his valise. “As you wish, but next week I’ll be traveling to Boston to meet my partners and talk with investors there. Unfortunately, Lucas and Higgins won’t be attending my party so I will leave the prospectus with you until then.”
“There’s no need.”
Bret stopped and turned to her. “This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you, Gabrielle. At least open the cover and glance at the first page. These are the best estimates I have to complete the drilling.” He took out the prospectus.
Gabrielle stared at him with a look he might have called pity, if not for the lingering doubt that she was no longer even willing to offer that to him. She folded her arms and seemed to settle into a detached scrutiny of him. “You are your father’s son and you will do as you’ve always done. I no longer have the patience or interest to care either way.”
Bret was silent, without noticeable emotion or gesture, but within there was a shattering force threatening to break apart his restrained appearance at any moment.
He stepped over to the small rosewood desk and dropped the prospectus on top of the latest Theogenesis Society monthly journal. He felt himself slump. More than the loss of Gabrielle’s trust was the inexpressible conviction of being besieged on all sides by the same merciless power of fate. In her effort to preserve propriety, she had been gracious enough to refrain from wailing accusations at him, but her tense, unnatural expression appeared that it might break at any moment from the strain.
“Please take your time,” Bret said. “You can return it to me tonight at the party if you wish.”
Gabrielle remained silent, her gaze seeming to remain fixed on the old carpet beneath his new shoes.
Bret turned, and with an uncontrolled spurt, hurried his way through the front door without looking back.
CHAPTER 11
The unhurried moon untangled itself from the luxuriant vines behind Bret’s house and soared with increasing brilliancy, bathing both land and water in its flawless shimmer. He was thankful this Friday evening was the loveliest Galveston had ever allowed him.
Colonel Elijah Hayes snatched another shot glass of scotch from the passing tray carried by one of the catering boys.
“I am of the opinion,” he declared, trying to make himself heard above the lively conversations and music on all sides, “that Bret McGowan has outdone himself.” He faltered and brushed beside Bret.
The Colonel’s stout body seemed that it might topple under its own weight at any moment. “And in doing so put all of Galveston society to shame. Sir, how do you expect any of us to top this?” The long retired colonel wrinkled his chubby face up into such a smile that he raised his gold frame spectacles off the bridge of his cherry-red nose.
Hadlee Foster and Liam Dawson glanced at each other and grinned.
Bret smiled. “Thank you for the kind words, Colonel, and if you listen to my advice, each one of you will have enough money to throw a party like this every night if you wish, instead of once a year . . . if you’re lucky.”
He winked and swept his arm toward the gala of revelers enjoying themselves on the white marble floor of his huge, open ballroom.
Every sophisticated young lady and cranky old matron was dressed like a belle of the ball; they were flirting and laughing with their suitors regardless of age, clinking long neck crystal goblets and drinking French wine like water flowing free from a fountain.
“And you won’t have to hire the help for only special occasions,” Bret added. “You’ll be able to employ a full time house staff if you want.”
The colored waiters moved nimbly through the crowd, bearing trays covered with delicious, freshly cut fruit wedges, seafood hors d’oeuvres, and cheese and meat canapés. Others served glasses of scotch, bourbon, and whiskey, or poured wine from the bottle for the ladies.
“With every glass of this fine single malt, your proposition sounds more interesting,” the colonel said. He downed his scotch with one gulp. “You do make risky business sound enticing, but—”
“Praise be to the apostle Bret,” said Liam, raising his glass. “Still trying to convert the unbelievers to salvation from below!” Hadlee and Liam broke into strident laughter.
Colonel Hayes put his drink down on a table beside the purple, brocaded Turkish couch. “I appreciate your offer, Bret; to be sure,” he replied. “Taking me and all of us into your confidence like this.” He scooped up a fresh oyster in