“Harry—Mr. French—will see you now,” she said.
“Thank you.” He nodded and stepped into the tent.
Caitlin waited outside, pacing back and forth. The scent of burnt canvas and wood was choking, but the tingling in her nerves only heightened her hope. Could Niall Munroe’s appearance be yet another miracle? Several months ago, she’d been certain that Morgan had been meant to come when he did. Now her intuition was telling her the same thing of the gentleman stranger.
Your intuition, or something much more physical?
She shook her head in self-disgust, but waited out the long hour while Munroe consulted with Harry. Munroe emerged at last, settled his hat on his head, and buttoned his coat against the night’s chill. He did not seem surprised to find her still there.
“Good-night, Miss Hughes,” he said. “We shall meet again.”
She flushed at his bow and looked elsewhere until he was some distance across the lot and headed toward town. Harry appeared a moment later.
“You will not believe this, my dear, but we are saved yet again!”
“Saved?” she murmured.
“That gentleman, Mr. Munroe, has offered us an engagement in Denver, a private performance for his family’s orphanage. The Munroes are very important people in Colorado—I have heard of them myself. They are extremely wealthy and influential. Mr. Munroe’s sister is quite a central figure in Denver society and does much good work. He wishes to contribute to her charities in a most novel way. He has agreed to replace our tents, provide us with a lot on land he owns, and pay us very well indeed. So well, in fact, that it will more than make up for this night’s losses.”
“So much?” Caitlin could no longer see Munroe’s form, yet she continued to search against all reason. “It is so late in the season—”
“One last performance, and then we may have enough to winter over as we had planned. How can we turn down such an opportunity?”
We can’t. Of course we can’t. Yet Caitlin felt a wild see-sawing of dread and anticipation, as if she were attempting a new and very dangerous stunt.
“When are we to leave?” she asked.
“As soon as we can be ready. I shall call the troupers together at dawn and share the good news.” He clasped his hands. “Ah, it has turned out to be a much better night than events would suggest! Who knows where such patronage might lead?”
Indeed. Harry always found the good in everything, but she felt the same sense of anticipation.
Of one thing she was certain. Their lives were about to change—hers, Morgan’s, everyone’s. She couldn’t begin to guess where those changes were leading, but Fate had intervened with a vengeance.
After tonight, nothing would be the same again.
The tall, familiar figure strode up the drive, and Athena rolled away from the parlor windows to face the door. Niall had come home.
He had been gone a very long four months. Strange that in spite of their last argument, she had missed him terribly. Not even the constant social and philanthropic commitments had been completely successful in easing her loneliness.
When did it begin? she asked herself, listening for the door and Brinkley’s greeting. When did I become… dissatisfied?
She could not pinpoint the precise day or date, but the feeling of emptiness had been growing, and it troubled her. She had spent wasted hours looking out the window at her friends and neighbors walking and riding in the crisp autumn air, and remembering what it had been like to kick at piles of leaves and dash across the park on a high-spirited horse.
But her friends and fellow Society members had been as attentive as always in their visits, just as generous in their contributions. The orphans and poor folk still responded to her visits with solemn gratitude. There was no good reason for her disaffection.
Surely it was the change of seasons that made her feel so restless. Now that Niall was back, those troublesome emotions would dissipate. His opposition to much of her work might even fire a renewed determination. Yes, that was what she needed—fresh inspiration, something to fight for.