A Sneak Peek--The Opening of All Things Returned
Anton pulled off his cravat for the second time. “Foolish speck of clothing—like to choke the life out of a man.”
He fumbled with it until I took the scrap of silk and tied it around his neck, sealing my action with a kiss. “You should try
wearing a corset.”
“I think we should pull off all of these confounded garments and run about like babes in Eden,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
I dearly would have liked to take his suggestion. “We have to attend. For our own sakes and for Edward’s.”
Anton knew well enough attendance at the mayor’s ball was not an opportunity we could squander. In the year since we’d been in
San Francisco, Edward, my brother, Anton, and Frederick Earnhart, a solicitor and good friend of Edward’s, formed a partnership. They
planned to ship timber from Seattle, where it was plentiful, to San Francisco, where it was needed to support the city’s growth. To that
end, they bought and repaired a clipper ship called the Sea Spray. The ship was even now sitting at anchor in the bay waiting for Anton
to take command of her inaugural voyage north. They would set sail on the morning tide.
Anton shrugged into his coat. “The sooner we go the sooner we shall get home.” He ran his hands over my waist, and rested them against the front of my gown. Even through the layers of silk and linen, his touch affected me. His countenance took on a serious air. “Are you certain you are up to it, Lenora? I’m not asking simply because I’d rather stay here alone in your company. I mean to take care of you. The ball won’t tire you?”
I cupped my hands over his and held them where they were placed. “Being with child is not an illness, Anton. I shall be fine.” Those words ‘with child’ were still so newly attached to me that they thrilled me as I said them. I told Anton of my suspicion only a few days before and we went straight away to see Dr. Mather who confirmed it. We told no one else; Anton felt it would be bad luck in these early days. I could see by the pride in his eyes how difficult keeping the secret might prove to be.
Still grumbling, Anton handed me into the carriage. He was not overly fond of our new mayor, a man named Barkham who had been a steamboat captain. To Anton’s mind, this profession was worse than executioner for it threatened the sailing trade. My husband was of the strong opinion there was no beauty in those clumsy ships and no dignity in sailing them. The thought made him glum indeed and I, the daughter of a ship builder who spent my childhood among tall sails, shared his sentiment. Yet, we were both in agreement that this new man may well prove to be better than the last and that the raw violence plaguing the streets of our adopted home would be brought to heel under his guidance.
That the ball was being held at the newly built home of another in the steamer industry did not sit well with Anton either. The house was said to be the most beautiful of the mansions springing up on Rincon Hill, built in the Georgian style with a large round portico in the front and a garden with a fountain along the circular carriage path. The inside was not to be outmatched by the exterior, and the ballroom, some whispered, was the largest in all of California.
I was curious to see this opulent spectacle for myself. First impressions of the mansion did not disappoint. I remarked on it to
Anton. “Though,” I added, “I much prefer our little cottage on the hill. One would get lost in all of those rooms.”
“Yet you were raised in a mansion,” he teased. “Difficult to believe you would prefer living in a cottage with a rogue like me.”
“I do have a soft spot for rogues. Though you are far more the gentleman than you let on.”
“Bah. I’d rather be a scoundrel.” Anton handed me down and gave the reins to a waiting livery boy.
The ballroom was already filled with guests; a quartet played in one corner, and on the far side, a long table with refreshments had
been set. Chairs sat along the walls so the revelers could rest now and again. I held firm to Anton’s arm as we entered into the fray. A
number of female eyes glanced appreciatively at my husband. He cut a fine figure in his new coat, his dark hair and dark eyes making him
striking with a hint of the exotic.
Though not as exotic as my sister-in-law. Meifeng was the only Chinese woman in the room. A tiny woman in blue silk, she exuded a regal presence. Tongues might have wagged over her presence and her marriage to Edward, but none could deny that she carried herself with a dignity that would put most of this society to shame. I found in her the most stimulating of companions; she was well read and passionately outspoken on the treatment of Chinese immigrants who were as plentiful as they were poor and mistreated in this city.
She waved us over to her now. I leaned down and kissed her cheek, glancing as I always did at her tiny feet. She had them bound as a small girl, as was the custom among Chinese of the upper classes. As a result, they were no bigger than a child’s. Those feet did not serve her well; she could little more than hobble on them.
Edward had commissioned a special chair for her, a clever contraption with wheels that could roll about. She was tiny to begin with; the chair made her seem all the more diminutive.
She took my hand in both of hers. “Edward has gone for punch.” Her voice carried the slight singsong cadence of her native Shanghai. “He’ll be so happy you’ve arrived.” She cast a knowing glance toward Anton.
“I would rather have stayed home,” he stated again, though a smile played on his lips. He, too, enjoyed Meifeng’s company.
“What, and miss society and dancing?” Edward came up to us and handed a glass of punch to his wife. He took my hand and kissed it. “You look very fine this evening, Mrs. Boudreaux.”
“Thank you, Mr. Norris.” It pained me that I could not acknowledge Edward publicly as my brother. In coming to San Francisco, Edward cast off our family’s fortune and changed his surname from Brewer to Norris. It was well known I was the daughter of Robert Brewer, the shipbuilder who had been half of Brewer Brothers before his untimely death. I had no use for the other half—my Uncle John, who had been more than willing to marry me to one of his investors as though he could sell me to the highest bidder. I ran away from the match, which led to my meeting Anton and marrying him. I was sure my father’s will left a large part of Brewer Brothers to me, but I, too, eschewed the fortune and cast my lot in starting over with Anton and Edward.
“I have made a good match, have I not?” Anton raised his brows at me. A waltz began to play and he held out his hand. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Boudreaux? If I must be here, I may as well make those old gossips green with envy at the angel on my arm.”
It felt as though all eyes were on us as we spun round the dance floor. I imagined the whispered conversations circling us as we glided pass. They gossiped, no doubt, about how handsome a young scoundrel like Captain Boudreaux proved to be. And they spoke of me, wondering aloud if it were quite true I was related to those Brewers, the ones who made their fortune in ships. There were other, less pretty things I was sure could be overheard if I listened. But I soon lost my interest in listening and became interested only in Anton’s arm as it circled my waist, his strong hand in mine, his eyes as they gathered mine into them. So content in these sensations was I that I nearly tripped when he stopped dancing.
The cause for the sudden stop of motion revealed himself over Anton’s shoulder, where I was assaulted by the ice blue eyes of a man as fair as Anton was dark. A small smile played about his lips, but the eyes stalked me and were cold and hard as sapphires. I had no need to forage my memory to link a name to this intruder. I knew Jacob Lowell enough. He was captain of the Willow, and his family was well known in New England and well acquainted with my own. Once upon a time he had been a suitor, though then and now I felt him to be a crass man who had too long been given everything he desired.
“May I cut in?” The politeness of his voice did not match the intent in his eyes.
He fumbled with it until I took the scrap of silk and tied it around his neck, sealing my action with a kiss. “You should try
wearing a corset.”
“I think we should pull off all of these confounded garments and run about like babes in Eden,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
I dearly would have liked to take his suggestion. “We have to attend. For our own sakes and for Edward’s.”
Anton knew well enough attendance at the mayor’s ball was not an opportunity we could squander. In the year since we’d been in
San Francisco, Edward, my brother, Anton, and Frederick Earnhart, a solicitor and good friend of Edward’s, formed a partnership. They
planned to ship timber from Seattle, where it was plentiful, to San Francisco, where it was needed to support the city’s growth. To that
end, they bought and repaired a clipper ship called the Sea Spray. The ship was even now sitting at anchor in the bay waiting for Anton
to take command of her inaugural voyage north. They would set sail on the morning tide.
Anton shrugged into his coat. “The sooner we go the sooner we shall get home.” He ran his hands over my waist, and rested them against the front of my gown. Even through the layers of silk and linen, his touch affected me. His countenance took on a serious air. “Are you certain you are up to it, Lenora? I’m not asking simply because I’d rather stay here alone in your company. I mean to take care of you. The ball won’t tire you?”
I cupped my hands over his and held them where they were placed. “Being with child is not an illness, Anton. I shall be fine.” Those words ‘with child’ were still so newly attached to me that they thrilled me as I said them. I told Anton of my suspicion only a few days before and we went straight away to see Dr. Mather who confirmed it. We told no one else; Anton felt it would be bad luck in these early days. I could see by the pride in his eyes how difficult keeping the secret might prove to be.
Still grumbling, Anton handed me into the carriage. He was not overly fond of our new mayor, a man named Barkham who had been a steamboat captain. To Anton’s mind, this profession was worse than executioner for it threatened the sailing trade. My husband was of the strong opinion there was no beauty in those clumsy ships and no dignity in sailing them. The thought made him glum indeed and I, the daughter of a ship builder who spent my childhood among tall sails, shared his sentiment. Yet, we were both in agreement that this new man may well prove to be better than the last and that the raw violence plaguing the streets of our adopted home would be brought to heel under his guidance.
That the ball was being held at the newly built home of another in the steamer industry did not sit well with Anton either. The house was said to be the most beautiful of the mansions springing up on Rincon Hill, built in the Georgian style with a large round portico in the front and a garden with a fountain along the circular carriage path. The inside was not to be outmatched by the exterior, and the ballroom, some whispered, was the largest in all of California.
I was curious to see this opulent spectacle for myself. First impressions of the mansion did not disappoint. I remarked on it to
Anton. “Though,” I added, “I much prefer our little cottage on the hill. One would get lost in all of those rooms.”
“Yet you were raised in a mansion,” he teased. “Difficult to believe you would prefer living in a cottage with a rogue like me.”
“I do have a soft spot for rogues. Though you are far more the gentleman than you let on.”
“Bah. I’d rather be a scoundrel.” Anton handed me down and gave the reins to a waiting livery boy.
The ballroom was already filled with guests; a quartet played in one corner, and on the far side, a long table with refreshments had
been set. Chairs sat along the walls so the revelers could rest now and again. I held firm to Anton’s arm as we entered into the fray. A
number of female eyes glanced appreciatively at my husband. He cut a fine figure in his new coat, his dark hair and dark eyes making him
striking with a hint of the exotic.
Though not as exotic as my sister-in-law. Meifeng was the only Chinese woman in the room. A tiny woman in blue silk, she exuded a regal presence. Tongues might have wagged over her presence and her marriage to Edward, but none could deny that she carried herself with a dignity that would put most of this society to shame. I found in her the most stimulating of companions; she was well read and passionately outspoken on the treatment of Chinese immigrants who were as plentiful as they were poor and mistreated in this city.
She waved us over to her now. I leaned down and kissed her cheek, glancing as I always did at her tiny feet. She had them bound as a small girl, as was the custom among Chinese of the upper classes. As a result, they were no bigger than a child’s. Those feet did not serve her well; she could little more than hobble on them.
Edward had commissioned a special chair for her, a clever contraption with wheels that could roll about. She was tiny to begin with; the chair made her seem all the more diminutive.
She took my hand in both of hers. “Edward has gone for punch.” Her voice carried the slight singsong cadence of her native Shanghai. “He’ll be so happy you’ve arrived.” She cast a knowing glance toward Anton.
“I would rather have stayed home,” he stated again, though a smile played on his lips. He, too, enjoyed Meifeng’s company.
“What, and miss society and dancing?” Edward came up to us and handed a glass of punch to his wife. He took my hand and kissed it. “You look very fine this evening, Mrs. Boudreaux.”
“Thank you, Mr. Norris.” It pained me that I could not acknowledge Edward publicly as my brother. In coming to San Francisco, Edward cast off our family’s fortune and changed his surname from Brewer to Norris. It was well known I was the daughter of Robert Brewer, the shipbuilder who had been half of Brewer Brothers before his untimely death. I had no use for the other half—my Uncle John, who had been more than willing to marry me to one of his investors as though he could sell me to the highest bidder. I ran away from the match, which led to my meeting Anton and marrying him. I was sure my father’s will left a large part of Brewer Brothers to me, but I, too, eschewed the fortune and cast my lot in starting over with Anton and Edward.
“I have made a good match, have I not?” Anton raised his brows at me. A waltz began to play and he held out his hand. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Boudreaux? If I must be here, I may as well make those old gossips green with envy at the angel on my arm.”
It felt as though all eyes were on us as we spun round the dance floor. I imagined the whispered conversations circling us as we glided pass. They gossiped, no doubt, about how handsome a young scoundrel like Captain Boudreaux proved to be. And they spoke of me, wondering aloud if it were quite true I was related to those Brewers, the ones who made their fortune in ships. There were other, less pretty things I was sure could be overheard if I listened. But I soon lost my interest in listening and became interested only in Anton’s arm as it circled my waist, his strong hand in mine, his eyes as they gathered mine into them. So content in these sensations was I that I nearly tripped when he stopped dancing.
The cause for the sudden stop of motion revealed himself over Anton’s shoulder, where I was assaulted by the ice blue eyes of a man as fair as Anton was dark. A small smile played about his lips, but the eyes stalked me and were cold and hard as sapphires. I had no need to forage my memory to link a name to this intruder. I knew Jacob Lowell enough. He was captain of the Willow, and his family was well known in New England and well acquainted with my own. Once upon a time he had been a suitor, though then and now I felt him to be a crass man who had too long been given everything he desired.
“May I cut in?” The politeness of his voice did not match the intent in his eyes.
