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wasn’t too old to appreciate Lucy’s voluptuous attractions but old enough to be wary of her artful flirtation. He also had a lawyer’s cynicism about human nature and an accountant’s reluctance to spend money. Hazard had overpaid her; his employer hadn’t even attempted to negotiate, a grievous sin in his estimation. But he wasn’t paid to give unwanted advice and no one had asked him for his opinion. Walking over to the marquetry table, he set the check next to Lucy’s teacup.
    “Thank you, Sheldon,” Hazard said.
    “Thank you, Sheldon.” Lucy’s tone was warm and silken, her gaze lifted to his, beguiling. “I do hope we have an opportunity to meet again.” Any man who had access to the Braddock-Black checkbook was a friend of hers.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Call me Lucy,” she purred.
    “You’re on your own, Sheldon,” Hazard said with a grin. “I’m leaving.”
    There was the smallest hesitation before Sheldon followed.
    Lucy noticed and her smile a moment later as she perused the check in her hand wasn’t entirely about the money. Sheldon could turn out to be very useful.

Chapter 7

    I n the following days, Lucy contented herself with looking up old friends and dispensing some of her new funds at the better dress shops in town. It would never do to be seen looking dowdy in a backwater town like Helena. She even indulged herself in a new carriage, which purchase caused Hazard a degree of apprehension; it gave the appearance she might stay.
    Once properly outfitted, Lucy began accepting invitations from all her old friends and like a duck to water reentered the frivolous round of social entertainments so dear to her heart. She didn’t mind that Jo spent more time with the Braddock-Blacks than with her. In fact, it turned out to be quite convenient to be independent of her daughter. A great many prominent Helena men were apparently bored with their wives, not an unusual circumstance in the urbane lives of the rich. They were looking for new amusements at the same time Lucy was looking to be amused.
    A truly peerless match of motives.
    The servants at the Plantation House Hotel kept a running tally of her male visitors and the gifts delivered to her from expensive jewelers. Their vigilance was partly in retaliation against Lucy’s continuous threats to have them fired for a multitude of frivolous infractions—and in part because a young, well-dressed man paid them for the information.
    In short order, Lucy’s social calendar became so crowded, she scarcely had time to scan Gosimo’s increasingly pitiful letters when they arrived. Could she help it if he was lamenting his marriage? Did she care about his pathetic existence in his fifty-room villa? Could she help it if he preferred a well-endowed bank account to a well-endowed wife? He could have married her and ignored the wishes of his noble family. What good was a title, anyway, if you didn’t have two centesimi to rub together? Well, he’d secured his fortune, she supposed, but she’d secured one as well and her transaction didn’t require marriage to a gargoyle. Should she decide to return to Florence, she might deign to see him—he was adorably handsome. Now what was she going to wear to Estelle’s grand soiree tonight? The new embroidered silk surah or the pretty silver tulle? Stepping over Cosimo’s last letter that languished unopened on her dressing room floor, she opened her armoire and surveyed her much-improved wardrobe.
    Jo’s social schedule was equally busy for Hazard and Blaze included her in all their plans and they entertained often. She also was offered an engineer’s position at one of their mining companies if she wished it and much as she’d tried to ascertain her mother’s feelings on the subject of staying or leaving, she’d not yet received an intelligible reply.
    “There’s no rush to make a decision,” Hazard had assured her. “Enjoy yourself first.”
    And she did, spending many hours every day in the