Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

He turned at the doorway. “I am hoping that by the time we return, Lucas and my men will have tracked down Montgomery and . . . taken care of him.”

She had gained more time. She felt dizzy with relief.

“Then, my dear,” he added quietly, “you can return to your packing. Incidentally, wife, it is entirely possible that Mary won’t be leaving with you. It appears that she and Lucas have found that they care for each other. Life can sometimes be very simple and uncomplicated, can it not?”

Delaney kept his face carefully expressionless even when she looked as if he’d struck her. Thank God he’d never told her that he loved her. He felt himself weaken. Words, cruel words, erupted from his throat as he watched her. “Of course I shall initiate divorce proceedings here. England is quite a bit more difficult, I understand. Because I am a gentleman, I shall take the blame. Adultery, perhaps.”

“That probably won’t be untrue,” she said bitterly.

“Ah yes, I keep forgetting that you know me so very well. I shall be certain that my next wife will allow me to court her. We leave early in the morning, Chauncey. No,” he added thoughtfully, “not Chauncey. Elizabeth Jameson FitzHugh shouldn’t have such an intimate, carefree nickname. Yes, Elizabeth. By the way, we are legally married. I checked with my lawyer. Even though you omitted your complete name, we are tied to each other—for a short time, at least. There is something else, my dear. It is quite possible that the agreement I signed before we were married, allowing you to keep control of your money, isn’t valid. Misrepresentation, I believe my lawyer called it. Wouldn’t that be ironic? But trust me, my dear, not to send you back to England a pauper. Not a complete pauper, in any case.”

The following morning they boarded the beautiful steamer Senator for the hundred-mile journey to Sacramento. Chauncey was wearing the only lovely gown she’d brought. She was thankful for the warmth of the burgundy velvet mantle, for the morning was chilly, with fog blanketing the city. How different this will be from our last trip, she thought, staring vaguely around her. Her eyes searched the crowds of people. Was Paul Montgomery there somewhere, watching her? Probably not. Delaney had been too careful.

Delaney was carrying their valises, only two of them, for he told her that they would be traveling light once they’d left the steamer to journey inland. She’d spent several strained and silent hours the day before with Mary, Lucas, and Olaf following discreetly, buying the sturdy clothes Del had ordered. She had bought two split skirts in heavy wool and two loose-fitting linen blouses. Even her underthings were utterly practical. And stout boots. She paid with her own money.

Late that evening the steamer turned into the Sacramento River, but Chauncey wasn’t aware of it. She dined alone in their stateroom, her thoughts in turmoil. Delaney had simply withdrawn from her. He was polite—oh yes, chillingly so.

“You will stay here, my dear. I trust you have sense enough to obey me in this.”

“Yes,” she said, “I will stay here.” She raised her chin slightly, her eyes searching his face. “And you?”

“I think I will do what most men do—gamble a bit, smoke a cheroot, and drink a good glass of port.”

“You will not dine with me?”

“I believe it would be best if I did not. My civilized veneer just might peel away by the second course. I will see you later, my dear.”

Oh yes, so polite.

She ate little, though the terrapin was doubtless delicious, the green beans fresh and crisp. It was several hours before she fell into a restless sleep, her thoughts moving ahead to the trip they were taking. They would be alone, away from civilization. Please, she prayed to herself, let him forgive me. She wondered if his reaction would have been different had she told him herself who she really was and why she’d come to San Francisco, told him before he discovered it for himself. Would it have made any difference?

She was jerked awake by an insistent hand shaking her shoulder.

“We are getting off, Chauncey. Wake up and dress warmly.”

“But it’s not even daylight,” she said vaguely, pushing her hair out of her face.

“The steamer docks at five o’clock. We will board another, smaller steamer for Marysville. ’Tis but fifty miles, but I don’t want to lose any time.”

“We’re in Sacramento?”

“Yes, but you won’t see much of the town. We’ll board the Miner at seven o’clock.”

She couldn’t prevent herself, and asked, “Where did you spend the night, Del?”

She made out his sardonic expression in the dim cabin light. “I don’t believe you really want to know, my dear.”

“No,” she agreed, “you are probably right.”

Thirty minutes later, she stood beside her husband on deck as the Senator docked in Sacramento. She could make out little of the town, save that it had a very unfinished look due to the terrible fire of the year before. There were no vast sandy hills, just flat stretches with row upon row of wooden buildings. Even this early in the morning, the wharf are

a was chaotic with vendors, merchants, builders, drays, and every sort of wagon.

Delaney took her arm firmly and guided her down the gangplank onto the wide wooden wharf. “The Miner is close by,” he said, pointing over to the next long plank of wood stretching into the river.

Again Chauncey found herself marveling at the mix of people: Chinese men with their raven-black hair braided down their backs, Spanish men in colorful sombreros and vests, and black men, tall and muscular in their loose-fitting white shirts. But the majority of the men wore jackets, many of them torn and disreputable-looking, and dirty boots pulled up over their trousers.

They remained in the main salon of the steamer. At least Delaney didn’t leave her side. She watched the men playing cards and chewing tobacco. Even young boys!