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“My jewels.” Amalia tightened her grip on her saucer so it wouldn’t clink. Ugh. Why did she marry him in the first place again? Stupid war, stupid constantly shifting expectations. Stupid desperation. “You gave them to me as a gift.”
Though some people opined that one—well, she—should get rid of presents from former husbands, gifts were gifts. Why would anyone throw away or sell gifts? She touched her ears.
The diamonds’ gradual dropped shape made her neck look longer. Use jewelry to catch the eye and draw it to your most attractive features. Sound advice. Succinct too. Verbose, ha. She refolded her hands.
Amalia opened her mouth to make a polite inquiry about his wife’s condition, when David interrupted her. “Did Amalia require a lot of expenses while you were married?”
Her teacup clattered. What did David mean by that? Or more, what did her spending habits have to do with anything?
Ethan frowned and glanced at the ceiling for a moment. “No? I don’t believe so. Not that I noticed. I don’t do the books, but no one said anything. She seemed to purchase the normal amount of women’s things. She just talked about them more than anyone else—nonstop chatter. It’s surprising she had time to spend any money at all.”
David coughed, loud enough that Ethan’s mother’s cuckoo clocks rattled on the wall. It was a wonder the little farmers didn’t pop out and scold her like she always imagined they did during the few prior visits she’d made to the house. Especially when she bumped over that vase. Or the decanter. Or the figurine.
“I made excellent conversation and have excellent taste. People seek out my advice on those topics.” Amalia gripped her own fingers so tight they were probably turning blue beneath her gloves. This was not how the meeting was supposed to progress. She needed to get things back on topic. She lifted her chin to Ethan. “How is business?”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “We’re expanding. We recently purchased a small stake in the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe.”
Amalia near licked her lips. Now that was promising. Especially if President Grant got his way and Colorado became a state. Then Ethan could certainly afford a donation.
“Has it turned a profit yet?” she asked.
“I believe so.” Ethan narrowed his eyes a little. “Why do you care?”
“Just making conversation” She fiddled her fingers, glancing at the coffered ceiling. How did she approach this?
“No, you’re hinting at something.” Ethan’s tone transformed from suspicious to what could only be described as annoyed elder brother, as that’s what he basically was to her at this point. “What do you want, Amalia?”
Her cheeks heated. Caught.
“Are you sure you don’t have any animosity towards her?” David must have missed the twinkle in Ethan’s eye, because his voice dropped into that low, threatening range that made her shiver. In more ways than one. Ugh. She was a complete loon.
“Who is he again?” Her former husband pointed a thumb at her companion. “He isn’t your lover, is he?”
Fire, her face was on fire and Ethan was enjoying every minute of it. He’d better make a humongous contribution now.
She flipped her curls with the back of her hand. “When have I ever had a ‘lover’? How long do you fancy one would last with Thad and my father skulking around? My new nephew wouldn’t be the only one having something in his nether regions cut.”
“They’d do it publicly? Is this an invitation?” Ethan’s lips quivered as he worked not to smile.
“You’re absolutely terrible.” She attempted to make her expression offended but failed and dissolved into giggles, in which Ethan, not David joined her. Though his lip might have twitched. Maybe.
Finally, after her ribs were thoroughly bruised—blasted boning—she was able to speak again. She inclined her neck towards him. “He’s a friend of Thad’s.” She twisted her closest curl over and over, unable to even glance at David. “A Pinkerton. Head of the Philadelphia office.”
Both of David’s eyebrows shot up. Fine, half-truth, but he was going to get the promotion and “soon-to-be head,” was a bit of a mouthful and didn’t have the same impact. Certainly, there was no Talmudic prohibition against shading for expediency.
Ethan scooted forward in his chair and blinked, all attention on David. “A Pinkerton? Really? I’ve never met one of you in real life.” A lock of light brown hair fell in his eyes, giving him an almost boyish, gleeful, appearance. “Where do you carry your pistol?” Ethan shifted so his elbows lay on his lap and his hands created a resting place for his chin.
The wheels in her former husband’s mind were turning. Winding in their most natural direction—back to mischief. Amusing, but she was running out of time to ask for what she needed.
Amalia held up a finger. “I—”
“How big is it?” Ethan skidded his chair forward, a sly glint in his eye.
“Ethan.” She shook her head. “Mr. Zisskind is not showing you his pistol.” The words echoed in her ears—Oh. My. God. Her face burned. Maybe David wouldn’t notice the double meaning, since his humor had disappeared.
No such luck.
“I can assure you, it’s an impressive size, but there is no need to reveal anything so we can measure. At least not here.” David even kept a straight face through the entire line.
