Glamorous Illusions
fine young woman, inside and out.”
    She met his gaze then, finally swallowing. A blush rose at her jawline—from what? His endearment? Or because he had given her a compliment? Soon afterward, she sent away her plate, apparently too upset to eat any more while Wallace finished every bite. It surprised him, knowing how little she’d had growing up. And now she pushed away a free meal? Well he remembered the days when he was lucky to get a full meal on his plate.

    ~Cora~
    There was so much I wanted to ask him. About my mother. About their relationship. About his other family, his children. About what it was like when he first got to Montana, in the territorial days. About his stint as a US senator. But it all swirled around my head so fast that I couldn’t grab hold of one strand long enough to pull it from the ball.
    Thoughts of Mama and Papa made me feel even more dizzy. Would I ever see Papa again? That thought weighed upon me more than any other. He’d looked so frail, his eyes sunken into his head, that it still sent a chill down my spine. Yet Mama had insisted this was God’s provision.
    God’s provision? I scoffed at the thought. How could this pompous man across from me be sent by God?
    â€œYou’re undoubtedly curious about the tour,” he said as the train neared Butte’s station later that evening.
    I blinked twice, thinking I’d like to know more about it, yes, but there were a hundred other things—
    â€œWe’ll stay here in Butte for a bit. Tomorrow morning, you shall be seen by the family physician. Then your maid, Anna, will see to your wardrobe.”
    I glanced down at my plain brown dress. I supposed I did appear as one of his lesser servants. But a physician? “I’m not ill.”
    â€œYes, well, the bear—the guide for your Grand Tour—insists that all who are to come have a thorough examination.” He waved me off, as if that was all he could say about such an indelicate subject. “Tonight, I must see to business. We shall dine together tomorrow evening, giving us time to become…acquainted. Then we shall board another train and head north. We’ll take a week upon the lake before the tour party departs.”
    â€œSo soon?” I managed to say.
    â€œI believe it will be exactly right. Long enough for you young people to get to know one another, but not long enough for things to”—he paused, seeming uncomfortable—“come to a boiling point.”
    I eyed him quickly. “Distraction is key,” he said. “And you all shall have constant distraction on the Grand Tour—your minds occupied by the travel itself, by art, culture, language—so you do not dwindle into lesser conversations.”
    Lesser conversations. Such as my parentage. The thought of it made me blush furiously. Why, oh why, had my mother never told me? Given me the opportunity to prepare for this day?
    Our train was pulling into the station now. Mr. Kensington—my father , I reminded myself, though I highly doubted I would ever be able to call him Father —was still speaking of our itinerary. “… trains to New York and then embark on a steamship for the week’s crossing. And there,” he said, pausing, blue eyes twinkling, “the adventure truly begins, does it not?”
    I paused. “Somehow, I believe it already has, Mr. Kensington.”
    He raised his head and regarded me for a long moment then. “Indeed, it has.”

    It was ingenious, really. Sneaking me into town while the family was away. Mr. Kensington was greeted left and right, but apparently by mere acquaintances, no one important enough to introduce me to, regardless of their lingering glances. Or was it the other way around? That I wasn’t important enough to introduce? I burned with curiosity—how did he intend to explain my presence to the world?
    He seemed to be in a hurry. To get to his office? Or to squire

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