Page 8 of The Gilded Heiress

Leo

For three hours the next morning, I sat in the front row and watched the stage. Lotta was leading Josie through some tips

on performing. Where to stand, how to best project her voice. Where the lights should be positioned. Never had I dreamed any

of this was so complicated.

Maybe because I know nothing about singing or acting.

True, but I was fixing to learn a whole lot in the next few weeks. I had no choice. This plan had to work.

Goddamn, but Josie was beautiful up there. More than that, though, Lotta’s advice had poured confidence into my little fake

heiress. It was like watching a flower bloom under the sun. She stood taller, stared at the audience as if she owned it. New

York would have to take notice of her now.

Earlier, I went to a friend’s newspaper office to do some light digging. Turned out the Pendeltons still lived in their big

Fifth Avenue mansion, the same one my father toiled at for years. Mrs. Pendelton was notoriously reclusive since the disappearance

of her daughter, but Mr. Pendelton remained a public figure, keeping up with his business interests. There hadn’t been any

more children, and the reward was still unclaimed.

All that money sitting there, just waiting for me.

I didn’t feel bad, not in the least. Once we succeeded, Josie would live as Joséphine Pendelton, one of the richest young

women in the world. At which point she could build her own theater in the middle of Central Park, if she wished. We’d both

be living easy.

Lotta began fussing with Josie’s skirts. “Leo?” the star called, shielding her eyes to stare into the seats. “Where are you?”

“Here,” I called.

“Wrong. What that means is you are supposed to be here.” She pointed at her side. “And hurry.”

I smothered a smile at her bossiness. I liked women who weren’t afraid to speak their own minds. A result of having five sisters,

I supposed.

I bounded up the steps and strode across the stage. “Yes, Miss Crabtree?”

“What are you doing about her wardrobe?” Lotta swept her hand to indicate Josie’s drab brown dress. “This won’t do.”

“We’ll have some dresses made, of course.” I said it with conviction, as if I’d been planning this all along.

“Don’t forget handbags and shoes,” Lotta said, walking a circle around Josie. “That is the mark of whether a woman has herself

put together. There’s no fibbing with a handbag or shoes. And please, for god’s sake, no brown.”

“I like this dress!” Josie stared down at herself. “It’s only been mended twice.”

“Yes, love. And it’s the color of Boylston at three in the afternoon after the horses come through.”

“Shit brown. Is that what you’re saying?” Josie’s shoulders tightened like she might be ready to argue.

I decided to smooth things over. “It doesn’t do much for your skin tone. Brighter colors would be better. Right, Lotta?”

“Exactly.” Lotta patted my shoulder. “He knows clothes, Josie. You should listen to him.”

Yes, I knew clothes. Except I didn’t know who was paying for Josie’s new clothes. My mother made all my clothes, but I couldn’t ask her to sew for Josie, too. She already had enough

to do every day.

Josie dragged her gaze over my cream-colored suit. I didn’t miss how her gaze lingered on my shoulders and chest, either. Was that... interest? I stood a bit taller as an unexpected heat sparked in my belly.

“He dresses nicely,” Josie said. “But that color is as bland as day-old bread.”

Lotta wrapped an arm around Josie’s shoulders and they both faced me. “Darling, when a man looks like this”—she gestured to

my face—“he could wear a flour sack and have women swooning. And we are not discussing men. We’re discussing you, a woman.

For good or bad, we’re held to a different standard.”

“That’s not entirely true,” I protested. In my experience, no one trusted a stranger in shabby clothing.

“Quiet,” Lotta told me. “Women are talking.”

Josie folded her arms across her chest, a stubborn tilt to her chin. “Next you’ll tell me I need a better corset to lift my

bosom higher and fancy French lingerie.”

Lotta snapped her fingers in my direction. “Leo, darling.”

I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Got it.” Jesus, this was going to cost me a fortune—and we hadn’t even reached New York

yet.

“New Yorkers are a cut above, darling,” Lotta was saying to Josie. “You want to impress them, not elicit their pity.”

“I thought my voice was going to impress them.” Josie’s gaze narrowed as it darted between Lotta and me. “Or are you both

lying to me? In cahoots in some kind of swindle?”

That hit a little too close to home, so I did my best to appear outraged. “Josie!”

Lotta merely laughed. “What on earth would I swindle you for? The motes of dust under your bed? Honey, I’m leaving for San

Francisco tomorrow. There’s a theater with my name over the marquee. Still, it’s good to remain suspicious of those who offer

up good deeds. Don’t forget it.”

I purposely kept my expression clear of any guilt.

“Josie, go to my dressing room and I’ll have some tea sent in. Relax for a spell. I want to bend Leo’s ear a bit.”

Josie looked between me and Lotta, clearly torn between staying and obeying this woman who’d done so much for her. I nodded

once. “It’s all right. Just a few minutes, then I’ll come find you.”

“Bobby!” Lotta called into thin air. “Tea to my dressing room for Miss Smith!”

“You got it, Lotta,” a disembodied voice shouted back.

Josie walked off the stage and disappeared into the wings. Lotta took my arm. “Let’s sit. My feet are killing me.”

I led her to the chairs in the audience and got her settled. Then I sat next to her. “Thank you again for this.”

Lotta waved away the gratitude. “I’m doing this for her, not for you. And I’m happy to help. She’s a real diamond in the rough.

It’s nice to see that genuine talent still exists out there.”

“She’ll take Broadway by storm.”

“No doubt, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I angled toward her and crossed my legs. “Let me guess. Another warning.”

“I doubted you once, so I won’t do it again without cause. But I will say this: do not fuck her.”

I hadn’t expected such a thing to come out of her mouth, so I couldn’t hide my surprise. A denial sprang to my lips. “You

don’t need—”

“You heard me,” she interrupted. “I can see it brewing, and you’re about to spend a lot of time together. Don’t do it, Leo.”

“I have no intention of letting things turn in that direction.”

“A fancy way of avoiding a promise.” She sighed and pursed her lips. “She’s young and vulnerable. Relying on you to keep your

word and help her achieve her dreams. Let her stand on her own. Don’t play on her inexperience to get under her skirts and

manipulate her.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, I’ll know. Somehow I’ll know and I’ll return from San Francisco to make your life a living hell. That is my promise to you.”

I believed it. “Understood.”

“Good.” She reached into her bodice and took out a small card. Passing the card to me, she said, “Here. This is the man to

see in New York. We go way back. He’ll give her a fair shake. And it’ll keep you away from the confidence men and mashers

that prey on those unfamiliar with how Broadway works.”

There was a name and an address embossed on the front. “Is this a producer?”

“Melvin is a bit more than that, but you’ll see. Tell him I sent you.”

“Will he believe me?”

She made a motion with her finger and I flipped the card over. Lotta had jotted a note on the back. “He will when he sees

that.”

“Thank you, Lotta. This is more than either of us could’ve dreamed.”

“Again, I’m doing this for her. You have a girl?”

I was having trouble keeping up. “A girl? No.”

“A friend you meet to let off steam now and then?”

Ah. We were back to this. “Occasionally.”

“See her before you leave for New York. Get it all out of your system. Then take Josie to Broadway and focus on her career—and

only on her career. Are we clear?”

This was the strangest conversation I’d ever had. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, go and see her home. I’m sure she’s exhausted.”

I rose and held out my hand toward Lotta. She didn’t take it, so I let my arm drop. “Are you coming?”

“No,” she said. “Goodbyes aren’t my speciality. Tell her I said good luck and I’ll be watching for any notice of her.”

“I will. Safe travels, Lotta. And thanks again.”

She waved me off. “I just told you goodbyes aren’t my thing. Get lost, Leo.”

Unable to help myself, I grabbed her hand where it rested on the armrest and brought it to my lips. “Until later, then.” I

kissed her knuckles and released her hand. Then I turned and walked backstage.

I didn’t bother knocking on Lotta’s door before going in. Josie was reclined on the divan in the corner, sipping tea. She

already looked the part of a Broadway star. Or wealthy heiress. “Shall we go?”

“Where’s Lotta?”

“She stayed behind to rehearse. Though she did say to tell you good luck and she’ll be looking for notice of you in the newspapers.”

“Oh.” Josie’s eyes flashed with something—Annoyance? Hurt?—before she set the cup on the saucer and rose. “That’s that, then.

It was nice while it lasted.”

I held the door open for her. The scent of vanilla teased the air as she went by. “What was nice?”

“Feeling like I made a new friend.”

I trailed her along the corridor, wondering over her dour attitude when the day had been so positive. “Josie, the two of you

are still friends. She said goodbyes aren’t her speciality.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. She travels a considerable amount.”

“Yes, which means it’s not about you. Don’t be so quick to write off other people.”

She frowned at me, the lines of her brow deepening. “Maybe that’s how you navigate the world. But I learned a long time ago

it’s easier to let people go first rather than to try to hold on. You get hurt less that way.”