppose that he would have,” she murmured, wishing that she could believe it herself.
* * *
Jack’s office at the Star was in a state of comfortable disarray. Papers were scattered over his desk, his coat was draped over the back of his chair, and he’d left the remains of his lunch on a plate that he had deposited atop a stack of books. Jack himself leaned back in his leather chair, sleeves rolled up and collar loosened, proofreading an editorial that he had just completed about the possible outcome and ramifications of General Sherman’s march in progress through Georgia.
He was
just reaching for his pen to make a correction when the door to his office flew open and his secretary appeared.
“Excuse me, sir!” cried an agitated Bradley Hughes. “I told Miss Braithwaite that you asked not to be disturbed, but she insisted—”
Genevieve pushed past the young man. “This is crucially important, Jonathan! Surely you won’t deny me a few minutes of your precious time?” Her beautiful face was pale with rage. “I think that you owe me that much, at least.”
“You may leave us, Bradley.” Jack got to his feet. “And close the door behind you.”
Genevieve was momentarily at a loss as she faced Jack across the office. She hadn’t expected this to be so simple.
“Won’t you sit down?” Jack asked calmly.
She marched over to the chair he indicated, then paced back and forth in front of it. “I don’t know if I’m able to sit still! I can’t recall ever feeling more agitated than I do at this very moment!”
“Genevieve—”
“Have you any idea how I feel? How humiliated and insulted and foolish I feel?”
“I was going to tell you about the marriage myself,” he said, reaching up to massage the sudden tightness in his neck. “I realize that you are probably shocked, and that’s understandable—”
“Shocked?!” Her voice rose to a near shriek. “I had to hear it from Madame Braust! I had to come face to face with that little peahen who calls herself your wife—”
“Leave Kathleen out of this,” he said coldly. “She is completely innocent.”
“Oh, certainly she is. Where did you find her, in those Nevada silver mines you haven’t been able to stay away from? It’s horrible enough that you led me on, allowing me to believe that I would one day become your wife. But did you have to marry someone so utterly lacking in style and social graces? Why, I’ll wager that she can’t even read or write. Is that why you married her, because she hasn’t a thought of her own?”
He almost laughed at that. “No, Kathleen has plenty of thoughts, and they’re all her own. Don’t underestimate her, Genevieve. She’s a match for any woman in San Francisco when it comes to intelligence and character. In fact, she’s more than a match... and perhaps that’s why I married her. I may have believed that I wanted a proper, obedient wife, but when it came down to it, I chose Kathleen.”
“Oh, spare me a speech about the limitless virtues of that little trollop.” Her voice shook with anger. “That’s what she really is, isn’t it? Have you gotten her with child? Was that the reason for this sudden marriage?”
“No.” There was a warning glint in his eyes, but Genevieve was too upset to notice it.
“Do you know why I really think you did this? Can you bear to hear the truth?”
“I assure you, anything you can bear to say, I can bear to hear,” he replied caustically, losing patience.
“I think you were afraid. Afraid to love me, afraid to marry a real woman who would make you a real wife. So instead you went out and picked a drab little miner’s daughter and put a ring on her before you came home, because you knew that if you saw me first, you’d lose your nerve!”
“Genevieve, there is no point in this conversation. You don’t want to hear the truth, and I have better things to do than waste my time listening to your fairy stories.” He came around the desk to face her. “I am sorry if you’ve been hurt, but the fact is, I never asked you to marry me. If you’ll think back to the months I was here before leaving town in October, you’ll remember that I was far from an amorous suitor. You simply chose to ignore the truth.” Jack’s voice softened. “I didn’t plan it this way, Genevieve. If I’d known all along that I was going to marry Kathleen, I would have had a talk with you before I left San Francisco the last time. But fate sped matters along. I know it doesn’t seem possible now, but someday you’ll realize that this is for the best. We weren’t right for each other. Before long, you’ll meet the right man and thank God you didn’t marry me!”
Stepping up to him, Genevieve rested her face against Jack’s shoulder, dropping her eyes so that he couldn’t see the fury that still burned in their depths. “I suppose you’re right, and I should accept the inevitable with good grace. I wish you all the best, Jonathan, and I’m sorry I behaved so rudely.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that, and of course, I feel the same way. I have only fond memories of the times we shared.” He put an arm around her shoulders and escorted her to the door. “Take care of yourself, and give my regards to your family. I trust they’ll understand.”
“I’ll see to it that Papa doesn’t come looking for you with a gun,” she replied archly.
Jack suppressed a sigh of relief as he watched her go. Genevieve turned at the end of the hallway and gave him a brave smile, but inside she was still seething. When she rejoined her mother in their carriage on California Street, her face was contorted with rage.
“If he thinks I am going to give up so easily, he has gravely underestimated me. It isn’t too late to get rid of that mousy little slut! Jonathan Wyatt belongs to me, and I intend to have him!”
* * *
Clad in a new, lace-edged nightdress, Katie sat at her rosewood dressing table, brushing her hair by firelight. It was pleasant to sit alone and reflect on the day. Ambrose had reminded her not to expect miracles instantly and it was reassuring advice. Katie was doing what she could to effect change without demanding it from Jack, and that felt good.
There had been no opportunity to ask Ambrose or Conrad about Genevieve, and Katie wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted to. If they answered her questions honestly, it would only make Genevieve—and her relationship with Jack—more real, and therefore more threatening. For the moment she could only trust that it was over—a part of Jack’s past. Besides, she had enough to contend with without manufacturing problems that might not even exist.
The evening had been quite enjoyable, all in all. They had all eaten dinner together, while Jack explained to Conrad that he had spent some time in Columbia during his travels to and from Nevada. That, he said, was where he’d met Katie. She added little, letting him take the lead. Then, when Samuel Clemens was mentioned, both Jack’s brother and his grandfather reacted with surprised delight. Katie was happy to join Jack in relating stories of Sam’s attempts at pocket mining in Jackass Gulch.
After dinner, Katie had played a spirited game of piquet with Conrad, while Ambrose read and dozed and Jack finished proofreading his editorial. When she paused to reflect on the sense of contentment she felt, Katie realized that she already felt part of the family. She was the first to say good night, coming upstairs to indulge in a luxurious bath. Now, as she brushed her damp, silky hair, Katie was proud that she hadn’t lingered downstairs waiting for Jack. If he wanted to be alone with her, it was better that he make the choice of his own free will.
“Can I do that for you?”
Startled, Katie looked around, remembering that the connecting door between their rooms was open. Jack stood in a pool of lamplight that spilled over from his bedroom. He wore a dressing gown of slate-gray silk that exposed a portion of his chest, and his hair was appealingly tousled.
Silently, Katie held out the silver-backed brush. Crossing the room, Jack took it from her and slowly ran it down the length of her hair. From time to time his fingers brushed Katie’s neck as he lifted her hair, and shivers raced down her spine.
For long minutes they said nothing, Jack stroking her hair and Katie reveling in the sensuousness of his touch. Finally the silence became too fraught with intimacy for Jack to bear. His purpose in visiting his wife’s bedroom had been to establish a sense of normalcy in their marriage. He wanted Katie to know that she had a husband, but that did not mean he was willing to open his heart and make a gift of it to her. Jack understood little enough of its workings himself.
What he had in mind for tonight was something much more conventional... and controlled.
“Did you enjoy yourself today? The shopping excursion, I mean?”
he asked, his tone pleasantly conversational.
His voice startled Katie, breaking the spell. For a moment she was unable to respond. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“I meant to tell you how lovely you looked tonight in your new gown, Kathleen. You must feel free to choose as many as you wish, to purchase anything that you like that will make you happy.”
Katie squirmed a little. “That’s very kind of you.” She suppressed the urge to tell him that it would take more than material possessions to make her happy. Instead she said, “I was also grateful today for the opportunity to see more of San Francisco, and I enjoyed Mrs. Menloe’s company. She’s a very impressive woman.”
“I am not surprised that you would think so,” he replied wryly. “Hope is certainly strong, intelligent, and independent, which are qualities that not everyone admires in a woman....”
She dropped her head back to look at him, brow furrowed. “That’s an odd remark. Are you trying to lure me into an argument?”
“No! At least, that was not my intention when I came in here.” Jack laughed softly, shaking his head. “Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t talk for a while. Are you ready to get in bed?”
Suddenly shy, Katie nodded and stood up. Jack took her hand, led her over to the Empire-style bed, and drew back the covers. In spite of her rebelliousness at his attempts to control her behavior outside the bedroom, Katie thrilled as a woman when Jack took charge during these amorous adventures. Now, she could hardly wait to unleash her passion, to have an excuse to open the floodgates of her love.
The fire was nearly out, and it was hard for her to see him. When he slipped off his dressing gown, she felt cheated because she could make out only dimly the chiseled lines of his body. She hadn’t realized how important the element of sight had become in their lovemaking. True, the first time they had been together it had been dark, but that darkness, combined with her sleep state, had dissolved her inhibitions. Now, being deprived of the sight of each other seemed to detract from the intimacy between them.
Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) Page 27
