Scandal on Rincon Hill by Shirley Tallman

ever ready to praise my mind, my wit, and, to the delight of my youthful vanity, my beauty. The summer before he left for law school, we spent long hours sharing our hopes and aspirations, even planning where he would eventually establish his San Francisco law practice. Blinded by love—or what I thought was love—I envisioned a fairy-tale future where we would toil side by side in our own law firm, joining our talents to make our city, and perhaps all of California, a better place for its citizens to live.
    Benjamin gave me my first kiss, a magical experience for a young girl who had grown up sheltered by a doting father and three older brothers. I had been swept away by emotions I hadn't truly known existed.
    Thinking back upon it now, I found it humiliating to admit how close I had come to succumbing completely to Benjamin's well-practiced powers of seduction. If it hadn't been for the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside my room, God only knows whatfolly I might have committed. And with a man who I later discovered had recently become betrothed to a young woman prominent in San Francisco society. Even if Benjamin had returned my feelings—which of course he had not—I was forced to admit that he would never have sanctioned my becoming an attorney, much less welcomed me as an equal partner into his law practice.
    With a sigh of irritation, I drained my tea and rose from the chair. Whatever pique had possessed me to travel down that particular memory lane, it had nothing to do with my dinner engagement that evening. My foolish behavior with Benjamin Forest could not in any way be compared to my friendship with Pierce Godfrey. Nine years ago I had been little more than a child; I was now a woman, no longer naïve and fired with unrealistic notions about saving the world. While I could not deny a powerful attraction to the adventurous shipping magnate, my reasons for refusing his proposal of marriage three months ago had not changed.
    Sadly, I thought with an unexpected pang of regret, they never could.

    U nable to come up with a more imaginative plan, I made certain that I was dressed and ready for Pierce well before he was due to arrive. My idea was to wait for him in the foyer, where I would be on hand to answer the door before our elderly butler Edis could respond to the bell.
    Briefly, I thought I might actually pull off the deception, but alas I had underestimated my mother's powers of observation. Having learned from the traitorous Cook, who had given me her word to remain silent, that I would not be home for dinner, she had quizzed our ladies' maid, Hazel, who admitted she had helped me dress and style my hair. She turned next to Edis, who assured her that no one had called for me at the door, whereupon she had commenced a systematic search of the house. I was finally discovered sitting quietly in a dimly lit corner of the library, awaiting an opportunity to slip out of the house unobserved.
    “So, here you are,” she said, turning up the gas lamp and standing in front of me, hands on her hips. “Why didn't you tell me you were going out this evening? It's embarrassing having to hear of my own daughter's plans from the servants.”
    I tried to think up a halfway believable excuse, then gave up. “I feared you would make more of the occasion than it warranted, Mama,” I finally admitted. “I didn't want a fuss.”
    Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “Then it's true. I heard that Mr. Godfrey was back in San Francisco. Is he the gentleman you're stepping out with?”
    “I'd hardly term it ‘stepping out,’” I replied, objecting to the phrase which was generally taken to describe a relationship a good deal more serious than mere friendship. “Mr. Godfrey and I are simply dining together. He's been away for several months, and this appeared to be a good opportunity to catch up.”
    Mama beamed at me. “Of course, darling. If that's the way you choose to portray the situation, far be it from me to