“And what do we know of Mr. Hunter? He’s merely an acquaintance of your father’s, a gambler and a foreigner. I found his manner a bit rough around the edges, his dancing abominable, and his conversation inadequate. He was only playing at being a gentleman. Indeed, a gentleman would not have accepted the wager.”
“It was Mr. Moore who proposed the wager, Mother. He was your guest, remember?”
“Now you’re being insolent. If Mr. Moore proposed the wager, which your father neglected to tell me, then it can only mean that you did something to command his attention in an unacceptable fashion. He would not have made such a bold wager if he didn’t believe there was just cause for it. I think I know something about Brigham Moore’s character. After all, he saved my life.”
“I don’t believe I did anything untoward, Mother. I danced with Mr. Moore and Mr. Hunter, spoke with both briefly about the orphanage, and conversed with them at dinner. In fact, our dinner conversation took place after the wager had been made and won, so I can’t see that it matters in the least.”
Madeline was undeterred. “If you did nothing to draw their attention to you, then you must ask yourself where their interest lies. If you reflect upon it, I’m certain you’ll arrive at the same answer I have.”
“My fortune,” Lydia said dully. She had found herself thinking about it many times with Nathan Hunter, but she was uncharacteristically reluctant to believe it about Brigham. Lydia hugged her pillow tighter and for one moment closed her eyes.
“Naturally, your fortune. I have every right to be concerned, Lydia, as you should be. Your friend James Early is many times more appropriate as a partner for you, yet you hardly spent any time with him last night. Mr. Moore and Mr. Hunter are nearer my age than yours.”
“So old?” Lydia asked without thinking. Madeline was, after all, her mother, and that alone made her seem older than her years in Lydia’s eyes.
Madeline’s mouth flattened. “I can see that it’s no good talking to you now. Perhaps once you’ve dressed and eaten something you’ll be more agreeable. I’m going for a fitting soon, but I’ll be back before four. We’ll discuss your plans for this evening then.”
“Mother, I’m sor—” But Madeline had already given Lydia her back. The room seemed to shudder as Madeline closed the door, then Lydia realized it was only her reaction, not the room’s.
Pei Ling glided into the bedroom moments after Madeline’s exit. From Lydia’s pained expression it was not difficult to imagine what had happened between mother and daughter in her absence. The maid drew Lydia a bath, brought her a light brunch, and set out a gown she deemed more appropriate than the one Madeline had chosen.
“You very late last evening,” Pei Ling said as she combed through Lydia’s damp hair. “I think perhaps I misjudge Nathan Hunter and he mean to do you harm.”
“No,” Lydia said. “You didn’t misjudge him. He was very helpful.” She told Pei Ling most of what happened the previous night. The bedroom in Nathan’s suite was never mentioned.
“I sorry for Charlotte and baby. I know you sad and aching in heart. Poor Charlotte not so lucky as me. I not be here today if not for you, Miss Liddy. Please not to forget. And little children have no home if not for you. You do many good things. Only this thing not end so good.”
“Thank you for that, Pei Ling,” Lydia said softly, catching the girl’s eyes in the mirror. “And for everything else you did. Keeping Mother and Papa away from my room couldn’t have been easy. I think it’s a good thing you’re so protective. Last night was very…difficult.”
Pei Ling continued to comb and dress Lydia’s hair. “I like to see you drunk, Miss Liddy. I think you must be very funny.”
Lydia smiled. “Mr. Hunter would disagree.”
“You like him?” Pei Ling asked, seeing her mistress’s smile.
“No,” she said quickly. She paused and then added, “I’m not certain. He’s rude and rather arrogant actually. And he’s not above threatening to get his own way. But if you had seen him with Charlotte, Pei Ling…the way he spoke to her, the way he held the baby…he seemed a different man entirely.” And his hands, she thought, his strong, beautiful hands. “I don’t think I could really ever understand him. Mother’s probably right about him. He’s too old for me and his interests are centered on my money. I should be thinking of some way to excuse myself from going to the Cliff House with him.”
“You think same about Mr. Moore?” she asked.
“I don’t know him very well.” In the mirror Lydia saw that her color deepened.
Pei Ling saw it also. “I think you have fine opportunity to know him better. He downstairs now, waiting to take you for ride in carriage.”
Lydia’s cobalt-blue eyes widened. “He’s here? Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I say something now,” Pei Ling said reasonably. “You not ready before now, so why say? No good rush, rush, rush. Mr. Moore come after Mother leave, while I get breakfast. He wait in front parlor. Mother always say not so bad to keep man waiting. Only thing Mother say I like. Better than Chinese way, wait on man all the time.”
Lydia stood up and smoothed the bodice and skirt of her rose gown. She frowned at her reflection, plucking at the short, puffed sleeves of the gown. “Do you know, Pei Ling, I’ve been thinking I should go to Madame Simone’s and choose some of my own things. That would please Mother. She’s always wanting me to take notice of my appearance.”
“Very good idea.” Pei Ling did not add that she knew it would not please Madeline.
“I’ll do it,” Lydia decided suddenly. “We won’t even tell Mother.”
Pei Ling said nothing, her dark eyes fathomless.
Lydia acceptedBrigham Moore’s invitation to go riding with an alacrity she prayed was not forward or unbecoming. He was a comfortable companion, amusing, solicitous, and charming, so unlike Nathan Hunter that Lydia found herself resenting Nathan for extracting her promise. The air was cool, but the sun was shining, and Brigham’s open carriage was the perfect conveyance for enjoying San Francisco’s sites. The driver took them down Powell Street and into the noisy and lively center of Chinatown and Portsmouth Square. Lydia passed all the places she had the previous evening, yet in Brigham’s company none seemed sinister or dangerous. Lydia felt as if her senses were heightened in Brig’s presence, as if she could taste the color of the beautiful silks on display or touch the delicious odors coming from the kitchens all along Grant Avenue. People shouted in a language she barely understood, yet she heard music in the staccato speech and saw the artistry in the gracefully curved calligraphy of their written word.
She brightened under the attention Brigham paid her; his questions and interest warmed her. In turn he answered her questions, sharing his childhood in the workhouse, the hardships. He spoke of a farm in the country, his interests in mining and shipping. Knowledgeable and opinionated, Brig was also curious about Lydia’s opinions. She believed she was heard.
