Midnight Star (9 page)

Chauncey became very still. “Del?” she asked, her voice thin and high.

“Of course,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “My partner, Delaney Saxton.”

“You’re a fool, Chauncey, a hundred times a fool!”

“Ma’am? Forgive me, I didn’t hear what you said.”

Chauncey pulled herself together for her partner’s benefit. He was a shy young man who was dancing with her as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. “I was just . . . thinking aloud,” she said, forcing a thin smile to her lips. She paused a moment and waved a negligent hand toward Delaney Saxton.

“I understand, Mr. Hewlitt, that Miss Stevenson and Mr. Saxton will soon be giving San Francisco a wedding celebration.”

Mr. Hewlitt chewed on his lower lip, a nervous habit of long standing, Chauncey supposed. “I reckon so, ma’am. Miss Penelope is such a pretty little lady, and Del . . . well, everyone wants him to have only the best. Yep, I guess they’ll tie the knot soon.”

Everyone sings his blasted praises! Has he never shown his true colors here? She shook her head slightly in answer to her own silent query, remembering the saying the folk of Surrey fondly repeated: “No thief ever steals from his own house.”

The dance ended at that moment, and Chauncey again turned toward Delaney Saxton. He had just raised Penelope Stevensons’ small hand to his lips. When he straightened, he looked directly at Chauncey and gave her a bow and a wicked smile. She froze, wondering if he were going to approach her again.

But he didn’t. She danced until her feet ached. She met every lady worthy of that exalted title in San Francisco and endured every gentleman’s fulsome compliments. It was past midnight when Dan Brewer claimed her again for a waltz.

“Doesn’t everyone unmask at midnight, Mr. Brewer?”
I want to see his face, look at his eyes.

Dan Brewer choked. “Well, no, Miss Jameson.”

“Why ever not, sir?”

He mumbled uncomfortably, “It just isn’t the tradition, ma’am, that’s all.”

It was Miss Penelope who told her why, some minutes later, when both young ladies had removed to the ladies’ retiring room to refresh themselves.

“Oh, that,” Penelope said, waving a small dismissing hand. “Mama couldn’t allow that.” She giggled at Chauncey’s look of bewilderment. “Many of the ladies here tonight aren’t ladies. Everyone knows it, but no one says anything if
they
are masked.”

“
They?
”

“Loose women,” Penelope said, quite unconcerned. “After all,” she continued matter-of-factly, “there are so many men here. What are they to do? Even Delaney has a French mistress.” She shrugged, not at all concerned. “Of course he’ll give her up after we are married.”

Chauncey was silent a moment, chewing over this startling information. “So,” she said brightly after a moment, “when do you announce your engagement?”

“After Del convinces me, I suppose,” Penelope said, eyeing the Englishwoman from the corner of her eye. She hadn’t missed the two waltzes Del had danced with her when he had first arrived.

Penelope was rather silly and vain, Chauncey thought judiciously as she patted several strands of hair back into place, but still, she didn’t want to hurt any innocent person. She forced herself to ask lightly, “You must be very fond of him. I thought him very . . . witty.”

To Chauncey’s surprise, Penelope shrugged her shoulders pettishly. “Oh, that! I can’t understand some of the things he says sometimes, and he just smiles at me when I ask him to explain. I like him well enough. Daddy thinks he’s quite a catch. And since he’s been to England—indeed, even has English relations, royalty almost—Mama thinks the sun rises on him!”

Chauncey could think of nothing to say to this artless speech.
He has English relations.
So that was how he managed to trap her father! But why, she wondered, didn’t Paul Montgomery know of these relations? She temporized. “I hope everything works out as you wish it to, Miss Stevenson.”

Penelope gave her a superior, confident smile. “Oh, it will, Miss Jameson. I don’t imagine that you will be in San Francisco much longer?”

Chauncey almost smiled at the hopeful note in Penelope’s voice. “We will see,” she said. “I find I am much enjoying your beautiful city.”

Chauncey pounded her hapless pillow, but sleep eluded her. She doesn’t love him, she thought over and over. I won’t be hurting her heart, only her pride. She supposed she reached her decision just as the sun was beginning to rise over the city.

It was so simple, really.
So simple and final, you fool!
She climbed out of her warm bed and padded on bare feet to the windows.
I wonder if he is awake yet. I wonder if he liked me.
He certainly seemed to, she thought, even though he had avoided her the rest of the evening.
What if he loves Penelope Stevenson? What if I can’t win him away from her?

“Miss Chauncey! Up so early? Are you feeling well?”

Chauncey turned to see Mary, her dark hair disheveled, drawing the sash more tightly about the waist of her robe.

“No, I can see that isn’t it at all,” she continued, her eyes shrewd even as she yawned behind her hand. “You met Mr. Saxton.”

“Yes, I met him—indeed, waltzed twice with him.” She gave a self-mocking smile. “He is not quite what I expected, Mary. He does not look in the least . . . evil. At least I don’t think so, since everyone stayed masked. And he acts in the most lighthearted way imaginable.”

“Then why were you staring out of the window looking as if you had lost your last friend in the world?”

“I intend to marry him,” Chauncey said baldly.

“So,” Mary said thoughtfully, “the wind sets that way, does it? You are certain then that he intends to wed Miss Penelope?”

“It appears so. She is silly and vain, but her father is quite wealthy. It seems Mr. Saxton is an opportunist as well as a villain.”

“You don’t think he loves the chit?”

“I
know
she doesn’t love him.” She shrugged, but her voice hardened with resolve. “As for Mr. Saxton, whatever his feelings are, I fully intend that they will change.”

Mary felt a wave of pity wash over her. It wasn’t right that Miss Chauncey, now freed from the greed of her aunt and uncle, should be forced to go to such lengths. She sighed, knowing well that once Miss Chauncey had made up her mind, nothing would change it.

“Stop looking at me as if I were a wet kitten straggling in the rain! It will not be bad, Mary. I will marry him, ruin him, then we will return to England where we belong.”

Miss Chauncey made it all sound so easy, Mary thought. But life wasn’t like that. Life was a slippery road full of potholes and sharp turns. She looked toward her young mistress and heard her talking softly to herself. “ . . . As his wife, I will know everything he plans, I will know exactly how to strike at him.”

Mary muttered an utterly improper string of words and left Chauncey’s bedroom.

* * *

“Del, you have a visitor.”

Delaney looked up from the ledger he was studying, a mobile brow rising at the smug tone of Jarvis’ voice.

“I gather it isn’t fat old Mrs. Tucker wanting me to subscribe to her latest charity?”

“No, sir. ’Tis that Englishwoman, Miss Jameson. She asked for you specifically, Del.”

“Is that so?” Delaney said softly, his expression becoming utterly bland. “Since the young lady is one of our prime customers, I suppose I should see what she wants. Do show her in, Jarvis. Oh . . . and, Jarvis, you needn’t listen at the keyhole!”

Jarvis cast his employer a wounded look, then took himself out of Delaney’s office. Now, what does she want? he wondered lazily, leaning back in his comfortable leather chair. When Miss Jameson appeared in his doorway, he rose slowly, straightening his gray waistcoat as he did so, and for a moment felt intense pleasure simply looking at her. Even with her mask, he had had no doubt that she would be beautiful, and he was right. Her glorious hair was piled charmingly atop her head, with curling tendrils falling over her temples. Her bonnet was trimmed in yellow silk to match her entrancing gown. Her eyes were an odd mahogany color, but he suspected that like her hair, they shifted color depending on the light. And her mood, of course. He met her gaze and saw that she was assessing him as openly as he was her. “What an . . . unexpected pleasure, Miss Jameson,” he drawled, walking toward her. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Chauncey swallowed, taking in his thick wave
of honey-colored hair that fell over his forehead, and his twinkling eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. Why couldn’t he have a weak chin, at least? To plan to see him and bowl him over was a very different matter from actually doing it.
Be witty and outrageous. He is a man who can’t bear to be bored.
She was startled for a moment at her insight, but she knew it to be true about him.

“It is a lovely day, Mr. Saxton,” she said, allowing him to take her hand briefly. “I have come to rescue you from your labors.”

Why, she is chasing me, he thought, both amused and intrigued. But his expression never changed. He waved toward the pile of papers on his desk. “Alas, Miss Jameson, I am but a miserable drudge. Behold my labors. I fear they will not go away without my personally dispatching them.”

“Such a pity,” she said in mock sorrow. “And I was told that you were a man of great resource. Perhaps, Mr. Saxton, you can forgo your labors, just for a short time. I, sir, will buy you lunch.” At his look of surprise, Chauncey added on a mournful voice, “You see, sir, I have already received three proposals of marriage and I fear that eager gentlemen are even at this moment waiting for me to emerge. Have you no sense of gallantry, sir? I am, I assure you, a lady in distress.”

“Somehow, Miss Jameson,” Del said smoothly, “I cannot imagine you tolerating any distress, particularly from eager gentlemen. Are you always so forward?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Only when it is absolutely necessary. Now, sir, I find my ribs are rattling from hunger.”

Delaney gave her a mock bow. “Your wish, dear lady . . . Shall I ask Dan if he wants to join us?” He was further intrigued to see that his suggestion had taken her aback and that those extraordinary eyes of hers had darkened. “No,” he said quickly, deciding to save her from further forwardness, “I imagine that Dan is in the righteous midst of making more money for us. I, on the other hand, will be pleased to eat some of our profits.”

She laughed. “No, Mr. Saxton. It is I who will save your profits for you. The most expensive establishment, if you please. I am not at all niggardly.”

“Particularly when you get what you want?”

Something suspiciously like pain glistened in her eyes, but she was laughing again, and he thought he must have imagined it.

“Particularly then,” she agreed.

He gave her a flourishing bow and offered her his arm. He was aware of every male eye upon them as he escorted her out of the bank.

“The wood-plank sidewalks are a good idea,” Chauncey said, eyeing the muddy street. The light rain had stopped early that morning, but the air was still damp and thick with fog.

“Yes,” he said, moving to the street side to protect her.

“You men are lucky, sir, with your boots and trousers,” Chauncey said, observing men walking in the wide street, oblivious of the mud puddles.

“And practical, Miss Jameson. Our vanities lie in other directions.”

“I assure you, sir, that it is men and their
vanity who have forced women to adopt such ridiculous garments!”

“Acquit me, ma’am. I should much enjoy seeing you garbed in trousers and boots.”

His drawing comment found its mark, but Chauncey quickly recovered. “Perhaps someday you may get your wish,” she said blandly, shooting him an impish smile.

She turned away from him, absorbing the raucous noise that surrounded them. There is endless excitement here, she thought, gazing at the merchants, vendors, and myriad drays and wagons that filled California Street.

“Your city is alive, sir,” she said. “Every sense is awakened.”

“I have found other cities boring in comparison. I see you are wondering about all our modern brick buildings.” At her inquiring look, he laughed. “Even if you weren’t, you should. They are our defense against fire. All of the original argonauts, as we’ve been dubbed, have lost everything to fire in the past, myself included. Careful, Miss Jameson, that gentleman is a bit worse for drink.”

“You do not appear to be suffering overly now, sir,” Chauncey said, watching the stumbling man pass them.

“No,” he agreed blandly, smiling down at her. “Have you attempted climbing any of our hills?”

“Yes, I visited the semaphore on Telegraph Hill. Most intriguing. As for the rest of them, I believe I will wait.”

“Ah, here we are. Pierre’s Culinary Establishment. A very upper-class restaurant, I assure you, ma’am. Quite draining on the purse.”

The restaurant was a marvelously gawdy place, its huge front room hung with dark blue velvet draperies. Chauncey quickly saw that she was the only female present. Delaney greeted many of the other men, but did not pause.

“François,” he said, smiling at the small potbellied man who was hurrying toward them. He added under his breath, “His real name is Jud Stubbs and he hails from Pennsylvania, I believe.”

“Mr. Saxton, and the lovely new English lady. Such a pleasure, madame.”

“Your fame has spread, even to the kitchens,” Delaney murmured to Chauncey.