1870, Philadelphia, USA.
Martha Whitcomb, the wild child of Philadelphia society, is now a grown woman, independent in wealth and in personality. At twenty-three, still unmarried and childless, she is exposed to constant rumors and ridicule, crushed...
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"Is she not a fantasy?" Martha asked, and Benjamin could not bring himself to disagree. Martha and Gatling had brought him to La Luna for dinner, and she had been especially excited for him to see Maria Castillo dance the flamenco.
It was quite a thing, Benjamin mused. Nothing of this nature would be permitted in Philadelphia—at least not among his and Martha's circles. Maria wore a beautiful dress that hugged her figure down to her upper thighs, showing off her curves along with every provocative slither of her hips. Her spine twisted this way and that, her head thrown back in passion. All of that would be scandalous enough, but she would often lift her ruffled skirts to expose her bare legs all the way up to her cream-caramel thighs. Such a demonstration would undoubtedly cause more than a few apoplectic fits were this dance being performed back in their old world, and yet, Martha had eagerly pulled him along, insisting that he experience it as well.
He spared a glance in her direction, finding her dark eyes fixed upon Maria, open admiration in her features, and then turned his attention to Gatling, who sat on her other side. Even though Benjamin himself had drafted their contract, he still found it nearly impossible to believe that the Texan with a chip on his shoulder the size of Mars and a deep-seated hostility toward everyone north of the Mason-Dixon Line had partnered up with Martha, whose disdain for southerners burned so brightly that it nearly blinded those near.
For Benjamin's part, though he knew it had all been brought on by too much liquor and bad feelings, he could not entirely forgive Gatling's vituperative remarks over a year prior. It had healed well enough, and Benjamin did like him now, but he was never entirely at ease with the man. And yet, he could not deny the new loyalty he saw in Gatling, nor the strong friendship between him and Martha.
"Good evening."
The group turned from the dance to see Rick Cutler standing behind them, gentlemanly as ever. Now him, Benjamin thought, his blood running a bit colder in his veins—him, he did not like and did not trust. He would not dwell upon the fact, of course, for he adamantly refused to become one of those men who attempted to influence his wife's friendships—not that Martha was his wife, of course, but the sentiment was the same.
Still, when Rick glanced in his direction, Benjamin made no attempt to move from his place. "Good evening, Mr. Cutler," he said pleasantly, and Rick turned to Gatling instead, who nudged Keller. The two slid further down the bench, making room for Rick to sit between Gatling and Martha, though Gatling looked about as pleased as Benjamin felt.
"You were not at the Dragonfly," Rick said to Martha. "I thought I might find you here."
"And so you have," she said amiably, tilting her head in Benjamin's direction. "I wished to show Mr. Moore what the Castillos have accomplished."
Rick nodded, his eyes meeting Benjamin's. "It is all impressive, is it not?" he asked, and Benjamin nodded.
"Truly," he agreed, glancing at Maria again. "I am very happy that they have found such success." Despite your family's best efforts, he added silently. Martha insisted that Rick was not like his father, and Benjamin was truly attempting to take her word for it, but he had seen and heard such things that made such an idea difficult to believe.
