McBride's employer sees fit to do is certainly none of my concern. I simply told her what had occurred."
Sylvie Sterling twiddled nervously with the elaborate diamond and emerald brooch that decorated the neck of her gray silk dress. There was something about Quentin that made her uneasy, always had, even when he was a child. He'd look at her with those big blue eyes that wanted explanations for things that other people simply accepted. And now, here he was, getting involved in something that was none of his concern. She felt vaguely put upon.
"Let's not argue over semantics, Mother."
"I'm not," she protested indignantly, uncertain of what he meant but sure it didn't sound ladylike. "You know, this is really none of your concern, Quentin. She's only a servant."
Quentin sighed. Staring at his mother's vacant, but still pretty face, he reminded himself that she was not an unkind woman. She just didn't believe in thinking—had, in fact, avoided anything approaching it all her life. A woman's duty was to be pleasant at all times; to dress herself in a manner befitting her husband's position; to maintain, and if possible, advance her position in society.
"Mother, last night Joseph attacked Miss Mc-Bride. He could have done her great harm if I hadn't interfered."
"Joseph told me all about the incident. Naturally, I had to tell Mrs. Ferriweather what had occurred. After all, I can't have that kind of thing going on in my house. All our girls are virtuous," she added firmly.
"Katie is virtuous," Quentin got out between clenched teeth. "Did you forbid Joseph to return to this house?"
"Certainly not." She was shocked by the idea. "He is a member of our family. The poor boy admitted that perhaps he'd been a trifle naughty but the girl enticed him, Quentin. He was quite embarrassed."
"Hellfire and damnation!" Quentin shot from his chair, his brows knotting over his eyes as he glared at his mother, who was staring at him in startled shock. "Katie would no more have tried to entice Joseph or any other man than.. .than you would," he finished irritably, pacing to the window to stare out at the pale sunshine.
"Really, Quentin." His mother drew herself up in her seat, her back rigid with offense. "I don't appreciate your comparing me to that girl. She has no breeding, no background whatsoever. This incident simply proves it. A truly virtuous young woman would never have allowed herself to be put in such a compromising situation. Enticing poor Joseph..." She dabbed at her eyes. "And that's another thing. Do you realize that you nearly broke your cousin's jaw, and knocked out three of his teeth?"
"I'm sorry I didn't wring his worthless neck," Quentin said bluntly, snatching up his cane and hat and striding to the door.
"Quentin." Sylvie's voice rang with alarm. She remembered that look from when he was a boy. That particular set of the jaw had always meant he was about to do something particularly distressing. "Quentin, where are you going?"
He turned in the door, fixing her with cool blue eyes. Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Did I tell you that I'd come to San Francisco looking for a wife?"
"A wife?" She stared at him, trying to connect this apparently irrelevant statement to their earlier conversation. She half started from her chair as a possible connection struck her. It was too incredible to imagine, but there was that look in his eyes. "A wife? Quentin. You're certainly not— You wouldn't?"
"Yes, Mother, I rather think I would." He grinned wolfishly as she fell back, one hand pressed to her bosom. He set his hat at a jaunty angle before tossing the walking stick in the air, catching it with a wicked grin. "I think Katie McBride might be just the girl I'm looking for."
❧
He'd only meant the words to startle his mother out of her smug complacency, but as he strode down the street, the idea seemed to grow in his mind. He tried to dismiss it but it persisted. He'd come home to find a wife.
Sylvie Sterling twiddled nervously with the elaborate diamond and emerald brooch that decorated the neck of her gray silk dress. There was something about Quentin that made her uneasy, always had, even when he was a child. He'd look at her with those big blue eyes that wanted explanations for things that other people simply accepted. And now, here he was, getting involved in something that was none of his concern. She felt vaguely put upon.
"Let's not argue over semantics, Mother."
"I'm not," she protested indignantly, uncertain of what he meant but sure it didn't sound ladylike. "You know, this is really none of your concern, Quentin. She's only a servant."
Quentin sighed. Staring at his mother's vacant, but still pretty face, he reminded himself that she was not an unkind woman. She just didn't believe in thinking—had, in fact, avoided anything approaching it all her life. A woman's duty was to be pleasant at all times; to dress herself in a manner befitting her husband's position; to maintain, and if possible, advance her position in society.
"Mother, last night Joseph attacked Miss Mc-Bride. He could have done her great harm if I hadn't interfered."
"Joseph told me all about the incident. Naturally, I had to tell Mrs. Ferriweather what had occurred. After all, I can't have that kind of thing going on in my house. All our girls are virtuous," she added firmly.
"Katie is virtuous," Quentin got out between clenched teeth. "Did you forbid Joseph to return to this house?"
"Certainly not." She was shocked by the idea. "He is a member of our family. The poor boy admitted that perhaps he'd been a trifle naughty but the girl enticed him, Quentin. He was quite embarrassed."
"Hellfire and damnation!" Quentin shot from his chair, his brows knotting over his eyes as he glared at his mother, who was staring at him in startled shock. "Katie would no more have tried to entice Joseph or any other man than.. .than you would," he finished irritably, pacing to the window to stare out at the pale sunshine.
"Really, Quentin." His mother drew herself up in her seat, her back rigid with offense. "I don't appreciate your comparing me to that girl. She has no breeding, no background whatsoever. This incident simply proves it. A truly virtuous young woman would never have allowed herself to be put in such a compromising situation. Enticing poor Joseph..." She dabbed at her eyes. "And that's another thing. Do you realize that you nearly broke your cousin's jaw, and knocked out three of his teeth?"
"I'm sorry I didn't wring his worthless neck," Quentin said bluntly, snatching up his cane and hat and striding to the door.
"Quentin." Sylvie's voice rang with alarm. She remembered that look from when he was a boy. That particular set of the jaw had always meant he was about to do something particularly distressing. "Quentin, where are you going?"
He turned in the door, fixing her with cool blue eyes. Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Did I tell you that I'd come to San Francisco looking for a wife?"
"A wife?" She stared at him, trying to connect this apparently irrelevant statement to their earlier conversation. She half started from her chair as a possible connection struck her. It was too incredible to imagine, but there was that look in his eyes. "A wife? Quentin. You're certainly not— You wouldn't?"
"Yes, Mother, I rather think I would." He grinned wolfishly as she fell back, one hand pressed to her bosom. He set his hat at a jaunty angle before tossing the walking stick in the air, catching it with a wicked grin. "I think Katie McBride might be just the girl I'm looking for."
❧
He'd only meant the words to startle his mother out of her smug complacency, but as he strode down the street, the idea seemed to grow in his mind. He tried to dismiss it but it persisted. He'd come home to find a wife.
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