“I think we should visit Monsieur David again,” he said. “You will need some riding habits.”
“Oh no. I have my breeches—”
“God forbid,” Ira interrupted her, laughing. “We’ve already scandalized the matrons of society far too much as it is. The sight of you on horseback in pants would boil the pot over.”
“You’re right, of course,” Byrony said on a sigh, “I’ve never before owned a riding habit.”
He felt a stirring of anger at Madison DeWitt, but said only, “Now you’ll have at least three. One must be royal blue.”
It was Eileen who accompanied her to Monsieur David’s fancy shop on Kearny Street.
“Mr. Butler insists that one riding habit be royal blue,” Byrony said, nearly skipping in her pleasure to be out, alone, and free. She’d at first felt a bit odd about Eileen, having lived all her growing-up years in Boston where the few Negroes lived in isolated squalor. But Eileen wasn’t a slave anymore. California was a free state. Aunt Ida had hated slavery, and spoken volumes about the subject to whom ever would listen. Byrony had the sneaking idea that it was really the wealthy landowners in the South her aunt hated.
“You will look dandy in royal blue, Miz Butler,” Eileen said.
Byrony said, “What a lovely day it is. It’s so good to be among people again.”
“Lucky for us,” Eileen said. “Just you wait until the rains start. I heard tell last year that a mule sank in the mud on Montgomery Street and drowned.”
Byrony had insisted they walk to the downtown. It wasn’t far and she was bursting with energy. She saw now that Eileen, at least fifty pounds overweight, was wheezing a bit, and slowed her step, feeling guilty. “Oh, look, a saloon!”
“There are more of those places than a body can count,” Eileen said, keeping her eyes on the ground ahead of her.
Brent Hammond owned a saloon. Was the Miner’s Dream his? No. She shook her head. No, it wasn’t fine enough. Only the best for him. She felt Eileen move closer to her, and realized that men were beginning to stop to stare at her.
She wanted to smile at them. She wanted to smile at everybody.
Monsieur David, a dapper little man with snapping black eyes, greeted her personally in his opulent shop. There were other ladies in the outer room, and Byrony recognized one of them. It was Mrs. Saxton.
After she’d picked out the materials she wanted, she walked shyly to the woman. “Ma’am? I don’t suppose you remember me. I was aboard the Scarlet Queen last spring when there was that—trouble. I’m so glad you’re fine now. My name is Byrony. Byrony Butler.”
Chauncey Saxton knew all about Mrs. Butler. She hadn’t really noticed her at all that long-ago night aboard the Scarlet Queen. But she’d had her ears filled the past months. This glowing, diffident girl didn’t at all look like a trollop adventuress. But of course, it was only that prig Penelope Stevenson who had said that.
“Yes, now everything is very fine,” Chauncey said with a smile. Seeing the curiosity in the young woman’s eyes, she added the few words of explanation she and Del had offered everyone else: “The man who tried to do away with me aboard the Scarlet Queen is long gone, thank God, as well as the villain who had hired him. It was all a ghastly experience, but my husband and I have survived it. Well, enough of that,” she said, patting Byrony’s hand. “It’s good to see you again. Do call me Chauncey.”
“What a lovely name,” Byrony said. “So unusual, but perhaps not in England,” she added.
“No, it’s unusual everywhere,” Chauncey said. “As for your name, I fancy your mother was enraptured of Lord Byron?”
“Yes. I’ve always counted myself lucky, for she could have named me George, after the king.”
The two women laughed.
“Madame,” Monsieur David said to Byrony. “Excuse me a moment. I have your measurements, but I think perhaps you are a bit thinner than you were last spring.”
“Make them up the same size, monsieur,” Byrony said. “I fancy I’ll be back to my same figure in no time at all.”
She didn’t look like she’d had a baby, Chauncey thought, but then again, what did she know about children? “I’m trying, sweetheart, I’m trying.” She nearly laughed aloud as she thought of her husband’s nightly words.
“Miz Butler, we should be getting home,” Eileen said.
The smile left Byrony’s face, but just for a moment. “Mrs. Saxton, I mean, Chauncey, we’re giving a dinner party next Friday evening. Do you think you and your husband could come?”
How could anyone turn down that sweet request? “We would be delighted, Byrony. My husband is acquainted with your husband, of course, but I know him only as a gentleman who always tips his hat to me.”
“Oh, thank you. My husband hasn’t gone over the guest list with me yet, but you and your husband must be on it.”
This naive bit of information made Chauncey pat Byrony’s hand. “If we’re not, please write us in.”