Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) (41 page)

“There’s nothing wrong, I hope?” he asked, trying not to betray his amusement.

“Yes—I mean, no, sir! It’s just that... well, I hope you won’t think I’m speaking out of turn, but I’ve never seen a finer-looking man than you, Mr. Wyatt.”

“That’s very loyal of you, Judith,” Jack said, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “and I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate it so much that I’m sending you downstairs for a hot buttered rum.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll bring it right back to you!”

He held out his hand, laughing. “No, no, I want
you
to drink it! If you don’t care for spirits, have a cup of tea. Just sit down, put your feet up, and sip it slowly. I’ll help Mrs. Wyatt finish dressing.”

Judith’s dark eyes were like saucers. “Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I insist.”

Looking confused, the little maid did as she was told, while Jack walked through the connecting door and turned into Katie’s dressing room. She was standing before a bureau, examining a collection of jewelry, the back of her silk ball gown open to the waist.

“What did Mr. Wyatt want, Judith?” she asked without looking up.

Jack came up behind her and slipped his hand into her open gown, curving it around her midriff to draw her against him. “He wanted to be alone with Mrs. Wyatt.”

Katie gasped at his touch, then leaned back and laughed nervously. “It’s very bad of you to startle me that way, Jack, and very bad of you to spoil my surprise. I didn’t want you to see me until I was completely dressed.”

“I like you better this way.” He lowered his mouth to the place where her neck curved into her shoulder. “God, but you smell good... and your skin is like satin.”

“My, aren’t we frisky tonight,” Katie teased, trying to ignore her own response.

“I’m more than frisky,” Jack said in a husky voice. He wanted to tell her that he’d missed her, that he hoped they could make a fresh start tonight, but Katie was drawing away from him.

“Well, you’ll have to hold yourself in check for a bit, because it’s getting late and the guests will be arriving soon. Fasten my gown, won’t you, please?” She stood motionless while he complied, the touch of his fingers sending little shivers down her spine. Then she turned slowly to face him. “I confess that I’m a little nervous about this dress. What do you think?”

“I think... that I can hardly believe you are the same girl I knew in Columbia.” It was the same sentiment he had expressed to his grandfather, but this time his tone was warm with approval and admiration.

Katie wore a stunning gown fashioned of Chinese-red silk. The deeply scooped bodice revealed her creamy shoulders, then wrapped over her breasts. Her tiny waist was accentuated by a red sash that tied in a bow in back. Dark-green silk holly leaves adorned the ends of the sash and marched around the hem. “It’s so different from anything I’ve seen,” Katie said, surveying herself a trifle nervously. “The color, the holly—”

“It’s inspired,” Jack assured her, “and you look spectacular. That red is beautiful with your hair and eyes. You ought to wear it more often.”

“Oh, I don’t think so!” She laughed, unused to such lavish compliments. “My only hope is that people will indulge me because it is Christmas. I had it designed for the holiday.” She pointed to the cluster of holly she wore in her hair, which was caught up on one side in a mass of long curls. “You see? I’m striving for a festive effect.”

“You don’t need an excuse to stand out in a crowd, Kathleen. You’re an extraordinarily beautiful woman; you deserve to be stared at.”

She colored slightly, her sparkling eyes smiling at him. “You look quite extraordinary yourself, Mr. Wyatt.” His gaze held hers so intimately that she turned back to her jewelry. “I thought I might wear the ruby-and-pearl necklace and earrings that belonged to your mother.”

“Perfect.” Jack fastened the necklace for her, then kissed the feather-soft curls that brushed the nape of her neck. Slowly, then, he turned her in his arms and they embraced. Currents of emotion passed between their bodies, warming each of them with hope, until a knock sounded at the door to Jack’s bedroom.

“Mrs. Gosling wants to know if Katie’s going to check the table,” Conrad called. “All the food has been set out.”

Jack released Katie, and she quickly fastened her earrings, each of which consisted of one simple, square-cut ruby crowned by a lustrous pearl. Then she picked up a little spray of holly. “Stand still,” she told Jack, and pinned the holly to his lapel.

Walking down the hall, she took Jack’s arm, and he smiled to himself.

“Did I tell you that I sought out Lim Sung’s parents in the Chinese quarter the other day?” she asked.

“You
know
that you didn’t tell me, Kathleen!” he replied instantly exasperated. “I never would have allowed you to go there without me.”

“Elijah took me, so I was perfectly safe. And fortunately I found them quite easily. It was wonderful to see Yong and Choy Sung again, and they agreed, after much persuasion, to come to our party tonight. Lim will be so pleased when he hears.”

Jack looked bemused. “I’m glad you invited them, Kathleen, but don’t be surprised if some of the other guests have a different reaction.”

“Then they needn’t stay,” she said briskly.

As they descended the wide staircase, he remarked, “I learned today that Grant Phillips will also be attending tonight—the reporter who has just arrived from Sacramento to work for me. Perhaps he’ll make a new friend or two.”

“That’s nice. You must make a point of introducing us.” With studied nonchalance, Katie added, “Oh, by the way, Mr. and Mrs. Braithwaite sent their regrets.”

Jack glanced down at her. They were approaching the dining room as he said, “That’s just as well, for the time being. Kathleen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about them... well, about their daughter, to be more specific....”

The embers of hope burned brighter in Katie’s heart. Could Jack actually intend to begin revealing more of himself to her? Mrs. Gosling, clad in a black taffeta gown and crisp white apron, was hurrying toward them as she replied, “Unfortunately, it will have to wait. I seem to have other obligations....”

Everything looked magnificent. The carved pocket doors between the drawing and dining rooms had been opened to form one huge room that seemed to exude Christmas cheer. A long buffet table stretched across one wall, covered with a snowy white cloth and studded with artful centerpieces of evergreen, candles, and fruit. Around them was arranged food of every description. There were dishes with various pates, scalloped oysters, lobster patties, sausage rolls, salads, iced prawns, and galantines of duck and tongue. A huge roast goose with chestnut stuffing had been artfully arranged beside a garnished, glazed pink ham, and both were surrounded by raised chicken pies, woodcocks, plovers, and cracked crabs. There were plates of fresh biscuits, bowls of pumpkins squash and green beans with almonds, compotes of fruit, tartlets of jam, bonbons, sweetmeats, tiny cheesecakes, plum puddings, dates, and nuts. The piece de resistance had been baked by Katie—a magnificent Christmas cake covered with snowy white frosting and decorated with sprigs of holly.

There were several small Christmas trees on tabletops throughout the house, glowing with the light of miniature candles. Each was gaily decorated with strings of glass beads and cranberries and hung with tiny brightly wrapped packages, colorful blown-glass balls, crystal snowflakes, and little birds with real feathers.

The magical effect was made complete by the hundreds of candles that illumined the entire downstairs of the house. A fire danced in every fireplace, and on the parlor mantel Katie had arranged an exquisite hand-carved crèche she’d discovered in a box in the attic.

Now she paused in front of it, remembering what her mother had told her each Christmas. As Jack came up to give her a cup of hot mulled cider, Katie murmured, “This is the essence of Christmas for me. Mama used to say that the celebration of the Christ child’s birth should be a time of rebirth for all of us, that winter could bring more new growth than spring... new growth in our hearts. That’s the gift I want most for Christmas. I want to be cleansed, to replace my fears and pain with courage and serenity as I enter the new year.” Her eyes glistened. “I believe it’s possible, with God’s grace.”

Jack felt a tightening in his chest and a surge of tenderness toward his wife. He wanted to tell her that his dream for 1865 was the same as hers, but before he could speak, there was a resounding knock at the front door and guests began to arrive.

A stringed quartet began to play in a corner of the drawing room while the house slowly filled with the richly garbed cream of San Francisco society, as well as many of Jack’s less wealthy but more colorful friends. Ambrose Summers and Conrad, both clad in white tie and tailcoats, were there to help assume some of the hosting duties, but everyone wanted to meet the new Mrs. Wyatt. All were gracious when presented to her, though Katie was well aware of the curious stares and whispers from across the room and the occasional eyebrow that arched at her red gown. But she didn’t care. Tonight she could feel headstrong Katie MacKenzie from Columbia merging with the more womanly Kathleen Wyatt, and she knew a sense of peace that she had never experienced before.

Polished servants, under the watchful eye of Mrs. Gosling, moved discreetly through the crowd with bottles of French champagne, while others served hot buttered rum, mulled cider, eggnog, and wassail from huge silver bowls. Guests milled around the buffet table, filling their plates, and a few couples began to dance in the drawing room.

Bret Harte and Edwin Murray, the
Morning Star’s
city editor, approached Jack. Between sips of champagne, the dandified Harte clapped Wyatt on the back and remarked, “We were just saying how very beautiful your bride is, old boy. I cannot remember ever being in the company of a more fresh and radiant woman.”

“I’ll second that.” Edwin nodded, hiccupping. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you made the right choice. Mrs. Wyatt is a stunner.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, grinning. “For once I agree with both of you at the same time.” He indulged himself in a long look across the room at Katie, who was hugging the newly arrived Hope Menloe. She was surrounded by several admirers, many of whom were neighbors or members of their church whom Katie hadn’t met until now. Even from a distance, Jack could see and feel the radiance Bret Harte had spoken of. It shone from inside Katie and was reflected in her eyes, her glowing skin, her smile, even the bounce of her glossy black curls.

“Well, well, look who’s just arrived.” Harte cocked an eyebrow as he stared toward the entry hall. “It’s the overrated star reporter from the
Sacramento Union.
Oh, sorry, I’ve put my foot in it again. Phillips works for you now, doesn’t he?”

Jack was glad of an excuse to leave Harte and Murray, both of whom had obviously sampled a bit too much champagne. Weaving through the crowd, he kept Grant Phillips’s blond head in sight. Katie was moving toward him, too, and Jack was just a few steps behind when she reached the new guest.

“I’m so pleased that you could come,” Katie said, reaching for his hand with both of hers. “I’m Kathleen Wyatt.”

“I’m Grant Phillips.” Hazel eyes smiled at her from behind steel spectacles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wyatt. As you may have heard, I am newly arrived in San Francisco, so I’m grateful to you and your husband for inviting me to your home.”

“Of course!” Katie’s face brightened with recognition. “You’re from Sacramento, aren’t you? I’ve only been here a few weeks myself, so we have something in common.”

Jack came up behind his wife and shook Grant’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it. Did you take my advice and search out a young lady to escort?”

Grant smiled. “I did indeed—the prettiest girl I’ve seen in San Francisco, present company excepted, of course. She is just handing over her cloak to your maid....” He turned toward the entry hall, and his smile widened. “Here she is! Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt, are you acquainted with Miss Genevieve Braithwaite?”

Katie paled, and she felt Jack’s arm tense around her back. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she murmured.

Taking her place at Grant’s side, Genevieve smiled coolly and announced, “Jack and I are old and intimate friends, aren’t we, Jack? And this must be your bride. I would have known you anywhere, Mrs. Wyatt, by your scarlet dress. Isn’t that color
de rigueur
for saloon girls?”

Chapter 28