The girls both left and Lillian inspected the door as she closed it. It was a heavy, sturdy door that would be impossible to break down once a good lock was put on it. Not that she thought any man would break down a door to get to her. She sighed. She couldn’t even imagine a man bothering to turn the doorknob. At thirty-two, she had long ago resigned herself to being an old maid. The Civil War had left many widows and unmarried women in the North and even some of the prettiest, which she definitely was not, were not finding husbands. Many had immigrated west where there was a shortage of marriageable women.
Lillian looked around the room. It was a large, pleasant room but overly done in wine and pink brocades and silk. A thick Persian carpet covered the floor and the scent of perfume still lingered. It looked like a room decorated by a madam, Lillian thought, then was shocked to realize that she liked the decorating. She had never had anything but a sparse, bare, small room of her own. She shook out her two other frayed dresses and wished she had something nicer to wear. When she hung her few clothes in the closet and placed others in the bureau, she discovered a wealth of expensive gowns, shoes, and delicate lace underwear. Her Aunt Lil’s things. She sighed and stroked one of the fine silk gowns. Paid for by the wages of sin, she thought. She had never really known her aunt and wondered how and why the woman had ended up in this life. What was it Brad O’Neal had said? Don’t judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their boots. Yet she was ashamed and angry at Aunt Lil for embarrassing her and her mother with her terrible lifestyle.
She leaned against the ornate bedpost and remembered the scent of his aftershave and the passion in those dark eyes. Careful, Lillian, she admonished herself, this is a terrible rogue, and there’s no telling what will happen when he realizes you really are closing your share of the Lily.
Lillian rang for the maid while she laid out a plain, high-necked, dark blue dress. She thumbed through the racks of Aunt Lil’s clothes. There were lots of satins and silks in many shades of blue and green. The woman had been much more voluptuous than Lillian, that was for sure. Even if she wanted to, Lillian couldn’t wear any of those fine gowns without gaining some weight.
What was she thinking? To be proper, Lillian should be wearing mourning. Now, what exactly was proper attire to mourn the co-owner of a whorehouse? She shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t even force herself to visit her errant aunt’s grave.
Delilah brought water to fill her pitcher and bowl. “I don’t know about you taking over Miss Lil’s room,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry, but there isn’t any other place for me,” Lillian smiled. “Were you with my aunt long?”
“More than twenty-five years. She rescued me from a slave auction. I know more about her than anybody else in the whole world and I know about you….” Her voice trailed off.
“Oh, did my aunt speak of me?” She really didn’t know much about Lil McGinty except that she was the black sheep of a very proper and highborn family.
“More than you know.” The maid abruptly departed the room.
That puzzled Lillian. Since Aunt Lil had only come to see them once and had not ever corresponded with her mother, Lillian had not even known how to inform her aunt that Mother had died. In the earliest years, Lillian and her mother had struggled to survive, her mother too fragile to work. Mother had said there was trouble over the legal aspects of Father’s estate. That must finally have been straightened out, because small amounts began to arrive and about ten years ago, much larger, regular stipends from the Boston bank had enabled the two to live comfortably, if frugally. Lillian had reasoned bitterly that Aunt Lil never gave them a thought. She was too busy with her rich, wastrel life.
And here Lillian was right in the middle of that life. Her mother would probably be horrified that Lillian was actually going to live in a whorehouse. “It’s that no more,” she assured herself as she washed and dressed for dinner.
The little French clock on the bureau was chiming noon when a bell rang downstairs and the maid called. “Dinner’s on the table, ladies.”
Lillian looked at herself in the long mirror by the closet door and sighed. Sometimes she forgot her plain looks and middle age, but it was hard to forget in a house full of winsome beauties. At least, in her high-necked dress and sensible shoes, she was respectable. Oh, so very respectable. It was going to take a great deal of courage to deal with these poor soiled doves—and especially with Bradley O’Neal—but she had had a grim, joyless life as long as she could remember, so she was used to adversity.
She went out her door and paused, looking down. Except for the poker tables and the billiard table and the ornate bar off to one side, it was a magnificent room that lay below her, with its stained glass and dark, waxed floors. It looked like the waiting room of a fine hotel. She paused at the railing, noting it had been repaired, and wondered about it.
Below her, Brad O’Neal appeared. “Miss Primm,” he said, looking up, “we are holdin’ dinner for you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You lookin’ over where Lil fell?”
“She fell? From here?”
He nodded. “About where you’re standin’.”
Lillian took a step backward. “Oh, my.”
She came down the stairs and the gambler waited for her at the bottom. He held out his arm and she took it awkwardly. He led her into another magnificent room with a stained-glass light hanging directly over the big, round, golden oak table where the girls were already seated. “Ladies, may I present Miss Lillian Primm? She’s gonna to be with us a day or two.”
“Or maybe more.” She smiled at the curious beauties. “Good day, ladies.”
“We ain’t ladies.” The blonde, Sadie, glared at her and put both elbows on the table.
“She said we could be,” Pansy, the little redhead, said.
The blonde snorted. “You dummy, don’t believe everything you hear. Don’t ya know a do-gooder when you see one?”
Brad said “Behave yourself, Sadie.” He pulled out Lillian’s chair so she could sit down.
Sadie subsided and poked food in her mouth with her spoon.
There were seven young beauties at the table. Besides Sadie and the red-haired, petite Pansy, there was a tall, black-haired girl, a pair of brown-haired twins, a strawberry blonde, and a Mexican girl. They stared at her with bold curiosity.
There was an awkward silence as Brad sat down at the head of the table. “Miss Primm, I hear you’ve met Pansy and Sadie. The tall one is Fern, the twins are Ella and Etta, the strawberry blonde is Flo, and the exotic beauty is Rosita.”
Lillian nodded and smiled. “How do you do?”
Sadie glared back. “Just what do you think you’re gonna do here?”
The others waited, watching.
Lillian forced herself to smile. “I haven’t decided yet, but when I do, I’ll discuss it with all the ladies.”
“I’m the most popular among the local soldiers.” Sadie offered.
“Says you!” The twins challenged her.
“Ladies!” Brad glared at them.
Lillian said, “I’m sure we’ll all get to be good friends. I have such plans.”
Again they looked at her curiously while Brad smiled ever so slightly. “Ladies, Miss Primm is Lil’s niece from Boston. She’s inherited Lil’s half.”
Sadie glared at her. “She don’t look like she can hold a candle to Lil.”
Lillian stared her down. “We’ll see.”
At her elbow, Delilah stood with a giant bowl of mashed potatoes and Lillian helped herself. She’d already had more