The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (6 page)

“I like Tova better.”

Daniel sighed. “Tova is a housekeeper, Buttercup. And while she’s invaluable to us, she hasn’t the time or the ability to teach you the skills needed to be a proper lady. That’s the job of your governess.”

“Papa, I told you I’m old enough not to—”

“Not to argue with your father?” He paused for effect. “Indeed, you are that. Now go and prepare for dinner before I lose my patience.”

The little charmer grinned. For all her ability to push against his authority, Charlotte certainly knew when to cut her losses and run. She hugged him, eyes wide, and kissed his cheek. “Yes, Papa,” she said as she skipped off, he hoped, toward soap and water.

Elias took his hat and coat, chuckling. “She’s a handful, that one.”

Daniel followed him into the dining room, where a bountiful feast had been laid. “Elias, you’ve done it again. Unless Tova and Isak are joining us, you only needed to feed three.”

“It’s only us tonight,” Elias said, “but none of us shall leave the table hungry.”

Daniel reached for a slice of bread and tore off a corner. “Should we eat even half of this, none of us could leave the table at all.”

“You know I’ve only one set of recipes, and they’re for a shipload. If you don’t like it, hire a real cook.”

“What would I do with a real cook? I keep you here for entertainment value, not your cooking.” The statement was patently false, as evidenced by the bite of rye bread Daniel popped into his mouth.

“Try to complain now, lad. I baked your favorite.” Elias’s laughter trailed behind him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Rather than follow, Daniel moved to the window that filled one end of the room. Clouds gathering above the distant peaks foretold of rain. Likely the mines were already being soaked.

Though the strike that crippled the mines in May and June had been halted and their leader finally captured and placed under arrest, the underlying issues still remained. The men wanted better working conditions and a bigger share of what was quickly becoming a substantial pie, and now they’d had a taste of what striking might accomplish. A storm would do nothing to improve their temperaments.

One more thing to deal with upon his arrival.

An off-key version of a familiar sailing song drifted under the kitchen door. Daniel smiled. For all the grief that awaited him in Leadville and, likely, the trouble that would come with the opening of his father’s letter, still he could find a haven here.

Trouble could not touch him inside his home.

Through dinner with Charlotte, charades, and a bedtime routine that included two trips to the library for just the right book, Daniel tried to ignore the letter in his pocket. Coffee and a game of chess with Elias followed, and still he postponed reading the documents.

“Something bothering you, lad?” Elias asked.

“Bothering me?” He moved his queen into position to take Elias’s king, then looked up. “Check.”

“You sure?”

Daniel nodded as his opponent countered and called checkmate.

He sat back and frowned. He’d missed the obvious.

“I’ll not ask why you let me win,” Elias said, “though I will inquire whether I might be of service in whatever problem you’re contemplating.”

Daniel thought only a second before pulling the letter from his coat pocket and setting it on the chessboard.

Elias glanced down, then looked at him with narrowed eyes. “So the old man’s found you.”

A statement, not a question. Interesting that Elias, too, never considered the letter could be from Edwin rather than his father. Edwin would never write. He was too much of a coward. Only the earl would send a letter to a son he’d declared as good as dead ten years ago. Likely Edwin was still too busy celebrating the victory.

“It appears so,” Daniel said as he returned the letter to his pocket.

“What does your pa want from you?” Elias gasped. “Not her?”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.”

“I see.” Elias rose and yawned with more enthusiasm than necessary. “Besting you at chess sure has made me sleepy. I believe I’ll turn in and leave the supper dishes for Tova. She always loves it when I do that.”

Daniel mustered a smile. “I think you’re harboring a secret crush for our housekeeper, Elias.”

“Why would you say something as foolish as that?” Elias stepped over Daniel’s outstretched legs to walk away. “You know I never did like a bossy woman. Why, that Tova, she’s about the bossiest of all the…”

His voice trailed off as the old seaman disappeared down the hallway toward his bedchamber. A slamming door punctuated the sentiment.

“Methinks thou dost protest too much, dear friend.” Daniel reached for his lukewarm coffee and smiled, until he felt the letter shift in his pocket. He touched it, then once again placed it atop the chessboard.

“What do you want from me after all these years, old man?” he whispered.

Daniel held the envelope up to the light, then turned and extinguished the lamp. Alone in the darkness, he crumpled the letter and stuffed it into his pocket, then walked upstairs to his room, feeling older than the person who penned the words he dreaded reading.

He settled heavily into the old leather chair by the fire; the chair Georgiana had only tolerated because it was his favorite. Closing his eyes, Daniel let the image of a golden-haired woman heavy with child, her skirts lifted just above the gurgling water of a mountain-fed stream, sneak into his mind. With it came the rage.

“Papa?”

Daniel opened his eyes to find Charlotte peering around the door. “You should be sleeping, Buttercup.”

Bare feet pattered across the floor, and Charlotte launched herself into the chair with him. He caught the imp and tucked her into his lap, the top of her head nestled beneath his chin.

Legs that had grown long and coltish tangled around his, evoking memories of Charlotte at five. Newly arrived and shy, she’d kept her distance, preferring her mother to the man she refused to call Papa.

Where had the time gone? In the blink of an eye, the reticent five-year-old had stolen his heart and, upon her mother’s death, filled the abyss of grief with rays of brilliant green-eyed sunshine. Contemplating where he would be without Charlotte was impossible.

“My new nanny is coming soon, isn’t she?”

Daniel hauled his mind back to the present and thought carefully before answering. “Yes, the new Miss McTaggart’s to arrive in two days, I believe.”

“I was thinking, Papa.” She peered up at him with her mother’s eyes. “Maybe I don’t need a nanny. I’ll be eleven soon. That’s practically grown-up. I think I can manage just fine.”

“Eleven is eleven, Buttercup. Twenty, now that’s grown-up.” He gathered her back into his arms and held her, as outside, the night sounds rose. “And for the record, you only just turned ten.”

Charlotte yawned. “Can I fall asleep here?”

“Of course.” His heart lurched again. How many more years did he have before his little girl cared less for her papa than she did for her friends or, worse yet, gentleman callers?

The only sounds came from outside the open window. He patted her curls, the one visible feature she’d inherited from the Becks, and closed his eyes.

“Papa?”

“Shh.”

He let out a sigh he hoped his daughter would take as exasperation. In truth, it spoke of pure contentment. Was there anything better than sitting in a comfortable chair on a cool evening with a cherub in your arms?

If only things could be managed in his absence, but Daniel knew running a business in Leadville meant he must attend to things there. Nothing was more difficult than leaving his daughter, especially now that her protests had become more vocal. His absences might perturb her now, but she was just a child. Someday she would know that his work was done with only her in mind.

Until that time, she needed a firm hand and a feminine influence. Hopefully the new Nanny McTaggart would provide that. Her predecessor had only been gone a month, and already he saw signs that what little the dear woman had managed to do in the way of civilizing Charlotte was coming undone. Just yesterday, Hiram had come to him with the distressing story that he thought he’d seen Charlotte among a group of youthful troublemakers tipping the spittoon in a nearby saloon, then pocketing money off the card tables in the ensuing melee. Then there was the neighbor who’d come to Tova, complaining of a pie with half its filling missing. Only Charlotte had been seen in the vicinity.

He’d expressed doubt to Tova about the girl’s involvement, but in his heart Daniel wondered. She was a bit high-spirited. Adventurous, even. But petty crime? Not his Charlotte.

“Got you this time,” One-Eyed Ed said. “For whatsoever you do, it will come back in the same measure.”

“Since when do you talk like that, Ed?” Mae needed to keep the man talking, to force his attention anywhere but on the hands she was about to free from the ropes he’d tied around her wrists. In the meantime she talked, discussing meaningless things like the price of cotton and the fact the skies were an interesting shade of blue today.

Feigning sleep was easy, as she’d gone without it for a full day and part of another. Keeping awake was the endeavor fraught with peril, yet she managed until the outlaw left her to ply his trade, seemingly safe in the knowledge his captive would be waiting when he returned.

Which, of course, she would not. Mae slipped the loosened rope from her hands, then saved it to use when she found the sorry thief.

“Miss?”

Gennie pushed away the maid’s attempts to wake her. “Tell Mrs. Vanowen I shan’t be attending the breakfast today.”

“Miss?”

Again came the interruption, this time in the form of rough shaking. “Truly this is most inappro—” Her eyes opened to reveal a mousy couple staring at her. Mr. Mouse gestured toward the aisle, and Gennie’s gaze followed his hand.

The conductor stood over her, his smile gone. “You’re Denver.”

“No.” Gennie sat up and straightened her traveling hat, then surreptitiously swiped at her cheek. “I am…” She paused to consider the implications of giving her name.

“I don’t care if you’re Queen Victoria,” he said. “This is Union Station. Your stop. Time to get off.”

Realization dawned on her as the conductor moved on. Denver. Fatigue drained away as she leaned forward. Ash and soot covered the pane, making the city look as if it wore a coat of dull gray. A closer look revealed the slightest outline of snowcapped peaks.

“The Rockies,” she whispered. “Oh my.”

It was a beautiful sight. She, however, was not.

“I’ll need to freshen up,” she said to the conductor as she gathered her reticule and hung it from her wrist. “Then I’ll be happy to accommodate your request.”

The man offered an inelegant snort, then pointed to the exit. “Denver. Union Station,” he repeated. “Freshen up all you want once you’re on the platform, but unless you want to pay to go farther, you’ve got to leave the train.”

Gennie forced herself to exhale. Wouldn’t Papa be surprised she’d taken such a risk? Mama, of course, would be appalled. She stood a notch straighter at the thought of her mother.

“Miss?” The conductor punctuated his irritation with a sweep of his hand. “Might I escort my lady to the exit?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

With a quick nod to her frowning seatmates, Gennie rose. “Not necessary.”

Her legs felt like they’d been encased in lead, but somehow she managed to move toward the nearest exit where all of Denver—playground of Mae Winslow and her frontier friends—awaited her discovery.

But first there was the matter of Mr. Beck, who must be told his permanent governess would be delayed by exactly one month.

Gennie pressed past the conductor into the aisle, then tried to smooth the wrinkles in her traveling coat, succeeding instead in smearing the ash and grime farther into the once-lovely fabric. No matter. A thorough cleaning and the ensemble would be as good as new.

She stepped out onto the platform and paused to look around. Denver. Or as much as she could see beyond the trains, people, and imposing structure of the rail station.

While the mass of men, women, and children could have represented travelers from anywhere, the snowcapped Rocky Mountains in the distance could not. She knew the air would be clean and bracing, and the skies so clear and deep blue it hurt to look at them. The only disappointment was in Union Station itself. She’d expected some sort of rough-hewn affair with logs and chinks of plaster holding the wind at bay.