“I have three dresses, a nightdress, several hats, a reticule, and two pairs of button up shoes. I’ve even managed to procure a traveling bag that’s practically a historical relic. It’s in marvelous condition,” she replied, checking off the items one by one on her fingers.
“That’s wonderful. I imagine I’m going to pay dearly for all of this,” she sighed.
Lucille laughed.
“Oh yes, my friend, you are. You must consider who is designing your wardrobe. It’s not Lucy Jones, who by lucky circumstance happened to be your roommate in college, but Lucille Delacruz, a highly sought after woman who works mainly for stars at enormous fees.”
“I get it, Lucy.”
“Plus, I know for a fact that your husband is extremely wealthy, so there you have it. I’m not cutting you any slack, other than that I’m doing it at all,” she continued with a smile.
“For which I am very grateful,” Cara said with a smile. “I truly am, but you have to promise never to divulge exactly what you have designed for me. Micah must never know it’s not dresses for the Met Gala or opening night at the opera.”
“I understand. He’s been very generous in the past, and despite my teasing, I do appreciate your patronage. You’re so gorgeous it’s a pleasure designing clothes for you. Everything looks good on that body,” Lucy said, a bit wistfully. “I should be so lucky.”
“You’re beautiful, successful, and doing what you always wanted to do. What could you possibly have to complain about?” Cara asked in surprise.
“You’d be surprised how many celebrities stiff me,” Lucy sighed. “Some even think I should be flattered they even ask me to dress them. They imply they have done me a huge favor by wearing my designs and are advertising for me. Many are notoriously late in paying for my services even though they are rolling in money. It pisses me off.”
“I’m sorry,” Cara offered in surprise.
“Don’t be,” Lucy crowed, her good humor immediately restored. “Your Micah pays immediately, and never questions the cost.”
“He might this time,” Cara pointed out nervously, biting a manicured nail.
“Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll bill it in such a way he’ll never know exactly what you’ve purchased. Come on, let’s go have a liquid lunch and when we come back, we’ll talk about the wigs. It will be better if you have a little buzz,” she said with a laugh as she began to unlace Cara.
“Oh dear, that bad?”
“Worse,” Lucy replied knowing. “Human hair wigs are incredibly expensive, but worth it. Come on, drinks are on me.”
“Good thing,” Cara murmured.
Three hours later,Cara left the workshop of Lucille Delacruz laden with packages. The valise had been neatly packed. There was another small satchel which contained gloves, quality costume jewelry, and assorted odds and ends Lucy assured her she would need. Cara didn’t believe she’d ever master the buttonhook, which was stunning considering her education and skills.
She did not take her things into the house. Instead, she left them in the trunk of her car to be transported to her office later when Micah was asleep. There was no way she would risk him finding them, for he would immediately know her plan. That was unacceptable, not to mention she had no intention of starting her journey with a sore bottom.
The wigs were stunning, and for the first time, Cara saw herself as someone in 1880 would see her. The dark hair, swept up with ringlets dangling over one shoulder, transformed her. It was possible that even Morgan would not recognize her, at least until she spoke.
For the past weeks, she spent every moment alone practicing dialect. The sophisticated cadence of someone raised in the most elite household imaginable might help. Possibly, a soft southern drawl might be better. It left Cara unconvinced she could pull either of those things off. She’d watched old movies with historical themes, concentrating on the cultured tones of famous stars. It was helpful, but she still hadn’t decided which to try to emulate. Finally, she stopped, fearing she might inadvertently switch from one accent to another.
Cara made a list of words to avoid. There was no point in arousing suspicion. She could not say words like fuck, which she frequently let slip. Also, Cara was positive that taking the Lord’s name in vain would be a severe mistake. There could be no more ‘God damn it’, or ‘what the hell’ out of her mouth, no matter how upset she became. It would be tough. She would be unable to voice her opinions. No ‘screw you’, or ‘kiss my ass’ and she was not entirely sure she could pull it off. If she ran into Morgan, she was likely to kick his sorry ass for causing all these complications.
Mead would not be a problem. He genuinely cared for her, and she knew she could count on him to keep her secret and help her accomplish her goal. She’d begun to feel marginally hopeful only when the endless hours she’d spent researching finally paid off. At least she believed so.
Genealogy sites were full of tips. Most of them were added by people researching their ancestry, and they couldn’t always be counted as accurate. One wrong ‘tip’ could lead you in an entirely new direction, which often turned out to be incorrect. It was frustrating as hell!
Then one night three weeks ago she had some luck. Someone from the Dixon family group had posted a faded and frail document showing the marriage of one Florence Dixon to Lorraine Mahoney in 1872. Now it wasn’t perfect. She realized that, in all probability, the mistake had been inadvertent. Still, Laurie Dixon could certainly be Loraine Mahoney Dixon and that’s what she was counting on.
She would find out if Mahoney was Laurie’s maiden name and if so, Cara would proceed to rush her and Matthew Whittaker to the altar post haste. Once that was accomplished, she would return home, pray that Micah was there and that she’d done the right thing. Most certainly she would be punished by her irate husband, but in her mind that was a miniscule price to pay for knowing the wrongs of the past had been put right.
Her entire plan was risky, on several levels. Cara could have sent the information to Mead and had him check it out, but she was done letting the Whittaker men play around with her future. She was a brilliant scientist with an incredible life ahead of her. She lived in a spectacular mansion and everything her heart desired was within reach, all except one. Life without Micah was untenable. Knowing you lived a life others only dreamed of was one thing. Knowing something could snatch it away at any moment was altogether another.
Apparently, Micah was prepared to carry on with that hanging over them. He trusted that all would turn out as it should be in the end. He was pragmatic and refused to allow her to take matters into her own hands.
That would not work for her. The uncertainty was crippling. The fear of losing the only man she loved, would ever love, was more than she could tolerate. Therefore, it made perfect sense for her to go and repair the damage, and that was precisely what she was going to do whether he approved or not.
Satisfied with her preparations, she began to hum on the way home. Things were finally looking up. She had a plan. It wasn’t a foolproof plan. It wasn’t even an ingenious plan. In fact, it was quite simple, but it could work. It had to work!
