The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (18 page)

But that would involve changing clothes, cleaning up, and possibly coercing Isak into dropping her off at the Windsor Hotel. Surely from there she could discreetly have some funds wired to supplement the meager amount she still held in her possession. She’d have to plead her case well, lest Papa’s banker tell the men in her life—Papa and Chandler—where she’d gone off to. That would require either the truth, which would get her fetched home before she could blink twice, or a lie, which she’d not do.

Then a brilliant thought occurred. “Hester,” she said as she rose. “Hester Vanowen!”

She’d send a telegram, and by morning her oldest and dearest friend would have come through. Of course, she’d have to explain to Hester why she’d gone off, but that was easily accomplished. She’d plead temporary insanity by reason of dime novels. Hester also fancied the adventures of Mae Winslow. She, of all people, would understand.

Her course of action secured, Gennie went about draining the filthy bath water. Now what? With no towel or wrapper, bathing would be difficult. She walked to the washstand and cupped her hands in the
cool water, then splashed her face. After a few repeats of the process, all traces of the mud were gone from her face and neck. Her dress, however, looked to be a total loss. Good thing she had thought to buy two outfits at the store that morning. She still had the blue dress to wear.

She crept through her bedchamber and peered out the door. The long hallway was empty, though sounds of people laughing and talking filtered up from below, reminding her she was not alone.

In a few minutes’ time, she’d changed her dress, collected her reticule, and slipped down the back stairs. Finding the kitchen empty, she quickly made her way to the stable. It too was empty. So much for asking Isak to see her into town.

She raced toward the street, not slowing down until she’d left sight of the Beck home. Only then did she realize she’d forgotten to leave a note. Rather than risk changing her mind if she returned, Gennie picked up her pace. She had a telegram to send and a bath to take. Then, perhaps, she’d have a message delivered.

Likely no one would miss her until morning, anyway. By then, she’d be on her way to the real reason she got on the train in New York: a Wild West adventure.

A woman is either in want of a husband or wanting to rid herself of one. That had been Mae’s opinion until Henry crashed into her life on the back of a runaway mustang. He’d been a cowboy and a daring man who feared nothing but the boredom that came when one no longer rode the trail.

He’d been her kind of man, her kind of adventure. And then the law got him—literally—and he settled into life as a respectable lawyer. Where she spent her days wasn’t something they talked about until he started counting the nights she was gone.

That’s when the trouble started.

The Windsor Hotel bustled with activity, but after her walk into town, Gennie was too tired to appreciate anything other than the warm bath and soft mattress her room would surely offer. She marched across the elegant lobby, hoping she wasn’t tracking mud all over its beautiful marble floor.

“One room for the night, please,” she said when her turn before the clerk arrived.

He was tall and thin, putting her in mind of a scarecrow with spectacles as he looked over the gold rims and down at her. “Next,” he said to the person behind her.

“Excuse me?” She shouldered back in front of the well-dressed couple and placed her palms on the counter. “Perhaps you misunderstood. I am here to secure a room for the night.”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” he said in a less-than-polite tone. “We’re a reputable hotel and you—alone, with no luggage—obviously are not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Once again, he looked beyond Gennie. His eyes narrowed, and he gestured for a porter. “Remove that man at once.”

The porter’s face paled, and he whispered something to the clerk. Gennie looked around to see a cowboy ambling toward them.

“I don’t care who he is. Tell him he can start his own hotel, but he certainly isn’t welcome in this one dressed like that.” The clerk returned his attention to Gennie. “And you, miss—”

She squared her shoulders. “Sir, in all my travels, I’ve never come upon such a rude hotelier.”

His eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”

“You heard me.” Gennie pointed her finger at the loathsome man, then took what she hoped would be a calming breath. It did not work. “I learned early on to be civil to those in the trade. However, you are making it most difficult.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “that is so.”

The clerk put on a wide smile and rested his hands on his hips. “Perhaps I can make it simpler for you.” He summoned the porter again. “Escort this woman out, please. If she attempts to return, see that she suffers the same fate as the cowboy.” He looked past her yet again. “Next!”

Gennie stumbled away, stung, and with each step she took toward the exit, her anger grew. By the time she reached the lovely front doors, she was ready to go back to the desk and confront the imperious autocrat.

“Don’t bother, hon.”

She turned to see the fellow in rugged western gear standing just outside the door. Crossing the threshold, she emerged onto the street and into the jovial company of a man who identified himself only as Brown.

“One of these days there’ll be a place for people like us.”

Gennie decided that whatever “people” he referred to, they must be much nicer than the ones who populated the registration desk at the Windsor Hotel.

“He’s not a bad fellow,” Brown said, “nor is this a bad place. The opposite, actually.”

She looked back at the lovely awnings, the inviting shops, and the beautiful interior, and imagined the guest rooms were just as wonderful. Her tired body sagged.

The man adjusted his Stetson and offered a firm handshake of farewell. “When I open my hotel, I’ll send you an engraved invitation.”

Gennie couldn’t help but smile at the absurd statement. “Yes, please do.”

He pulled a pad of paper from his shirt pocket. “What’s your name, miss, and how do I find you?”

“Eugenia Flora Cooper. How to find me? That’s a bit more complicated.”

“She’s currently staying at the Beck mansion as governess. That is correct, isn’t it? You’re Charlotte Beck’s new governess?”

Turning to see who spoke, Gennie saw a lovely brunette standing a few feet away. With her was an older lady who must have been her mother. The pair exchanged words, and with a flutter of her gloved hand, the older woman disappeared inside the Windsor.

“I am,” Gennie answered, “at least temporarily.”

“I’m Anna Finch,” the woman said as she approached. “I live next door to Mr. Beck.”

Brown looked up from his notepad. “Anna Finch,” he said. “Yes, I
know your pa. Fine man. On the list for sure.” And with that, he bade them good-bye and ambled away.

“Interesting fellow,” Gennie said when the man disappeared around the corner. “And a very nice man.”

“Yes. Papa speaks highly of Mr. Brown. He’s quite the entrepreneur.” The dark-haired woman smiled. “Eugenia, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Please call me Gennie. Only the empress calls me Eugenia, and I suspect she’s teasing me when she does.”

Anna Finch looked at her as if she’d grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead.

“She’s a family friend,” Gennie explained. “Mama and Papa visited her often, and when I was born…well, they liked the name, I suppose.”

Anna shook her head. “Gennie, are you referring to Empress Eugenia, the wife of Napoleon III?”

“Yes. Do you know her?”

“Not exactly, though who hasn’t heard of her?” Anna paused to give Gennie an odd look. “How does a woman whose parents know royalty end up as a nanny in Denver?”

“The truth?” Gennie leaned close. “I wanted a Wild West adventure.”

Anna laughed. “You’ll certainly have that at the Beck house.”

Gennie shrugged. “I’d hoped for more.” And then she thought of the man at the dry goods store. Flirting with a stranger certainly wasn’t like her, so perhaps her Wild West adventure had already begun. By degrees, she became aware of the Finch woman speaking.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“Ours is the house on the left on the other side of the shrubs. The big house with the…” Anna shook her head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say I’m so close to Daniel’s house, I can see his window from
mine.” Immediately her hand covered her gaping mouth, and her cheeks blazed bright red. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was—”

The poor woman seemed truly distressed. “It’s all right, truly.” Gennie touched her sleeve. “I knew what you meant.”

“You did?” The relief in Anna’s voice was unmistakable. “Honestly? Because people rarely understand me. That is,” she quickly corrected, “I rarely seem to make myself understandable. ”

Gennie’s smile was genuine. “Perhaps that’s just the way of things.” She shrugged. “I’ve found that it is often when we try the least, we are understood the most.”

Anna’s brown eyes widened. “Goodness, you’re quite profound for a governess.” Again embarrassment etched itself across her lovely features. “Oh, there I go again. There’s nothing wrong with being a governess. It’s just that one rarely expects a person in that profession to…” She paused and looked ready to cry. “Oh, I’m just hopeless.”

Comforting a stranger on a public street seemed a bit odd, but after only a few minutes, Gennie felt as though she’d known Anna Finch all her life. In fact, she’d spent much of her life being just like her.

“Thank you,” Anna said as she dabbed at her eyes with a lovely handkerchief, obviously grateful for someone who understood. “I’m very glad to have made your acquaintance.”

“As am I,” Gennie said.

The hotel doors opened and Mrs. Finch appeared. “Do come inside, Anna,” she said. “We must take our chairs for the oratorical performance.”

“Coming, Mother.” Anna turned to Gennie. “Oh my, I didn’t ask. Are you here with Daniel—I mean, Mr. Beck? He mentioned he’d be otherwise detained with his daughter, but I had hoped, that is…”

“I’m quite alone,” Gennie said.

“Do come and sit with Mother and me, then. I understand the performance will be riveting.”

Gennie noticed the porter staring through the open door and imagined what might happen should she dare to return to the Windsor’s lobby, even in the company of Anna Finch. “Much as I appreciate the invitation, I’m afraid I must decline.”

“Oh, I see. You must have promised to play charades with Mr. Beck and Charlotte.”

“Charades?” She already felt as if she’d been playing the game of hidden identity since she set foot on Colorado soil.

Anna giggled. “Oh, I have the best idea. Wait here.”

She disappeared inside to carry on a somewhat spirited conversation with her mother, who’d drifted near the doorway. After much nodding and speaking behind gloved hands, Anna turned on her heels and marched back outside, the pink in her cheeks flaming bright.

“Everything all right?” Gennie asked as she watched the older woman storm off in what was obviously a huff.

“Yes,” Anna said, “everything’s fine.” She put on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll have my driver drop us at the Beck home. I haven’t played charades in ever so long.”

Torn between the quick and easy ride back to the Becks’ and the need to send Hester’s telegram, Gennie froze. Her absence might have been noticed by now, and that would require an explanation. At least she hadn’t left the note she’d thought about leaving. It made returning, even temporarily, much easier than begging for a job she’d abandoned.

She was still thinking when Anna touched her shoulder.

“I’ve already told you I’m hopeless when it comes to saying the right thing, Gennie, so please don’t take offense.”

“I won’t.”

“Your dress,” Anna said. “It’s a bit, well, I wonder if perhaps you’d… That is, we’re much the same size and I have extra…” An exasperated look crossed her face. “Oh, what I’m trying to say is that the dress doesn’t fit that well, and you’re much too pretty to walk around like that. Maybe I could help.”

Gennie looked down at the store-bought dress. It didn’t fit as well as her tailored gowns, of course, but it was the best she could find in Fisher’s. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask that of you.”