The next day, I woke to sweltering heat. It was so hot that if the temperatures had been money in a bank account, I would have been a billionaire. Unfortunately, the only numbers rising were the cost of rent, and the ones by the mercury thermostat.

With a sigh and a groan, I yanked myself out of bed. I should savour the heat! It meant I was away from the trappings of London civilization, and into the Wild! The free, untamed terrain of California! The rivers full of gold and the horses that could run fast as the wind, the—

"Lilly," Ella's voice said grouchily - well, as grouchy as her typically angelic voice could sound. "Would you shut that curtain?"

Then she threw a pillow at me. Well, it almost made me proud to see her behaving so unladylike. If she were Patsy or Flora or Eve, that is. But she was sweet-mannered, demure Ella, and I highly doubted my suffragette ways had rubbed off on her, seeing as she highly disapproved off them. This didn't mean Ella had realized the evils of the patriarchy - more that she was in a mood.

After drawing the drapes, I tiptoed over to Ella. I was quite unaware of what one did with upset people, and therefore generally treated them like wounded, possibly predatory wild animals. "Ella? Are you quite alright?"

She threw her arm over her eyes, not seeming to hear me. "Oh, the pain! Oh, the injustice! Oh, the complete and utter humiliation!"

"Ella?" I walked closer, pillow held out in front of my torso to defend form any more sudden down-filled, cotton-covered attacks. "The pain, erm, injustice, and complete and utter humiliation of what, exactly? Not that I don't love a bit of dramatic lamenting as much as the next girl, but—"

"I met a man last night, Lilly." She removed her arm and gazed into my eyes imploringly. What she was trying to implore me into doing, I wasn't sure. "His name is Edmund Conway, and he is the most wonderful, kind, handsome, smart, and thoughtful man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Erm..." Men were not my field of expertise. They weren't even my meadow, or pasture, or small garden patch of expertise. Still, I did my best. "Then what's so painful, unjust, and humiliating about all that? Did he reject you? Because if he did, I shall feel the need to bring out my parasol—"

"No!" She sat upright and clung to my arm, causing me to drop the pillow. In her messy-haired, sleep-dishevelled state, I thought she looked rather mad. "He did not reject me! He did the worst thing a man in his position could ever possibly do!"

"What position?" I inquired. "And did he... did he propose... marriage?"

"Oh, if only I should be so lucky!" She dropped my arm and flung herself back onto the bed again, blonde hair splayed out around her. "No, he did not. But he... he.."

Out with it, Ella! What vile thing did he do?

"He told me he wanted to see me again!"

What?

"Ella, have you a fever?" I bent to feel her forehead. "Or have you gone mad? Temporarily vacated your mind? Defenestrated your good sense?"

"No," she said plainly. "Why?"

"Because a man—if he is as kind and smart and wonderful as you described your Edward—"

"Edmund," she corrected.

"As your Edmund to be—wanting to see you again ought to be a good thing." I paused. "Unless he's a murderer. Ella, is he a murderer? Tell me straightaway and I shall go murder him directly for threatening you."

"Oh, Lilly, don't even mention such gruesome things!" She swooned backwards onto the bed, sinking even deeper into the mattress. Oh dear. If this went on much longer, I would have to pull her out of it with a fishing line. "But no. He is far from being such a horrible criminal. But he is... he is a piano tuner's son!"

Ah. Unlike me, who had been blessed with enough good sense that it came pouring out of my ears when I took a step, poor little Ella still believed and hung onto every word our aunt spoke. And our aunt spoke numerous things on the subject of love and marriage: essentially that the two were exclusive to each other, but also that the love she was referring to was love of money, titles, or estates. Not the romantic love that my sister was describing.

"Oh, Ella." I sat down next to her, then reached out and patted her shoulder. "Why don't you just keep it a secret from aunt?"

"I could never!" She pressed a hand to her bosom, looking like a fair and delicate maiden. It was beginning to get quite dull, if I were being honest.

I hated to encourage her infatuation with a man. But if it never led to the patriarchal chain and ball of marriage, who was I to say no?

"I'm sure you could, if you tried." I stood from the bed. "But enough of that. I've got plans."

The note Captain Carter had pressed into my hand was an invitation to meet him at Golden Gate Park* (1) at approximately ten in the morning, and as I checked the clock it read nine-oh-five. Now, getting dressed in petticoats, hoop skirts, and full bustle was an ordeal that required multiple people, and thirty minutes, leaving only half an hour to eat a hurried breakfast of codfish and cold potatoes before dashing out the door. Fortunately, I was very skilled in doing things at top speed, and managed to leave the house by nine-thirty. From there, I walked for an achingly long time until I reached the park, and promised myself to never again agree to meet here unless it involved other means of transport.

When I leaned against a tree, panting and dripping enough sweat to be mistaken for a melting, deflated ice cream cone in my puffy gown, I saw Captain Carter.  He waved and walked towards me briskly. "Miss Linton!"

"Captain Carter." I stayed leaning against the sturdy oak while I caught my breath, and he said nothing about my lack of a curtsy. Good. I was far too out-of-shape from walking - no, running - to manage one. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Miss Linton." His brown eyes twinkled. "May I say, you look rather spiffing today?"

My hair, which had been sloppy at best to begin with, now looked rather faeneumerial. My dress was now practically melting off of me in ways that would have been scandalous if there were any scandalous parts of me to show in the upper area. He was most definitely lying. Or exaggerating.

"No, you may not say that!" I almost wished for a fan to whack him in the head with, or even a parasol. Unfortunately, in my haste to get to the park I had left all useful accoutrements and potential weapons behind. "Did you have a reason for inviting me here, other than telling outlandish fabrications concerning my appearance?"

His smile faded and the twinkle dulled. "I must ask you a question."

"Then go on!" I gestured with my hand how much interrogation would I be doing today? "Ask it!"

"Last night, I spoke to Daniel Dalgliesh." He paused for breath - or dramatic effect, surely militiamen couldn't be as out of shape as I was - and continued. "He is a very wealthy man. Not only is he a ranchero, employing dozens of vaqueros on numerous properties - "

I held up a hand. "Stop! I don't speak Spanish!"

"Ah, sorry." He scratched his goatee. "A ranchero is a man who owns a ranch, and a vaquero is the main horseman who oversees it."

"Thank you." I waved again. "Go on."

"Well, in addition to owning numerous cattle ranches, he also owns multiple shares of the Central Pacific Railroad Company of California, who built the second-largest portion of the Pacific railroad." He swallowed and went on. "I asked him if he was hiring any employees. He told me no, but that he knew a man who would hire me. Rikkard Ambrose. I've a meeting with him tomorrow."

"And as splendid as your career opportunities sound, what has any of this to do with me?" Even as I had a sinking feeling in my stomach...

"Well." He swallowed again. I was beginning to worry that he had an eternally dry throat or some sort of swallowing disorder. "Rikkard Ambrose told me he had business in a tavern tomorrow and would meet me there, but that I had to be discrete. He also recommended that -"

Captain Carter broke off suddenly, shaking his head, so that his fluffy hair looked rather like that of a puppy's.

"Never mind me. It's nothing serious."

"Alright," I said, not wanting to further broach the subject of the sinister Mr. Ambrose. "Will you teach me to ride like a man?"

His eyes widened, but he didn't refuse. "I... I suppose I do owe it to you, considering I've been keeping secrets from you."

"Next Thursday," I suggested, and he agreed.

Then Captain Carter winked at me - winked! Then he took my hand. "I'm afraid I must be off again. The army life is never very conducive to rendezvous with beautiful women, unfortunately. Until we meet again!"

And he kissed my hand. The entire way that I walked back to the house, my hand felt strange. Not painful, but... tingly.

I thought nothing of it.

-

(1) Built in 1871. Again with the anachronisms!