A Gentleman's Bargain

by Patricia Waddell

  The only adventurous thing she'd ever done in her entire life was learning to ride a bicycle. Mrs. Shurman had been appalled when Claire had come home looking like she'd run into a train. It had taken several Sunday afternoons, riding along the trails in Eden Park, before Claire had mastered the fine art of keeping the two-wheeled contraption upright and moving forward at the same time. Cycling was fast becoming the passion among the middle and working class. While the rich still had their private carriages to get them about town, the bicycle offered the same freedom of movement to the less financially fortunate. Claire had thoroughly enjoyed her speedy romps in the park, although she'd found her female clothing quite cumbersome. It was extremely difficult to peddle while wearing a bustle and petticoats. She'd been thrilled to read that the popularity of the bicycle was beginning to have an affect on ladies’ fashion and some predicted that the bustle would soon disappear completely.

  Other than cycling, Claire had spent her time reading about all the exotic places the world had to offer. She was sure that Garrett Monroe had been to some of those glamorous cities. After all, he was rich and one had only to look at him to know that he was sophisticated. But it was more than that and Claire knew it. There was a sensual mystique about Garrett Monroe that went beyond his expensive clothes. It radiated from him like heat from the sun.

  Claire felt her body reacting to her thoughts and frowned. She'd never had such notions before, at least not in broad daylight and certainly not about a specific man. It was shocking to realize that the short time she'd spent with Garrett in the company of other people could affect her so dramatically. Of course, she knew he hadn't felt the same way. He was a man of the world, which meant he'd been with beautiful women under much more intimate circumstances.

  Feeling her face color at the thought of what Garrett had done with those women was enough to bring Claire out of the chair and into a frenzy of activity. Once again, she debated with herself about accepting the dinner invitation. What would they talk about? The only place she'd traveled to was San Francisco and she hadn't had the money to explore the cities she'd passed through on her way to the coast.

  Claire supposed Garrett Monroe would think her boring and bland, but then she wasn't trying to win his heart so what did it matter. What mattered was finding her brother and getting on with her life. She wasn't interested in gaining more than a temporary position that would tide her over until Donald was found. She certainly wasn't interested in conquering Garrett Monroe's heart. She doubted that the man had one. After all he was a banker and everyone knew how cold-blooded they could be.

  Chapter Three

  Garrett stood in front of the mirror, his fingers automatically knotting the black silk tie. Since encountering Claire Aldrich at the hotel, his mind had been preoccupied with how he was going to breach the subject of her becoming his fraudulent fiancée. It was apparent that she was inexperienced, but very beautiful, a combination that could endanger her if she remained in the city without family supervision for too long. Her brother might be adventurous, but living under his roof would at least offer her some protection. Without it, Claire was more vulnerable than she realized.

  The attraction Garrett had felt when Claire walked into Christopher's office was another complication. What he needed to fool his grandmother into thinking that he'd one day marry and take up the settled, routine life of a family man was an employee who would conduct herself according to his wishes and collect her pay without any hoopla. As much as Claire may need the money, Garrett wasn't so sure he could write the check with total indifference.

  She was a pretty little thing and her uncultured innocence appealed to his masculine senses like spring flowers to a bumblebee. His plans to convince Grams that his intentions to marry were sincere meant that he'd need to bring Claire to the house on Nob Hill. With his grandmother and ten servants in residence, no one would question the propriety of the arrangement. He intended to introduce her as his fiancée and to inform people that she'd recently lost her mother. The years she had worked for Mrs. Shurman didn't have to be mentioned. Claire's experience as a companion to the belated Cincinnati matron meant that she could assume the same position, although much more informally, with his grandmother. It also meant that Garrett would be forced to treat her like a fiancée.

  The mirror reflected Garrett's frown. He wasn't the kind of man who could hold hands and brush chaste kisses over a beautiful woman's cheek without wanting more. He hadn't controlled his sexual appetite since he'd turned fifteen and taken his first woman. She'd been the young widow of one of his father's clients and more than willing to help him through the rite of passage from randy adolescence to experienced manhood. Since then his money and good looks had kept his bed comfortably filled with females, none of whom he'd ever introduced to his grandmother.

  First things first, Garrett told himself as he slipped his arms into a black evening jacket. Before he introduced Claire Aldrich as his future bride-to-be, he had to convince her to play the part. That might take some doing. The short flare of temper he'd witnessed at the hotel said the young lady may not be as easy to control as he needed her to be. However, he did have the advantage of knowing that her funds were limited. A young lady with her social graces wouldn't be looking for a job as a hotel maid unless she was near the point of desperation.

  Garrett smiled as he stepped out of his room and headed for the parlor where his grandmother was resting. If there was one thing a banker understood it was financial desperation and Garrett wasn't shy about using it to his advantage. Not if it meant putting a smile on his grandmother's beloved face.

  “It's about time,” the woman on the chaise longue said as Garrett strolled into the family parlor.

  Theodora Monroe tilted her face at just the right angle for her grandson to place a kiss on her pale cheek. “You're going out,” she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “Don't tell me that you have a business meeting tonight, because I won't believe it. You've done nothing but hide away in that stuffy bank office since you came back from England."

  Theodora “Grams” Monroe was an elegant woman with silvery hair and sparkling blue eyes that gave her grandson hope she'd regain her strength. Reclining as she was with an ivory and green blanket covering her from the waist down, all he could see of her silk dress was the expensively embroidered black bodice and lace neck. But Garrett didn't have to see her standing up to know that she barely reached his breastbone. Grams was a bright-witted, small woman with an extraordinary sense of neatness and order. She liked everything in its place and a place for everything, which was why the house on Nob Hill was run like a military institution. Surprisingly, the servants who staffed the house had been with the family for years. Grams might be a hard taskmaster, but she was a fair one, and the servants idolized her. They weren't the only ones. Garrett loved her to distraction and whenever he was in her company his steely eyes took on a warm glow.

  He sat down and smiled his best smile. “That stuffy bank office pays for this comfortable little nest you call a home. And you know damn good and well that most of my business is conducted in the evening. It's the nature of the beast I've taken up as a career."

  “Don't lecture me,” Grams said indignantly. “And don't patronize me, either."

  “I wouldn't dream of doing either,” Garrett said, chuckling. “After all a woman of your severe age is due respect."

  He laughed when Grams reached out and swatted his shoulder.

  “Pour me a sherry,” she instructed him. “And don't frown while you're doing it."

  Garrett not only frowned, he refused to pour the drink. “I don't think Dr. Baldwin would approve."

  “As if I care what that pompous bag of wind approves or disapproves of,” Grams said, tossing aside the crocheted comforter and slowly swinging her feet off the lounge. “If I listened to him, I'd be dead and buried by now. And I don't intend on being either one until I've seen you properly married."

  Garrett sighed, then reached out and cau
ght his grandmother by the wrist. “I'll pour the sherry. You stay put."

  He swung her legs up and over, returning her to her original reclining position before he walked to the liquor cabinet across the room and poured a miniscule helping of sherry into a glass. Pouring himself a more substantial brandy, Garrett didn't see the playful smile that brightened his grandmother's face.

  “So, where are you going?” she asked, once he'd returned to sit beside her.

  “To dinner,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “With whom?"

  “None of your business,” he replied, reaching out and tapping her upturned nose.

  Grams smiled warmly at him. “I'll know as soon as the paper is delivered tomorrow morning. You can't escort a lady to dinner without everyone in the city hearing about it."

  “And what makes you think I'm having dinner with a lady?"

  “My female instincts are as old as my heart, but they're in no danger of giving out,” she said with a smile. “I'm the one woman you can't fool and you know it."

  Garrett didn't bothering arguing. In the thirty-five years since his birth, he'd never bested his grandmother at verbal warfare. She was an experienced general when it came to finding out what she wanted to know. He didn't like lying to her, and in fact, he couldn't think of a single time when he'd blatantly done so. But he couldn't make mention of Claire Aldrich until the time was right.

  “I'm having dinner at the Landauer."

  Garrett could tell she didn't believe him.

  “I thought you housed your mistress on Bartlett Street,” she said candidly. “Are you keeping her at the hotel now?"

  Garrett was surprised he could blush at his age, but he could. He took a sip of his brandy to avoid a direct answer, but the gleam in his grandmother's eye made him smile. “A man doesn't discuss his mistress. It isn't considered proper conversation."

  Grams wasn't dissuaded. “What's proper and what's practical aren't necessarily one and the same, dear boy, and you know it. What I can't understand is why you insist on keeping a mistress when you can't seem to remember their names a day after they've vacated that adorable little cottage you bought a few years ago. And I have no idea how you got that way. Heaven knows your father didn't flit from woman to woman like a hummingbird. I'll admit he had his wild days, but after he met your mother, he changed. I wonder if you're ever going to settle down."

  Garrett hesitated, then smiled. “And what if I did? You'd have nothing to lecture me about and you'd die of boredom."

  “There's nothing boring about having a house full of children,” she chided him. “And that's what you need. Half a dozen little hellions running around would settle you down in no time."

  “Perish the thought.” Garrett grimaced.

  He finished his brandy and set aside the glass, before turning a fierce gaze on his grandmother. “Don't wait up for me. Dr. Baldwin said you need lots of rest."

  “Stop frowning at me.” She shooed him off with a wave of her elegant hand. “I'll be tucked in as tight as a bug in a rug before the waiter serves your dessert. Now go."

  Garrett searched her face, lined with age, but still compassionate. Theodora Monroe ruled San Francisco society without being a member of the Temperance League or the church choir. She ruled by example, making sure her life was as spotless as a newly washed apron, and demanding the same level of morality from the people around her. If she announced her dislike for something or someone, they were immediately shunned by the people on the Hill. On the other hand, if she recommended a charity, its coffers were filled, and if she mentioned that she liked a particular painting or the prose of a new author, the artist's work was an immediate success.

  She was revered and respected by everyone who knew her. Hating the thought of what his life would be like without his grandmother's sharp wit and cutting chastisements, Garrett leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “If you're a good girl, I might have a surprise for you this weekend."

  “I'm too old for surprises,” she teased him. “They're not good for my heart."

  He laughed. “Behave yourself and go to bed early. I'll see you at breakfast."

  * * * *

  Claire wasn't surprised when Andy brought the carriage to a stop in front of the boarding house at precisely seven-thirty. She'd had to do some fancy footwork to keep Mrs. Kruger from barring the door when she'd told the landlady that she'd accepted a dinner invitation with one of the city's gentlemen. Of course, she hadn't mentioned Garrett Monroe's name. If Mrs. Kruger assumed that Andrew Wilkes was her escort for the evening, then so be it.

  Fortunately, the hotel clerk had changed his clothes. He knocked on the front door, looking every inch like an acceptable young man. His brown hair had been washed and brushed and his clothing, a dark suit and a crisp white shirt, met the landlady's sharp scrutiny as he stepped into the parlor.

  Not wanting to linger, Claire had her shawl draped around her shoulders and the black beaded reticule she'd inherited from her mother, dangling from her right wrist.

  “You look lovely,” Andy said as she came down the steps that led into the foyer of the boarding house.

  “Thank you,” Claire replied before making the formal introduction that Mrs. Kruger insisted upon before letting any of her girls venture into the night. Knowing that there was nothing threatening about Andy's outward appearance, Claire tried to relax.

  It was impossible. The closer the time came for her to confront Garrett Monroe again, the tighter the knot in her stomach got. She'd almost backed down again, but a quick recounting of her funds changed her mind. She needed a job and if the banker could find her a position as a lady's companion or temporary governess, then she'd be glad to accept it.

  “Be sure she's back by a decent hour, young man,” Mrs. Kruger instructed, following them outside. She gave the carriage a thorough going-over with her eyes before insisting that Claire keep her shawl close at hand. The fog had rolled in off the bay and the gaslights were straining to illuminate the misty streets.

  Claire entered the carriage with Andy's helping hand, thankful that he'd raised the canvas top, shielding her from the landlady's sharp eyes. The smile on her face, painted there since she'd descended the staircase, quickly turned into a frown. Andy noticed, but gratefully didn't comment on her sudden change in attitude as he snapped the reins and sent the carriage on its way.

  Seeing the hotel at night was even more impressive than seeing it in the daylight. Rows of streetlamps positioned every twenty feet or so flooded the lobby entrance. The upper windows were ablaze with light and the sound of an orchestra drifted through the open doors and out into the street. The fog wasn't as prominent at the top of the hill, and Claire gazed at the fashionable ladies and gentlemen entering the hotel. The night air had a briskness about it and most of the ladies were wearing fur wraps that accentuated their husbands’ wealth and their own keen fashion sense. Claire gazed down at the blue skirt of her taffeta gown and realized that she had a long way to go before she caught up with the cream of San Francisco society.

  Too nervous to see the admiring glances sent her way, Claire stepped down from the carriage, unaware that Garrett was watching from the second floor window of the hotel's office. His astute eye immediately noticed Claire's change in hair style. Her petite face was framed by wispy ringlets while the rest of her silky hair was held back by a thick velvet ribbon tied at the nape of her neck. A paisley shawl was draped over her shoulders, hiding most of her from view, but Garrett smiled as he saw the ruffles on her petticoats and the small but unavoidable fashionable bustle on her dress.

  God, how he hated bustles.

  Reminding himself that what he had in mind for Claire didn't include stripping her clothes away so he could memorize her body with his eyes, Garrett collected his determination and went into the private dining room adjacent to the office. He'd instructed the hotel manager, Mr. Crawford, to have the room prepared for the evening ahead. Garrett had used it for business meetings in the past and
he knew Christopher often employed the room when he wanted to be alone with a particular lady, usually a guest of the hotel who was bored because her husband was playing poker or enjoying the sinful delights of the waterfront district.

  The small dining room was reached by opening a set of pocket doors in the rear of Christopher's office. The panels were made of California redwood with elaborate carvings that added to the elegance of the room they revealed when opened. The room was carpeted in shades of green and gold. The fabric matched the velvet drapes covering the rectangular windows that overlooked a small courtyard in the back of the hotel. A set of French doors opened onto a balcony. The table was large enough to seat six, but small enough to allow genteel conversation if one was wooing a lady. Draped with an ivory lace tablecloth, the cherrywood table displayed a massive silver and gold centerpiece commissioned from a fashionable city jeweler. The built-in china cabinet housed a set of china with the hotel's insignia, as well as cutlery. A large gilded mirror, hung opposite the doorway, reflected the tasteful décor of the room at the same time that it gave the illusion of space, making one think that the dining area was much larger than its actual measurements. The quaint intimacy of the room gave its guests the impression that they were dining in a private home, not a hotel.

  Mr. Crawford had arranged for one of the hotel's most trusted maids to serve the meal and Garrett knew that his first private meeting with Claire Aldrich would remain a secret. Libby had been hired before the hotel had opened some six years before and she had risen in the servant ranks because of her loyalty. Whatever she saw or heard she kept to herself, a trait that the young Andy shared. Their discretion was the source of their job security and Garrett was confident that neither one of them would breach it willingly.