Hat in hand, thanks to a quick-acting fellow, Luke searched for a dark purple velvet hat with matching ostrich plumes and a white blouse in the shoulder-to-shoulder sea of humanity moving off the ship. If he didn’t find her now, the possibility of getting to know Miss Bettina Gilbert over one of those novel carbonated sodas shrank exponentially on the six-hundred-plus acre grounds. She’d had a navy-blue jacket over her arm to match her skirt. Possibly she’d donned it?
Straining to see ahead, he slid on a small object along the wooden deck. Picking it up, he saw the pitifully dirt-laden lace resembled a rag more than an expensive ladies’ accessory. At the very least, should he find Miss Gilbert, he could gallantly return her missing glove. Ladies spent a lot of money on custom gloves. Perhaps she could salvage the pair by dyeing them in tea? Reason enough for pocketing it.
The fact she fascinated him, and wasn’t one of the many chosen by his overly helpful self-appointed matchmakers, propelled him to weave in and out of the queue until they closed ranks at the narrow departure point. “Excuse me.” He zigged into an opening. “Pardon, if you don’t mind.” He zagged into another break between bodies until he’d made it down both sets of outer stairs.
At the top of the gangway platform, he caught sight of a purple blur bouncing a few feathers at the entrance to the moving walkway. As it had yet to operate, she skirted the construction with the sway of the crowd—and then, shorter than most, she was gone as if swallowed by a wave. Luke inched forward toward escape from the suffocation of shoulders, umbrellas poking at him, and the heat of so many bodies squashed in too small a space.
On the pier, still navigating the narrow boardwalk, the crowd parted, thinning at the harbor Peristyle as they accessed the fair’s sidewalk system. Surely a proper miss would avoid the casino. But her sketches of the architecture? Maybe she wanted a closer look.
Luke threaded through the massive columns acting as the entrance gate, searching up and down the rowed arches. Not a hair. He hightailed it to the highest point of the nearby footbridge spanning the first man-made lagoon, centerpiece for the Court of Honor. With dozens of people passing over, he stopped and scanned as far through the fair walkways as he could for the enchanting Miss Gilbert and her distinctive purple plumes. No luck. She’d vanished into the vast opening-day masses. Evidently God had other plans in mind for his potential wife, if He planned one at all. Would You mind, Lord, if I—
“Mr. Edwards, did you manage to acquire the chairs and bring them back?” Mrs. Lydia Fitch asked. The lady’s sister lived near downtown Chicago and had sold the Montana women antique replacements for two broken pieces of exhibit furniture. With the state’s contingent working together, though spread throughout several buildings and varying exhibits, he’d agreed to oversee the shipment after the disastrous arrival of a smashed crate. Though why he couldn’t meet the ship at the dock escaped him.
In the mass arrivals, he couldn’t find a trace of Miss Gilbert, while the woman who’d made a top project out of his matrimonial status could find him in a wink. Though only receding thunder from the morning’s rainstorm, Luke distinctly felt the heavens laughing. You do have a sense of irony, don’t You, Lord?
Luke plastered on a patient smile. “Yes, ma’am, I did. I’ll have the chairs off-loaded and brought over once the harbor master clears them.” Truth be told, he enjoyed all the fuss the ladies made over him. They’d adopted him as if he were a favored nephew when they learned he wanted to come to Chicago and find a wife. The male to female ratio back home leaned heavily against him, regardless of his business success and ownership of both a silver and a copper mine. But a little less zeal wouldn’t be amiss. Somehow he hadn’t been able to impress on the Montana ladies that he was perfectly capable of finding his own wife.
“We do need a respite for weary attendees and a comfortable sitting area for those watching after our work in the pavilion salon.”
He chanced another scan of the grounds over Mrs. Fitch’s head. Well, not if pretty prospects kept disappearing.
She followed his gaze. “Are you looking for someone in particular or admiring the view?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave his attention to Mrs. Fitch.
Without a hitch, she turned back and continued. “Were you taken with my niece? She’s had quite the successful debut. The young men are lining up. I’m sure I could put in a good word for you with her parents.”
“Uh, I didn’t realize—” The very tender girl in question seemed more interested in needlework than discussion. She might be a bit youthful for his twenty-nine years. But then he’d thought the reason for the trip into the city had to do with replacing chairs for the botanical exhibit. He surely should have known better where Mrs. Fitch was concerned. He could be convinced to meet the pretty girl again. Wait. Botanical … botanist … if Miss Gilbert’s interests drew her to the Montana flora, then he might find her there. Though he had no idea if she came for the day or if she’d return frequently through the summer. Was she even a Chicagoan? Luke’s mouth went dry. What if she came from another country? His search could be enormously more difficult.
Mrs. Fitch tapped his elbow. “Would you like me to formally introduce you?”
“Yes.” An international bride might take more logistics but not unreasonable ones. Wait. Introduce him to whom? He gulped. “What?” In the few weeks since they’d arrived to set up their agricultural and mining displays, his several supporters were championing his marital opportunities with such fervor that they’d begun a daily habit of scouting every available lady working anywhere nearby. Some aware and some curiously clueless to the machinations of his determined “aunts.” Evidently the mission was to first determine his interests. They might be more successful if they’d simply listen to him. He liked a woman with a strong personality who knew her mind. Any other might not be prepared for his home farther out on the range than in the city. Helena was very modern, but he wouldn’t have the miracle of electricity for a while yet, regardless of owning a copper mine. His self-appointed matchmakers had their own ideas of what a perfect counterpart looked like, and so far it hadn’t yet agreed with his. Was he searching for the impossible?
“I’ll invite Janey to see one of your talks.”
The Mining and Mineral building should have been far enough away from the Woman’s building to deter such regular romps through his day, but they had him outnumbered. It almost seemed as if they had assigned shifts. “But—”
“You can tell her all about our silver Lady Justice statue. Just leave out the part that she’s modeled after that hussy actress from New York, will you? Why they couldn’t use one of our lovely Montana ladies as the model …” She shook her head then brightened at her decision. “Yes, that’ll be a good start.”
“Mrs. Fitch—” If it hadn’t been frenzied enough, opening day seemed to set off a race to be the lady who found Luke Edwards a wife that was almost as important as whether they’d out-win the men in medals.
“No, no need to thank me. We promised to bring home a bride for you, and that’s quite what we’ll do.”
He stopped searching the distance and turned to look at his doting friend. Was there a competition going on? If he didn’t find a wife first, he might be trampled by the sweetest, most well-intentioned cupids, with Mrs. Fitch, Mrs. Moore, and Mrs. McAdow in a three-way tie for the lead. Who said women weren’t competitive?
“You know, it’d be so lovely to have family around. You might be quite taken with Janey once you get to know the little angel. She’s quite talented and would make quite the perfect wife for a success-oriented young man like yourself, if you’re looking for a smart match. You are truly looking for an accomplished homemaker, aren’t you?” She didn’t seem to breathe between sentences. The opposite of her shy niece.
Quiet. Contemplative. That personality might do well with his, but he still needed to feel an attraction. The moment or two he’d waited in the sunroom with Janey could hardly tell the full story. Neither had been aware the meeting was contrived for their benefit. At least he wasn’t.
“I’ve heard of young men sowing their wild oats. I’m sure that’s not you. Though you haven’t really shown much interest in the few you’ve met thus far. Janey, now, she’s quite a girl, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t help it, the word seemed to have been planted in his skull. “Quite.” He nodded. “Mrs. Fitch, you haven’t set up a contest between you all?”
“A contest? Why, what foolishness. No, the only contest I know of is to see who gets more medals, the men or the women.” She tapped his arm with her folded fan. “That wouldn’t be happening, either, if those lummoxes hadn’t crowed they’d bring home the most and only given us ten percent of the budget. And how is that going for the men, Mr. Edwards?”
A tiny purple speck caught his attention in the distance against the backdrop of a white wall like an iris rising from a late winter snow. Luke squinted against the bright sunshine. How had she managed to get that far ahead?
At this point, he had a choice to make. Let go of the first girl who’d captured his interest or indulge his curiosity about the adorably humble botanist-not-artist with olive-green eyes, a shapely figure, and the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. “Mrs. Fitch, would you excuse me?”
“Certainly.” Her words trailed behind him. “Shall I see you with the chairs—”
“Yes, this afternoon sometime.” He dashed north, in the direction of the state buildings. “Miss Gilbert! Bettina Gilbert!”