information?”
Chauncey flushed just a bit. This man made her say things before her mind cleared them for utterance. “Well, not really. You see, Mrs. Stevenson and Miss Penelope came to visit me last week. It was they who told me of Mr. Saxton’s . . . intentions.”
“Hmm,” said Delaney. “Why are you so anxious to meet this fellow? He’s not at all prepossessing, you know. Terrible dancer, quite inarticulate, a buffoon in fact. Always laughs at stupid jests. Really, Miss Jameson, I beg you to forget the man. He’s an utter bore, I promise you.”
“Not an ounce of wit, then?”
“Less than an ounce.”
“You are in fact not a friend of Mr. Saxton’s, then?”
“Did I say that? Ah, such a pity the dance is over. I fear I must return you to your other admirers, ma’am. I wish you luck in fending off their attentions. But you really needn’t worry. They all hold ladies in almost reverent awe.”
“You don’t appear to,” she said sharply.
“But then, I’m something of a bore,” said Delaney, smiling widely down at her.
She was striving to think of a retort when Dan Brewer bore down upon them. “You might at least tell me your name, sir,” she said, goaded, “before,” she added, “you take yourself off.”
“Perhaps later, Miss Jameson. Good evening,Dan. Did you come to provide protection for our newest lady?”
Dan Brewer smiled shyly at her. “Yes indeed. I’m glad you two have finally met. Miss Jameson, would you kindly honor me with this dance?”
“Met?” Chauncey exploded. “I have no idea who he is!”
Delaney gave her a devilish grin and wheeled about, striding confidently toward Miss Penelope Stevenson.
Dan Brewer laughed, shaking his head. “Ah, Del loves a good mystery! He’s quite a jokester, Miss Jameson. You’ll have to forgive him.”
Chauncey became very still. “Del?” she asked, her voice thin and high.
“Of course,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “My partner, Delaney Saxton.”
8
“You’re a fool, Chauncey, a hundred times a fool!”
“Ma’am? Forgive me, I didn’t hear what you said.”
Chauncey pulled herself together for her partner’s benefit. He was a shy young man who was dancing with her as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. “I was just . . . thinking aloud,” she said, forcing a thin smile to her lips. She paused a moment and waved a negligent hand toward Delaney Saxton.
“I understand, Mr. Hewlitt, that Miss Stevenson and Mr. Saxton will soon be giving San Francisco a wedding celebration.”
Mr. Hewlitt chewed on his lower lip, a nervous habit of long standing, Chauncey supposed. “I reckon so, ma’am. Miss Penelope is such a pretty little lady, and Del . . . well, everyone wants him to have only the best. Yep, I guess they’ll tie the knot soon.”
Everyone sings his blasted praises! Has he never shown his true colors here? She shook her head slightly in answer to her own silent query, remembering the saying the folk of Surrey fondly repeated: “No thief ever steals from his own house.”
The dance ended at that moment, and Chauncey again turned toward Delaney Saxton. He had just raised Penelope Stevensons’ small hand to his lips. When he straightened, he looked directly at Chauncey and gave her a bow and a wicked smile. She froze, wondering if he were going to approach her again.
But he didn’t. She danced until her feet ached. She met every lady worthy of that exalted title in San Francisco and endured every gentleman’s fulsome compliments. It was past midnight when Dan Brewer claimed her again for a waltz.
“Doesn’t everyone unmask at midnight, Mr. Brewer?” I want to see his face, look at his eyes.
Dan Brewer choked. “Well, no, Miss Jameson.”
“Why ever not, sir?”
He mumbled uncomfortably, “It just isn’t the tradition, ma’am, that’s all.”
It was Miss Penelope who told her why, some minutes later, when both young ladies had removed to the ladies’ retiring room to
Chauncey flushed just a bit. This man made her say things before her mind cleared them for utterance. “Well, not really. You see, Mrs. Stevenson and Miss Penelope came to visit me last week. It was they who told me of Mr. Saxton’s . . . intentions.”
“Hmm,” said Delaney. “Why are you so anxious to meet this fellow? He’s not at all prepossessing, you know. Terrible dancer, quite inarticulate, a buffoon in fact. Always laughs at stupid jests. Really, Miss Jameson, I beg you to forget the man. He’s an utter bore, I promise you.”
“Not an ounce of wit, then?”
“Less than an ounce.”
“You are in fact not a friend of Mr. Saxton’s, then?”
“Did I say that? Ah, such a pity the dance is over. I fear I must return you to your other admirers, ma’am. I wish you luck in fending off their attentions. But you really needn’t worry. They all hold ladies in almost reverent awe.”
“You don’t appear to,” she said sharply.
“But then, I’m something of a bore,” said Delaney, smiling widely down at her.
She was striving to think of a retort when Dan Brewer bore down upon them. “You might at least tell me your name, sir,” she said, goaded, “before,” she added, “you take yourself off.”
“Perhaps later, Miss Jameson. Good evening,Dan. Did you come to provide protection for our newest lady?”
Dan Brewer smiled shyly at her. “Yes indeed. I’m glad you two have finally met. Miss Jameson, would you kindly honor me with this dance?”
“Met?” Chauncey exploded. “I have no idea who he is!”
Delaney gave her a devilish grin and wheeled about, striding confidently toward Miss Penelope Stevenson.
Dan Brewer laughed, shaking his head. “Ah, Del loves a good mystery! He’s quite a jokester, Miss Jameson. You’ll have to forgive him.”
Chauncey became very still. “Del?” she asked, her voice thin and high.
“Of course,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “My partner, Delaney Saxton.”
8
“You’re a fool, Chauncey, a hundred times a fool!”
“Ma’am? Forgive me, I didn’t hear what you said.”
Chauncey pulled herself together for her partner’s benefit. He was a shy young man who was dancing with her as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. “I was just . . . thinking aloud,” she said, forcing a thin smile to her lips. She paused a moment and waved a negligent hand toward Delaney Saxton.
“I understand, Mr. Hewlitt, that Miss Stevenson and Mr. Saxton will soon be giving San Francisco a wedding celebration.”
Mr. Hewlitt chewed on his lower lip, a nervous habit of long standing, Chauncey supposed. “I reckon so, ma’am. Miss Penelope is such a pretty little lady, and Del . . . well, everyone wants him to have only the best. Yep, I guess they’ll tie the knot soon.”
Everyone sings his blasted praises! Has he never shown his true colors here? She shook her head slightly in answer to her own silent query, remembering the saying the folk of Surrey fondly repeated: “No thief ever steals from his own house.”
The dance ended at that moment, and Chauncey again turned toward Delaney Saxton. He had just raised Penelope Stevensons’ small hand to his lips. When he straightened, he looked directly at Chauncey and gave her a bow and a wicked smile. She froze, wondering if he were going to approach her again.
But he didn’t. She danced until her feet ached. She met every lady worthy of that exalted title in San Francisco and endured every gentleman’s fulsome compliments. It was past midnight when Dan Brewer claimed her again for a waltz.
“Doesn’t everyone unmask at midnight, Mr. Brewer?” I want to see his face, look at his eyes.
Dan Brewer choked. “Well, no, Miss Jameson.”
“Why ever not, sir?”
He mumbled uncomfortably, “It just isn’t the tradition, ma’am, that’s all.”
It was Miss Penelope who told her why, some minutes later, when both young ladies had removed to the ladies’ retiring room to
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