“I wouldn’t know, never having been,” Bliss replied, giving her husband a suspicious, determined look. “I’ll have none of your smooth talk, either. You offered me supper and an opera, and you’ll make good if you know what’s best for you.”

Jamie laughed and gave her a resounding kiss. “Supper and an opera it is,” he said, with that curious gentleness that always excited Bliss. “After that—” He let his words fall away and shrugged.

Bliss was quick to turn her back again. “The buttons, if you will,” she said formally. Damn and blast, if he set her now to thinking of his lovemaking, she’d be squirming uncomfortably all evening.

The lobby of the Victoria Hotel was all sparkling light and genteel chatter. Jamie left Bliss beside a potted palm while he went off on one of his mysterious errands, and she hoped he couldn’t hear her stomach growling as he walked away.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” fretted a female—and foreign—voice, on the other side of the potted palm. “Oh, Henrietta, how will I ever face making such a journey without my Piedmont?”

Bliss was wondering what on earth a Piedmont was when another voice supplied the answer. “It was truly unfortunate, Minerva, that your husband passed away so far from home.”

Dramatic snuffling sifted through the palm leaves. “You have no idea, Henrietta, what it did to me to see Piedmont buried on foreign soil. Of course, there was no possibility of taking him home to Sacramento—”

Sacramento. Bliss’s heart pounded at her rib cage. Sacramento was in California. How far could that be from San Francisco, where her mother was living? She drew a deep breath, rounded the potted plant, and offered a half curtsy to the two women standing on the other side.

“Excuse me, ladies,” she said sweetly, “but I couldn’t help overhearing a part of your conversation. My name is Bliss Stafford, and I wonder if one of you isn’t in need of a companion to—to share your journey back to America?”

The heavier of the two women stepped forward, squinting nearsightedly at Bliss. “You look unsuited for such a lowly station, Miss Stafford,” she observed.

Reminded that she was wearing the expensive blue gown, Bliss cast about wildly for a sensible response, while keeping her smile firmly in place. “I am accompanying my current—employer—to supper and the opera tonight. Mr. McKenna and his—his wife wanted me to be suitably clothed.”

“I see,” said the elderly American lady. “Perhaps I should consider this young woman as a companion,” she told her friend as an aside. Then she gave a long, sad sigh that turned Bliss’s tender heart willy-nilly. “It will be desperately hard to leave poor Piedmont behind, of course.”

“Of course,” Bliss commiserated tenderly.

“Give her your calling card, Minerva,” said Henrietta, elbowing the woman.

Over Minerva Wilmington’s husky shoulder, Bliss saw Jamie striding toward her. She curtsied again and tucked the calling card into her blue beaded handbag. “I’ll contact you tomorrow, Mrs. Wilmington,” she said warmly.