.

with her stout figure encased in a gown of elegant black lace, a sparkling diamond tiara perched atop her upswept white hair. That she was one of the acclaimed leaders of Boston society, there could be no doubt.

      “You wanted to see me, Mother?”

      “No sooner do you get here than you’re leaving again.” Her disapproving expression reminded him she rarely wasted time on trivial conversation. She was always quick to express her grievances.

      “You know the reason for that.” Garth lowered his long body into a Louis XVI walnut armchair. “I have a hotel to run in San Francisco, and elsewhere, too. I only came home to see to your investments, as well as mine. Also, I wanted to keep an eye on that considerable shipment of gold I just put in the bank.” He lifted his eyebrow. “Surely you have no objection to that.”

      She gave him her contemptuous stare, an expression with which he was quite familiar. “Will you ever sell those wicked saloons?”

      Why did he try? There was no pleasing her. He’d never convince her gambling was considered a highly respectable occupation in the west. “You had a favor to ask?”

      She was easy to read. Part of her wanted to launch into a lecture about the evils of gambling. Another, more practical part, well understood such lectures were useless, and she might as well move on. “Actually, it’s a big favor but nothing you can’t handle.”

      Ah, good. The practical part had won. He sat straight. Better be on the alert. If his mother called it a big favor, it was bound to be something he would be loath to do. “So tell me.”

      “You know Sally Walters.”

      “Of course I do. She’s one of your oldest, dearest friends.”

      “And you are well acquainted with her daughter, Honoria.”

      Garth gave a wary nod. What was she up to? Anything involving Honoria could not be good. The same age, they’d played together when they were growing up. To this day, he remembered the mean little girl who’d got him into trouble more than once with her lies and sneakiness.

      “As I’m sure you will recall, Honoria married Arnold Leffington, who is now a Major in the United States Army.”

      “Of course. I went to her wedding.” No need to recount how he and some of his friends had rejoiced at the happy news that the obnoxious Miss Honoria Walters was finally off the marriage market. They’d had a merry time at her wedding and wished her well.

      His mother wasn’t done. “Major Leffington is now stationed at the Presidio in San Francisco.”

      “Oh? And Honoria is with him?”

      “No, she’s still in Boston. He wants her in San Francisco, though. That’s where you come in.”

      Oh, no. No. No. “We were never close, you know. She was spoiled when she was little, and she’s spoiled now.”

      His mother ignored his comment and skewered him with a flinty, merciless gaze. “Honoria cannot possibly make that dreadfully long journey by herself. She will need an escort. Since you’ll be leaving for California soon, across that Isthmus, or around the Horn, or whichever way you plan to go, I think it would be most fitting if you accompany the daughter of one of my dearest and oldest friends.”

      Words failed him, which perhaps was for the best. What a horrible thought. No way around it. If he said yes, he’d be spending months with a woman whose main topic of conversation was herself, and who totally bored him to distraction. And yet… How could he say no? This was his mother asking. A childhood memory popped into his head. He couldn’t have been more than four when he had those awful earaches, and she’d walk the floor with him half the night. She could easily have had the nanny do it, but she chose to care for him herself. So he had no choice. Above all else, she was his mother, and he’d always be grateful for the warmth and comfort he’d felt in her arms. Ah well… No use fighting a battle he was bound to lose. “Of course, Mother, I’d be delighted to escort my old friend, Honoria, to California.”

      “No, you wouldn’t.” She gave him another shrewd gaze. “You think I don’t know Honoria’s a pain in the neck? I shall write Major Leffington immediately and let him know you’re coming.” She broke into one of her rare, warm smiles. “I truly appreciate your generosity, Garth. God will remember this.” The smile faded. “By the way, I’ve placed Eugenia Becket’s daughter next to you at dinner. Beatrice is a lovely girl. She paints the most beautiful water colors and sings like a lark.”

      He smiled back. “You’ve just won a major victory. I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”

      She heaved a weary sigh. “You just won’t listen, will you? Always so sure of yourself. Such confidence leads to a touch of arrogance and conceit.”

      “What? You think I’m arrogant and conceited?”

      “Of course I do.” She tilted her head back and gave him a cool stare. “The trouble with you is you’ve led a charmed life. You think Honoria is spoiled? Well, so are you. Always gotten your way. Everything you ever wanted, you got without lifting your little finger. Nothing momentous has ever gone wrong in your life. You’d better hope nothing ever does because I’m not sure you could handle a crisis.”

      He regarded her with amusement. “So you think I need some momentously awful ‘something’ to happen in my life? Something that’ll bring me down a peg or two?”

      “You’re a proud man, Garth. Too proud. Mark my words, you’re riding for a fall.”

      “You’ve made your point. Now can we move on?”

      She threw up her hands. “All right, we shall say no more on the subject. Ah, Garth…” Her face fell. She looked genuinely distressed. “You’re thirty-three. Way past the time you should have a wife. I could be a grandmother many times over by now, like most of my friends. Instead, for reasons I cannot fathom, you refuse to marry.”

      This wasn’t the first time they’d gone through this scene. “When will you stop match-making? How many times have I told you I’m happy as I am—single, and hope to remain so. I’m not against marriage, but as I’ve told you before, I’m not the kind of man who falls in love—never have, never will.”

      “Men have needs, and don’t deny it. You’d be better off with a wife than whomever it is you frolic with.”

      Frolic? Garth suppressed his laughter. Lillian would laugh. When he got back to San Francisco, he must remember to tell her.

      He arose from his chair and offered an arm to his mother. “Come, let’s greet our guests, shall we?” He couldn’t resist adding, “And let’s hope that momentously awful ‘something’ you warned me about won’t happen on the way to the drawing room.”

      His mother gave him a disdainful sniff. “You think that’s funny? Laugh and scoff if you want, but you’d better hope that charmed life of yours doesn’t come to an end.” She patted his arm and smiled benignly. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

      Chapter 3

      Charles is dead. The dreadful truth hadn’t yet sunk in. Letty had to keep reminding herself. The package that contained his things sat undisturbed on the parlor floor for hours. Finally, she’d forced herself to carry it upstairs to his room. So far, she hadn’t cried, but tears pressed against her eyes as she sat on his bed and looked around at heart-twisting reminders: his bureau with the silver plated comb and brush set laid out just so; his James Audubon Bird of America prints hanging on the wall; his battered desk with its inkwell and plumed pen, sitting and waiting as if he were about to sit down and write another essay about marine invertebrates or minerals and gemstones. The room was the same as when he left. Other than an occasional dusting, they hadn’t touched a thing.

      The tears pressed hard, but Millicent and William would be home soon, and she mustn’t give way now. She’d do something practical, like open the package and go through his things. Get