Page 36 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Not even the cold could diminish the joy of being courted.

At least, that’s what Olive told herself as she shivered before the small mirror in the apartment bathroom, coaxing her hair into a pompadour with chilled fingers. She fumbled with another pin, then jabbed it into place. It would suffice for afternoon lessons.

She leaned back and regarded her reflection, tilting her head this way and that. Something was different. More color, perhaps. A budding fullness, thanks to the extra meals she’d had as of late. But that wasn’t quite it. There was a vividness to her features she’d never seen before.

Perhaps it was love.

She shivered again, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

It was foolish, maybe even reckless, to fall in love with someone like Emil.

He was so different from her in nearly every way.

And yet, those differences had lit something dormant within her.

His boldness drew out her hidden strengths; his relentless energy stirred her into motion.

Since he’d entered her life, she’d dared things she would’ve once avoided.

She’d faced down fears she used to sidestep.

His gentle nudges—and unapologetic shoves—had changed her for the better.

It could be love.

She scrunched her nose at her reflection.

It was only true love if it was reciprocated.

And she wasn’t quite sure how Emil felt.

Sure, he enjoyed being with her. He’d introduced her to his family.

He was courting her. He’d been intimate with her.

But many people married without love. Perhaps he thought they would be one of those couples.

Besides, what did she offer him that other women did not?

How did she change him for the better? She didn’t know.

What if she d—she gave her head a shake.

No, no. She would not mar her happiness with unfounded worries.

She withdrew a wool sweater from the dressing cabinet and buttoned it over her shirtwaist. She let out a sigh of pleasure.

There. Already warmer. She put away her hairbrush and unused pins, then walked into the main area of the apartment.

Anna stood in the kitchenette, dressing a leg of lamb.

She looked up at Olive’s entrance with a radiant smile.

“I can’t believe it,” she said for the third time that day. “All the trappings for a roast. Mr. Anderson is very generous.”

“He really is.” The package, the second that week, had arrived in the early morning. Like the ones before, it contained hearty meat, delicious produce, and a fragrant herb or two. Today’s package, however, included something special. “Robbie will be thrilled when he sees the Cracker Jack.”

“It’s so good of him to think of our boy.”

It was more than good; it was a godsend.

Once again, Emil had seen a problem and simply taken action to change it.

It was an admirable trait, especially when done without attaching expectation or remuneration.

In fact, he’d refused her mother’s offer of a lace doily.

Told her she could wait until his birthday to repay the favor.

But the best part of the package was always the note addressed to her.

It was hers alone. A bit of Emil she could keep in her pocket as she went about her day.

A little reminder that he thought she was special.

That she was worth all the fuss. She unfolded today’s note and read it for the dozenth time.

Come to the houseboat when you finish your classes? I’ve almost cracked the case, but I need your help. Ever yours, Emil.

“Is Mr. Anderson scribbling sweet nothings?” her mother teased.

She huffed out a laugh and quickly tucked it into her skirt pocket. “Something like that.”

Anna was more lenient toward her relationship with Emil than most mothers would be.

Their awkward housing situation made it difficult for Emil to call on her properly, and it wasn’t as if Anna could escort Olive somewhere herself.

But there was no need to burden her mother with the knowledge that her daughter was once again visiting an unchaperoned houseboat where—hopefully—all sorts of delightful improprieties would occur.

Far better to let her believe Emil was being met in proper, public places.

“He wants to meet after I finish at the Robinsons’ this evening and talk about the case.”

Anna’s hands paused above the lamb, her brow furrowing. “I’d already put that awful thing out of mind.”

“As you should.” Olive sat on the bench by the door and pulled on her boots. It was a bit ungainly lacing them up with only one good arm, but she wasn’t in a hurry. “I told you Emil is investigating the man who hired him. He won’t let anything happen to us.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Anna fretted. “I wish I were a better mother to you. I wish I could do more. Be more.”

“Mama, stop. I won’t hear another word.” She rose from the bench and put her hands on Anna’s shoulders, gazing deep into her eyes. “You’re a wonderful, loving mother, and you’re doing everything you can. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

As the words left Olive’s mouth, it struck her how similar they were.

And if she wasn’t allowed to indulge in doubts today, then neither was her mother.

Self-reproach was such an easy trap; too familiar and too well-worn.

But things were shifting. She was shifting.

Bit by bit, she was beginning to believe in herself.

If she could pass even a bit of that confidence to her mother, she would gladly do it.

Anna swallowed noisily. “How determined you are.”

“I’m trying,” she allowed. “We can both try.”

“We can. We will.”

She swept her slight mother into a hug. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, sweet child.” She leaned back and gently nudged Olive toward the door. “Go on, now. You don’t want to be late for your lessons.”

“Leave some lamb in the oven for me?”

“Of course. And please thank Mr. Anderson for me.”

“I will.” She pulled on her coat and looped Emil’s scarf snugly around her neck. As she opened the door, she nearly yelped.

Mrs. Drake stood directly on the threshold, so close that Olive had to step back to avoid colliding with her.

The dragon jolted upright, as if she hadn't expected the door to open. A brief flash of alarm crossed her face before it was replaced by her usual sneer. Olive’s indignation rose like a tide, stiffening her spine.

Was the woman eavesdropping on them now?

She swallowed the sharp retort burning on her tongue and instead met Mrs. Drake’s eyes.

That she could do so without flinching was a small victory in and of itself.

“May I help you?”

Mrs. Drake bristled at her coolness. “You’ve been receiving a lot of packages.”

Olive waited, but Mrs. Drake seemed to think the statement warranted a reply. “We have received a few, yes.”

“Must have come into a tidy source of money, if one can send out for packages.”

Ice prickled over Olive’s skin. It hadn’t occurred to her that a package would draw the landlord’s opinion, but it should have.

Mrs. Drake was no ordinary landlord. She was a greedy, mean-spirited dragon.

In hindsight, it made perfect sense that she’d be monitoring anything going in or out of her building.

Especially anything of monetary value she could get her claws on.

“They’re gifts from a friend.”

“A friend?” Mrs. Drake’s gaze grew talon-sharp. “Or that man who came here the other day?”

Olive’s stomach sank. They were being spied on.

A man as handsome as Emil would be noticed anywhere, but in this building?

His coat buttons had probably been assessed for their worth the moment he’d set foot in the door.

She tilted her chin as she debated her answer, and as she did so, she caught sight of her mother inside the apartment.

Already wringing her hands together. Already cowering. Already tearful.

Could her mother not have one day where she was optimistic about the world? Their future? Why did Mrs. Drake have to snatch it away with no regard for anyone other than herself?

“A friend,” she insisted, refusing to back down. “Will that be all?”

“I’ve got my eye on you, Miss Becket. Best make sure you don’t behave untowardly in my respectable home.”

“I haven’t the time, the energy, or the money—” she said meaningfully “—to manage anything untoward. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have errands to run.”

Mrs. Drake sniffed, then moved down the hall toward the staircase leading to her apartment. Olive waited until she was gone before giving her mother an incredulous look.

“Insufferable,” she whispered.

Anna nodded miserably. “Be careful, Olive.”

“I will, Mama.”

She had no choice. Courted or not, she wasn’t yet a wife. And that left her vulnerable. Charm and generosity aside, Emil couldn’t shield her from everything. There were still too many risks, too many fragile threads holding her family’s future together. One wrong move could unravel it all.

Still, for all the uncertainty, there was one small comfort. Today, she had a lead to follow. She hurried down the steps, eager to see what Emil had discovered about Leland Wingate.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Come in, come in.”

Olive stepped over the threshold of the Anderson floating home, staring at Emil with some surprise.

He was utterly disheveled—wrinkled clothing, floppy hair, and at least two days’ growth of beard.

He leaned in to give her cheek a distracted kiss, then turned and exited without another word.

Brows raising, she took off her hat and gloves, unwound her scarf, and hung her coat on a row of pegs beside the door.