“Do you like summer?” Trace asked.
She stared at him, and he noted the switch in her demeanor. “Mr. Stapleton. It is not necessary to entertain me with small talk. If you have anything to share about the case, I’ll be more than pleased to converse.”
If Trace didn’t know it before, he knew it now. Gen drew the boundary lines clearly. Last night’s friendliness had been a trick to nab his interest, for the sole purpose of suffocating him with it the next day. Regardless, she’d managed to wiggle under his skin, and for better or worse, she’d successfully captured his attention. But freedom to demand her independence in his workplace carried it too far. If she expected he’d dance to her tune, she’d better think again. He wore the pants in the family, and he’d not bow to the whims of a woman.
When he pulled up to the estate, she smiled. “Wish me luck.”
He grabbed her arm. “You’re not going in there alone.”
“But they know me, not you.”
“I’m your husband, remember. Good opportunity to introduce me to your upper-crust friends.”
“Oh, not friends in that sense. We are acquainted.”
The butler interrupted by opening the door and stepping onto the stone covered verandah. “May I help you?”
Gen elbowed Trace, and he scrambled out of the driver’s seat and hurried to her side to help her down. She beamed her approval sweetly then immediately headed for the entrance.
“George, wasn’t it?” she said with a huge smile that relaxed the man.
“Yes, ma’am. You have me at a loss. Your name is?”
“Genevieve Trafton. My sister and I have visited the estate in the past. Is Mr. or Mrs. Friskin available to meet with me?”
“They are in the parlor having tea as their usual custom mid-morning.” Gen offered George that wrap-me-around-the-finger smile and the hired man turned to open the door. “Please, come inside. I will announce your arrival.”
Trace moved in behind her. “Pretty smooth, Mrs. Stapleton. Now what?”
“Just a visit that might provide additional clues. Why did Andrea leave home at the onset of her coming out, for a starter?”
Trace scanned the grand entrance and whistled low. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business. Should be looking to court one of the fair maidens that live in this neighborhood.”
“You are a married man and should not entertain such thoughts, let alone voice them.”
He bent in closer. “Excuse me if I forgot. I’m not feeling like the man of our relationship at this moment.”
“We are a working team that share the same last name. I seem to recall you taking your vows the same as me.”
Trace might have considered inviting this new wife deeper into his heart. She possessed all the qualities of a strong woman with whom he could love and appreciate. But her continual cold shoulder indicated that was not going to happen.
George promptly returned and ushered them into the parlor. “May I present Genevieve, and her husband, Trace Stapleton.”
Mrs. Friskin was on her feet immediately. “Genevieve, my dear. We never heard of a wedding?”
Gen approached the woman towing Trace behind. “My husband and I did not want to intrude on Jethro’s special day. He is marrying your daughter’s friend, Sandy St. Clair.”
“Oh, yes. Quite the upheaval was created in society. Poor Mrs. St. Clair is beside herself. They had such high expectations for their daughter.”
Gen bit her lip and did not react to the off-handed insult aimed toward her family. It was then Trace understood why he’d never searched for a wife in high society. For a man to live suppressed under the weight of such a pompous attitude would surely kill any marriage given time. The sad part was that Mrs. Friskin did not once consider her remark toward the sister of the groom as insolent. Or perhaps she did, and that’s what made her kind vain and unapproachable. Not yet finished, their hostess hammered in another nail.
“Your family must be pleased to have such a prominent name redeem your ranks.”
Gen swallowed her pride and tried to steer the conversation. “And is your daughter Andrea standing up with her?”
The woman became noticeably uncomfortable and began to fan her face. She took Gen by the arm and led her toward the settee. “Please, come and rest a moment. Would you care for tea?”
Mr. Friskin approached Trace and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stapleton. What line of work are you in?”
The question all wealthy men asked of another, or so Trace determined. As if one’s occupation gave a person value.
“I’m between jobs at the moment, sir. I do freelance work.” Trace glanced at the ladies. “Shall we join the women?”
The men sat across from the ladies, and Gen continued with her interrogation that she’d labeled as a visit. A sacrificial slaughter was more his definition. He witnessed her strength of character displayed clearly in her relaxed expression and the secure set jaw. This farm girl had more class in her baby finger than the self-righteous Friskin’s she entertained.
Yet, it didn’t sit well with him that every excellent attribute of his new wife was weaving its way into his heart. How could he portray a happily married man to the world and know she was not the least bit interested in making it a fact? This façade was proving harder than any criminal case the Pinkerton Agency could send his way. And Trace silently realized she’d be far better at managing it than he.
“One reason I dropped by was on behalf of Grace. I know she has sewn clothes for your family. With Andrea soon to come out in society, we knew she’d want to look her best in all the latest fashions.”
Mr. Friskin chose to respond. “My daughter shows no interest
