They damn near missed the train because Arthur took his sweet time talking to the two stablehands in Annesburg. He couldn't be pulled away until he finished feeding them his strict instructions on how to care for the horses.

As soon as they boarded the train, all he did was grumble under his breath. Karen knew Arthur had no desire to go to Chicago, but she'd be damned if he ruined it for her and Charlotte. Karen sat with Charlotte, forcing Arthur to sit across the aisle with an unhappy grunt.

Sometimes, she didn't know how Charlotte put up with him. And yet, it was Charlotte who seemed to be the cure for his misery. Karen had been witness to how a mere peck on the cheek rose him from his sullen silences.

However, he wasn't getting away with being coddled on this trip. Karen had yet to hear Charlotte raise her voice, and any cutting remarks she ever used were reserved to criticize herself. So, it would be up to Karen to keep Arthur in line and she had no patience in catering to men.

Arthur sat by himself across the aisle, dozed off with his arms crossed. He claimed he needed more naps lately and that it was a sign of his ailment. But Karen wondered if he'd forgotten he'd always been like that. It was not unusual to find him asleep in some random spot around camp. The man was like a dog the way he could sleep on the ground.

She also had yet to see Arthur so sick that they'd soon expect his death. In fact, with the arrival of spring, he had regained his normal rigor. He kept in motion most of the time, as if he had a list in his head of things he wanted set straight before he was gone. If that was so, this trip would slow him down for sure.

"I've never met an Ebba," Charlotte commented, consulting the book in her hand and drawing Karen's attention. "Or an Edwina, for that matter. Do you care for either of those?"

"As baby names?" Charlotte had reached 'E' then in that book. Karen nearly regretted gifting it to her, but she'd been trying to find an activity to keep Charlotte busy. Ever since Arthur had begun limiting Charlotte's work as far as chores, she'd been restless in the house. Not that Karen didn't agree with Charlotte taking it easy at this point in her pregnancy, but she wasn't an invalid.

"What about Edith?" Charlotte continued, "Or Effie?"

"Fine, I guess." Karen shrugged. "But shouldn't you be running these by Arthur instead of me?"

Charlotte sighed. "I have tried." She flipped a page in her book of names. "He won't participate."

Karen frowned. "What do you mean 'he won't participate'? It's his damn kid too, ain't it?"

Charlotte stared at her page, fiddling with the corner absentmindedly. "I don't know for certain the reason behind it, as he hasn't said."

Karen had learned to read Charlotte pretty well by now. "But you got a hunch?"

"Mmm." She cast anxious eyes his direction even though he was fast asleep. "I suspect he's doesn't want to grow attached to the idea of being a father."

"Little late for that," Karen said dryly.

"Yes." Charlotte returned her attention to the page again. "Ah, this one's meaning is interesting. Eleanor, 'the shining light'."

"No." Karen shook her head adamantly. "Not that one. Anything other than Eleanor."

Charlotte tilted her head, curious. "What's wrong with it?"

Begrudgingly, she admitted, "It's my middle name."

"Karen Eleanor Jones," Charlotte tried it on her tongue. "Pretty."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Not when its only use was when Momma yelled at me to shut the hell up."

"Oh, my." Charlotte's eyebrows rose in surprise. "How awful. But that doesn't mean it has to maintain those negative connotations. Surely we can revive its original, positive designation?"

"Uh-huh." Karen answered, unconvinced. "Not to mention, you don't want to name your critter after me."

"Why do you say that?"

Charlotte had this annoying tendency to call out bullshit when most people would let such comments slide without remark. She did it so innocently that there was no denying it was a sincere question she wanted an answer to.

"Oh, I don't know," Karen said flippantly. "Best not doom her before she's even begun."

Amused, Charlotte said, "A namesake can't doom a person."

She raised a brow. "Look a little further in your book. Karen means 'pure'. I sure as hell ain't never been able to live up to that."

"Hmm..."

Charlotte wouldn't drop the topic without distraction so Karen teased, "Maybe you'll get a boy and none of these names you keep listing will matter anyhow."

Charlotte rested a hand on her stomach and smiled. "Very possible."

Her bump grew more noticeable each day. Since their preparation for this trip, her belly had expanded enough that Charlotte had to wear her blouses and skirts looser. Karen had helped her cut a high skirt to make its showing less obvious, but she was unsure if it would hold up to scrutiny.

Charlotte didn't seem to be worried if anyone discovered the pregnancy. Then again, she hadn't had the inclination to hide it in the first place. It was Arthur who was all twitchy over it.

He worried for nothing. What's the worse her family could do to her at this point? Disown her? As far as Karen could tell, Charlotte was practically disowned already. She had an independent life in place and even money to spare on two shabby drifters landing at her door. Money Charlotte continued to use on them, to purchase attire in preparation to fit in with her family.

The tailor had helped Karen pick out the latest in women's fashion—while on a budget, of course. But Karen thought she hadn't done too shabby for herself. The puffed sleeves on her emerald green blouse and the bell-shaped skirt might be a little much for her taste, but it suited her. She was even provided a matching jacket. Her favorite part of the new outfit was the brimmed hat pinned with dark plumes.

Karen viewed her visit to Chicago as a challenge. She wanted to see if she could fool those in high society into believing she was exactly like them. It would be her most ambitious role yet. Arthur could lament all he wanted, but she was taking full advantage of the experience.

The other girls would have been as deep of a green as her outfit with envy if they could see her now. Grimshaw would be spitting with resentment and Sean would hardly recognize her.

The sudden thought of Sean jolted her.

Arthur hadn't been wrong when he assumed Sean was on her mind. Her misery had been about him until her guilt over Molly shrouded nearly every waking thought. Admittedly, her talk with Arthur had helped clear that particular woe. The guilt might always be there, but it didn't eclipse her daily thoughts anymore. Sean, however...

The memory of his cocky grin seemed to pop in her mind at random. He was as annoying in her thoughts now as when he'd been alive.

Karen had mourned his death during those cold nights in Colter, where everyone had felt hopeless and downstruck every day until they eventually abandoned the mountain. They had all assumed Sean had died in Blackwater with the others, as it was the most likely scenario.

So when he'd sprung up in Horseshoe as alive, loud and flirtatious as ever, Karen had been in a state of shock. They'd celebrated his return, but she was almost unable to accept he was real. Then he'd started trilling his nonsense again and she couldn't believe she'd ever thought him gone.

When he'd died in Rhodes, she'd truly had no more grief to give. She'd seen the body when Bill had ridden in and accepted it for the second time. Well, after a bottle or two.

It was a different kind of pain in relation to her memories of Sean than their other fallen friends. He'd been her lover, but never really a friend. They'd never talked about anything important. All their time together had been casual and fun, but nothing real.

She rolled her eyes at her own melancholic mooning. That bastard would just love it if he could know how much of her thoughts were kept occupied over him.

Hours later, the train pulled into Grand Central of Chicago and it wasn't no Podunk station like she'd ever been to. First of all, when they stepped off the train, there was a goddamn roof over their head. Secondly, the floors were made of marble and columns lined the waiting area.

A gentleman in a top hat and fancy clothing met them after they retrieved their travel bags. He stopped in front of them, hands behind his back as he greeted, "The carriage awaits you, ma'am."

"Mr. Godfrey," Charlotte returned warmly. "How's Matilda?"

The driver's droopy face lifted with a smile. "She's well, ma'am."

Mr. Godfrey led them outside, to the carriage parked near the doors. Karen lifted her skirt and entered it first, impressed by the red plush of the seating. She brushed her fingers over the cloth on the other door while Charlotte and Arthur sat across from her. He shifted in the seat with a pained face, like he was the most uncomfortable bastard in the Midwest.

In contrast, Karen nearly pressed her face against the window in order to take in the sights as the carriage started to move through the city. The roads were cobbled in a similar style as the ones in Saint Denis, but the further the carriage rolled from the train station, the more she noticed just how much Chicago was not Saint Denis.

They entered a shopping district, telling by the large windows each displaying a varied arrangement of clothing, furniture, toys and even groceries. They passed tall buildings Karen had to crane her neck inside the carriage to glance the top of.

But mostly there were people. So many people.

They packed the streets, some in motion, while others loitered around the walls of buildings. Most of them strode across the roads, picking up their pace as they passed the fast-talking 'advertisers' on nearly every corner handing out pamphlets. Bicyclists, runners, small gigs with two passengers, carriages with four, and wagons and trolleys filled with more. She'd never seen such a crowded sight.

As they left the shopping district and moved into the residential neighborhood, the groups of people started to thin out and houses started to appear. With each home, the next more resplendent in their décor and larger than the one before it.

Karen had seen how the rich lived in Saint Denis, but this...

Just when she thought they'd seen the most eye-catching of them all, the carriage rolled in front of a three story building designed with the parapets and turrets of a castle.

Surprisingly, the carriage turned into the castle's drive and the gates opened for their entrance.

"Holy shit." Karen faced Charlotte. "You live in this?"

"This was my childhood home," Charlotte admitted, her eyes moving from the house to them. "I suppose, seeing it now after being away for so long, it is quite grand."

Grand? That was putting it as mildly as one could. "I knew you was from money, but I didn't know you were damn royalty."

"Karen, please." She ducked her head. "You're exaggerating."

Arthur had emerged from his moping to ask, "This what bein' a doctor buys you?"

"Not exactly." Charlotte explained, "Before he finished his doctorate, Father gained his fortune from investing in real estate with two partners. When he graduated, he sold them his share and invested in other properties of his own, including his own office downtown."

The carriage drove them directly up to the entrance, in front of an enclosed stairwell. Two manservants waiting at the bottom of the steps retrieved their bags from the carriage and retreated inside the castle.

Charlotte led her and Arthur up the steps and the doors opened on their own, another pair of servants holding them, seemingly the only job these two had to do all day. Karen wasn't supposed to be impressed with the rich. They usually pissed her off more than anything, but she was starting to not be able to help herself.

Inside, they stood in an octagonal entryway. Off to the left was a room full of books, cushioned chairs and artwork. In front of them was a great hall. Music played from somewhere in the house and all around they were surrounded by finery.

Karen struggled to take everything in and then she chanced to look up...and up and up. The height of the ceiling dazzled her. There really was too much to see, everything intricately designed and detailed. It was an overwhelming, hypnotizing vision to behold.

"Shit," she breathed in reaction. One of the doormen threw a sharp glance her way, but she was too distracted to care.

Charlotte remarked, "Odd that Mama hasn't prepared a proper welcome for us. She isn't usually so neglectful of expected guests."

Arthur said dryly, "Maybe it's 'cause she don't see us as guests, but encroachers."

Charlotte started to protest, "Mama doesn't—" She stopped and sighed. "Let me speak to the housekeeper."

Charlotte started forward, catching the attention of a woman about to climb the grand staircase in the next room. Karen and Arthur followed suit, walking side by side as neither one of them wanted to be left behind in this big house.

As they walked, Arthur leaned over to her. "I ain't no expert in etiquette as such, but in a house as big as this, I imagine they ain't gonna like your cussing dirtying up the air."

Her nose crinkled. "When did you get to be so prim?"

"It ain't that." He tilted his head the doorman's way. "Best we don't damn discretion and draw too much attention to ourselves."

Karen didn't get a chance to answer because the hall they stepped into was an area a-flutter with activity. White, flowered garland was being pinned over the grand staircase, where Charlotte had stopped. Vases bloomed with white and blue roses and lined shelves and tables alike. A set of maids dusted the area while some others carried bouquets of more flowers for decoration.

A richly dressed woman entered the hall and strode with authority across the room. All of her attention was with another servant, directing him. "Gainsley, be sure the tables set up on the lawn have the correct assignment..."

"Hello, Mama," Charlotte greeted, seeming amused.

"Ah, Charlotte, dear." The woman, Mrs. Dorsch, broke from her servant and greeted her daughter with double kisses. She held Charlotte at arm's length and said accusingly, "Something's different with you."

"Nonsense, Mama."

Mrs. Dorsch laid a hand on her daughter's cheek, studying her. "You're flushed."

Karen tensed and shared a brief glance with Arthur. Was she going to be exposed first step in the door?

But Charlotte seemed suddenly in her element, as if she'd slipped on the 'demure daughter' gown. "It's the traveling, Mama."

Her expression cleared and she tsked. "You always did have a low tolerance for long distance."

"Yes," she murmured agreeably.

Mrs. Dorsch's eyes moved to Arthur. "Mr. Callahan."

Arthur straightened and tipped his hat. "Ma'am."

Her attention went to Karen next. "And this must be the Miss Jones you've written about?"

Karen performed her best curtsy. "Indeed, madam. I'm grateful for your accommodating us this week." As Karen rose, she complimented, "May I say, the little I've seen of your home, it is incredible."

Arthur stared at her like she'd lost her mind, but Charlotte's mother was eating up the praise. "Ah, yes. Thank you. I've personally designed the décor of every room in this house."

"I don't want to assume, madam," Karen leaned in as if it were a secret. "But was that a Monet I spotted in the other room?"

Now Mrs. Dorsch's eyes sparked with true interest. "You have an eye for Impressionists, do you?"

Karen lowered her head. "I confess, it's a newly acquired taste, but yes."

Mrs. Dorsch looked towards the front door and scoffed. "The uneducated elitists around here want all of us to believe the Classics will remain in fashion forever, but Monet and Renoir are the future."

"I absolutely agree." Karen laughed freely as if a joke had been told. "They are fools for their ignorance."

"Please, Miss Jones," Mrs. Dorsch offered warmly, "Feel free to admire the rest of the collection I've acquired. They hang in the art gallery off the parlor."

"I shall do so," Karen promised, hiding her smugness that she'd already won the approval of the hostess.

"Madame?" The servant, Gainsley, who had been walking with her when they entered the hall, tapped his pocket watch.

"Ah, yes." She turned back to Charlotte. "The rooms are prepared for you, second floor as before, darling. Your father and I won't be around for dinner, but I'll visit with you tomorrow morning before the party."

Charlotte started to climb the grand staircase to the second floor, Arthur following and Karen last in line. As they ascended and left the busying bodies downstairs behind, Arthur turned to her. "What the hell was that?"

"I must say, I'm certainly impressed." Charlotte sent a curious look her way. "What's your secret?"

Karen smirked. "Mary-Beth and I had to do some reconnaissance for a safe in an art gallery a couple of years ago. I had to distract the curator. Mostly asked him a bunch of questions over the same artist. Monet. He was damned proud of this one painting and all it was, was a haystack. I remembered he said it was part of a collection. Got lucky with another being here too."

"And just like that you're one of them." Arthur shook his head. "I hope you can bullshit your way through every conversation while we're here 'cause I sure as hell ain't gonna be any help."

They reached the second floor and turned the corner to a hallway of doors. Charlotte pointed out Karen's bedroom, a door hand-painted with wildflowers.

Charlotte and Arthur moved further on down the hall and entered their own room while Karen laid a hand on the knob. Before she could enter, Ben turned the corner from the direction of the stairs and was striding her way.

Karen paused, waiting for him so she didn't look the coward by disappearing into the bedroom. Halfway down the hall, he caught sight of her and slowed his pace.

When he reached her, he cleared his throat, straightened and folded his hands behind his back. "Miss Jones."

"Ben." The formalities of this place might make her sick before they leave. She crossed her arms. "Or do you expect me to call you Lord Dorsch now?"

A rueful smile slipped over his lips. "That's not necessary."

"Listen," Karen swallowed as she remembered the bits and pieces of the night months ago when she'd last seen him. She'd made an ass of herself and he was one of the few people she did want to apologize to. "I know I embarrassed you in Annesburg. I don't remember everything, but I know I said some shi—things that were less than pleasant."

He nodded slowly.

"Well, I just, you know, wanted to apologize for it."

He nodded again.

Impatiently, she snapped, "Do you accept my apology?"

"Oh." He blinked as if he hadn't expected to have to answer. "Yes."

"Then...we're good?"

"Of course."

"Good."

This was still awkward as fuck and she hated awkward situations. She blurted, "What are you doing?"

Despite his formal attire, his jacket was wrinkled and his dark hair a slight mess, as if he'd been running a hand through it.

He winced. "Felicity—my brother's wife—asked if I'd watch over her little sisters until dinner."

She looked behind him, down the empty hallway and raised an eyebrow. "And they got away from you?"

"I didn't expect them to be..."

"Brats?"

He shrugged. "They're not ill-mannered, per se, but they are rambunctious and excited to explore the house."

She looked around. "I'm not surprised. If I was dropped off in a castle like this as a child, that's what I'd want to do." Hell, she kind of wanted to do it as an adult.

"You wouldn't want to take over for me, would you?"

"In baby-sitting?" Karen met his gaze again and scowled. "Hell no."

Disappointment rippled over his features, but he followed the expression up with a humored grin. "I don't blame you for the refusal, but it was worth the ask."

She shook her head and turned to her room again. "I'll see you at dinner, Ben."

"Hold on, Miss Jones—" When she raised a brow, he amended, "Karen. Do you have a seating partner for the party?"

Seating partner? "No."

"Would you mind...standing in as mine tonight and tomorrow during the dinner reception?"

Thinking he wanted to get out of the responsibility of babysitting, she asked mockingly, "You need protection from the little girls?"

"Yes." He shifted, him the uncomfortable one now. "Among others."

"Oooh..." Realization dawned on her and she smirked. "You need protection from the older girls?"

"Yes. If it's not too much to ask." Ben grimaced. "Mother has been dropping hints about some of the women she's invited and, well..."

"You need a substitute companion?"

"Not only that," he added swiftly. "The women mother wants me to engage with are not approachable or pleasant company. They look at me and all they see is someone who could set them up for life."

Ben would have been the perfect target for a scheme, all gullible, flustered and willing to let her, a thief, get close.

"Please." Almost as an afterthought, he tacked on, "I do also enjoy your company,"

Karen rolled her eyes, the unbidden ideas of thievery dissipating as quickly as they'd appeared. "Alright. Begging is where I draw the line. Fine. I'll be your stand-in."

He looked too relieved over her simple agreement. "And if you see a couple of little girls hiding up here—"

"I'll be sure to send them straight back to their poor Uncle Benjamin." She grinned.

"Thanks, Karen. I'll see you at dinner."

Ben gave a little wave and she entered her bedroom, only to stop in the doorway, gobsmacked.

Damn. She'd truly been living her life all wrong.

The walls and furniture were lavished in golds and blues, the walls busy with more artwork. Every surface had some sort of decorative knickknack.

The four poster bed looked more than a little tempting and she started towards it when there was a knock on the door.

She stopped and called, "Who is it?"

"Housekeeping, miss."

"Oh." Karen waited a beat before she realized she was supposed to give permission for the person on the other side to enter. "Uh, come in."

A young maid opened the door and curtsied. "Welcome to the Dorsch House, miss. My name is Madeline and I will be at your service during your stay."

"Okay."

The maid lifted from her bow and stood there, awaiting direction. Karen had no idea what to tell the girl.

The maid offered tentatively, "Would miss like a bath drawn before dinner?"

Karen glanced at the large claw-foot tub near the window. Her own bath, in her own room and her own servant.

Karen turned up a smile. "Yes, she would."

Half an hour later, with the tub filled and the maid leaving her to her privacy, Karen sighed and sunk low into the heated, fragrant water.

She closed her eyes, as relaxed as she'd ever been. She could get used to a life like this.