on her elbow. Mary pulled close her long skirts to avoid horse droppings as they followed Eli Goodwin across Front Street, dodging between a farm wagon full of produce and another loaded with squealing pigs to reach the walkway area in front of the stores. “Gracious me!” She jumped out of the path of a honking, wing-flapping goose being chased by a dog. “I have never witnessed such…such…”
“Pandemonium?”
She looked up at James and laughed. “The very word I was searching for.”
“It is much quieter away from the levee, Miss Randolph. We go this way.” Eli started walking up Market Street. The din of activity fell away as he led them past an intersecting dirt road, then turned right onto the next one and stopped. “This is it.”
Mary stared at the small brick house sitting square on the corner lot. A porch across the face of the cottage shadowed the two mullioned windows, one on either side of a centered door painted white. Wood shingles, bleached and curled by the hot Missouri sun, covered the porch and house roof. Two brick chimney stacks stood at the cottage’s gabled ends.
The chain supporting a dangling cannonball squeaked in protest as Eli Goodwin pulled open the gate in the lime-coated picket fence that enclosed the property. Mary dipped her head, thankful her hat was wide enough to hide her face, and stepped through the gate and up the short, brick walk. James would surely laugh if he saw her shock. Although, from his silence, she was quite certain he was as stunned as she. The cottage was charming, but so small. Why, you could set the whole of it into one end of the stables at home.
“Mrs. Dengler cleaned the place, made up the beds fresh for you and such. And I arranged for Mrs. Rawlins to leave a meal for you. She was cook for Mr. Thomas, the former manager, and has agreed to cook for you if you wish. They will both call on you tomorrow morning to learn if you want them to stay on, or if you prefer to set about finding other help.” A frown drew Eli Goodwin’s brows together. “I believe that is all. Here is the key to the house, Mr. Randolph.” He handed James a skeleton key, gave a curt nod. “I wish you a good evening, sir. And you, Miss Randolph.”
“And you, Mr. Goodwin.” Mary offered the man a polite smile. “Your thoughtfulness will make our first evening in our new home a comfortable one. Thank you.”
“And you have my gratitude as well, Goodwin. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” Once inside, James closed the door, hung his hat on the hat tree and followed Mary as she moved out of the narrow entry into the room on the right. “I wonder if Mr. Goodwin ever smiles?” He shrugged and glanced around the small parlor. “Well, here we are in St. Louis.” His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “In a very small cottage. Are you sorry you came?”
Mary cast an assessing glance his way. “Now why was I certain you would ask me that very question as soon as the door closed behind Mr. Goodwin?” She lifted her hands and pulled out the pin holding her hat in place. “There! That is much better. I told Madame Duval these long ties would be annoying. But she insisted it was the latest style.”
James frowned. “And why did I know you would avoid answering me? If you are disappointed, Mary—if St. Louis is less than you expected—it would be best for you to return home now.” He flushed beneath her steady gaze. “I mean, rather than to unpack and have to go through all that work again.”
“How very sensible and considerate. But I had no expectations, James. Only an intense desire to leave Winston Blackstone behind. And every other man living in Philadelphia who knows father is wealthy, as well.” Her facial muscles went taut. She hated herself for believing Winston Blackstone’s lies. For opening herself up to be hurt by his perfidy.
She turned and dropped her hat onto the seat of a Windsor chair sitting beside the fireplace. It gave her a reason to turn her back on the sympathy in James’s eyes. She should not have mentioned Winston. She hastened to change the subject. “And, in truth, I find St. Louis intriguing. Did you notice all those rough-looking, buckskin-clad men? And the Indians roaming about the levee mingling with the people? Do you suppose they are dangerous?”
“I am quite certain they can be.”
She heard James move, listened to his footsteps draw close. She removed her gloves and tossed them down by her hat.
“Winston did not mean to hurt you, Mary. He did not mean for you to ever know about Victoria. He was doing the honorable thing and telling her goodbye.”
Mary clenched her hands into fists. She had avoided talking about Winston ever since the night of the party. But James persisted. Perhaps if she explained he would stop trying to make her talk about what had happened. And perhaps it would cleanse her mind of the memories, free her to move on with her new life.
She turned around and studied her brother’s face. “Why are you so determined to discuss Winston, James? You have been trying to do so our entire journey. Did Mother and Father charge you with the task?” She squared her shoulders and lifted her hand to stop his reply. “No matter. I will bow to your wishes and we shall discuss Winston and the entire sordid situation—” she pointed one long, tapering finger toward the ceiling “—once. But do not dare defend him to me. Do not stand before me and call his actions honorable.”
The word scorched her tongue, seared her heart. She took refuge from her pain in a sudden burst of anger. Allowed the heat of it to carry her words beyond the lump of hurt in her throat. “I saw Winston with Victoria in the gardens, James. And, I assure you, there was nothing lofty or honorable in their embrace. Nor did the ardor of his kisses speak goodbye—except to the announcement of our betrothal.” She lifted her chin and hid her trembling hands in the deep folds of her long skirt. “At least I was spared the humiliation of a public betrayal. Although everyone present that evening did suspect the reason for the party was to announce our future marriage.”
“Mary, I had no idea!” James hurried to her. “Why did you not tell us you had witnessed Winston and Victoria embracing in the gardens?” He reached to pull her close.
She stepped back and shook her head. If he put his arms around her, she would burst into tears. “And have all my family pity me even more? As you are doing now?” She turned away, brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “It changed nothing that I saw Winston’s betrayal with my own eyes.”
“I suppose that is true. Though it may make it more difficult for you to forgive him.”
“Forgive him?” She pivoted, stared up at him. “You are not serious, James?”
“Yes, I am.” He stepped closer. “Listen, Mary. When you refused to see him before we left, Winston came to me and explained the entire situation. He confessed it was only after losing you that he realized how much he cared for you. He begged me to plead his case with you. Of course, I refused. But he convinced me that he is genuinely distraught at losing you.” Warmth from his hands penetrated the fabric of her gown as he took hold of her shoulders. “Mary, Winston loves you and wants you back. He wants you to come home to Philadelphia and marry him. It is that which I have been trying to tell you the entire journey.”
“He—He said—And you—” Her throat closed on the words. Mary dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, fighting a sense of betrayal that was not fair to her brother. He did not know the entire story. She took a breath, held it, released it slowly. “I know you wish only what is best for me, James. And I thank you for that. Truly. But do not be swayed by Winston’s persuasive powers. His only regret is in losing the generous dowry Father offered for me. It would have cleared all his debts. I know, for I not only saw Winston with Victoria, I heard him as well.” She lifted her hand and tapped his chest. “Winston’s
