A Lady of High Regard (4 page)

“You really should change that name,” Mia’s father said, rubbing his chin. “Wilson and Wilson or even Wilson and Son would sound quite fitting.”

“But the influence of Stanley is ever with us,” Garrett replied. He noted the smile on Mia’s face and knew he’d said the right thing. “You will always be an important part of our importing business. My father may have many interests in a variety of ventures and properties, but Wilson and Stanley will always be his favorite. He talks constantly of the old days when you were young men first starting the business. Those are his fondest memories, aside from my mother.”

“It pleases me to hear you say that,” Mr. Stanley said, sitting back to draw a long breath. “Still, as I said earlier, I am content. It was the proper thing to sell my interests to your father. I don’t regret having more time with my ladies.”

The rain held off and despite the overcast skies, the afternoon was pleasant. Garrett enjoyed the Stanleys’ company but was relieved when Mr. and Mrs. Stanley announced their need to be elsewhere. Once they were gone, he leaned back in his chair and raised a brow.

“For someone up so late, you seem quite well rested.”

Mia looked surprised but replied calmly. “I am quite well rested, thank you.”

“Mia,” he said in a rather chiding tone.

“I have the most marvelous idea for you,” she interjected. “The Overtons’ party is nearly upon us. You know what grand affairs their parties can be, and I have the perfect woman for you to escort. Sylvia Custiss has come out of mourning and would be a wonderful companion for you. You know her husband has been dead for well over a year.”

“Mia, I do not want to accompany Mrs. Custiss to the Overtons’ party.”

“But of course you do,” Mia said in the same no-nonsense manner that Garrett had fallen whim to a hundred times over. “Sylvia is quite pretty. Her son, Sheldon, is away at boarding school, so he needn’t be a bother while getting to know his mother.”

“I see no benefit to this, Mia.”

“But you should. Sylvia Custiss is a God-fearing woman who keeps a good house and is still young enough to bear you a dozen sons.”

Garrett had just taken a drink and nearly spit it out across the elegantly set table. “Excuse me, but
that
is of no concern to you.”

“But it is. I am your dearest friend. I see how much you enjoy children. You are a good man, Mr. Wilson, and you deserve a good wife.”

“I very much desire a good wife, but I do not need you to play matchmaker for me.”

Mia looked indignant. “Certainly you need my help. You’re thirty and two and have not yet managed a wife for yourself. My assistance—”

“Interference,” Garrett interrupted.

Her blue eyes widened in surprise. “Interference? How very rude of you to suggest such a thing. Why, my friends and sisters have benefited greatly from my ability to bring two people together. You would do well to remember their happiness before criticizing me. Besides . . .” She let her voice trail off as she looked away. “I was only trying to help. I care a great deal about you.”

Not intending to hurt Mia’s feelings, Garrett supposed the only way to get back in her good graces would be to admit defeat. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few hours in Mrs. Custiss’s company.”

Mia looked at him and shook her head. “I shan’t force such an arrangement upon you.”

Garrett could see she already knew she’d won. “Just tell me what to wear and when to be ready. I have but one requirement.”

“And what’s that?”

“You will also accompany us. Act as chaperone for our first outing. That way we’ll have no wagging tongues to discuss the length of our buggy ride or delayed arrival to the party should Mrs. Custiss be less than prompt.”

Mia laughed. “I will be happy to accompany you. Wear your best black tails with the wine-colored waistcoat,” she said and quickly reached for another tart. “I shall wear my new white gown with the pink trim. You’ll like it; it’s quite stylish.”

“I always find you to be quite stylish. But then, you get all the most current fashion information from
Godey’s,
do you not?”

“The magazine is up to date on all styles and fashions,” Mia admitted. “I believe Louis Godey and Sarah Hale have done a tremendous service to women everywhere. After all, the poor frontier housewife can hardly find any other way of learning what the latest fashions from Paris might be.”

“True, but the poor frontier housewife hardly has need for Parisian styles.”

“Of course she does. She needs to know what is available to her and what choices she might have. The post runs east as well as west. She is certainly entitled to place an order and pay for delivery.”

“Everything always seems so simply resolved with you, Mia. I sometimes wonder how you manage to keep it all so neatly ordered.”

“Why, practice, Mr. Wilson. Practice is the answer.”

Mia sat down at her writing desk, her mind still on the fact that Garrett knew something of her exploits the night before. “He always seems to know when I’m up to something other than what I ought to be,” she mused.

She recalled when she’d been only eight years old and had determined to walk west to see what Indians really looked like. Garrett had somehow found her halfway down the block from their homes.

“Where are you going, Mia?” he’d asked.

“West. Teacher told us there are savages out there.”

“I’m sure there are. There are probably savages all around us.”

“Do you really suppose so? Real savages with bows and arrows and spears?”

Garrett laughed and tousled her curls. “Mia, it’s much too dangerous for you to leave home alone. Do you not know the trouble you could find?”

She shrugged. “I’m eight years old and that’s pretty grown up. I can manage.”

“I’m sure you could, but how would I manage without you?”

She chuckled at the memory and at the realization that even then, she’d always done what captured her fancy—ready to take on the world. Garrett, however, was equally confident that she needed to be sheltered and protected. He was such a meddlesome brother at times.

“But he’s not my brother and he has no say over me. I must endeavor to be more secretive or next thing I know, he’ll be talking to Mother or Father about seeing me.”

Mia looked at her papers and reread the notes she’d made. The situation she’d uncovered was troubling, but she needed more proof and would no doubt have to go amongst the seamen’s wives and families to ascertain the truth. That would present a challenge. She had been admonished on many occasions to stay away from the docks. Her own father had worked but a block away from the Delaware River, warehousing the shipments from Europe that he imported as a part of his business, but never once had Mia been allowed to journey there. Many times he’d told her the dangers were too great. There were too many undesirable characters walking the waterfront.

“But in order to know the truth, I shall simply have to walk the waterfront with them.”

CHAPTER 3

L
ydia Frankfort portrayed the very epitome of a blushing bride-to-be as her five friends surrounded her in her parlor the following afternoon. Newly engaged to Ralph Bridges, she happily answered their questions. Mia, while having no hand in this match, was nevertheless happy for her friend.

“Mr. Bridges is very well thought of,” Mia stated. “It is a good match.”

“But he’s so much older,” Josephine Monroe declared.

“But not nearly as fat as your Mr. Huxford,” Martha Penrose countered.

“He’s not my Mr. Huxford,” Josephine said with a frown. “I’ve done my level best to discourage that man’s interest.”

The gathering of ladies laughed at this. They all knew very well how much Josephine detested the man who followed after her like a devoted pup.

“I don’t mind that Mr. Bridges is so much older than I am,” Lydia interjected. “He’s a kind and considerate man.”

“Yes, but what about those boys of his?” Martha asked. “I should not want to become a mother to those little gamins.”

“James and Timothy are dear boys,” Lydia stated, putting her gloved hands on her hips in obvious frustration.

“They are dear boys,” Mia said, “and you will make a very sweet stepmother. They are quite fortunate to have you.”

Lydia relaxed her hands and smiled. “Thank you, Mia. I know many people think it an ill-suited match brought about only by my father’s desire for a prosperous union, but I am happy.”

“And that is what is important.” Mia waved her arm toward the damask drapes, feeling a change of subject was in order. “I think those are the most beautiful draperies.”

“Mother just had them made. They were completed only yesterday,” Lydia told her.

“I think that shade of red is perfect for this room,” Josephine commented. It seemed to Mia she was trying to get back in Lydia’s good graces. “It goes well with the golden tones of the sofas.”

“Those are Italian, you know. Father brought them back from his travels last year. Most everything in this room is from his trip to Rome and Venice.”

The collection of young ladies nodded in unison. There wasn’t a single one of them who hadn’t heard all about the treasures from Italy that Lydia’s father had brought home. Mia adjusted her skirt and took a seat on one of the silk-covered throne chairs—a marvelous piece in cream and black stripes. She preferred this arrangement to sitting on the sofas or settees. She liked the isolation it offered her while affording her a chance to study the room and her companions.

The other girls soon followed suit. Lydia took the matching throne chair and perched on the edge, as though ready to escape the room at any moment.

“What have you planned for the wedding?” Abigail Penrose, Martha’s older sister, asked.

“Mother has taken charge of most everything,” Lydia replied, her fixed smile fading. “She has dictated that the wedding take place in September, after everyone has returned from their summer retreats.”

“That sounds wise,” Mia said, trying to be diplomatic.

“I do not mind the date or the fact that she has demanded we marry here at the house rather than the church.”

“Why the house?”

“She feels churches are for worship and that weddings should be less public affairs,” Lydia said.

“Surely she will allow you to have guests attend?” Josephine questioned.

“She has agreed to that, but limited the number. She is adamant on this matter.”

“Goodness, when my sister married,” Prudence Brighton began, “there were five hundred people in attendance. Everyone in town was invited. I should want no less for my own upcoming wedding.”

Mia could see the discomfort on Lydia’s face. “Perhaps Mrs. Frankfort feels this will allow for a more intimate gathering. I find that such collections are quite pleasurable and make for a special occasion. Like now, with us gathered here.” She met Lydia’s eyes and saw pure gratitude. No doubt Lydia worried that such a wedding would suggest her father was less than solvent in his financial affairs. And rumor had it there were problems with the family coffers.

“I will insist that you are all invited. Your families too. Mother may have her say now, but I won’t see my wedding done in shabby fashion,” Lydia declared.

“What of your gown? Have you commissioned it?” Abigail asked.

Mia allowed the conversation to fade from her thoughts. She enjoyed these gatherings to a degree, but often found them little more than gossip sessions. At least this time the focus was on Lydia and her wedding. Still, the women, though longtime friends, could be quite vicious with each other.

For instance when Abigail and Martha first arrived, it was quickly noted that Martha was wearing one of Abigail’s old gowns. The dress that had been fashionable three years ago had been remade for the rather thick-waisted Martha. Josephine had been happy to mention the matter, which had completely embarrassed Martha. Still, it was rather a sad situation. Martha seemed to have few redeeming qualities. She was outspoken with her opinion, unkempt in her appearance, and in general lacked the social graces that spoke of true quality. Mia had thought about taking her under consideration to teach, but Martha showed no interest. She was content to have her flat, unattractive hairstyles and dowdy dresses. Even in Abigail’s silk print gown of green and tan, Martha managed to look ordinary.