Quicksilver Passion (110 page)

The Duchess frowned.
I suppose you could say that. It means Singing Wind. Do the best you can to keep Wannie out of my way, Miss Jones, and turn her into a young lady. I keep thinking that someday her father might return, if not for me, maybe if he ever hears about her.”

Silver waited for the woman to go on but the Duchess seemed to be lost in thought. It dawned on her then that the Duchess didn’t care much about the child at all and, small as she was, the child sensed it.
Could I see my room now?”

Waanibe smiled.
Go see Silvery’s room, too.”

Silver put the child down, but the lonely little girl grabbed her hand. The Duchess led Silver, the toddler still clinging to her hand, through the nursery into a spacious bedroom done up in pale aquas and turquoise. It was a cheery room with pretty, dainty furnishings. Someone besides the Duchess must have furnished it—maybe the last governess.
Oh, this is lovely!”

Not quite fancy enough for my taste,” the Duchess said,
but I’m sure a prim thing like you feels right at home here.” She played with a bracelet impatiently. It appeared to Silver that the woman had already spent more time on this governess thing than she had wanted to.

It’s fine.” Silver smiled down at the child hanging on to her hand.
I think Wannie and I will be great friends. We’ll build castles out of blocks and I’ll read you stories.”

Waanibe’s dark eyes were as bright as a chipmunks.
Silvery have rings and bracelets to play with?”

No, sorry, afraid not.” She thought of the gold nugget bracelet. Maybe in a week or so, she’d have enough money to buy it back—if the store owner didn’t sell it first.

The Duchess said,
Just keep Wannie out of my things and away from the business. That’s the main thing.”

She turned and left the pair standing in the bedroom.

The Duchess felt nothing but relief as she returned to her office and settled herself again behind her ledger books. The new governess looked acceptable and might have been pretty—if she didn’t dress so mousy and wear her hair like an old maid, along with those serviceable shoes and thick glasses. Somewhere along the way, the girl had had smallpox; the telltale scars were on her face, but they were few and tiny. Actually they were hardly noticeable at all. She couldn’t tell anything about the rest of Miss Jones in that frumpy dress; not that such things mattered in a governess. It was just that the Duchess was used to assessing other women for their marketability to cowboys and soldiers.

She sat down behind her big desk, nibbled on the end of her ledger pen, and sighed. Iron Knife. He was never very far from her mind. She had loved him as she had never loved another man, although she had slept with many besides the big Cheyenne half-breed. In fact, within a day or so of the time she had seduced the Cheyenne, she had been raped by a big, ugly white scout. She smiled. She’d gotten even with the scout, though—she’d knocked him unconscious and robbed him. That was back in the fall of ’58. The scout’s money had financed the opening of the Palace. Ever since then, she had been on her own, scheming in every way she could to be rich and successful. She had not seen either of the two men since. For a while, she had been afraid the scout would search her out, and take revenge. But it had been three years and he had never turned up. She hoped he was dead, and not an easy death either.