“Mother, this is Mrs. Alicia Hopkins. Mrs. Hopkins, my mother, Helen Booker.” Nathan was indeed formal that evening, actually a little uncomfortably formal and Alicia found herself wishing they were alone together at her front porch the night before, he in his romantic riding clothes and she casual with loose falling hair and rolled up sleeves.

Helen Booker struck her as a less than formal lady too, a little stiff in her fine pale blue flowered lawn dress that accented the soft yellow of her hair and pale green of her eyes. She smiled easily and waved for Alicia to sit. The sun room was lovely, although slightly larger and more finely furnished than Alicia’s.

“How are you finding Farmington, my dear?” Helen asked, her voice soft and welcoming.

“I’m afraid I’m finding it a bit of a mystery. Every time I plan to go into town to see it, either the weather or my grounds man is uncooperative,” she smiled and smoothed her heavy black skirts.

“Well,” Helen tossed a careless hand, the sparkle of an elegant emerald and diamond ring flashing as she did so. “That is simply foolishness. You must call on me and we will take the short trip together. It must be horrific, tight in that house day after day.”

Alicia fought her overwhelming urge to bounce on the seat, explode with her thoughts and share everything with this woman who presented the first real female friendship since arriving in Farmington … in this era … in this life. But decorum won out and she sighed softly, reached into her sleeve for a scented handkerchief and delicately patted the growing sweat at her temples.

The heat in the sun room was unbearable, even though at that time of day, the sun was far to the other side of the house. The soft curtains at the open windows were still as death and nothing moved. Her eyes trailed to Nathan who stood at the entrance, leaning unceremoniously against the doorway and watching them both. When Helen too turned to Nathan, he stood straight.

“Uh … well … I think I’ll have a whiskey. Mother, would you have me send Mrs. Perkins with ice and lemonade for you and our guest?”

Helen glanced to Alicia. “Lemonade, my dear?”

“Actually,” she cleared her throat and spoke softly, just in case it was so inappropriate no one would believe she’d actually made the request. “What I would truly enjoy is as whiskey too.”

“Oh thank the lord,” gasped Helen pleasantly. “For me as well, Nathan.” And they watched his grin as he left the room.

“Is the house to your satisfaction, Alicia?”

“Oh, it is beautiful! I’m pleased with the staff and the grounds. I’m just … a bit … lonely.”

“Well, now that will all end soon. Ah … here she is, come sweetheart. Come and meet our new neighbor.”

Miranda Booker was nineteen-years-old, but she was so petite it was not hard to imagine that she was in fact only eight or nine years of age. She was dressed in a young girl’s dress that showed none of her womanly features, small as they were. Her hair was pulled back from her face then allowed to cascade down her back in golden ringlets. A large pale blue bow was pinned to the top of her head and she tugged at it with irritation as she was introduced.

“Hello,” Miranda said, curled her brow and twisted her lips as she yanked at the stiff ribbon. Just as Nathan arrived with two pale whisky and waters and a straight bourbon for himself, he was astounded to witness what he saw.

“Come, Miranda, let me fix that for you,” Alicia sat on her chair and Miranda thudded indelicately on her rear at her feet, tears gathering in her eyes from the torturous bow the maid had forced her to wear. Alicia carefully untangled the strands that had become tightly twisted in the pins then freed all of Miranda’s hair. She pulled her fingers through the silky softness of it and patted the top of the girl’s head. “There, much better. Right?”

“Thank you.” Miranda looked up with what could only be described as complete adoration and Alicia smiled. She reached for her drink and sipped, avoiding the equally powerful looks of adoration from her hosts. All she did was remove a silly bow.

And with that act, Nathan had again envisioned marrying the Widow Hopkins. Never had Miranda been introduced to an affluent guest and treated with such respect, such kindness. The girl was always shuffled off before the meal to her lonely solitude up in her large room. This was a woman who found no dishonor in sitting, dining, even speaking with Miranda and he was facing a serious dilemma. Nathan Booker was falling in love with Alicia Hopkins. How damn long does the woman have to mourn a dead husband? Isn’t a year enough? He was unsure how long he could wait.

Alicia had removed a restricting ribbon from Miranda’s hair. Nathan could hardly breathe with thinking of the restrictions he would like to remove from Alicia. But … it wasn’t in his nature to fall in love, much less so completely and quickly and Nathan found himself questioning everything. Questioning his emotions and his logic, after all, what did he really know about Alicia Hopkins? His observations told him she was an appropriate wealthy widow … but also a beautiful woman with several chinks in her social armor. She permitted him to speak to her quite familiarly on her porch the evening before. She agreed to break her mourning to leave her house and attend dinner. She even seemed to find it comfortable to look directly into his eyes. When was the last time a woman did that … outside of Clara L’Oreal’s whorehouse walls? What did he know about the Widow Hopkins?

Her lawyer wasn’t very informed either, or he was extremely cryptic for other reasons. He did explain that Stephen Hopkins was quite an elderly gentleman. Nathan’s mind spun. Was he bewitched by the same woman who had bewitched the wealthy old bugger? Was she the kind of woman who married for the money and nothing more? Or … was she old man Hopkins’ favorite whore that he’d decided to marry and take far away from their hometown to protect not only her created reputation but his? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing occurred. Will not be the last, either.

There were many bold incongruities about Alicia’s personality … her sharp intelligence … her quick smile … her equally disarming wit … her obvious discomfort at doing what every widow all across America did without distaste or concern, mourn. If there was one word he could use to describe his observations of the Widow Hopkins, it was tolerance.

He turned from the scene of her talking easily with Miranda and gazed out the windows at the softening sky. Tolerance. Was that a bad thing for her to be? How difficult was it to mourn a husband, loved or otherwise, for the correct amount of time prescribed by proper society? Tolerance. But then again … wasn’t that also the one word most people used to describe him?

He tolerated social mores, tolerated idiots and he tolerated ignorance. He was irritated and frustrated by it but what choice did he have but to tolerate it and hope to bring about change for the better. Was it fair to judge Alicia negatively for being as he himself was, day in and day out?

Nathan was never one to subscribe to the accepted beliefs that women were to be held at higher standards then men. He had known of more than one recent widower who cast his eye, wooed and married before a full moon had passed or his dearly departed wife was cold in her grave. Of course there were several rational reasons for it, the need for a woman to care for his children, his house, manage the staff. But a woman’s only reason for doing such a thing would be deemed appalling, for it would only prove that she cared of nothing but the needs of her own comfort and body.

Social rules aside, Nathan knew that men and women were the same species, the same animal. A woman deciding to be a whore chose such a life because she understood the value and powers of her body. Understood the bargaining tool sex really is. True marriages, the kind where husband and wife shared a bed willingly and happily were few and far between among the most appropriate. Pity that. And Nathan imagined the pleasures of living life with an equal and well-matched partner. With Alicia Hopkins. But the time had come to move with caution.

Dinner was served in the gardens and Alicia was delighted. Conversation among the females was light and pleasant with a strong flavor of pure enjoyment and as a physician; he was pleased to see his mother and Alicia obviously becoming friends. Helen carried the burden of Miranda and her own values that set her apart from the others of her station. Alicia, clad in black had no one with which to confide and laugh or even gossip. It was a good and productive match; and should Nathan find himself actually facing the possibility of marrying the beautiful widow, it would be a comfortable home knowing his mother, sister and wife cared for one another. But that was far off. Far, far off. There was still much to learn about the woman of his fancy.

He was quiet during dinner, ate sparingly and drank several whiskies as he couldn’t seem to relax. Was it the heat? His concern for Serina Eshler, lying in the hospital and still not quite out of danger? Was it the paleness of Miranda’s complexion lately, the fact that the girl didn’t eat enough or seemed to sleep too much? Or was it the nearness Alicia Hopkins?

She sat at the table, sharing her dessert with Miranda as Nathan stood to again refill his glass from the parlor sidebar. Helen followed.

“Is something wrong dear?”

Watching the amber fluid drizzle into the fine cut crystal glass, Nathan sighed. “A patient. Nothing to concern yourself with. Are you enjoying our guest?” He sipped but avoided her eyes.

“I am. I had assumed that you too would enjoy Mrs. Hopkin’s company. Is something amiss?” She was careful to hold reprimand or judgment from her voice. He was drinking more than she’d seen him drink in years, he was almost impolite by his nonparticipation in the conversations and his knee was still bouncing when he sat. Of course he always held concern for his patients, but was there more at play?

“Mother, about Miranda,” finally his green eyes rose to meet hers. “She’s still not eating well, is she?”

Helen sighed. “She is fine this evening, Nathan. She did sleep a while through the worst of the afternoon heat, but so did I. We will discuss Miranda further after our guest has left, dear. It is rude to leave her alone in the gardens. Now joins us, please.”

He grunted to his feet and took her elbow. “Far be it for me to be rude.”

Helen chuckled quietly. They found both Miranda and Alicia sitting in the grass and looking at the stars. And Nathan again was forced to wonder how he would contain his heart.

***

Ashton Magnolia was beside himself. He sat on the edge of his bed wrapped tight in his silk robe and curled his brow. His doctor crossed his legs in the big leather chair and groaned a sigh. “Ashton, you haven’t been well since the Governor’s funeral. I can’t find anything physically wrong with you. Perhaps there’s something you want to talk about?”

Doctor Fisher had known Ashton Magnolia all his life and he had never seen the man so distraught, so distant so … deeply thoughtful and he feared the man was contemplating suicide. He could figure no reason for such a suspicion and seriously considered calling in one of those new fangled psychologists he didn’t have much faith in, but what other choices were left to him? He fully understood Ashton’s loss. Governor Thornton Gallows was the man’s colleague. He was a partner in the Magnolia Men’s Club and a cherished personal friend. But even that was not worth the torment the man was putting himself through. He sat quietly and waited.

Ashton narrowed his eyes against the painful skipped heartbeats that had been torturing him for nearly a month and thought. When he, Thornton Gallows and Benton Meyers started the Magnolia Men’s Club, it was for their own sheer pleasure. It was never designed to be what it had become. Prostitution, although not looked upon favorably, had always existed in Pittsburgh. Creating a safe environment for his friends and valued members seemed the most private way to have what men of his standing wanted.

The original intent was to hold the membership to a manageable number. Twenty, perhaps thirty men serviced by a handful of well-trained women. All the members, including the three founding fathers of the Club, had rather eclectic taste in sexual activity. The membership grew to over a hundred within five years and the problems began.

Treatment of the girls was declining and it started with the death of one battered and abused woman. Then another woman escaped the house and was unfortunately murdered in a back alley in Allegheny City. Thornton was the first to bring the concerns to the table and it was decided that a more comfortable and safe situation needed to be developed at the Club to assure that no more of the women, now deemed the property of the membership, felt it necessary to run for their lives. After all, how could the affluent men of the Club retain their secretive activities if it could be made known that they were participants? The scandal would ruin nearly every man of wealth and high standing within a hundred mile radius.

Three more women disappeared, their bodies found floating in the Allegheny River. Ashton put his foot down and called a meeting of the three primary owners. It was suggested that the Club be closed. It was suggested that they sit tight and quiet and see what came of the murders. And … it was suggested than even stricter rules be put into play for the members. The Magnolia Men’s Club remained open for business. It was never brought into suspicion regarding the dead girls and new rules were written and enforced. A medical facility was built in the basement and peace descended among the little, secret world of the Magnolia Men’s Club for a time. For a time.

When the founding fathers created the Club, they had each brought one woman into it, initiating her with their own hands and sponsoring her into the club activities. Ashton had brought little Eva, his favorite whore from New York City. Thornton brought in Miss Alicia, his clandestine mistress, and Benton brought Ruth, a long time lover and recent poverty stricken widow. These three women were determined the sole ownership of their sponsors, and unlike any other sponsored girls in the Magnolia Men’s Club, not the ownership of the full membership.

But Eva and Ruth willingly and happily played and served the full membership. They were average at best and their sponsors, Ashton and Benton had no concerns over it all. The men were satisfied, the women were safely tight inside the big house and Matron Falingham kept them all in line. But Alicia?

Ahh … Alicia.

From the moment Thornton brought her to Pittsburgh, pinned and initiated her, it was clear to everyone that she was indeed something special. She was subservient, she was pliable, but she was also amazing in her ability to respond so intensely to everything done to her. Often Thornton would watch over activities with Alicia, revel in the vision but stop everything when he felt it was quite enough. She was his and he could do so. He had always been a man to take full advantages of his control over a situation.

Soon after the election two years earlier, the newly appointed Governor Thornton Gallows’ lovely wife of thirty years passed. He soon spent more and more time at the club, holding Alicia close in his private room for days on end. The membership began to grumble. Then, six months ago, Thornton told Ashton that he was planning to disappear by the end of the year. His term as governor would be over and he intended to exercise his particular benefits as one of the founding fathers. He would take Alicia with him. There was nothing to be done about it; she was his sole property and not that of the members. It was his right.

That week, Ashton came to the Club on a Wednesday evening, unusual for him and the men in the parlor were duly surprised. He promptly took Alicia to a private bedroom and had what he could of her. He’d heard so much of this women, witnessed her being used and bound, repeatedly taken and pressed, always in control of her emotions and always displaying great dignity through it all. Ashton Magnolia felt it was time for him to experience her before she was gone.

He stripped her to her quivering flesh and bound her wrists tight to the brass headboard of the massive bed. Holding a blindfold he looked into her eyes. “Shall I? Or is it not too disgusting to be taken by a man like me?”

Alicia carefully looked at him, her gaze soft and creamy. “Sir, I am yours, blindfolded or not.” Her voice softened even more. “You do not disgust me or displease me, Mr. Magnolia. I am yours this night,” she whispered and his lips dove for her mouth.

Seventy-four-years old, a man of wisdom and years and experience. Ashton found no need to abuse the treasure in his control, but could not bring himself to release her wrists. The tender smoothness of her flesh enticed him, brought about a hunger he seldom felt any longer. He suckled and bit at her nipples, his tongue flicking at the ring, his teeth gripping and pulling it. He watched her flesh grow rosy and glow with what he was doing to her and he was starving for more. He quickly bound her ankles wide apart and laced to the lower bedposts. He would see it all, touch everything, enjoy every sensation he could find in Alicia. He’d had enough of watching others make her cry out, it was his time.

No one knew if the intensity of her orgasms were real and no one wished to believe that they weren’t. This night he would discover the truth. Ashton Magnolia had a bitter, cruel core, but had never shown it at the Club. Should he uncover the ugly truth of deceit in Alicia’s performance, she would see it, feel it and pay dearly.

He began delicately, slithering his gnarled, dry fingers into the folds of her sex. He avoided penetrating them deep, avoided causing her pain to make his point. That night he wanted something different and he would have it or she would suffer.

Sliding, slipping, massaging the solid hardness of her clitoris he watched the show begin. Her hips rolled and her sighs grew deeper. “You are playing at this, Miss Alicia.”

Slowly she opened her lovely blue eyes. Her pink tongue peaked out as she drew in a breath, then she licked her lips sensuously. The invitation was too powerful and he abandoned his plans for the moment to straddle her shoulders and feed his painfully hard cock into her mouth. He could not recall the last time his body reacted so forcefully to a subtle invitation. He braced himself at the brass railing and looked down at her as his cock buried deeper and deeper, withdrew and drove harder and harder. When he exploded, shooting his ejaculation down her throat, Alicia did not choke as others did. As he drew himself from her swollen lips, a blush shown on her fair cheeks and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed with prim embarrassment.

She enjoyed this, he thought with a sudden flood of endearment. His mouth watered and he lowered over her, sucked at her lips then crouched between her wide thighs. His mouth opened wide and his tongue worked at the flower of her gaping sex. It dove and twisted, lapped and dragged from opening to opening and he gasped for breath but did not stop. His teeth nipped at the bud, gnawing a sucking and he suddenly stilled, realizing what Alicia had done in response.

The woman was not performing at all. She was very aware of the thrum and rhythm of her own being. Alicia had loosened, relaxed her body, her flesh, her muscles. She became boneless under his hands, every sinew in tune to his ministrations. He smiled against her wet opening and continued. She was soft beneath him and he sensed what she was sensing, the slow, torturous growth of her tremors as they intensified more and more. But she remained still, breathing evenly.

He drove a thick finger deep as his mouth continued sucking to his heartbeat which seemed to correspond with hers and finally, suddenly, Alicia released with a stiffening and a cry that shook him to the bone. His finger, deep and wet in her path was pressed with the flutter then tight beat of her full orgasm. Her body arched from the bed and his mouth was filled with her release.

And Ashton Magnolia did something he had never done with a woman, any woman, wife or lover or whore. He eased her down, gentled her with his hands and his voice, with words he did not know he could use. He kissed a tear as it slid from her eye and he drove a suddenly, newly hardened cock deep into her womb. He knew he would never forget those hours with Alicia … and he finally understood the reasoning behind Thornton’s intent to remove her from the Club. Such a woman belongs to only the man who earns her. Thornton Gallows had protected and watched over Alicia, he had loved and adored her and was rightfully taking his place at her side.

But, Thornton Gallows never survived the year, never took his lover from the Club and never began the life he wanted and deserved most. There were grumbles and complaints among the members soon after his intent was made known. His death was sudden and inexplicable and Ashton could do nothing but suspect foul play. He had seen the men talking, had come across a covert gathering of the members more than once, hidden in a private alcove at a dinner club or talking quietly among them selves in the Magnolia parlor. It could not have been a natural death. Thornton was eight years his junior and in far better health than any man Ashton knew. Oh yes, he suspected foul play. His dearest friend had been murdered over a woman.

“The monkeys have taken over the zoo,” Ashton hissed and Doctor Fisher straightened in his chair.

“Pardon?”

“I need a favor,” Ashton said, suddenly clear of mind and free of the painful heart thuds.

“Of course, Ashton,” the doctor was alert, unsure if he truly wanted to hear the man’s request.

“I fully believe that Thornton Gallows was murdered. Perhaps poisoned. And I need you to bring up the flares to alert the proper authorities.”

The doctor blinked. Groaned. Sighed. “Ashton, I have suspected such myself … but the Club … the exposure … I just assumed you would not wish to pursue such a thing.”

“You assumed wrong. Dig up the grave, do an autopsy, do whatever you have to do to find justice for this.”

Doctor Fisher was relieved and terrified at once … he too was a member of the Magnolia Men’s Club. But, Justice was crying out and someone needed to pay for the murder of Thornton Gallows. “I’ll do everything I can.”

***

The evening had grown late and Miranda had willing gone off to her bed with a wide yawn and a substantial hug against Alicia’s chest. She had drawn a guarantee that Alicia would visit again and the widow also invited Miranda to visit with her anytime. Nathan prepared to escort Alicia home and after farewells to Helen, they walked to the carriage.

“Nathan, I would much rather walk, if that’s acceptable.”

He glanced up and down the street. Many neighbors were on their front porches, enjoying the cool evening and the singing crickets. He sighed. “Are you sure? Because you certainly can not walk alone and you will be seen with me.”

Alicia grinned and her eyes twinkled in the lamppost light. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, Dr. Booker.” She casually slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and he quickly adjusted it.

“Very well. It’s your funeral, Widow Hopkins,” he teased and they slowly strolled the street toward her house. “Mother has asked that I invite you to the Farmington picnic next Saturday.”

“A picnic?” She looked up at his handsome face, surprised that he was so solemn about such a seemingly innocent thing. His brow was furrowed and he was obviously ignoring the couple staring from a porch they were passing.

“Yes. It’s an end of Summer tradition. Nothing but badly prepared food, the swatting away of black flies and a very poor brass band that plays all day under the shade of the park gazebo. Nothing all that special.”

“Nathan,” she stopped and he turned. “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry? Of course not.” He huffed and gently tugged her along.

“I feel that you are … unhappy that I accepted the invitation this evening. Perhaps it is you who does not wish to be seen with me.” Alicia tried to sound easy but her heart was thumping. She liked Nathan. His strangeness, his confusion, even his harsh sense of humor.

“That is not true,” he sighed and settled his hand over hers at his arm. “I’m not … always correct in … social environments. I enjoy your company, Alicia. But … you are a widow, still in mourning … and I think perhaps it would be best for me to … remain at a distance … just until you are comfortable and settled here in Farmington. Just … to be sure not to … cause you any undue … trouble. Do you understand?”

“No.” She looked up at the stars. Why would a man being kind and polite to a widow cause trouble? But then again, why would she be required to wear ugly, heavy black for so long either. This century certainly wasn’t a time of enlightening for women, that was sure. “But if you choose not to spend time around me, I do understand, I suppose.”

“Not my choice. Now, about that silly picnic.”

“Should I not go?”

They were at her gate and this time he stopped abruptly. “Of course you should go. Between mother and I, we’ve done the math and you should be close to ending this hideous wearing of black soon. You will need to be out and about. Introduced, I suppose. But, you should bring Missy with you.”

“As my chaperone?” she smiled but his face was dreadfully serious.

“Yes, Alicia. And … mother will also be inviting you to the Garden Club. It’ll serve as introduction to the women of wealth in this town. I caution you to take what they or anyone at the picnic says with a grain of salt. Do not believe gossip. It is never truth.”

“And,” she interrupted. “You are one for the truth, are you not Dr. Booker?”

“I am. And that’s why they don’t care much for me.” Finally he smiled. “Among the rich women of Farmington, are some of the must maniacal minds in Pennsylvania. A seemingly kind question will inevitably resurface as ugly gossip. Choose your answers carefully.”

“Yes, sir,” she teased and his grin deepened. He took her elbow, led her to her porch and there released her. Alicia looked into his eyes and wanted nothing more than to rise on her toes and bestow a kiss, like it was their first date or something. Her blood soared, imagining how those lips would feel against hers, if he’d pull her tight against him, close his eyes, sigh. But the pinch of her corset and the stiffness of black taffeta billowing around her was enough of a reminder, and she put out her hand to him.

Nathan took the hand, held it warmly and looked into her lovely eyes. “Sleep well, Widow Hopkins.”