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illegitimate.” Anne stopped. “Well, actually he is, but he’s not mine, and I had nothing to do with this mess. His mother left him—”
    “Your appearance would distress my boarders. I’m sorry, but I’m unable to help you.”
    With that the door slammed firmly in her face.
    Sammy slurped on his fist, still hungry. Anne drew a long breath, picked up the bag, and trudged back toward town. She’d have to buy them a meal after all, which meant that more than likely Sammy was headed back to the Velvet Palace.

    Wednesday afternoons mustn’t be a busy time for county government, because the halls of the courthouse were nearly vacant. Nicholas gave his name to the judge’s assistant. “I was told to report to Judge Calloway. Is he busy?”
    “Of course he’s busy.” The assistant rubbed his eyes beneath smudged glasses and then motioned to a chair.
    Nick sat and flicked a speck of sawdust off his trousers.He’d thought he’d sent all his traveling clothes to the washwoman, but he must have missed some. Had Ophelia not noticed? She always expected perfection from those in her circle of society. Not that the Stanfords were what his mother would call society. No, they’d climbed the ranks on wooden ties like those he provided, but in the meantime he was riding along in their wake, following the path they’d blazed.
    A bell hanging on the wall suddenly dipped, its mellow chime disturbing the office. The assistant sat a bit straighter. “Mr. Lovelace, Judge Calloway will see you now.”
    Nick straightened his cravat and strode to the massive door with heavy brass trimmings just beyond the assistant’s desk. Taking the curved knob in his hand, he opened the door.
    There was a flurry of activity at a second door behind the judge’s desk. The judge pushed it closed and turned with fire in his eyes.
    “You didn’t knock.”
    Nick’s mouth went dry. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. You rang for me. I thought—”
    But Judge Calloway strode to his desk without further comment. He picked up a pen and began scribbling furiously, ignoring Nick’s contrition.
    Even without the robe that hung on the hook behind him, everyone recognized the judge. He had more hair than a wigmaker, combed in golden swoops over his temples and forehead.
    Nick eyed the chairs positioned before him. Better not risk it. Instead he studied the wall hangings, various documents with thick gold seals declaring that the man before him was entitled to make you wait. Latin. Not his best subject in school.
    “Sit,” the judge finally said.
    “Yes, sir.” In two strides he reached the chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t know—”
    “There are times when I must trust my instinct. I believe I’ve found the right man for the job, and I solemnly hope you won’t disappoint me.”
    Nicholas clasped his hands together and sat as proper as a choirboy. “We share that hope, sir. I couldn’t imagine why you’d think to honor me—”
    “As you know, Commissioner Garrard died unexpectedly. Ghastly. And so despite my numerous contacts I decided to turn to someone untested. This situation could use fresh insights. Under normal circumstances I’d wait until after the election when the new commissioners are installed, but there’s a vote that we are anxious to get settled. It’s about a bridge.”
    “The Choctaw River Bridge?” Nicholas leaned forward. “I’ve heard talk over it.”
    “It’s been debated by this commission for the better part of a year, and the vote is scheduled for next month. Everyone wants it settled before a new slate of county commissioners comes in and decides to revisit all the findings. I’ve been a judge for twenty-two years and can’t remember any committee vote that’s seen more controversy. I hope you’ll see the issue through.”
    “Me? I’m going to vote on the bridge? Are you saying—”
    “You are reported to be an intelligent man. Your experience with the construction of the railroads and your