The Bride Wore Blue (18 page)

Vivian pressed a hand to her waist. She could do this. After all, she was only here to talk to the woman. There was no harm in that. She’d find out if the job was still available. It wasn’t as if she’d committed herself to the work. She’d hear what Miss Pearl had to say and look at the place before making a decision.

And if she did take the job with Miss Pearl, it would only be temporary. It wouldn’t take her long to make enough money to go to Denver. There were bound to be several dress designers there with enough business to share.

Vivian drew in a deep breath and reached for the brass latch.

A bell chimed as she opened the door and stepped inside. The carved rosewood ceiling of the foyer captured her attention. Velvet wallpaper lined the entry, and her shoes sank into a plush Persian carpet. She’d never seen so much opulence.

Footsteps sounded on the ornate staircase, and Vivian turned. The dark-haired girl she’d spoken to that Tuesday descended the steps with the flair of a stage actress and a painted face fitting for a matinee.

The girl smiled. “I remember you. It’s been three weeks.”

Vivian nodded. “You mentioned an opening for a daytime hostess.” She leaned forward. “Downstairs.”

A smile added sparkle to the girl’s coal black eyes. “You decided to apply? ”

“Is the hostess job still available?”

“As far as I know.”

“Good.” It was good, wasn’t it? “I would at least like to talk to Miss Pearl about it.” Vivian glanced from the crystal chandelier above her head to the Persian carpet. “This place is—”

“Extravagant, I know.” Clasping the frilled edges of a fine paisley shawl, the girl floated off the bottom step. “Nothing but the best for Miss Pearl.”

“And for her girls.” A woman who looked like the palace queen sauntered into the room. Her lace gloves matched her green satin gown. She wore her shiny red hair up in a pompadour.

“This is the young woman I mentioned seeing out on a Tuesday morning when the girls and I were shopping,” the black-haired girl said. “Said she was out of work.”

“I remember the story.” The queen shifted her attention to Vivian, her painted red lips pursed. “You’ve never been a
working girl
, have you?”

“No ma’am,” Vivian said. “Not in that way.”

“You probably hadn’t even seen a real
working girl
until … what was it, three weeks ago?” the queen asked.

“I don’t believe so. No ma’am.” Vivian extended her hand. “I’m—”

The woman raised her hand abruptly. “No real names.” Her painted eyebrows narrowed. “One’s former life … private life is just that—private.”

That was an advantage. Vivian wouldn’t have to worry about being linked to anyone else in town, anyone whose respectability could be at stake.

“I go by Pearl DeVere—Miss Pearl—in the business.” Miss Pearl strolled around Vivian, her emerald green skirts whispering with each move. “You’d need plumping up a bit, and a tighter corset that would give you at least some semblance of a waist and a bust. Shorter than the others too.” She stopped in front of Vivian and looked her in the eye. “Violet. You look like a Violet to me.”

A color that wasn’t quite a true blue. “Yes ma’am. It suits me.”

“Very well. Violet, join me in the parlor, and we’ll discuss the possibilities.” Miss Pearl started across the foyer.

“Ma’am.”

With measured ease, Miss Pearl turned to face Vivian, a penciled eyebrow raised.

“I want to discuss the hostess job. During the day. Downstairs.” Vivian knotted her hands. “I’m not interested in … the other kind of work.”

“I understand.” In the manner of a true lady, Miss Pearl pinched the sides of her skirt and lifted it ever so slightly. “Opal, dear, would you ask Mary to bring us some tea? Something with a little zing in it, please.”

“Of course.” Opal disappeared into the hallway.

Vivian pressed her gloved hand to her middle, hoping to calm the bees buzzing in her stomach, and followed Miss Pearl into an imperial parlor. Her eyes feasted on the large room—a cranberry swirl glass chandelier, green velvet drapes, a large Persian carpet, an electric lamp with a red tasseled shade sitting on a polished black walnut table.

Miss Pearl lowered herself onto a rosewood settee as if this were her
throne room. She looked up at Vivian and pointed to a swing rocker. When Vivian sat down, Miss Pearl regarded her with a knowing smile, as if she were amused by Vivian’s awe. “So, Violet, what do you wish to do with your life?”

Vivian startled at the sound of the unfamiliar name. She picked a piece of lint from her skirt. “I want to design fashions, ma’am. Mostly gowns.”

A sudden, sharp laugh escaped Miss DeVere’s perfectly rounded mouth.

Vivian straightened, gripped the arms of the chair, and met the madam’s misty-eyed gaze. “Miss DeVere, I’m really quite good at sketching new designs.”

“Call me Pearl. I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m sure you are.” She pulled at her gloves, one finger at a time. “That’s what my family in Indiana thinks I’m doing here—designing dresses for the wives of the rich in this area.” Laughing again, she gestured toward the lavishness surrounding her. “And now
I’m
the rich in this area.”

Vivian squirmed. Her family thought she was a good girl. They’d never suspect her of working here either.

“You’d make a lot more money and much quicker working for me than you would working as a dress designer,” Miss Pearl said.

A woman as dark as the soot in a hurricane lamp stood in the doorway. When Miss Pearl nodded, she entered the room, carrying a tray.

“Thank you, Mary,” Miss Pearl said.

“Welcome, Miss Pearl. I fixed them both the way you like it.” Mary handed a teacup and saucer to the madam and then glanced at Vivian. “Do you like your tea sweet, miss?”

“A spoonful of sugar, please.” Vivian watched as Mary stirred in the sugar and delivered her cup. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, miss.” Mary shifted her gaze to the woman of the house. “You needin’ anything else, Miss Pearl?”

“That’ll be all, Mary. Thank you.”

Mary had no sooner cleared the doorway, when Miss Pearl turned toward Vivian. “How good are you at acting?”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re in the entertainment business here, and we take our work quite seriously. Our clients are all men willing to pay well for the
entertainment
.” Miss Pearl lifted her teacup to her lips in a manner suited to the most refined of ladies.

“The hostess too?”

Miss Pearl peered at Vivian over her cup. “Yes, even the hostess in the game room and in the music room, which is where you’d work, is considered an entertainer. Nearly every room in the house is our stage.”

“I see.”

“We each have our own chambers, and there are two bathrooms upstairs.”

Vivian gulped. “I have a room elsewhere, and I need to maintain that room and my presence there.”

Miss Pearl tapped her chin with a painted fingernail. “Actually, I think that could work out perfectly. We have clients at all times of the day and night, but you’d do your entertaining as hostess during the day.” The palace queen played with the curls dangling at her neck. “You can treat your work here like a day job and go home, or wherever it is you go, before the dinner bell sounds.”

“Thank you.”

“There will, however, be an occasional evening required.”

Vivian picked at a fingernail. How would she ever explain being away from the boardinghouse after dark?

“I love to throw parties,” Miss Pearl said. “We’re having one next month—the last Friday. I’ll need you here for that.”

Vivian nodded and lifted her cup. She’d raised it no higher than her shoulders before a pungent odor ascended into her nostrils, causing her to gag.

Miss Pearl covered her mouth, but not before Vivian detected a grin. “I like my tea with a shot of brandy in it. You’ve never had even a sip of alcohol, have you?”

“No ma’am.” Vivian set her cup on the table beside her.

“The men will like you. You’re fresh, like newly fallen snow.”

Vivian kept her secret to herself, yet again. Fresh, she wasn’t. Fallen, yes.

“We stock cigars and serve drinks in the game room and in the music room. And some of our guests take meals.”

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed three, and Miss Pearl stood. “I have enough time to give you a tour of the house and show you to the room you’ll use to get into character. Miss Opal will find you a wig and give you a few pointers on how to conduct yourself. Then be back here tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp.”

Nodding, Vivian stood. This wasn’t going to be as humiliating as she’d supposed. She could grow accustomed to the smell of alcohol and cigar smoke, but what about Miss Hattie? She looked at her new boss.

“Don’t worry,” Miss Pearl said. “We have sweet-smelling toilet waters to hide the odors. You’ll find an assortment atop the bureau in your room.”

Vivian’s acting skills obviously needed work. If Miss Pearl could tell what she was thinking, Miss Hattie and her sisters would surely see right through her.

C
arter glanced up at the mantel clock. Again. Half past five.

He and Boney Hughes had stopped by Miss Hattie’s Boardinghouse nearly an hour ago to talk with Vivian, and she still wasn’t back.

The landlady told them Vivian had gotten the job at the newspaper but had to quit due to problems working with the chemicals and ink. Miss Hattie pulled her teacup from the side table beside her chair. “Vivian’s been out looking for a job most every day.”

Commendable, and he hoped she found suitable work, but the thought of her returning home so late in the day made his shoulders tight. It wasn’t safe for a young woman like her, attractive and naive, having only recently come from the East. “You said Vivian … um, Miss Sinclair usually returns home by four o’clock?”

“Yes. But if she’s found work, those arrangements could detain her.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t forget … she does have a passel of sisters.” Boney drained his coffee mug. He’d chosen to sit on the brick hearth. “Could’ve met up with any one of ’em and stopped somewhere to jaw.”

Miss Hattie stiffened and narrowed her eyes at the miner.

“Now don’t go gettin’ your feathers ruffled, Hattie,” Boney said. “Didn’t mean any disrespect. Just sayin’ that those young women could outtalk a gaggle.”

Carter snickered, earning a scowl from the widow.

“Don’t encourage the old coot,” she said.

“Yes ma’am.”

“For your information, Boney Hughes, women don’t jaw.” She stuck out her pinky and raised her cup to her mouth. “We leave that to old miners.”

Boney chuckled, revealing gaps between his teeth.

Miss Hattie leaned toward Carter. “Are you ready for a refill?”

“No ma’am. Thank you.” Carter lifted the cup to his mouth and breathed deeply of the brew’s aroma, hoping to adjourn his nerves. Contrary to his first impression, Vivian wasn’t a mere girl. She was a bright young woman, and he needn’t worry about her. But he did, anyway. She was his friend, after all.

“Hattie, you might want to give the deputy a nice, calming chamomile next time.” Boney grinned, holding out his pinky.

Miss Hattie nodded and walked to the window. “You do seem a little edgy where our youngest Sinclair sister is concerned, deputy.”

“Miss Sinclair is new here. A single woman.” He probably shouldn’t have emphasized that point, given Miss Hattie’s reputation as a matchmaker. “She’s inexperienced with the West and its ways. I don’t like the thought of any young woman being out alone when the sun goes down.”

A woman like Vivian shouldn’t have to work for her livelihood. She should be courted and wed to a man who …

Who what? Carter argued. With himself.

A man who appreciated the love and affection of a bold and independent woman and provided for her.

Miss Hattie pulled the lace curtain back from the window. “Vivian has a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be in before dark. Why, that looks like her now.”

“See.” Boney looked Carter’s way, and then joined Miss Hattie at the window. “All that fuss over nothin’.”

Miss Hattie and Boney suddenly looked at one another. Their brows furrowed and their chins dipped.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Miss Hattie let the curtain close.

Carter went to see for himself. “You saw her?”

Miss Hattie nodded. “I thought she was headed home, but she’s just standing there across the street.”

Boney stepped away from the window, and Carter pulled back the lace curtain. Vivian stood at the corner, looking like a princess in her purple dress. A reticule hung on her arm. Her hands were tucked in white gloves and clasped in front of her. After seeing his bay hitched to the rail out front, she’d no doubt stopped in her tracks. And why not? He’d been avoiding any social gatherings that involved her family.

He’d said, and she’d agreed, that their relationship had to stop at friendship. And despite a few hold-out feelings to the contrary, he still believed it.

Then she looked up. Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other, never mind that a window and an entire road stood between them, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that he wanted more than friendship.