Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) (37 page)

Ambrose laughed heartily. “On the contrary! Don’t give him an inch—continue to challenge and confront him at every turn. Make him
feel
again!”

“But how?” Katie asked plaintively. “I don’t think he wants me to
do
anything. When I asked how I should spend my days if he won’t let me work, he barked that I should be a
wife,
whatever that means.” She made a face.

“You are enchanting, Katie!” Leaning forward, Ambrose patted her cheek. “If I were a few decades younger, I’d give my grandson a run for his money. As it is, I’ll have my fun helping you torment him.”

Katie felt a little thrill of excitement at his words. “Just tell me how and I’ll do it,” she exclaimed.

“Take him at his word. Be a wife until he cries for mercy. First of all, you must go shopping for a new wardrobe. I have a friend who will be delighted to take you, and I’ll send for her immediately. Leave no stone unturned. Jack is quite wealthy, and he can afford whatever you buy.”

“He suggested some new gowns himself, but somehow the project sounds much more appealing the way you describe it!” Katie laughed.

“Next, turn your attention to this house.”

“But it’s beautiful,” she protested.

Ambrose gave a derisive snort. “For a family of men, it’s fine, but there’s a woman here now.
Change
things—it will drive Jack insane! Add a feminine touch.”

“I’m not certain I know how....”

“Believe me, my dear, once you begin touring the finest shops and stores San Francisco has to offer, you’ll have ideas galore. And then, once your wardrobe and the house are complete, you must announce to Jack that you want to have a huge party so that you can meet his friends. Christmas is coming soon, and that sounds like the perfect time, don’t you think?”

Katie sat back, her mind spinning, and giggled. “You’re a naughty man, Grandfather.”

“All for a good cause, darling Katie!”

Chapter 25

November 3, 1864

“I hope that I am not taking you away from some other obligation, Mrs. Menloe,” Katie said to the charming older woman who perched on the Empire side chair in the corner of the dressing room. Nelle Braust’s fancy dress shop on Kearny Street was all the rage among San Francisco’s elite, having sprung up in the past year to provide a fresh outlet for the money that was burning holes in the pockets of the silver barons.

“Nonsense, my dear,” Hope Menloe replied, waving her slender hand. As she spoke, she kept a close eye on the work of the dressmaker’s assistant who was pinning a gown on Katie. “I couldn’t be happier to help you in this matter. I must tell you that Ambrose is very dear to me. He was a great friend of my husband’s, and since Theodore died last spring, Ambrose has been extraordinarily kind to me. This morning, when he sent word of Jonathan’s marriage and explained your predicament, I was overjoyed to be of service. I know how it feels to come to a new city, knowing no one except your husband. Theodore and I sailed here from Boston thirteen years ago, and for months I was positively bereft. I hated San Francisco, and was certain I would never be happy here. Everything seemed so
different!”
She rose and came over to feel the pale Russian gray silk of the visiting dress in progress. “I couldn’t have been more mistaken. This is a very exciting place in which to live, and I have scores of intimate friends. I simply had to cultivate an open mind.”

“Well, Jack was right: San Francisco is nothing like Columbia, but I am determined to like it, and I appreciate your encouragement, Mrs. Menloe. So far, everyone has been extremely kind to me.”

“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!”