A Most Unusual Match. Sara Mitchell

Edgar Fane.

      “I asked Simpson to find out everything he could about you,” Edgar next informed Thea without a shred of remorse. “I have to be careful, I’m afraid. Women can be fortune hunters, the same as men. Can’t they, Mrs. Gorman?”

      “As you can see, Edgar loves to torment, and call it teasing,” Cynthia said. With her long narrow face, worldly green eyes and golden hair, she reminded Thea of a beautiful but restless lioness. “I understand your fiancé is a British earl. Lovely engagement ring—antique, is it? I adore jewelry. We can talk about your fiancé and jewelry if you like, Miss Pickford. Or the charms of a season at Saratoga. Edgar of course will want to confine the conversation to himself. But whatever you do, please refrain from asking about his paintings.”

      “Paintings? I’ve heard he enjoys working with oils and watercolors. Why wouldn’t I ask about them?” Thea returned, artfully lifting one eyebrow.

      “Dearest Cynthia, is your nose still out of joint?” Edgar sat down on Thea’s other side, and without a word the waiters began to serve crystal compotes full of fresh peaches, strawberries and grapes. “She wanted my latest work of art, but I gave it to a lonely old gentleman who owns a couple of quaint old bookstores in Baltimore. He was most appreciative.”

      “So appreciative he checked out of his room at the United States Hotel the next day,” a round-cheeked man with a spade-shaped beard chimed in. “Last I heard, he was planning to auction your landscape to the highest bidder, to avoid the bank foreclosing on his stores.”

      “What must he be thinking?” Edgar popped a strawberry in his mouth and chewed it with unselfconscious enthusiasm. “I’m no Rembrandt. But if someone’s foolish enough to spend their well-earned dollars on dabbling I give away for free, I’ll not put a crimp in their style.”

      Everyone laughed, and as the rhythm of the courses moved in watchlike precision from fruit to oysters on a bed of crushed ice, to a delicate clear soup, Thea’s nerves settled into quiet determination. Mrs. Gorman spent several moments deliberately prying, but when Thea remained charming but vague the other woman turned to the man seated on her right. Conversations swirled over and around them; Edgar Fane, she discovered reluctantly, made for a thoughtful, entertaining host. By the time the fish was served—and she laughed with everyone else when the waiter presented her with an exquisitely prepared filet of sole—Thea was almost enjoying herself. The vertigo remained in abeyance, and beneath the table her knees had finally quit shaking.

      But she had not forgotten her mission.

      Find a weakness. Find evidence. Expose Edgar Fane as a liar and a thief.

      “Is Saratoga Springs your favorite destination for the summer season?” she asked Mr. Fane during a conversational lull.

      “Certainly has been a wise choice this year,” he replied, smiling at her. “When I heard the prim-mouthed do-gooders had failed in their attempts to keep the Casino closed, I decided to signal my support by spending the season here at Saratoga. I’ve rented a cottage a few blocks away. When not entertaining friends there, I invite them to superlative suppers here at the Casino, to help Mr. Canfield keep his coffers full.” Something in the way he studied Thea set warning bells to clanging. “A lot of my friends enjoy the game room upstairs. In fact, several acquaintances have won and lost considerable fortunes. You look disapproving. Tell me your opinion toward gambling, Miss Pickford. Is it a tool of evil, or the engine that keeps not only Canfield Casino but this little community from sinking into oblivion?”