Josiah’s son and would be happy with the money.”
And go away.
“Oh, I’ll prove I’m his son, Miss Whittier. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. And I’ll get that estate.”
Sarah shoved the money into her reticule, snagging her glove on the teeth of a hair comb stored inside. “Is that all you care about, Mr. Cady? Getting hold of Josiah’s money?”
Her raised voice drew censorious glances from two women seated on a nearby sofa, who fell to whispering.
“I’m not the only one here who wants Josiah’s money.” His eyes were growing harder and darker by the second. “Isn’t it your plan to use the proceeds from his estate to open some art studio to display the inferior creations of self-deluded society girls?”
“My students aren’t society girls.” She yanked the ribbons of her reticule. “They’re poor immigrant women who desperately need the work I intend to provide them.”
“A charity,” he scoffed.
Sarah scowled at him. “Is there something wrong with wanting to help those less fortunate?”
“I didn’t figure you to be the type who would throw good money after bad.”
“Mr. Cady, you can’t have failed to notice all the factories in San Francisco. Their smokestacks nearly crowd the skyline in some parts of the city. In some of those factories, women labor at menial tasks, barely able to make a living. Some resort to other means to support themselves and their families.” He seemed a well-traveled man of the world; she didn’t have to fill in the details for him about what those means were. “I want better for them, or those few I can assist who have some talent for art. Anything better than a life on the street or in some filthy and dangerous factory.”
“And you believe your studio is the solution,” he replied, his tone too flat to decipher.
“I had one particular ability when I came to San Francisco. I am an artist and reasonably talented. And I know how to teach others to sketch and execute designs.”
“Such talent, ma mie. Mon trésor.”
Sarah shook off the memory and focused on Daniel, looking skeptical. “My partner, Miss Charlotte Samuelson, and I have been selecting needy girls with demonstrated skill and training them to become first-class artists. We will specialize in chromolithography and colored photographs. Actually, any customartwork someone might desire. Those less artistic will run the press and work with the customers. In addition to the lessons in technique I give, Lottie teaches them grammar and arithmetic, if they’re not already proficient.”
“Setting up a business is an expensive proposition, Miss Whittier.”
“I do have financial supporters who believe in my cause.” She realized her mistake the instant his gaze flickered.
Daniel leaned into the padded back of the lounge room chair. “Doesn’t seem to me like you need Josiah’s inheritance, then. Seems like you’ve got matters under control.”
Sarah balled her hands into fists, the fine crochet stitching of her gloves preventing her fingernails from digging into her skin. He was a dreadful man. Arrogant. Selfish. Smug. He would never be generous with her or the girls. She felt lost and she hated it.
“What are
your
intentions for Josiah’s estate?” The two women seated near them rose and huffed off, likely tired of listening to her argue with Daniel. “As the grandson of a railroad tycoon, perhaps you’ve discovered a pressing need to build a mansion or purchase a yacht. Or perhaps to impress an heiress?”
He didn’t even flinch in response to her sarcasm. “I think I already explained I’m not the tycoon. But if you must know, I intend to start an import business and build a decent house for my two sisters with the money. We’ve been living in a cramped three-room apartment for too long and they deserve better.”
Her pulse was thrumming so intensely in her head it began to ache. She could just imagine what sort of house the grandson of a railroad tycoon thought
And go away.
“Oh, I’ll prove I’m his son, Miss Whittier. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. And I’ll get that estate.”
Sarah shoved the money into her reticule, snagging her glove on the teeth of a hair comb stored inside. “Is that all you care about, Mr. Cady? Getting hold of Josiah’s money?”
Her raised voice drew censorious glances from two women seated on a nearby sofa, who fell to whispering.
“I’m not the only one here who wants Josiah’s money.” His eyes were growing harder and darker by the second. “Isn’t it your plan to use the proceeds from his estate to open some art studio to display the inferior creations of self-deluded society girls?”
“My students aren’t society girls.” She yanked the ribbons of her reticule. “They’re poor immigrant women who desperately need the work I intend to provide them.”
“A charity,” he scoffed.
Sarah scowled at him. “Is there something wrong with wanting to help those less fortunate?”
“I didn’t figure you to be the type who would throw good money after bad.”
“Mr. Cady, you can’t have failed to notice all the factories in San Francisco. Their smokestacks nearly crowd the skyline in some parts of the city. In some of those factories, women labor at menial tasks, barely able to make a living. Some resort to other means to support themselves and their families.” He seemed a well-traveled man of the world; she didn’t have to fill in the details for him about what those means were. “I want better for them, or those few I can assist who have some talent for art. Anything better than a life on the street or in some filthy and dangerous factory.”
“And you believe your studio is the solution,” he replied, his tone too flat to decipher.
“I had one particular ability when I came to San Francisco. I am an artist and reasonably talented. And I know how to teach others to sketch and execute designs.”
“Such talent, ma mie. Mon trésor.”
Sarah shook off the memory and focused on Daniel, looking skeptical. “My partner, Miss Charlotte Samuelson, and I have been selecting needy girls with demonstrated skill and training them to become first-class artists. We will specialize in chromolithography and colored photographs. Actually, any customartwork someone might desire. Those less artistic will run the press and work with the customers. In addition to the lessons in technique I give, Lottie teaches them grammar and arithmetic, if they’re not already proficient.”
“Setting up a business is an expensive proposition, Miss Whittier.”
“I do have financial supporters who believe in my cause.” She realized her mistake the instant his gaze flickered.
Daniel leaned into the padded back of the lounge room chair. “Doesn’t seem to me like you need Josiah’s inheritance, then. Seems like you’ve got matters under control.”
Sarah balled her hands into fists, the fine crochet stitching of her gloves preventing her fingernails from digging into her skin. He was a dreadful man. Arrogant. Selfish. Smug. He would never be generous with her or the girls. She felt lost and she hated it.
“What are
your
intentions for Josiah’s estate?” The two women seated near them rose and huffed off, likely tired of listening to her argue with Daniel. “As the grandson of a railroad tycoon, perhaps you’ve discovered a pressing need to build a mansion or purchase a yacht. Or perhaps to impress an heiress?”
He didn’t even flinch in response to her sarcasm. “I think I already explained I’m not the tycoon. But if you must know, I intend to start an import business and build a decent house for my two sisters with the money. We’ve been living in a cramped three-room apartment for too long and they deserve better.”
Her pulse was thrumming so intensely in her head it began to ache. She could just imagine what sort of house the grandson of a railroad tycoon thought
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