I do, I do, I do (35 page)

"Damn." There she went again, showing the effects of keeping bad company. The bad company looked at her and laughed. "What do you want?" she called to the tent flap.

"I have a message for Miss Juliette March."

Her eyebrows lifted. "What is the message?"

"It's in an envelope, missy, and I can't read."

Itching with curiosity, Juliette stuck her arm through a crack in the opening. Instantly, icy wind raised goose bumps beneath the sleeve of her long Johns. "Thank you," she called, pulling the envelope inside. Her name was written in a bold male hand. "Who could have sent this?"

"I can't imagine!" Zoe and Clara fell backward on their cots and rolled their eyes.

"Now who could it possibly be? Mrs. Eddington? That rat, Jake Horvath?"

"I know! Maybe the Queen is visiting Canada and wants to meet fellow royalty."

"That's not funny," Juliette said in the prissy voice that by now annoyed even her. She turned the envelope over and studied the initials stamped in red sealing wax. BJD.

"Ben sent it?" Clara fanned her face. "Well, knock me over. Who would have guessed?"

Zoe rolled around laughing. "So what does he say?"

"That is none of your business." But she couldn't resist reading it aloud. "Mr. Benjamin Dare requests the pleasure of Miss Juliette March's company at dinner on December eighteenth at seven o'clock. Twelve Main Street." She blinked. "He's inviting me to dinner. What shall I do?"

"More to the point, what will you wear?" Zoe sat up. "You can't wear the same clothes you've been wearing on the trail."

Clara nodded. "We'll have to rummage through the crates and find her other clothes." She narrowed her eyes at Juliette. "The ash and grease helped, but your face is still red and chapped. We have about twenty-four hours to work on you. Lard. There's nothing better than lard for softening skin."

"I'll grind some rice and make powder. And I can make a lemon rinse for her hair out of the citrus tablets."

"Miss March?" Luc was still out there. "I was instructed to request a reply."

"Just a minute, please." Flying up, she tore through her small overnight valise, digging for stationery. Frowning, she glanced at Zoe and Clara. "Do you think I should accept?"

They stared as if she had lost her senses, then continued discussing how she should dress her hair for the occasion.

Different rules, she reminded herself. There was no harm in having dinner with Ben. No one cared. After she found her pen and bottle of ink, she wrote: Miss Juliette March accepts with pleasure Mr. Benjamin Dare's kind invitation to dinner on December the eighteenth at seven o'clock.

My, how she had missed the small civilities of mannerly conduct. Receiving and responding to a proper invitation spread a satisfying warmth through her body. After she'd handed her reply through the tent flap, she sat back on her cot, half listening to Clara and Zoe, and she wondered where a prospector had learned to compose a proper invitation. She would have said that she knew Ben's character well, but there were gaps in her knowledge.

"Is number twelve Main Street the address of the hotel?" she asked, worried. Hoping that Bear had been mistaken, she had ventured a look. The hotel was worse than Bear had suggested. An out-of-tune piano assaulted the ears in the saloon on the ground floor. She had gathered her courage, stuck her head inside, and noticed gaps in the ceiling through which she could see cot legs. Knowing hotel guests could look between their shoes and see down into the noisy saloon was almost as disgusting as the overpowering stink of stale beer and tobacco juice.

She couldn't imagine having dinner in such primitive surroundings.

"Who knows? None of the buildings are numbered," Clara said, going back to her discussion with Zoe about what had to be done to pull Juliette together for her evening.

Juliette gazed at them with sudden startling affection. On her own, she might well have talked herself out of accepting Ben's invitation. It surprised her how much their approval meant, and how it settled her mind and affected her decisions.

Drawing a deep breath, she moved to sit on Zoe's cot. "Well, what would you two advise? Shall I wear my brilliants?"

Two hours later, while Zoe was giving her a manicure and they were nearing a consensus on her ensemble, Juliette realized how much she missed having sisters. And she hadn't even known it.

Luc called for her at a quarter to seven, assisted her into her snowshoes, and carried her small bag containing evening slippers, a second handkerchief, an evening fan, and various toiletries. An argument had ensued after she'd inspected the toiletries that Clara and Zoe had assembled.

"What is this?" she'd asked curiously, examining a pink ribbon attached to a ring-shaped collapsible object.

Zoe and Clara glanced at each other and then Clara whispered, "It's a pessary."

Shock made her drop the object and then stare at it with wide horrified eyes. Occasionally married women on the cusp of respectability whispered about such items, but decent women weren't supposed to know about contraception. "Where did you get this?"

"Mrs. Eddington helped." When Clara saw Juliette's face, she spread her hands. "Mrs. Eddington thinks it's forme."

"How dare you!" Anger and mortification made her hands shake. She sputtered. "I have no need of this, none at all!"

Zoe touched her arm. "Very likely you're correct," she agreed soothingly. "But just in case…"

"There is no 'just in case.' Mr. Dare and I are having dinner together, and that is all!" Fire blazed in her cheeks and throat. "How could you believe that I… What kind of a woman do you think I am?"

"Despite what you'd like to believe, you're not a saint," Clara said briskly, tucking the pessary back into Juliette's bag. "None of us are."

Zoe's face turned almost as red as Juliette's. "If, and all I'm saying is
if
, things should, ah, move in a, say, direction you don't now anticipate, then you should—" She cast a helpless look at Clara.

"You should protect yourself," Clara finished firmly.

Zoe nodded. "I'm sure many a woman wishes she'd had the foresight to protect herself before circumstance placed her in a position that… that…" She pressed her palms against burning cheeks. "You know."

Juliette stared and understood positively that Zoe and Tom had been together. Clara also knew her suspicions had just become a certainty. Confirmation confused everything. If someone Juliette respected and considered an honorable woman could be with a man outside marriage, then…

"I see," she said slowly, uncertain how to proceed. "Well, thank you for thinking of me, but I won't need a… a…" She couldn't say the word. "And I don't need these items either." Frowning, she focused her attention on the other toiletries. A comb and extra hairpins, a washcloth, body powder, replacement buttons, for heaven's sake. Items one would need to reassemble oneself.

"Juliette." Clara gave her a hard-eyed stare. "Must you be a shortsighted idiot? If you don't need these items, fine. If you do need them—and that's your own business—then you'll have them." She closed Juliette's bag, snapping off conversation.

Now that she knew about Zoe and Tom, Juliette couldn't take the high road without sounding judgmental and thus embarrassing Zoe. After chewing her lips for a moment, she sighed. "I won't need these items, but thank you for being concerned about my welfare." Best to leave it at that. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful!" they said in unison.

Their answer made her smile. She'd never been beautiful, but tonight she thought she approached that happy state as closely as she ever had. They had brushed her hair until it shone glossy brown, then pulled it up and back with her brilliants, and they'd used the curling iron to create long fat curls that fell from her crown to her shoulders. Beneath her heavy trail coat, she wore a black cape, and beneath that she wore the only dress gown she'd packed, a smart combination of black velvet and cream-colored satin. The gown was lower necked and revealed more cleavage than she would have preferred for an evening alone with a man, but the puffy shoulder sleeves worried her more. A gap opened between her long gloves and the sleeves. She didn't think she was at her best when she was shivering and her teeth were clicking together with cold. On the positive side, she didn't have to concern herself about dragging the gown's train through slush and heaven knew what else. Zoe had put her needle to work and had shortened the train to walking length.

As Juliette and Luc traveled down Linderman Lake's noisy Main Street—such as it was—she eyed the tobacco-stained snow and whispered a silent thank-you to Zoe. She wasn't dragging a train through the slop. And thanks to Clara, her cheeks had a healthy glow, but the lard had softened and smoothed the chapped rough spots.

For several minutes Juliette believed Luc must have made a mistake as he led her past the last weathered building at the end of the street and they moved onto a sled track lit only by a half moon. Just as she was about to inquire, they entered a curve in the road, and she spotted the shimmer of light at windows.

Luc escorted her to a small log cabin and rapped his knuckles on the door. At once the door swung open, and Ben smiled at her.

For a stunning moment Juliette didn't recognize him. He looked years younger without the scruffy prospector's beard. It occurred to her that he was likely in his middle thirties; she had guessed him a full ten years older. And she seldom saw him without his fur hood or a hat. But tonight his hair was carefully parted in the middle and brushed back in dark wings. He wore a tailored three-piece black suit and the only starched collar and cuffs she had seen since leaving Seattle. For a full minute she could not breathe. This Ben Dare was a strikingly handsome stranger.

Suddenly feeling shy, she waited in silence while Ben took her bag before he thanked and dismissed Luc. "I won't need you any more this evening, Luc. Thank you," he said pleasantly. Then he turned those blue eyes on her, and her heart skipped a beat. "Let me help you out of your snowshoes."

He knelt before her, and she steadied herself by placing a hand on his shoulder. Beneath the expensive wool of his jacket, he was rock solid, the hard, honed Ben that she knew.

After placing her snowshoes just inside the door, he led her into the warm cabin. A colorful hooked rug covered the plank floor in front of a crackling fire—that's what she noticed first. She wouldn't have to worry about shivering through dinner.

"The windows!" Surprise widened her eyes.

"They're blocks of ice," he said, laughing.

Turning slowly, Juliette took in the cabin. The furnishings were sparse, but appeared comfortable. Someone had hung framed magazine covers on the walls, had assembled a collection of books in a low case. A small, minimally equipped kitchen was separated from a claw-foot table by a serving counter. Though small and plain, the cabin was snug and possessed a certain charm.

"Who owns this?" she asked, almost afraid to look at him. She didn't think she could without staring. Or without causing an odd fluttery eruption in her stomach.

"The cabin belongs to Bill Prather, who owns the general store. He agreed to let me rent his home for three days."

Juliette knew the price of things in this part of the world. "It must have cost a fortune!" If a pound of butter cost twenty dollars, what on earth had he paid to rent a whole cabin?

For three days. Suddenly her mouth went dry, and her hands began to tremble. Three days. And he had not asked Luc to return to escort her back to the tent.

"Ben…"

"The bedroom is through that door," he said, curving her fingers around her bag of toiletries. "If you'd care to freshen up."

They were alone together in a cabin with a bedroom. Which he had rented for three whole days. She licked her lips in indecision.

"A decent woman would remove herself from this compromising situation!" A tiny and indignant Aunt Kibble spoke from her left shoulder.

"At once!" Her tiny mother added from her right shoulder.

"When you return, we'll have sherry beside the fire," Ben said, interrupting the flow of admonitions. And then—and then he bent and lightly brushed his lips across hers.

Electricity seared through her body. For an instant, she could not move, could not think, could not function. It was as if lightning had struck and paralyzed her.

"Leave this very instant!" Aunt Kibble demanded, outraged.

"This man is no gentleman!" her mother's voice huffed.

"He's only interested in your inheritance!"

"Shut. Up." Juliette stated the two words silently but with firm command. Throughout her lifetime too many evenings and too many situations had been spoiled as she did the right thing according to other people's notions of propriety. Tonight she was not going to be timid prissy little Juliette March.

Tonight, she was a modern woman, dashing and liberated from constraints better left to another life. Tonight, she would set her own rules of deportment.

After touching her lips, she lifted her head and walked toward the bedroom door.

Tonight she was a worldly woman with a pessary in her bag, by heaven. A femme fatale eagerly prepared for come what may.

Ben had kissed her. It was a different world now.

Chapter 17