The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

nonchalant. “Washington has dozens of daily newspapers. Many of them find their way out beyond the city limits. I read everything I can find.”

The rotunda looked different from the one in the twenty-first century hotel. Instead of comparing the two, she blocked the hotel of the future out of her mind, and turned her entire attention to the features in the current one.

The vaulted ceiling was elaborately frescoed and supported by pillars. At the base of each pillar was a circular walnut-seating bench with cabriole legs and velvet cushions. Most were filled with overweight men smoking cigars. Other men clustered in small groups, buzzing with animated conversation. Certain words rose above the din: Lincoln, Sherman, Richmond, Lee, Grant, and the recent election. She craned her neck, searching for both Jack and Braham.

She assumed Jack was in the building somewhere. Was Braham? And, if he was, would he be in uniform? There were a few uniformed men, but most were dressed in business attire, including a top hat, fedora, or bowler. Jack and Braham were both tall enough to be seen above the heads of even those wearing stovepipe hats.

A majority of the men in the room carried canes or umbrellas they used for emphasis by either pounding on the floor or poking the air. Nine out of ten had facial hair—short beards, long beards, mustaches, goatees. None were particularly attractive, the beards or the men. And the smell of unwashed bodies saturated the air.

Henly waved one hand toward a vacant bench. “Shall we sit over there?” He ushered her around a group of men who were debating mercy for the vanquished and sectional reconciliation for the nation. The muscles in her stomach gripped. Mercy would fly out the window following the assassination.

Before she sat, she lifted her foot behind her, catching the bottom hoop on her heel, and placed the hoops on the back of the seat. She perched on the edge of the chair, making sure she wasn’t rumpling or sitting on any of the hoops. The little trick saved her from the embarrassment of flying skirts.

“By the way,” he said, crossing his legs, “where were you going when you were unceremoniously booted from your carriage?”

Oh God. What am I going to say?

She and Jack had decided to show up on Braham’s doorstep, hoping they would be welcomed, but they hadn’t discussed how they would explain their relationship. Whatever their story was going to be, it had to be believable. She blew out a breath before answering.

“To my…cousin’s house in Georgetown.”

He pursed his lips a little, and thoughts flickered across his face. “I have several acquaintances living there. What’s your cousin’s name? I might know her.”

She couldn’t mask the associated guilt from telling another lie so she turned her head, coughing. Lying was certainly not her forte. “Major Abraham McCabe,” she said between coughs. “Excuse me. I have a tickle in my throat.”

Henly’s turned the full force of his brown eyes on her and his eyebrows rose. “He’s your cousin?”

She cleared her throat. To keep from telling a third lie she asked, “Do you know him?”

Henly sat back against the column and pulled his bottom lip out into a pucker, obviously thinking. “When was the last time you heard from him?”

She searched the colonel’s face for clues as to the cause of his concern. Had he heard Braham had been captured in Richmond and was believed dead? Or had something more happened to him? A sharp pain grew inside her chest. “It’s been a while, but if you have news, please tell me.”

Henly’s eyes darkened and were edged with concern and something else. “I heard he was captured and died from the wounds he sustained. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”

“If he’d been killed, we would have heard.”

“If you’re on his notification list, a telegram would have been sent to your home. Where do you live?”

She stared ahead, wrinkling her brow in concentration, and told the truth. “My home is in Richmond.”

Henly sat ramrod straight, and a muscle twitched along his jaw.

“We left some time ago, though,” she added quickly, hoping he wouldn’t ask how long ago. “We’re Unionists and it was no longer safe to stay there.” Her voice held a distinct quaver.

He leaned in confidentially. “I’m attached to the War Department. I’ll see if I can uncover any information.”

If the colonel worked at the War Department and hadn’t heard Braham had survived Richmond, then either Braham hadn’t yet arrived back in Washington, or the president had sent him out immediately on another mission.

A hand tapped Charlotte’s shoulder, and she jumped.

“What are you doing here?” Jack’s lips were set in a grim line. “Did you leave the trunks on the street?”

She came to her feet quickly. “Colonel Henly absolutely insisted I come inside with him. His aides are guarding them. He took pity on me when I told him about the carriage’s horse going lame and how we were ejected at the corner.”

Jack extended his hand to Henly. “I’m Jack Mallory. Thank you for taking care of my sister.”

“It was an honor, but I’m afraid I shared bad news.”

“It’s about Braham,” Charlotte said. “The colonel heard he was captured and died of his wounds.”

Jack’s jaw went slack and he put his hands to his hips. “We would have received a telegram or letter.”

She cupped her elbows and shuddered. “Not if we aren’t on his notification list.” She felt certain the colonel was referring to Braham’s October injury and capture, and not to a new one, but there was no way to know for sure without talking to him.

“I told Miss Mallory I’m attached to the War Department. If there is any information available concerning his whereabouts, I’ll find out. Have you thought of staying at the townhouse he owns on Lafayette Square instead of Georgetown?”

“I didn’t know he owned a townhouse,” she said, feeling betrayed by another one of Braham’s lies.

Henly glanced from her to Jack. “It would be more convenient to stay there than