by Jo Goodman
Against her better judgment she ventured a question. “How do you know my father?”
There was a pause several beats long before Nathan answered, confirming Lydia’s suspicions. “What?”
“You said you were going to find my father. How do you know him?”
“I met him a few weeks ago at the Silver Lady.”
“You’re a gambler?”
“On occasion.”
Lydia gasped softly.
Nathan frowned. “What’s wrong? Do you have something against gamblers?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, not at all. I…you…that is...” She did not want to call attention to the fact that his fingers were pressing painfully hard into her waist, or that the hand holding hers was grinding her knuckles together. His concentration was fierce, and unexpectedly Lydia found herself harboring a measure of admiration for his grit. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Please, go on.”
“There’s nothing much to add,” he said somewhat stiltedly. “I told you earlier this evening that I was on my way to an engagement. This is it. Your father invited me for the—”
“Poker game.” Lydia finished his sentence as her mother had before her. “Papa isn’t much for dancing.”
“I knew I liked him,” Nathan muttered under his breath.
“Pardon?” she asked politely.
“Your father seems to be a fine man. I’ve enjoyed his company on each occasion we’ve met.”
“I had no idea Papa frequented the Silver Lady.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Miss Chadwick. I only met Sam there once. We’ve seen each other at the Wells Fargo office, the Exchange, and at least one time riding in Golden Gate Park.”
“So you’re going to play cards with my father this evening.”
Nathan nodded, lost his timing, and caused Lydia to stumble as he changed his lead. He grimaced. “Forgive me. That was my fault that time.”
Which, Lydia supposed, was his way of saying all the other missteps had been her responsibility. She bit back the accusing words that came easily to mind. “I suppose Papa told you that all his winnings go to charity.”
“No, he didn’t mention it. I take it I’m expected to lose.”
“Don’t do it on my account, Mr. Hunter.”
Turning Lydia toward the ballroom entrance, Nathan stopped on the threshold. His hand was still tight on Lydia’s waist, but he dropped her hand. Without visible effort he pulled her closer so that she was forced to tilt her face toward him or bury it in his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Chadwick,” he said coldly, hardened against the flash of pain in Lydia’s wide and wounded eyes. “I doubt I could be moved to do anything on your account again. If I lose money tonight it will be for the children.”
Lydia couldn’t think of anything to say. By the time she did, Nathan was gone.
James Early didn’t give Lydia time to think about her odd encounter with Nathan Hunter. With an eye toward the main chance, James swept Lydia back onto the dance floor and kept her thoughts occupied with light, inconsequential banter until Henry Bell stole her away. The evening progressed in such a manner, with Lydia pleading her cause for the orphanage and her suitors making their case for her hand.
Occasionally her mother would catch her eye and indicate approval or disapproval of a particular partner. Lydia ignored Madeline’s directives, and to demonstrate that romance had no part in what she had planned for the evening, Lydia spent most of her time on Father Patrick’s arm, mingling with the guests who were longtime family friends and could make significant contributions to St. Andrew’s.
When Mr. Hardy announced dinner Madeline led the way to the dining room. Lydia extricated herself from Henry Bell’s elbow with the excuse that she had to get her father and his guests away from the poker table. It was only a short reprieve, she thought, remembering her wager with her father: Henry on her left and James on her right. Given Madeline’s signals in the ballroom, Lydia was certain her mother would have arranged it.
There were five men huddled around the card table. Lydia had expected her father and Nathan Hunter, and it wasn’t too surprising to find Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Davis since their wives had remarked on their absence several times during the dancing, but Brigham Moore’s presence caught Lydia off guard. He was the first to look up when she entered the library, and his welcoming smile struck at Lydia’s young, vulnerable heart. She looked away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden wealth of feeling, certain everyone in the room would see it, understand, and know the cause.
One man did. When Lydia looked up, she caught Nathan Hunter watching her closely, studying her features with his remote, impenetrable gray eyes. She stared back a shade defiantly, and held his attention until his eyelids lowered, shuttering his glance. The insolent smirk on his mouth, however, was still very much in evidence.
Lydia went quickly to her father’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Papa, dinner’s been announced. Mama and our guests are on their way to the dining room now.”
Samuel reached over his shoulder and laid his hand over Lydia’s, patting her absently. Still studying his cards, he held them up for Lydia to see. “Brigham here has proposed a rather interesting wager,” he told her.
“Oh?” She was careful to keep her features composed. Her father had a full house: three sevens and two threes. She also noticed that he had very little in the way of winnings in front of him. Based on where the money lay, the lucky man at the table tonight was Brigham Moore. “And what wager is that?”
“As you can see, darling, my funds are quite low.” Everyone at the table understood that Samuel had access to a great deal more money, but at the beginning of play they had agreed on a limit. “If I want to see Brigham’s cards he’s suggesting I offer you up as part of my stake.”
“Papa!” Lydia blushed deeply, her composure shaken. “What can you be thinking? That’s barbaric!” But she wasn’t offended, she realized. She felt warm inside, and tingly.
Brigham laid his cards facedown on the table. “Your father hasn’t explained it very well, I’m afraid. My intentions are completely honorable. If I win this hand, then you’ll accompany me to the Cliff House tomorrow evening for dinner.”
“Well, Daughter?” Sam asked when Lydia didn’t respond.
“It’s improper, Papa,” she said softly, believing that she should make some sort of protest.
Samuel sighed, folding his hand. “Oh, well, perhaps it is. Hell of a time for you to come calling dinner. Another minute and the deed would have been done.” He dropped his hand from Lydia’s and leaned forward in his chair. “Brig was even willing to donate his winnings to your charity…that’s supposing he won at all.”
Lydia glanced shyly at Brigham. “You’d donate your winnings?” she asked.
“Of course.” The eager, boyish smile lit his green eyes.
“All right, Papa,” she said. “I suppose it’s not so improper a wager since the children will benefit.”
Nathan Hunter shifted in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. “By all means, Miss Chadwick, you must do it for the children.”
Lydia looked quickly around the table. No one else seemed to have heard the sarcasm in Nathan Hunter’s tone. They were simply taking his statement at face value, encouraging her with a nod or a smile to support her father’s wager. “Certainly I’ll do it,” she said firmly.
“There’s a girl,” Samuel said, pleased with her decision. He quickly scribbled out a marker and pushed it and his money toward the middle of the table. “Now we’ll all get to dinner on time.”
Lydia peered a little anxiously at Sam’s cards when he lifted them again. They hadn’t changed. He still held a full house. She tried not to show her disappointment as she realized that Brig’s cards would probably not hold up against her father’s. The children would win no matter how the hand played out, she thought. Only she could lose.
Samuel turned over his cards. “Sevens over threes,” he said, beaming at hi
s fellow players. “You don’t think I’d bluff, do you?” He started to pull the money toward him, including his marker for Lydia, when Brigham stopped him.
“Tens and eights,” Brig said, fanning his cards across the table in front of him. “A better full house.” He glanced up at Lydia while he started to gather his winnings. “I wouldn’t bluff on a wager this important.”
He meant her, she thought giddily. He was saying she was important to him! She offered what she hoped was a cool, slightly indifferent smile, afraid he might perceive her as too young and overeager.
“Apparently none of us would,” Nathan Hunter said, cutting into Lydia’s reverie. “You must have forgotten that I hadn’t folded.”
Lydia gasped softly, her smile vanishing when she realized there were three players left in the hand, not two. Knowing what she would see as Nathan turned over his cards, Lydia struggled to hide her disappointment.
“Four sixes, gentlemen,” he said. Nathan waited until Brig withdrew his hand, then he picked up Sam’s paper marker for Lydia and put it in his vest pocket. He pushed the remainder of his winnings toward Sam. “For the children, I believe,” he said, coming to his feet.
Lydia wanted to scream. Instead, she inclined her head graciously and prayed he would not offer to escort her to the dining room. She worried needlessly. Nathan hung back to speak with Brig while her father took her arm.
“He’s probably consoling Mr. Moore,” Samuel said in a low voice.
“More like rubbing salt in an open wound.”
“What?” Sam wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.
“Nothing, Papa. It wasn’t important.”
They entered the dining room just as the guests were being seated. Lydia immediately looked to James Early and Henry Bell to find her place. Sam saw the direction of her glance and chuckled under his breath. “Looks like I win, m’dear. They’ve got Miss Adams and Miss Henderson for company this evening.”
“I detect your fine hand in this,” Lydia said.
“Me? But that would be cheating.” He led her straight to her chair and pulled it out for her. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.” With that parting shot, Samuel left Lydia to take his place at the head of the long table.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Brig said as he seated himself on Lydia’s left.
“It certainly is,” Nathan said on Lydia’s right.
Between them, Lydia smiled wanly. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get through dinner with her nerves intact.
“Are you feeling well?” Madeline asked following dinner. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen you less animated.”
Lydia drew her mother closer to the shelter of two large potted palms. Chairs were being arranged in the ballroom in preparation of the after-dinner concert, and many of the guests had chosen to take a walk on the grounds. Those who remained behind were listening to Father Patrick’s colorful stories about his own wayward youth or studying the architect’s drawings for the orphanage.
“I’m feeling a little tired,” she admitted. “I hadn’t realized it was evident.”
“Evident?” Madeline took both of Lydia’s hands in her own. “Darling, you practically telegraphed your feelings to me. It was obvious that you were simply overwhelmed by the attention at dinner this evening. I don’t know how the mistake was made. I never intended you to be seated by Mr. Moore or Mr. Hunter. They’re too old, and, I suspect, far too experienced for you. James and Henry are so much more appropriate.”
“I’m sure you think so, Mother.”
Madeline’s eyes narrowed briefly. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Lydia said dully. “I’m simply tired.” She gently withdrew her hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go out for a breath of air.”
“I’m not sure—” She stopped as Lydia walked away from her. Madeline stood rooted for several seconds, stunned by her daughter’s uncharacteristically rude behavior, then she went in search of the soprano who was going to provide the entertainment.
Lydia stepped out onto the flagstone portico. The air was still damp from the earlier spring rain and fragrant with the scent of roses from the garden. She hadn’t thought to bring a shawl, and the skin on her bare forearms prickled as a cool breeze circled her. She walked over to the stone balustrade bordering the portico and watched her guests meander along the garden paths to the pond and the gazebo beyond. She would have an entertainment in the summer, she thought, with an outdoor concert and paper lanterns around the pond. She would manage the guest list completely alone the next time and make certain there were no surprises.
Dinner had been horrible for her. From the appetizer to the moment when the main course was served, Lydia was expected to converse almost exclusively with the companion on her left. She couldn’t enjoy her time with Brigham Moore, however, because she was dreading the time she would have to spend with Nathan Hunter. Throughout the meal her attempts at conversation were stilted and awkward, and the horrible knot in the pit of her stomach just kept growing. At one point she thought she was going to have to excuse herself or be sick in front of everyone.
Pei Ling’s soft voice interrupted her humiliating memories. “Miss Liddy,” the maid said, coming to stand at Lydia’s side. “Please come. Someone here to see you.”
“Tonight? Who is—”
“They say hurry. I ask them wait in library.” Pei Ling’s dark eyes were anxious. “Hurry, please. Before Mother sees them.”
Lydia was beginning to suspect who had come calling. She didn’t question Pei Ling’s insistence again. “You can wait here in the hallway,” she told her maid when they reached the library. “Warn me if Mother or Papa comes this way. This will only take a few minutes.”
Nathan had been standing on the portico, just out of reach of the ballroom’s chandelier light, when he saw Lydia walking toward the balustrade. He felt trapped in the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to himself by moving, not wanting to be thought a spy if he stayed and was seen. He watched her linger by the stone rail and wondered at the drift of her thoughts. Probably considering how to get out of her father’s wager, he decided. It was clear to him that she was unhappy by the turn of events at the poker table. Her civility was forced all through dinner, her comments monosyllabic or too sweet to be sincere.
In spite of the cool reception, Nathan persevered. He was used to being shown the door once women made Brig’s acquaintance and he’d never cared. This time, though, there was too much at stake to quit the chase. He patted Samuel’s marker in his vest pocket and thought about dinner at the Cliff House tomorrow evening. He still had another chance to set things right—this time without Brig’s presence.
He was thinking about where he might take Lydia after dinner, how he might explain himself to her, when he saw her being approached by a Chinese girl he took to be a house servant. They both disappeared into the house, and the next time Nathan saw Lydia, ten minutes had passed and she was leaving the mansion by a side door, alone and on foot, cloaked in a black, hooded cape and carrying a wicker basket in one arm.
Raking back his hair with his fingers, Nathan frowned, trying to imagine what could have taken Lydia Chadwick away from her own gala. He couldn’t. There was no woman in his experience to compare to Lydia. She was shy and defiant by turns, awkward then graceful, gracious and ill-mannered in a heartbeat. She had yet to thank him for his rescue this evening. Still, Nathan thought, she had danced with him and never once let on that she found him hopelessly inadequate as a partner.
Behind him, Nathan heard the musicians warming up again. A few chords were struck on the piano. The guests were being urged to come inside for the entertainment. At the edge of the pond he saw Brig take Madeline Chadwick’s arm and start toward the house. It was not an unexpected sight. Nathan remembered the first time he had seen Madeline. It had been nearly two months ago, shortly after he arrived in San Francisco, and she’d had Brigham Moore on her arm on that occasion as well.
&
nbsp; Nathan wondered if Brig thought he could get to Lydia through her mother or if his interests lay in Madeline herself. Probably a little bit of both. Brig typically didn’t leave much to chance, and tonight’s poker game must have cut him on the raw. The memory of that game brought a smile to Nathan’s mouth. He was smiling as Brig and Madeline crossed the portico and entered the ballroom through the French doors, and he was still smiling as he went in search of the diminutive Chinese servant he’d seen with Lydia.
Nathan felt like the sneaksman he had been as he toured the first floor of the mansion looking for Pei Ling. He viewed three parlors, the private family dining room, and an art gallery before he surprised the maid in the solarium. She was in earnest, agitated conversation with Father Patrick and Nathan suspected it had something to do with Lydia’s abrupt departure.
Pei Ling and Father Patrick stopped talking and turned at the same time toward Nathan. Pei Ling made a short bow and started to back away. The priest stopped her and faced Nathan squarely, assuming the younger man was lost and gave him directions back to the ballroom.
Nathan closed the solarium doors. The room was warm, redolent with the scent of humus and hothouse flowers, and the floor-to-ceiling windows shimmered with tiny beads of moisture. “I’ve come to talk to the girl,” Nathan said.
Father Patrick took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. His thin, angular face was flushed and his wide forehead glistened with perspiration. He replaced his glasses and touched the handkerchief to his brow, then to the balding crown of his head. “You’re Mr. Hunter, aren’t you? Mr. Chadwick’s poker guest…the one who made the rather sizable contribution.”
Nathan nodded.
“Well, Mr. Hunter, I’d appreciate a few minutes more with Pei Ling before you speak to her. There is a matter of some importance which I—”
“This will only take a moment, Father,” Nathan interrupted. He took a chance that he had correctly divined the nature of their conversation and plunged in. “I saw Miss Chadwick leave here a short time ago. She appeared to be in a hurry and was rather secretive about her departure. I came to ask Pei Ling—” He paused, looking to the maid to see if he had caught her name correctly. At her quick nod he continued. “—if Miss Chadwick might benefit from an escort.”
