The woman looking back was almost unrecognizable. Elegant, polished, wearing a dress that cost a fortune and jewelry Ethan had insisted she borrow from his mother's collection. But underneath the silk and jewels, she was still the same person who'd scrubbed floors in that mountain cabin, who'd negotiated with debt collectors, who'd married a stranger to save her family. She touched the cameo at her throat. The one piece that had belonged to her own mother, added to the borrowed finery as a reminder of where she'd come from.
Don't forget, she whispered to her reflection. Don't ever forget. The Crow residence in Denver was a mansion in the truest sense. Three stories of stone and glass in the fashionable part of the city with a circular drive and gas lamps illuminating the entrance. Carriages lined the street, depositing guests and evening finery. "
I thought this was supposed to be a small family dinner, " Lydia said as their hired carriage joined the queue. Caroline's definition of small is different from most people's. Ethan helped her down, his hand steady on her arm. Stay close to me. If anyone asks you something you're not comfortable answering, deflect to me.
I can handle myself. I know you can, but you don't have to handle everything alone anymore. The entry hall was crowded with guests. Easily 40 people, all dressed in expensive clothes, all radiating the casual confidence of those who'd never worried about money or status. A string quartet played in the corner.
Servants circulated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Caroline Crow appeared almost immediately, gliding toward them with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She was perhaps 45, still beautiful in a carefully maintained way, wearing diamonds that caught the gas light and threw sparkles across the marble floor. Ethan, darling, " she said, kissing the air near his cheek. " How wonderful that you could come.
And this must be your bride. " Her gaze swept over Lydia, cataloging every detail. " My dear, what an interesting dress. Not quite Denver fashion, but it has a certain rustic charm. " " Thank you, " Lydia said evenly. "
I prefer elegance to fashion. Trends change, but good taste endures. " Caroline's smile froze for just a moment. How philosophical. You must tell me where you're from originally.
I don't believe I caught the name of your family. The hails from a mountain settlement you've likely never heard of. How quaint. And your father? What does he do?
He was a rancher. He's passed away since Ethan and I married. The lie came easily. Her father was dying. Would probably be dead before she returned.
It was easier than explaining the complicated truth. My condolences. Caroline's tone suggested anything but sympathy. And your mother manages the family property. Another halftruth.
Her mother was managing what little remained at least. Before Caroline could continue the interrogation, a woman in an elaborate purple gown approached. Caroline, you must introduce me to the mysterious bride everyone's talking about. Of course, Mrs. Lydia Crowe. This is Mrs. Helena Ashford.
Her husband is a territorial judge. Helena looked Lydia up and down with frank curiosity. So, you're the woman who married Ethan Crowe. We'd all begun to think he'd remain a bachelor forever. How did you manage it?
I didn't manage anything, he asked. I accepted. It wasn't complicated. But surely there's a story. Was it love at first sight?
A whirlwind romance? Lydia felt the eyes of a dozen nearby guests turn toward her, waiting for her answer. " This was the trap. If she claimed it was a love match, they'd see through the lie. If she admitted it was practical, she'd seem mercenary. " "
It was pragmatic, " she said clearly. " Ethan needed a wife who understood the realities of mountain life. I needed stability. We were honest about what we each wanted, and we made an agreement that satisfied us both. I find honesty far more romantic than pretty lies.
The silence that followed was profound. Then Helena laughed. A genuine sound of surprise delight. Well, I'll be damned. An honest woman in Denver society.
Caroline, wherever did you find her? Caroline's expression had gone rigid. Dinner is about to be served. Shall we move to the dining room? The dining room was even more opulent than the entry hall.
A table that could seat 50 set with china and crystal that probably cost more than Lydia's entire settlement. Place cards directed each guest to their seat. Lydia found herself positioned between a banker named Mr. Whitmore and a woman introduced as Mrs. Patricia Nukem, wife of a mining magnate. Ethan was seated at the far end of the table, too distant to help if things went wrong. The first course arrived, oysters on ice that Lydia had never seen before, let alone eaten.
She watched the others mimicking their movements, the particular fork they used. Mrs. Nukem noticed. " First time with oysters, dear? " She asked, not unkindly. " Yes, we didn't have access to seafood in the mountains. " "
They're an acquired taste. Don't feel obligated if you don't like them. " Lydia tried one. The texture was strange, slippery, but the taste was interesting, briny, and fresh. It's different, but not unpleasant.
That's a diplomatic answer. Mrs. Nukem smiled. You're doing well considering these dinners are designed to make outsiders feel inadequate. Caroline's specialty. I appreciate the warning.
Consider it insider information. My own first Denver dinner was a disaster. I used the wrong fork for every course and spilled wine on the hostess. But I learned. She leaned closer, her voice dropping.
The secret is that most of these people are just as uncertain as you are. They're just better at hiding it. The conversation flowed around the table, covering topics Lydia knew little about. The latest fashions from Paris, upcoming social events, gossip about people she'd never met. She listened more than she spoke, learning the rhythms, the unspoken rules.
Then Mr. Whitmore turned to her. Mrs. Crowe, I understand you're from the mountains. Tell me, what do you think of Denver? It must seem quite overwhelming after such a rustic upbringing. I The question was designed to make her seem provincial, out of place.