small glass of good Kentucky bourbon was indeed just what the nervous major needed. Soon he was engaged in polite conversation, relaxing a bit, and eager to get the beautiful silk-gowned Martay alone for the ride up into the foothills of the Rockies.
Half an hour later the handsome pair had said their good-nights and were headed for the front door. While they stood in the foyer with Lawrence carefully draping Martay’s delicate lace shawl about her bare shoulders, General Kidd startled them both.
He came charging toward them, his face strangely set, his green eyes almost wild. “Child,” he said, his voice rough, and he grabbed Martay and hugged her, crushing her to his broad chest.
“Daddy,” she said, feeling the trembling of his big solid body, “what is it?”
Patting her slender back and giving her one last squeeze, he said, “Nothing, sweetheart. I just wanted to hold my baby girl one last time.” He released her, setting her back.
Her hands still clutching his ribs, she smiled up at him. “Don’t be silly. You may hug me whenever you please.”
“I know,” he said, “I am being silly.”
But after he had bid them good-night and the carriage had rolled away down the avenue, and he had ordered the two mounted horseman, “Don’t let her out of your sight tonight,” and had returned reluctantly to the veranda, he stood there alone in the gathering dusk, again wondering how long his lovely daughter would remain as safe and as innocent as she was on this warm July night in 1879.
Feeling a squeezing pain in his heart, General Kidd shook his head wearily and started back inside. But an arriving messenger stopped him.
Brigadier General William J. Kidd had been ordered to Washington on the next train leaving Denver.
The Darlington ballroom was undoubtedly one of the grandest in the state. Regina Darlington took great pride in the huge white ballroom with its hand-carved pine Corinthian columns, crystal chandeliers, and white marble fireplace. The room, covering the entire back of the mansion, was one hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. The ceilings were twenty feet high, and a half-dozen sets of tall French doors opened onto a long, wide stone gallery that overlooked back gardens and well-tended lawns sweeping toward the edge of the property where tall firs and aspens and cedars became the forested mountain.
The Darlington home was located on the highest inhabited point in the west Denver foothills. From its lofty heights far above the sprawling city, those inside enjoyed total privacy and seclusion. From the mansion’s large drawing room and banquet-sized dining room, it was possible to see every twinkling light of Denver, to feel the city’s life and energy.
The rear ballroom offered quite a different experience. Guests dancing there felt as though they were truly high up in the remote mountains, and more than one elegantly gowned lady, taking the air on the stone veranda, had squealed delightedly as a white-tailed fawn skittered across the lush yards.
Coyotes howled plaintively from out of the dense woods, and bobcats, their sleek coats flashing in the sunlight, chased frightened antelope within sight of the house. And more than once Colonel Thomas Darlington, enjoying a late-night smoke alone on the stone porch, had seen the unmistakable gleam of a panther’s eyes, though he never shared that information with his wife or their guests. He did caution against couples strolling too far from the well-lighted house at night.
At a quarter before nine, Regina Darlington, gowned in vivid lavender faille, swept down the winding marble staircase, diamonds glittering at her throat and wrist and falling in long, swaying showers of light from her delicate earlobes. Her new Paris gown was scandalously low and daring, its déolletage barely concealing the large nipples of her full breasts, which were purposely pushed high by a tight, torturing corset she endured for beauty’s sake. The long lavender
Half an hour later the handsome pair had said their good-nights and were headed for the front door. While they stood in the foyer with Lawrence carefully draping Martay’s delicate lace shawl about her bare shoulders, General Kidd startled them both.
He came charging toward them, his face strangely set, his green eyes almost wild. “Child,” he said, his voice rough, and he grabbed Martay and hugged her, crushing her to his broad chest.
“Daddy,” she said, feeling the trembling of his big solid body, “what is it?”
Patting her slender back and giving her one last squeeze, he said, “Nothing, sweetheart. I just wanted to hold my baby girl one last time.” He released her, setting her back.
Her hands still clutching his ribs, she smiled up at him. “Don’t be silly. You may hug me whenever you please.”
“I know,” he said, “I am being silly.”
But after he had bid them good-night and the carriage had rolled away down the avenue, and he had ordered the two mounted horseman, “Don’t let her out of your sight tonight,” and had returned reluctantly to the veranda, he stood there alone in the gathering dusk, again wondering how long his lovely daughter would remain as safe and as innocent as she was on this warm July night in 1879.
Feeling a squeezing pain in his heart, General Kidd shook his head wearily and started back inside. But an arriving messenger stopped him.
Brigadier General William J. Kidd had been ordered to Washington on the next train leaving Denver.
The Darlington ballroom was undoubtedly one of the grandest in the state. Regina Darlington took great pride in the huge white ballroom with its hand-carved pine Corinthian columns, crystal chandeliers, and white marble fireplace. The room, covering the entire back of the mansion, was one hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. The ceilings were twenty feet high, and a half-dozen sets of tall French doors opened onto a long, wide stone gallery that overlooked back gardens and well-tended lawns sweeping toward the edge of the property where tall firs and aspens and cedars became the forested mountain.
The Darlington home was located on the highest inhabited point in the west Denver foothills. From its lofty heights far above the sprawling city, those inside enjoyed total privacy and seclusion. From the mansion’s large drawing room and banquet-sized dining room, it was possible to see every twinkling light of Denver, to feel the city’s life and energy.
The rear ballroom offered quite a different experience. Guests dancing there felt as though they were truly high up in the remote mountains, and more than one elegantly gowned lady, taking the air on the stone veranda, had squealed delightedly as a white-tailed fawn skittered across the lush yards.
Coyotes howled plaintively from out of the dense woods, and bobcats, their sleek coats flashing in the sunlight, chased frightened antelope within sight of the house. And more than once Colonel Thomas Darlington, enjoying a late-night smoke alone on the stone porch, had seen the unmistakable gleam of a panther’s eyes, though he never shared that information with his wife or their guests. He did caution against couples strolling too far from the well-lighted house at night.
At a quarter before nine, Regina Darlington, gowned in vivid lavender faille, swept down the winding marble staircase, diamonds glittering at her throat and wrist and falling in long, swaying showers of light from her delicate earlobes. Her new Paris gown was scandalously low and daring, its déolletage barely concealing the large nipples of her full breasts, which were purposely pushed high by a tight, torturing corset she endured for beauty’s sake. The long lavender
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