Honor (35 page)

Although Honor and Nevada invited Aunt Theo to New York City for Christmas, she declined, so Honor spent Christmas Day with Nevada.

They exchanged gifts in the parlor.

When Nevada handed Honor a box so small that it could only hold a ring, her heart sank. She opened it with trembling fingers to find a ring set with a square-cut emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds. “Just like my earbobs,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. Robert hadn’t been able to give her a betrothal or a wedding ring.

“I know you’re not free,” Nevada said in his soft drawl, “but I got you this ring to wear until that day comes.”

He slipped it on the third finger of her right hand, and she kissed him. “Until the day I’m free.”

Her gift to him was large and heavy, requiring the strength of a footman to convey it to the parlor.

“Now what could this be?” Nevada mused, tearing away the wrapping paper to reveal a two-foot-high bronze statue of a cowboy astride a galloping horse whose speed raised the brim of the cowboy’s hat and plastered his shirt to his wiry body.

“A cowboy for a cowboy,” Honor said softly. “It’s by Frederic Remington. Aunt Theo found it for me.”

Nevada ran his fingertips down the smooth black finish as he gazed at the statue in awe. “You can almost hear the hoofbeats and feel the wind whipping the tears from the rider’s eyes.”

“You like it, then?”

He took her hands in his. “Clovis LaRouche has never received such a fine gift, and he thanks you from the bottom of his heart.”

Later, after a sumptuous Christmas dinner, they sat quietly in the parlor before a roaring fire.

Honor looked at him. “You’re unusually quiet.” And sad, she thought.

“I was just thinking about the Delancys.”

She entwined her fingers in his. “It must be a terrible time for them, alone with their grief in a strange country. I remember the first Christmas after my father was hanged. We didn’t decorate the house or have a tree or exchange gifts, though he was the kind of man who would have wanted us to go on. Every time I heard passersby wish each other a merry Christmas, I wanted to run outside and beat them for being so insensitive to my loss.”

He squeezed her hand. “My mother wasn’t one for keeping Christmas. She used to ask why she should celebrate the birth of a God who had forgotten her. But she always saw to it that I had some little present to open come Christmas morning. After she died, I never felt quite the same about Christmas. I guess loss takes off the shine.”

Honor stared into the dancing flames. She thought of her first Christmas with Robert, when their love still had that shine. She thought of the owl he had carved, and how it symbolized the selflessness of his love. She looked down at the costly ring Nevada had given her, realizing that it meant more to her not because of its cost, but because the sentiment behind it was genuine.

Nevada stroked the nape of her neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Robert. I was just wondering how he spent Christmas and if he regrets what he’s done.” When Nevada’s hand fell away and he looked hurt, Honor added, “And if I knew where he was, I’d go there and serve him with divorce papers myself.”

“For a minute there, I thought you were pining for him.”

Honor brought his hand to her cheek. “Don’t be silly. You’re the only man I love.”

“Hard to believe I’m so lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one.” She stared into the flames. “I felt so sorry for Aunt Theo when we saw her at Thanksgiving. She misses Wes so much and tries to numb the pain by acquiring paintings.”

“She’s trying to fill the hole in her heart, but she hasn’t learned that you can’t fill it with things. Only people.”

She looked at him. “How did you become so wise?”

“Keeping company with smart lady lawyers.”

He rose and poured two glasses of champagne. When he returned to the divan, he handed one to Honor and raised his glass in a toast. “To Catherine and Damon Delancy, and all our friends and loved ones who can’t be here with us tonight.”

Honor raised her glass and took a sip. “Do you think they’ll ever come back?”

“And risk going to jail?” He stroked his mustache. “Damon left the country to save the doc. I can’t see him returning and risk losing her.”

They rose and went to the window to watch snow begin to fall, neither realizing that the coming of spring would prove Nevada wrong.

One Tuesday morning in late March of 1897, Honor stopped at Nevada’s office on her way to court. She found him seated at his desk, staring so intently at something in his hand that he failed to notice her hesitating in the doorway.

“Am I disturbing you?” she said. “Miss Fields wasn’t at her desk.”

He looked up and rose. “I’m always glad to see you.” But his eyes lacked their usual welcome, and he sounded preoccupied.

Almost wistful, Honor thought.

She closed the door behind her and took a few tentative steps into the room. “Are you sure?”

He gave her an exasperated look and rounded his desk purposefully. “Don’t be silly. Of course I am.” After kissing her swiftly, he held the item he had been studying out to her. “I was just looking at this old photograph of Sybilla and Bonette.”

He had never showed her a picture of Sybilla.

Honor felt an unmistakable twinge of jealousy as she studied the lovely blonde woman with the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

Was. Honor reminded herself that Sybilla was dead and part of his past.

“And Bonette is”—she smiled—“too thin.”

He grinned, took back the photograph, and put it away in his desk drawer. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, slowly, thoroughly, possessively, as if to reassure her and burn away any lingering jealousy she might feel.

A knock on the door interrupted their stolen interlude. Honor stepped away, her face flushed with guilt, and smoothed her shirtwaist as if Nevada’s embrace were imprinted there for the world to see.

When Nevada bade the intruder enter, the efficient Miss Fields sailed through the door and stared at Honor reproachfully for not waiting outside. “A cablegram from Mr. Delancy.” She handed it to her boss and sailed right back out again.

“Excuse me,” Nevada said, opening the envelope and reading the cablegram. His eyes widened; he rocked back on his heels and swore.

“It’s not more bad news, is it?” Honor said. “Don’t tell me that something has happened to Catherine or Damon now.”

He handed her the cablegram. “Read it for yourself.”

Honor read: “Both coming home April 12. Delancy.”

She looked over at Nevada. “Why? I thought their reason for leaving was to keep Catherine out of prison. Surely they know they’ll be arrested the moment they set foot in New York City.”

“I don’t rightly know why. Maybe they’ve decided to risk a trial. What are their chances of getting off the hook?”

Honor handed back the cablegram. “It’s hard to say. First of all, they’ll need a good lawyer. Second, you have to consider the climate of the times. People don’t fear Anthony Comstock the way they used to. If anything, he’s become a figure of ridicule. He’s been losing more cases than he wins. That could work in Catherine’s favor.” She shook her head. “Still, a misdemeanor can carry a prison sentence, and now they’ll both be facing additional charges for fleeing the country.”

“Such as?”

“Catherine will be charged with jumping bail, and Damon with helping her, unless their lawyer can persuade the district attorney to drop those charges. Even if he did drop them, I’m sure Catherine would still have to stand trial for her initial crime of violating the Comstock Act.”

Nevada grew somber. “I don’t think living in England suited them. I know Delancy misses Wall Street, and with their little boy gone now, I guess they’ve decided to risk coming home.”

Honor placed a hand on his arm. “Do you think Catherine would let me defend her? I’d give anything to argue such a controversial case.”

He stroked his mustache. “She might agree to it, but I think Delancy will want someone with more experience.”

Honor felt her excitement rising. “I could do it, Nevada, I know I could. Misdemeanors are tried in the Court of Special Sessions before three justices. There is no jury. The district attorney and the defense counsel don’t even make opening or closing statements. They call character witnesses and cross-examine. Even the Graham divorce case was more difficult.”

“But if you lost, the doc could still go to prison.”

Honor nodded reluctantly. “There is that chance.”

Nevada placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. “You can offer to represent Catherine, but don’t get your hopes up. Delancy will do anything in his power to free his wife. Don’t be disappointed if he wants someone with more experience.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smiled, his eyes warm with anticipation. “I can’t wait for you to meet Delancy and the doc. I know you’re all going to get along just fine.”

Honor had to find some way to convince Damon Delancy to let her represent his wife.

Chapter Eighteen

“There they are,” Nevada said, his usually calm drawl edged with excitement. “They made it.”

He and Honor had arrived at the South Street Seaport just fifteen minutes ago and spent the time searching the long line of docked ships for any sign of Damon Delancy’s seaworthy steam yacht, the
Copper Queen.
Now that they had found the vessel almost hidden between two ocean liners, Honor watched a man and a woman dressed in the unrelieved black of mourning walk down the gangplank, arms locked and heads held high, presenting a united front against a hostile world.

Honor took a deep breath to quell her fluttering insides. For Nevada’s sake as well as her own, she prayed that she would like the Delancys and that they would like her.

Damon Delancy captured Honor’s attention at once. A tall, broad-shouldered man who moved with the confidence and grace of a conqueror who owned the world, he scanned the crowded dock with contempt and defiance, as if daring policemen to come forward and arrest him.

Honor’s heart sank when she realized that he reminded her of the arrogant man who had ruined her father.

When the Delancys reached the foot of the gangplank, Honor turned her attention to Catherine. She saw a woman of average height and ordinary looks, her chestnut hair cut in a fashionable curly fringe across her forehead. Though Catherine’s oval face appeared tired and sad, her pale blue eyes sparkled with inquisitiveness.

By Honor’s side, Nevada called, “Delancy!” and waved. Then he broke into a face-splitting grin and strode forward, drawing Honor along with him.

“LaRouche!” Delancy called back in a deep, rough voice, a smile lighting up his handsome but saturnine features.

Nevada released Honor’s arm so he could embrace his friend with a quick thump on the back. “Christ, it’s good to see you again.”

When they parted, Delancy’s gray eyes roved over his friend in swift appraisal. “Still got the boots, I see, but where are the spurs and the Stetson?”

Nevada stroked his mustache. “I put them away in the attic. Thought it was high time I stopped being a cowboy and became a respectable businessman.”

Delancy raised his brows and shook his dark head in disbelief.

Spurs and a Stetson? Honor thought. I didn’t know Nevada ever wore spurs and a Stetson.

But the Delancys did.

Catherine smiled at Honor and extended her hand. “I’m Catherine Delancy. You must be Honor Davis.”

Honor held her breath, waiting for a judgmental look that would tell her Catherine had compared her to Sybilla and found her lacking. She saw only warm approval.

Studying Catherine, Honor recognized in her the same resoluteness she herself possessed, an air of invincibility one acquired from always fighting against the winds of convention.

Honor liked her immediately. She shook hands and returned the smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Delancy. Nevada has told me so much about you.”

“All of it true,” Nevada said, hugging Catherine. “It’s good to see you again, Doc.”

When Catherine pulled away, tears brightened her eyes, and her lower lip trembled with the effort of maintaining her composure. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, Nevada, but I wish we had returned under more pleasant circumstances.”

His smile died and he grasped her hands. “Nearly broke my heart to hear about little Wild Bill.”

Catherine closed her eyes and nodded wordlessly, a furrow of grief forming across her brow. Then she pulled herself together and turned to Honor. “This is my husband, Damon.”

Damon stepped forward, his sharp eyes raking Honor over from hair to hem, assessing her. “Mrs. Davis, it’s a pleasure. I’ve never met a lady lawyer before. Are you any good?”

Honor bristled at his challenging tone, but before she could utter a word, Nevada slipped his arm around her waist and faced his friend. “’Course she is.”