A Beauty Refined

by Tracie Peterson

  “That must have been quite an eye-opener for the girl.” Georgia could see that Elizabeth was more than a little nervous. “I hope, however, that it also brought you some joy.”

  Elizabeth began to pace. “It did, although perhaps joy isn’t the right word. I thought I would never see her again, and there she was. It was like an answered prayer. But at the same time I am just as confused as to what to do next.”

  “I spoke with Ian last night. He’s rather uncomfortable with the entire matter. I’ve told you before that he had a rough marriage. Prior to the wedding, Nora arranged with a friend to set everything in place so that she could sneak off with Ian and get married without anyone the wiser. She lied to her parents and told them she’d been invited to go with her friend’s family on a trip to Yellowstone and would be gone for two, possibly three, weeks. Then she lied to Ian and told him that her parents were planning this grandiose wedding, which she didn’t want, and that she preferred to elope. She lied again, telling Ian her folks were perfectly happy for them to elope, so Ian didn’t see a problem. The truth was, however, they didn’t want her to marry Ian at all, or anyone else for that matter.”

  Elizabeth stopped. “But why? It’s only natural that children should marry, and Ian’s a wonderful young man. I would think any mother would be proud to have him marry her daughter.”

  “Well, there were complications. Nora had been a sickly child. Sometime we shall chat about it over a cup of coffee, but only if Ian agrees that I might share his story. Right now, I wanted to come and say that Ian would like for you to come to the house tonight. I thought you might as well pack an overnight bag and stay the night. Maybe even a few days. That way you can explain things to Kenny. I’m sure he’ll be worried. He was already concerned that you might be sick.”

  “I knew he would be. I would be happy to come to the house. Phoebe said something about helping her father host a dinner party for this evening, so I know Frederick will be busy with his friends. I should be able to catch the trolley without being seen.”

  Georgia nodded, then noted the time. “I must get back to work. I only wanted to stop long enough to check in and invite you to the house. Elizabeth”—she paused and smiled—“I’m praying for you—for all of us.”

  She departed and was gone only a matter of minutes before Phoebe arrived. Elizabeth smiled at the fashionable white-and-tan dress. It was perfect for a summer’s day, and although summer had not truly arrived in Montana, it looked most fitting.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting. I saw a woman leave your cottage. If this is a bad time . . .”

  “Not at all. That was a dear friend of mine.” Elizabeth stepped back. “Please come in.”

  Phoebe entered the house with the same caution she had shown the evening before. Elizabeth held herself in check. She longed to rush to Phoebe and pull her into her arms for a long embrace, but she knew her daughter wasn’t ready for that.

  “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said,” Phoebe began. “I can’t help but wonder, however, if perhaps Vater is different now. Maybe he felt remorse for his actions and worked to change. You said yourself that you’ve kept your whereabouts hidden. Perhaps he has changed and would want to find you and make things right.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I’d like to think that was possible.”

  Phoebe nodded and twisted her gloved hands together. “I don’t suppose there is any way to be sure.” She looked at the floor and gave the tiniest of shrugs. “I am still very confused.”

  “I know you are, and for that I am sorry. But I’m not sorry that God has brought us together.”

  Her daughter’s head snapped up. “God? What has He to do with any of this?”

  A sigh escaped Elizabeth. “Don’t you remember how I used to pray with you at bedtime and how I read Scriptures to you and we discussed their meaning?”

  “Of course, but I hardly see what that has to do with this.”

  “I believe God ordains our steps, Phoebe. I believe He controls everything. He is all-knowing and all-present. You are here because God knew it was time for us to be together once again. If only for you to know the truth of what happened and why I left. If only so you would know that I never stopped loving you.”

  Phoebe’s confused expression only deepened. “If God truly controls everything, then why did He not keep you with me? Why didn’t He keep Vater from . . . hurting you?”

  “I don’t know, Phoebe. This life is full of woes and pain. I don’t understand it, and I may never know the whys and hows. God will have His mysteries, but I know He loves me even so.”

  “Well, I don’t. He seems most unloving to allow events that would rob a child of her mother.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but move toward her daughter. “Oh, Phoebe, He isn’t that way at all. Man is sinful and will do sinful things.”

  Phoebe held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear any more religious nonsense. I only came because I promised I would. There is still much I don’t understand, but I want to. I have decided I will say nothing to Vater for the time. He is planning to leave tomorrow for several weeks.”

  “Truly?”

  Phoebe nodded. “He’s visiting a sapphire mine somewhere east of here.”

  “Sapphires, eh? Don’t tell me he’s on a buying trip for the duchess?”

  Her daughter seemed surprised. “Ja. But how did . . .”

  Elizabeth could see she wanted to ask about it. “He’s been helping the duchess for decades, Phoebe.” What she wouldn’t tell her daughter was how her father had been cheating the woman for nearly as long.

  “Well, he will be gone in the morning and won’t return until the middle of July. I would like to take that time to know you better, and perhaps you would like to know me.”

  A smile broke across Elizabeth’s face. “Of course I would. I would like that very much.”

  “But I won’t lie for you,” Phoebe added, and Elizabeth sobered. “If Vater asks me directly if I have seen you, I will admit I have. I don’t imagine he will. I don’t anticipate that he has any notion of your being here, but I won’t lie.”

  “I understand, and I don’t want you to lie. I couldn’t bear it if your father took his anger out on you.”

  Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Elizabeth wasn’t exactly sure how to convey her thoughts. “I . . . well . . . I know your father has always doted on you, but you never gave him cause to do otherwise. You were always a most obedient child. However . . . if you go against him, he might be inclined to treat you as he did me.”

  7

  This is the menu forwarded to you prior to our arrival. I’d like to go over it with you, if you don’t mind.”

  The small man looked down his nose at Phoebe. “I am a chef for over thirty years, and I do not need for you to go over it with me.”

  “Nevertheless, I must,” Phoebe told the irritated man. “I trust you received the ingredients and wines we sent to the hotel.” He might be chef of the kitchen, but Phoebe knew what her father expected, and she was his envoy to make certain that nothing went wrong.

  The man murmured curses in French.

  She gave the chef a pleasant smile. She knew how to deal with difficult servants, especially men. “I have heard such wonderful things about your abilities in the kitchen. I must say what food I’ve had here has surpassed any I’ve had elsewhere in America.”

  The man’s chest puffed out at this. He touched his index finger to his pencil-thin mustache. “But of course it has.” His French accent reminded Phoebe that someone had mentioned his being in America only a short time.

  She quickly switched to French. “Would you prefer we speak in your own language?”

  His face lit up, and he beamed her a smile of pure delight. “It would be such a relief, mademoiselle.”

  “I know how difficult it can be, monsieur. I, too, am away from my home on the Rhine.”

  The man nodded with great enthusiasm. “You are French?”
<
br />   “German.” She saw the man stiffen.

  “I was but a boy in Paris when your Bismarck marched his troops down our streets in a victory parade.”

  “It would seem our leaders have done many troubling things,” she admitted, “but my heart is ever a part of France. You surely would not hold my birthplace against me.” She smiled in a way that had won her many a heart.

  The man considered her statement, then nodded. “I am so happy to hear my beloved tongue that I could weep. You speak it quite beautifully, so how could I hold anything against you?”

  Phoebe knew it would be best to turn the conversation back to focus on the chef. “It must be so hard for you to be here in America. Especially isolated here in the West.”

  “I have been here for six months and desire nothing more than to return to France, but alas, I signed a contract and will endeavor to honor it.”

  Phoebe saw that he was relaxing and took advantage of it with unmerited praise. “You are such a good man. There are few as honorable as you.”

  The man nodded and gave a shrug. “You are so very kind to say so. A rare flower in a garden of weeds.”

  Phoebe smiled. She knew now she had made a conquest, and seeing to the menu would be no trouble at all.

  “Come and sit here.” The chef motioned and led her to a table in the farthest corner of the room. “Now tell me what you desire.”

  She unfolded a piece of paper. “As you see, Chef . . . goodness, but I do not know your name.”

  “You may call me Chef Michel.” He leaned in to whisper. “But only you may call me by my given name. I allow no one else.”

  She gave a light laugh and touched her hand to her heart for effect. “You honor me, Chef Michel.” She gave a little sigh to assure him of her contentment and then continued. “For our opening course, we would like citrus pickled oysters with English cucumbers and dill.”

  “You will want the oysters prepared in warm champagne, lime and lemon juice, oui?”

  “Oui. Father would like that served with a fine Picpoul.”

  The man tilted his head to the left and gave a slight shrug. “But of course.”

  “The next course should be potage à la tortue paired with amontillado sherry. After that, blini Demidoff. I’m certain you will pair that with a fine champagne.”

  “Perhaps a Veuve Clicquot.”

  “Perfect.” Phoebe looked to her list once again. “For the fourth course, grilled salmon.”

  “Oh, may I suggest saumon avec sauce diplomate. The sauce is a culinary delight of cream, brandy, lobster butter, and truffles. We have an excellent Riesling to accompany it.”

  “That sounds quite good. I will defer to you on that matter.” Phoebe referenced her list. “After that, selle d’agneau aux herbes with tomates farcies d’oeuf.” The lamb was one of her favorites, while the egg-stuffed tomato with herb mayonnaise was her father’s. They had served this on many occasions back at home.

  “After that course, we should like quail in puff-pastry shells with foie gras and truffle sauce. To be followed by an endive salad and Coteaux du Languedoc Saint-Christol Cuvée to drink.”

  She looked up and gave Chef Michel a coy smile. “And for dessert, savarin au rhum avec des figues et des poires.”

  Chef Michel put both hands over his heart. The look of sheer ecstasy on his face told Phoebe that he wholeheartedly approved. She had to admit the rum sponge cake with figs and pears had been her own personal choice. Phoebe instructed him on the champagne she wanted and then told him to follow that up with the appropriate cheeses and fruits.

  “And might I suggest ending the evening with coffee with Cognac Frapin—vintage 1888.” He looked at her with a hopeful expression.

  “Perfect. My father will be delighted, and the guests will have nothing to complain about.” Phoebe looked over her list one final time, then pushed it across to the chef. “It’s such a relief to know that a man of your capable skills will be in charge. I know with you arranging the menu, the party will be a complete success.”

  “Oui, mademoiselle. You leave it in my hands. We will have those barbaric American cowboys believing themselves whisked away to France.”

  Phoebe stood, and Chef Michel did as well. “Merci, Chef Michel. I am so pleased we could share this moment. I shall look forward all day to this marvelous feast.”

  “Should you desire anything at all that is not on the menu, you come to me.” He lifted her hand and kissed it ever so lightly. “You have been a balm to my soul.”

  She left him then, smiling to herself at the way he had melted into complete agreement. It often took so little to get her way. A word here or a glance there and Phoebe found there was very little she couldn’t accomplish.

  Tonight’s party was quite important to her father, and he counted on her to make things right while he tended to business elsewhere. Phoebe had hoped for more time, but her father insisted the dinner would have to be given that night, because Lord Putnam had already issued the invitations. Lord Putnam had also arranged the menu, but her father had quickly canceled that. He didn’t trust Putnam to know what to serve. Instead, he put Phoebe in charge.

  The city’s wealthiest would be in attendance, along with some of the mining representatives. Her father told her that each of these men was important to the success of their trip. None of the details could be left to chance, which was why it was most critical to secure the tiniest of particulars regarding the meal. Beyond ensuring the setting and food, Phoebe was to be her charming self and act as hostess to the party—a role she had played on many occasions at home. A role her mother had once held.

  The thought of her mother caused Phoebe’s joy to diminish. At least a dozen questions whirled inside her head. Questions that wouldn’t be answered easily. She needed most desperately to understand the past. The man her mother described was not entirely unknown to Phoebe, but she’d always presumed that her father’s impatience and anger had been directed most generally toward those who deserved it. She presumed it was the same with the heads of all households. Perhaps she had been wrong.

  She frowned as she wondered what Dieter might say if he were here. He had never held much interest in his sister, having things of far greater importance to keep him occupied. Not only that, but their father had never encouraged them to be close. Phoebe had tried once to speak to him about their mother, but Dieter had shut her up with a harsh reprimand that such talk would only serve to grieve their father.

  What would Dieter think now?

  “You seem tired, Miss Phoebe,” Gerda said, putting the final touches on Phoebe’s hair that evening.

  “Ja, I must admit I am. I was unable to rest much this afternoon. My every thought has been about the party. Well, at least almost every one.” She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “You’ve done a beautiful job, Gerda.” The maid had managed to pile curls upon curls atop her head in an artfully feminine display.

  Phoebe got up from the dressing table while Gerda went to retrieve her two-piece gown. The evening dress was lavish and full in a delicate shade of powder blue with silver lace. The bodice was cut low with capped sleeves. Lace trimmed the neckline and sleeves, with tiny beaded designs added atop the delicate webs. Carefully placed beading splayed upward from the waist in a sunbeam effect on the pale-blue bodice. The bottom half, however, was the real star of this gown. Heavily embellished with beading and colorful embroidery, the lavish decoration made the gown quite heavy, and the small train that flared out behind only added to the weight. Phoebe had worn the gown in New York and several times back home, so she knew the challenge at hand. There was to be dancing, and in order to make it easier, she had chosen a simple flat shoe to ensure she wouldn’t twist her ankle.

  Gerda hooked the bodice to the skirt and then did up the back buttons while Phoebe arranged the bodice to drape properly. The mantel clock chimed the quarter hour, causing Phoebe to start.

  “Goodness, the time has gotten away from me. Vater will expect me to join him in
his suite, so we must hurry.”

  “Ja.” Gerda came around to face Phoebe. “The buttons are secured. Let me help you with your necklace.” She reached over to the table and picked up a beautiful necklace of diamonds and sapphires. After Gerda secured the necklace, Phoebe added the matching earrings. The pieces had belonged to her mother, and it was one of the few sets of jewels Phoebe had inherited. Her others were all gifts from her father. He declared that the rest of her mother’s jewels had been lost at sea when she died. But now, of course, that was clearly not true.

  Phoebe pushed such thoughts aside, took up her gloves, and gave her hair one final check. She needed to be focused on the task at hand. “I must go.” Phoebe drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. “You may feel free to enjoy the bath or perhaps go for a swim. I hear the waters at the natatorium are quite refreshing.”

  Gerda nodded. “Danke, gnädige Fräulein. I would like to try them.”

  Forgetting her resolve to speak in English, Phoebe replied absentmindedly in German. “One of these days, Gerda, I think I would like to as well.” Thoughts of Ian Harper flashed through her mind as she wondered what he would think if he saw her now. Then she snapped back to the present. “But for the moment, I have a party to attend.” Phoebe headed for the door to her room. “I hope to return by eleven.”

  “I will be waiting for you even earlier . . . just in case you tire.”

  Phoebe nodded. She knew her father would never accept such a silly excuse for leaving early. He loved to show her off like one of his prized horses. Phoebe had never given it much thought before now because she knew very well the games that were played in their society. Now, however, with the shadow of her mother’s revelations hovering over her, Phoebe had no heart for such games. She needed answers to make sense of the past. Answers that would no doubt change her future.

  She knocked lightly on her father’s door and smiled when the broad-shouldered Hubert opened it to admit her. Phoebe crossed the room to where her father sat sipping a drink, and she gave a slow turn. “So do you approve?”