A Proper Pursuit Read Online Free PDF Page A

on this trip. In short, the drummer fascinated me.
    His restless eyes roved all around the passenger car as if searching for a hidden compartment or a clue to a mystery, and I saw his gaze slide over me a few times, lingering a trifle too long to be proper. I immediately looked away, pretending to read, but I confess that my heart raced with excitement.
    He spoke in a very loud voice to the conductor and the other passengers—who seemed reluctant to converse with him. He laughed much too loudly. Once the train resumed its journey, he couldn’t seem to settle down, stirring restlessly as if unable to sit still, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He opened his newspaper and began to read, making such a racket that the rustling pages sounded like a forest fire. He finally put the crumpled pages down again. He shifted the position of his sample case three times, opening it briefly to glance inside before stowing it beneath his seat again. At length, he removed a cigar from inside his jacket and left the coach.
    I wondered if his unease was caused by a guilty conscience.What crime might he have committed to make him so unsettled? Murder? I must try to look for bloodstains beneath his fingernails when he returned. Theft? It seemed unlikely since he’d boarded the train with no luggage except his sample case. But diamonds were small—might he be a jewel thief?
    Ten minutes later the drummer returned from the smoking car, bringing the aroma of cigars with him. I made the mistake of watching him glide down the aisle, and when he saw me he nodded in an overly familiar way. His manners were exceedingly improper and much too forward. His smile was what Madame Beauchamps had called a “candelabra grin.”
    “Never overdo your enthusiasm, girls, especially with members of the opposite sex. A slender taper of light is all that one needs to send forth. Be mysterious and enigmatic.” Ruth and I had practiced our enigmatic smiles in front of a mirror every night until we could no longer suppress our giggles.
    I quickly looked away from the salesman’s frank gaze, but once again, a thrill of excitement shivered through me. His crime must be adultery. He had what the romance novels referred to as “charisma.” He probably knocked on weak-willed women’s doors with his suitcase full of samples and sidled his way into their parlors … and their affections.
    I didn’t dare look up again. Instead, I rummaged through my satchel, pretending to search for something, and spotted my mother’s address. I had tiptoed into Father’s office while he was at work and found the divorce papers, then carefully copied down the address printed beneath Mother’s signature. Tears filled my eyes at the memory of her flamboyant signature. It wasn’t the handwriting of an invalid, but of a woman who was very much alive. And healthy enough to be a mother to me.
    “She abandoned us,” my father had said. The more I pondered the truth of her desertion, the smaller and more worthless I felt. No one discarded a treasure, did they? Only worthless things were left behind. Before I could stop them, my tears began to fall.
    “Are you in distress, miss?”
    I looked up to find the drummer hovering in the aisle beside my seat. My heart began to race, outpacing the train.
    “I-I seem to have something in my eye,” I lied, quickly applying my handkerchief. Lies must be a family trait.
    “Want me to have a look and see if I can fish it out?”
    “Um … no, thank you.” The last thing I needed was a mysterious man gazing deeply into my eyes. I stole a quick glance at his face and saw that his eyes were as flashy as the rest of him, their color such a bright, clear shade of blue that they made me thirsty.
    “My name’s Silas—Silas McClure.” He held out his hand for me to shake, evidently unaware that a gentleman always waited for a lady to offer her hand first—if at all. I couldn’t be rude and leave it hanging in midair, so I briefly grasped his