But she watched everything. The way Ethan interacted with strangers, polite but distant, giving away nothing personal. The way other passengers assessed them, making assumptions based on their clothes and bearing. The way conversations in the stage revealed information about business conditions, political tensions, social dynamics. You're very quiet, Ethan observed during a stop to change horses.
I'm listening. You'd be surprised what people reveal when they think no one important is paying attention. He smiled. I'm beginning to think I underestimated you. Most people do.
I've learned to use it as an advantage. Denver was larger than Lydia had imagined. A growing city of perhaps 30,000 people with actual paved streets in the center, gas lamps being installed on main thoroughfares, and buildings that rose three and four stories high. The contrast to the isolated Mountain Valley was jarring. Ethan had reserved rooms at the Windsor Hotel, one of the finest establishments in the city.
The clerk's eyebrows rose when Ethan signed the register, and Lydia noticed the subtle shift in the man's demeanor from professional courtesy to something closer to deference. " Mr. Crow, welcome back. We have your usual suite prepared, and for Mrs. Crowe, " he glanced at Lydia with poorly concealed curiosity. " Shall I prepare an additional room? " " The suite will be sufficient, " Ethan said smoothly. "
My wife and I prefer adjoining quarters. " In the suite, which consisted of a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a private bath with actual running water, Lydia finally confronted what she'd been avoiding thinking about. They'd maintained separate quarters in the valley, but here, for appearances, they needed to seem like an actual married couple. The bedrooms lock from the inside, Ethan said, as if reading her thoughts. And I'll be spending most evenings preparing for the meeting anyway.
You'll have your privacy. Thank you, Lydia. He waited until she looked at him. I meant what I said in our agreement. This marriage is a partnership, not ownership.
That doesn't change just because we're in a city instead of the mountains. She believed him, which was somehow more surprising than anything else that had happened. The meeting was scheduled for 2 days later, giving them time to prepare. Ethan took Lydia to a dressmaker shop where he insisted on purchasing proper city clothes for her. Three dresses suitable for business and social occasions with all the accompanying accessories that Lydia had never owned and barely knew how to wear. "
Is this necessary? " She asked as the dressmaker pinned fabric around her. " It's armor, " Ethan said. Marcus will try to make you feel inferior, out of place. " Don't give him the opportunity. "
The night before the meeting, Ethan received a visitor at the hotel, a man named Lawrence Porter, who turned out to be his attorney. They spent 3 hours going over strategy, anticipating Marcus' arguments, preparing responses. Lydia sat in the corner, supposedly reading, but actually absorbing every word. She noticed that Ethan never mentioned her presence to Porter, never explained why his new wife was sitting in on confidential business discussions. The attorney seemed to accept it without question, as if a wife's involvement was perfectly natural. "
The key is to keep Marcus from controlling the narrative, " Porter said. He'll want to put you on the defensive, make you explain yourself repeatedly. Don't let him. State your position clearly, back it with facts, and move on. " What about personal attacks? "
Lydia asked. Both men turned to look at her. " I'm sorry, " Porter said slowly. " I didn't catch personal attacks, " Lydia repeated. " Mr. Crow's uncle has apparently been questioning his suitability, his character, his personal life.
Those aren't business arguments, but they're still attacks. How do we address them? Porter glanced at Ethan, who nodded. She's right. Marcus will make it personal.
Then don't address them at all, Lydia said. Acknowledge that you hear him. Then redirect to business. Every time he brings up something personal, respond with a business fact. It makes him look petty and unprofessional.
Porter stared at her for a long moment, then smiled slowly. Mrs. Crow, has anyone ever told you that you should have been an attorney? No, but I've negotiated with enough creditors and debt collectors to understand how to handle someone who's trying to make you emotional. After Porter left, Ethan poured two glasses of whiskey from the bottle on the sideboard. He handed one to Lydia. "
I'm not much of a drinker, " she said. " Neither am I usually, but tonight I think we've earned it. " He raised his glass. To tomorrow, whatever it brings. Lydia touched her glass to his and took a small sip.
The whiskey burned going down, but left a warmth that was oddly comforting. " Are you worried? " She asked. " Yes, but less than I was before you were here. " He settled into one of the suit's comfortable chairs. "
Can I ask you something? " " Of course. " " Do you regret it agreeing to marry me? " Lydia considered the question honestly. She thought about the cabin she'd left behind, her dying father, her exhausted mother.
She thought about the impossible debts and the life of poverty that had seemed inevitable. Then she thought about the hidden valley, the massive lodge, the complicated man who'd brought her there. The business empire she was now part of. The meeting tomorrow that could determine not just Ethan's future but hers as well. " Ask me again in a week, " she said finally after we see how tomorrow goes.
He laughed. A real laugh, not the bitter sound she'd heard before. Fair enough. They sat in comfortable silence, drinking their whiskey slowly. Two people who'd been strangers a few weeks ago, preparing to face a battle together.
The territorial business office was an imposing building of stone and glass designed to project authority and permanence. Lydia felt her stomach clench as they climbed the steps, but she kept her face composed, her head high, one hand resting lightly on Ethan's arm. Inside they were directed to a large conference room on the second floor. The room was already partially filled when they arrived. Men in expensive suits talking in clusters, papers spread across a massive oak table, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension.
Marcus Crowe was obvious even before Ethan identified him. He stood near the head of the table, holding court with several other men, his gestures expansive and confident. He was perhaps 50, with thinning hair and the soft build of someone who'd lived well but not carefully. His eyes, when they landed on Ethan, held a mixture of contempt and satisfaction. " Nephew, " Marcus said loudly. "
So good of you to finally join us. I was beginning to think you might have forgotten about our little meeting. " " We're 10 minutes early, Marcus, " Ethan said evenly. " Are you? " Time has a way of slipping by in the mountains.
I suppose one loses track of civilized schedules. Marcus' gaze shifted to Lydia, his expression calculating. And who is this charming creature you've brought along? My wife, Lydia Crowe. Lydia, this is my uncle, Marcus Crowe.
Lydia extended her hand with the poise Martha had helped her practice. Mr. Crowe, how lovely to meet Ethan's family. Marcus took her hand, holding it a moment too long. Wife. Well, this is news.