A Gentleman's Bargain

by Patricia Waddell

  * * * *

  Claire woke to find her nightgown and robe neatly folded over the end of the bed and her cane propped against the vanity table. She stretched like a cat waking up after a long night's rest on a warm hearth, and realized that Garrett must have retrieved the cane from the library.

  Of course, he had, she realized. He wouldn't want anyone in the house to suspect that he'd spent the night in her bed. Claire took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of Garrett on her pillow. Her hand smoothed over the wrinkled linens and she thought of how wonderful it had been to fall asleep in his arms.

  The sound of Libby balancing a tray on one hand and tapping on the bedroom door with the other intruded into Claire's memory of the previous night. Hastily, Claire reached for her nightgown and pulled it over her head, then straightening the bedcovers, she leaned against the feather pillows and told the maid to come in.

  The next few minutes were spent saying good morning as Libby placed a tray of tea, toast, and fresh fruit on the table beside the bed. When she opened the drapes, sunlight streamed into the room, filling every nook and cranny. Claire realized she'd overslept and apologized.

  “Don't worry over it,” Libby said as she poured Claire a cup of tea. “Mr. Monroe left bright and early and his grandmother went into town. She said she had business to attend to. She told me to let you sleep. How's your ankle this morning?"

  Claire tucked the blanket up at the corner and wiggled the appendage. “Much better."

  “Good,” Libby said before taking herself into the bathroom to turn on the tap. The sound of hot water gushing from the spigot was soon heard and Claire smiled, looking forward to a bath.

  Suddenly self-conscious of her tangled hair and aching body, Claire finished her tea. She tried to force the thought of leaving Garrett out of her mind, but it kept surfacing, along with the knowledge that one night in his arms wasn't enough. She wanted a lifetime.

  Thirsty, but not hungry, Claire sat her empty cup back on the tray and got out of bed. Balancing her weight carefully, she tested her ankle. She hadn't lied to Libby. It felt much better, but Claire reached for the cane anyway. She had a lot to do and straining her ankle again would only slow her down. Since Grams was gone, it would be easy to leave the house. The servants wouldn't ask her for an explanation and the trolley line that went down the hill was only a short distance away. If luck was with her, Claire could go to Chinatown, see her brother, and be back before Garrett returned home.

  She was anxious about seeing Garrett again. It would be embarrassing at first, considering what they'd done together, but she was more worried about how to handle his temper once he found out that she'd gone behind his back and visited her brother. Claire reminded herself that she wasn't seeking out a stranger. Donald was her flesh and blood. She had every right to see him.

  She stopped in front of the vanity mirror and took a long look at herself. Her hair was a mess of unruly curls and although she couldn't see the rest of her body because of the long cotton gown, she knew it had to show the effects of Garrett's lovemaking as well. He'd taught her that passion could be fierce as well as tender and she blushed at the memory of it.

  But the flush of color held no condemnation for her actions. She should be ashamed, she knew; it wasn't proper for a young lady to submit to the baser instincts of life, but Claire didn't feel embarrassed or shamed by what had passed between herself and Garrett. Truthfully, she felt as if she'd taken on a new life, the life of a woman who finally knew what it felt like to be held, and wanted, and perhaps even a little loved. The time she'd spent in Garrett's arms wasn't enough to satisfy her, but it was enough to confirm her love for him.

  Holding that thought, she took her bath and with Libby's help put on a blue skirt and matching jacket trimmed in gold braid. A short time later she was insisting that the maid not worry about her.

  “I've been cooped up in this house far too long,” Claire said, leaning her cane against the foyer table as she slipped on her gloves. “A short walk and a little shopping will be good for me. Don't fret. I'll be back in no time."

  Ignoring Libby's worried look, Claire stepped outside the door of the Nob Hill mansion for the first time in five days. The sun was warm on her face and she couldn't help but think of the way Garrett had warmed her the night before. She made her way toward the trolley stop, wondering if he was thinking about her. Not knowing what went on in a man's mind after a night of lovemaking, Claire hoped that Garrett didn't think he'd turned her into a willing bed partner anytime he wanted one. She'd given him her virginity, but her pride was still intact.

  The trip to Chinatown soon consumed her thoughts and Claire watched as the trolley moved through the city. She knew the moment she'd reached her destination. The texture of the city changed almost instantaneously. Instead of modest storefronts and quaint cottages with wrought-iron fences, the buildings had tiled roofs painted red and green. Bright banners flowed from the doorways, decorated with bold black lettering that she couldn't decipher. But it was the people that held her attention. The men were short and thin and they wore what appeared to be black silk pajamas and sandals that made a sharp click-clop sound on the wooden sidewalks. The women dressed in a similar fashion and they reminded Claire of fragile china dolls, they appeared so delicately made.

  The trolley passed a Buddhist temple. The narrow staircase leading to the Oriental house of worship was lined with Chinese residents who had come to pray and give offerings to their ancestors. The scent of incense was heavy in the air and Claire was intrigued by the building's architecture. Gold painted lions with red eyes guarded the temple and she wondered if the interior of the building was as elaborate as the outside.

  When the trolley conductor announced that Waverly Place would be their last stop, Claire stood up. Thankful that she'd brought the cane, she walked to the front of the car and deposited the necessary coins in the box by the conductor's seat before stepping off the car and into the street.

  Fortunately the house numbers were written in both English and Chinese and Claire studied the street in both directions before setting out to find her brother. The musical chatter of the Chinatown residents pleased her ears and she strained to understand at least a word of their language, but it seemed impossible.

  There were street vendors with large wagons of woven baskets doing business beside wagons filled with exotic fruits. Chickens squawked inside bamboo cages and she laughed and shook her head when a small man, missing a considerable number of his front teeth, waved a half-plucked chicken in front of her and jabbered broken English so fast she couldn't make out what he was saying, although Claire assumed he was trying to sell her the plump hen.

  She stopped for a moment to look at a store window. The shop specialized in silk and the window was draped with some of the most beautiful fabric Claire had ever seen. Inside, she could see a slender Chinese woman, wearing black loose-fitting trousers and a high-collared red and gold jacket, talking to a customer. The older Chinese woman seemed to be having a difficult time deciding between a piece of jade silk and one the color of a rare ruby. Claire sympathized with the shopper's dilemma. Both pieces of silk were beautiful and Claire wondered if she dared to take the time to visit the shop after she'd seen her brother.

  The thought passed quickly. She had just enough money to pay for a trolley ride back up the hill and another round trip from Nob Hill to Chinatown, if Donald offered her the security of his home. The money Garrett had deposited in an account at his bank would go untouched, no matter how desperately she might need it in the future.

  Silently reciting the address she'd discovered the previous night in Garrett's library, Claire continued down the street. She stopped in front of a narrow building with three floors. Both the second and third floors had balconies decorated in brightly colored streamers and brimming with exotic plants. The front door of the house was painted a stark black in contrast to the red walls and red and gold trimmed window frames. Wooden shutters covered the windows, shutting the h
ouse off from intruding eyes. Taking a deep breath and praying that her quest for her lost brother would end when the door was answered, Claire knocked on the door and waited.

  When the door was finally opened, Claire didn't know what to say. A Chinese girl stood in front of her. Although the young woman was childlike in size, there was a maturity about her face and eyes that told Claire she was much older than she looked. The girl didn't say a word, in English or Chinese. She merely stared at Claire.

  “I'm looking for Donald Aldrich,” Claire said slowly, hoping the girl would at least recognize her brother's name. “I'm Claire Aldrich, his sister."

  A slow smile came to the young woman's face and she stepped back, bowing at the waist and motioning Claire inside. Breathing a sigh of relief that she'd at least found the correct house, Claire entered. The inside of the residence was painted in the same bold colors and the doorways were draped with crystal beads that reflected the sunlight coming through the door like tiny prisms. The light bounced and danced across the floor and Claire smiled.

  Her smile changed into one of triumph when her brother pushed aside the long strands of beads and stepped into the hallway.

  “How did you get here?"

  Donald hadn't changed all that much and Claire recognized him immediately. “By train, and then by trolley,” she replied as if they'd been sharing each other's company for the last seven years instead of being separated by thousands of miles of American landscape. “And it was no easy task, I'll admit."

  Taken aback by her lively response, her brother stared for a few moments, then laughed. “You haven't changed a bit. You're still as sassy as an alley cat."

  Weeks of worry and stress caught up with Claire as she stared at her brother's face. Unable to contain the emotions any longer, she slung herself into Donald's arms and started crying.

  “What the hell?” he muttered, then held her close, rocking her back and forth the way he'd done when she was a small girl frightened by a bad dream. “Settle down and tell me what you're doing here."

  Claire sniffled, gulped some air, and nodded her head. Donald said something to the young woman who had answered the door.

  “You speak Chinese?"

  “A few words,” Donald admitted. “Come in and sit down."

  Once Claire was seated on a faded sofa with red and gold velvet pillows, she wasn't sure what to say to her brother. The young Chinese woman appeared again, carrying a tray with a small round pot and two dainty round bowls that Claire quickly discovered were Chinese teacups.

  “This is Mae Ling,” Donald said in the way of introduction, then stopped, offering no further information.

  The young woman executed another faultless bow, then smiled, saying nothing.

  Claire looked at Mae Ling more thoroughly. She was beautiful. Her skin was a soft golden color and her eyes were large and dark. Her hair was arranged in a braid that hung down her back, almost to her knees. After a moment, Claire realized she was looking at her brother's mistress. The thought of her brother and the young Chinese girl sharing a bed the way she'd shared hers with Garrett last night made Claire very self-conscious of the fact that she and Donald were no longer children.

  “How did you find me?” her brother asked after Mae Ling had poured Claire some tea and disappeared a second time.

  “It's hard to explain,” Claire replied. “I've been in San Francisco for over two months."

  “Doing what?” Donald asked rather abruptly. “Looking for me?"

  “Most of the time,” Claire admitted. How did she explain Garrett Monroe and her strange employment circumstances to a brother who looked like he wanted to throttle her for showing up on his doorstep?

  Deciding the best way to handle what was certainly going to turn into a loud and difficult discussion, Claire straightened her shoulders and smiled. “I've taken a job,” she began. “I'm a companion to a matron on Nob Hill.” It wasn't all a lie. She had become a companion to Grams. “I wrote you that I was coming after Mrs. Shurman died. But when I arrived you weren't at the station. I rented a room in a boarding house, but my funds were getting desperately low and I needed a job."

  The explanation seemed to satisfy her brother for the time-being. He reached inside a small lacquered chest and brought out a bottle of Irish whiskey. After pouring his cup half full of the amber liquor, he added some tea from the white porcelain pot. “I never got the letter,” he admitted after sipping some of the elixir he'd created. “I didn't have any idea that you'd leave Cincinnati. It's your home."

  “You can't have a home without family,” Claire told him. “After Mama died, I knew you'd never come back. You'd outgrown what adventure the Ohio and Mississippi rivers had to offer. I sold the store. I wrote and told you that much. After Mrs. Shurman died, there was no reason to stay. You were in San Francisco, so that's where I wanted to be, too."

  “Why are you walking with a cane?” he asked.

  “I sprained my ankle,” she said. “It's nothing serious."

  A long, tense silence followed as Claire sipped her tea and tried to think of what to say to her brother. Donald seemed strangely upset over seeing her and she began to wonder if perhaps there might be some truth in what Hiram Wilson had reported to Garrett. Well, there was only one way to find out. It was obvious that her brother wasn't going to volunteer any information about his current status.

  “Are you still working for the railroad?” Claire queried, trying her best to sound nonchalant about the inquiry.

  “No,” he replied, then smiled. “I'm working for a man here in Chinatown. This house is part of my salary."

  “I see,” Claire replied, managing a weak smile. “And Mae Ling, is she your wife?"

  “No. And the rest is none of your business. You're my sister, not my mother."

  The sharpness of his answer caught Claire off guard. Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment and she looked away. “I'm sorry. You're right. Mae Ling is none of my business."

  When she focused on Donald again, he had a brooding look. Several heartbeats passed before he spoke again. “I'm sorry, too, Claire. I wasn't expecting to see you like this. Damn,” he said, coming to his feet and pacing the room, “I can't take a sister under my wing right now."

  Claire tried not to show her disappointment. She put her cup on the tray and stood up. “I should be getting back, Mrs. Monroe will be worried."

  The name brought Donald's head around. “Theodora Monroe."

  “Yes, do you know her?"

  “Everyone in San Francisco knows who Theodora Monroe is,” her brother replied. “And her grandson."

  Claire busied herself putting her gloves back on. “Mr. Monroe is a very busy man. I rarely see him.” She hated the lie, but she couldn't tell her brother, a brother who hadn't seen her in seven years and who apparently didn't care if he saw her again for another seven, that she'd spent the night making love with Theodora Monroe's grandson.

  She walked to where Donald was standing and raised up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “If you know who Mrs. Monroe is, then you know where to find me when you have time for a longer visit."

  Her brother looked like he was struggling with an inner demon for a brief moment. When he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, Claire felt tears welling up in her eyes again. “I know this is silly,” he said, “but don't think I've stopped caring about you. You'remy sister for Christ's sake.” He held her at arm's length. “There's a lot going on right now. As soon as I've finished some business, I'll come up the Hill and see you. I promise."

  “Make it soon,” Claire said, wishing with all her heart that Donald's words didn't frighten her so badly.

  “As soon as I can,” he promised, then walked her to the door. “Can you find your way back to the trolley stop?"

  “Yes,” she said. “I'll be fine. Don't worry."

  The words hung in her throat, but she said them. It seemed like she was forever telling people not to worry about her. She'd be fine. But would she? After months of th
inking that once she reached San Francisco she'd have at least a temporary life with her brother, she was back out on the street.

  As Claire made her way to the corner where the trolley would stop to pick up passengers, she did her best not to cry. Donald had practically pushed her out the door, he'd been so anxious to get rid of her. Why? The brother she'd known hadn't changed on the outside, but he'd undergone a metamorphosis of some kind. She couldn't believe that he wasn't glad to see her, yet his actions had spoken otherwise.

  She didn't want to believe that Hiram Wilson's report rang with truth, but doubts clouded her mind, joining the ones she already harbored about Garrett's intentions. Her thought of several weeks past, that she'd jumped from the proverbial frying pan into the fire, had come true. Now that she'd found her brother, she was no closer to having the security of a home than she'd been the day she'd stepped off the train. Even worse, she had allowed herself to become intimately involved with a man who wasn't interested in marriage. What had happened to the levelheaded young woman who'd left Cincinnati?

  She's fallen in love, Claire told herself. She must be out of her mind, but her heart still pounded with the same strong feelings that had caused her to open her arms to Garrett last night.

  Her intense thoughts kept Claire from seeing the carriage stopping a few feet in front of her, but she recognized the voice when a man demanded to know if she'd lost her mind.

  “What in the name of God do you think you're doing?” Garrett asked as he came out of the carriage and marched toward her. He had her arm in a viselike grip before Claire could think of a suitable answer. “I ought to paddle your backside,” he grumbled under his breath as he all but dragged her toward the carriage. “If I ever catch you in Chinatown again, that's exactly what I'll do. Now, get in the carriage."