In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

After Momma Clara was killed, Giselle had come and taken all three girls back east to live with her. Iris had stayed with her other grandparents in Port Breakwater a lot, but Bethany and Jeanne had lived with Gran in a modest house in Copper City.

Gran had supported them easily with the profits from her gemstone business until the clique war between the Jones and Smiths destroyed her livelihood. Michael St. Vyr had removed his family when he heard about the trouble, but it had taken him a week to get to Copper City using the train. Remembering the fate of the Jones women who had been on the losing side, Bethany understood clearly that the only thing standing between her family and destitution was the Golden Tricorn and the Lucky Strike Bluestone mine. She was determined to hold onto them for herself, her sisters and Gran.

When her father had explained his plan to her, she had agreed. If I am going to sell myself to save my family, she had thought grimly, it won’t be for a few paltry chips of copper. At least I’ll be a married woman so no one will call me a whore the way they did poor Priscilla Jones.

Her father had promised her he would try to find her the best man he could, but he had explained that the kind of man who could lead the firefight to rid themselves of the threat the Johnsons posed, might not be cultured or refined.

The dinner bell chimed. Bethany opened the door to find Margo’s son Paco waiting in the hall.

"You look muy bueno, senorita!" he exclaimed.

Bethany laughed. Paco's juvenile admiration was soothing to her nerves. "How come you're not at dinner?" she asked.

He skipped ahead of her down the stairs. "Mama said to come and tell you how you look, so you feel better," he chortled, and ducked into the hallway leading to the kitchen before Bethany could catch him.

Despite Margo's superb food, dinner was not a success. Margo preferred for her and Paco to eat in the kitchen, so only Giselle, Iris, Bethany, St. Vyr, Henry and McCaffey sat down at the dining room table.

Jeanne came in halfway through dinner and made herself disagreeable to her father to divert St. Vyr from delivering a scold or asking where she had been. She had disobeyed him and ridden out alone again. Her father recognized the tactics; Clara, Jeanne’s mother had often done the same for similar reasons. Giselle and Iris fled the dining room as soon as dinner was over. Giselle claiming the privilege of old age to retire early, and Iris to help Margo clean up in the kitchen.

Bethany was glad to escape to the parlor after dinner, Margo having told her not to help to clear the table tonight. She was annoyed with her youngest sister for making a difficult situation harder. So when she saw Jeanne sneaking off up the stairs, she called after her. "You had better get Margo to help you get those grass stains off your blouse, if you plan to wear it again."

Jeanne frowned at her, trying to look at her back over her shoulder. "What grass stains?" she demanded.

"You can't see them, dear," said Bethany sweetly. "They are in the back."

Jeanne opened her mouth to retaliate when she heard her father coming out of the dining room. With a gasp, she fled upstairs. Bethany stalked into the parlor and sat down in a chair with a thump.

When Paco brought in the tea tray, she gestured to him to set it on the low table in front of her. "Bed for you, young man," she said. Paco gave her a hug before he left.

McCaffey sat his cup down on the table with a decided click. "St. Vyr, I think your daughter and I need to talk. Will you excuse us?"

"Now, see here," St. Vyr blustered, "it's hardly proper—"

"Papa," Bethany interrupted him peremptorily, and added a short sentence in French.

Michael opened his mouth and shut it again. There were things a man just didn't say to his female offspring, no matter what the provocation. "I'll be in the den," he announced, just as if that was what he had planned to say all along.

McCaffey, who had learned French in Madame Tussaud's House of Pleasure in the French quarter of Azure City eyed Bethany in astonishment. Surely, he hadn't heard his ladylike bride say what he had thought he'd heard.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

Bethany eyed him speculatively. Papa had promised he would not force her to marry a man she found repulsive and so far, she had found nothing in McCaffey to dislike. It was time for another test. Composedly, she said, "I told him that unless he planned to lie between us in the marriage bed, he would have to leave us alone sooner or later."

McCaffey choked on a mouthful of tea and had a coughing fit.

Eyes watering, he looked at her. "Your father said you would be truthful to a fault. I see now what he meant!"

"Truth is always preferable," Bethany said. "If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember later what lie you told."

McCaffey came over and sat down opposite her in a comfortable wing chair. "Since you prefer the truth, you may as well know I told your father I will not marry a woman who is being forced to marry me."

Bethany was taken aback. It had not occurred to her that a man who hired out his gun would have scruples about marrying her. Something inside her that had been tense uncoiled at that moment. McCaffey's attitude was something she recognized—she had seen it in her father.

"But you are a Romantic!" she exclaimed. "How extraordinary!"

"Don't be a damn fool!" snapped McCaffey, annoyed. "I've seen enough marriages to know it is rough enough when both parties want to get married. Marrying a woman who has been forced into it is a recipe for disaster."

"No, you are right, of course," Bethany said.