The Mistress (Great Chicago Fire Trilogy Series #2)

( 60 )

Overview

Most days Kathleen O'Leary is a penniless maid. But tonight she takes a risk and masquerades as a glamorous heiress, thanks to a borrowed gown and her friends' sense of adventure. To her surprise, the ruse succeeds—even Dylan Kennedy, Chicago's most eligible bachelor, seems enraptured.

But like Kathleen, Dylan isn't who he says he is. And before their true identities can be revealed to one another, fire erupts, sending rich and poor alike running for their lives. Now, though ...

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The Mistress (Great Chicago Fire Trilogy Series #2)

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Overview

Most days Kathleen O'Leary is a penniless maid. But tonight she takes a risk and masquerades as a glamorous heiress, thanks to a borrowed gown and her friends' sense of adventure. To her surprise, the ruse succeeds—even Dylan Kennedy, Chicago's most eligible bachelor, seems enraptured.

But like Kathleen, Dylan isn't who he says he is. And before their true identities can be revealed to one another, fire erupts, sending rich and poor alike running for their lives. Now, though virtually strangers, Kathleen and Dylan must rely on each other for survival. And when the embers cool, they'll find that the greatest risk has been to their hearts….

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Editorial Reviews

Kathe Robin
Susan Wiggs delves deeply into her characters’ hearts and motivations to touch our own. In the second book of her Chicago Fire Trilogy, she reminds us “that no good ever comes of a lie” until the truth is told and consequences paid. In this case, the lessons are well learned and readers truly feel for Dylan, Kathleen and the city’s plight after the fire.
Romantic Times
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780778327905
  • Publisher: Mira
  • Publication date: 7/27/2010
  • Series: Great Chicago Fire Trilogy Series , #2
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 394
  • Sales rank: 195,700
  • Product dimensions: 6.94 (w) x 11.28 (h) x 1.04 (d)

Meet the Author

Susan Wiggs is the author of many beloved bestsellers, including the popular Lakeshore Chronicles series. She has won many awards for her work, including a RITA from Romance Writers of America. Visit her website at www.SusanWiggs.com.

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Read an Excerpt

Under a French gown of emerald silk, Kathleen O'Leary wore homespun bloomers that had seen better days. She told herself not to worry about what lay beneath her sumptuous costume. It was what the world saw on the surface that mattered, particularly tonight.

Next Friday, she would go down on her knees and admit the ruse to Father Campbell in the confessional, but Friday was far away. At the present moment, she meant to enjoy herself entirely, for it was a night of deceptions and she was at its heart.

The mechanical gilt elevator speeding them up to the third-floor salon of the Hotel Royale was only partially responsible for the swift rush of anticipation that tingled along her nerves. She clasped hands with her two companions, Phoebe Palmer and Lucy Hathaway, and gave them a squeeze. "Think we'll get away with it?" she whispered.

Lucy sent her a dark-eyed wink. "With looks like that, you could get away with robbing the Board of Trade."

Kathleen would have pinched herself if she hadn't been holding on so tightly to her friends' hands. She couldn't believe she was actually committing such an audacious act. Going to a social affair to which she wasn't invited. In a dress from Paris that didn't belong to her. Wearing jewels worth a king's ransom. To meet people who, if they knew who she really was, would not consider her fit to black their boots.

The bellman pushed up the brake lever and cranked open the door. With only a swift glance, Kathleen recognized him as an Irishman. He had the sturdy features and mild, deferential demeanor of a recent immigrant. Phoebe swept past him, not even seeing the small man.

"Mayor Mason will not be seeking another term," Phoebe was saying in a breathless voice that seemed fashioned solely for gossip. "Mrs. Wendover is having a flaming love affair with a student at Rush Medical College." She enumerated the tidbits on her fingers, intent on bringing Kathleen up to date with the guests she was about to meet. "And Mr. Dylan Kennedy is just back from the Continent."

"Remind me again. Who is Dylan Kennedy?" Lucy asked in a bored voice. She had never been one to be overly impressed by the upper classes—probably because she came from one of the oldest families of the city, and she understood their foibles and flaws.

"Don't you know?" Phoebe patted a brown curl into place. "He's only the richest, most handsome man in Chicago. It's said he came back to look for a wife." She led the way down the carpeted hall. "He might even begin courting someone in earnest this very night. Isn't that deliciously romantic?"

"It's not deliciously anything," Lucy Hathaway said with a skeptical sniff. "If he needs to pick something, he should go to the cattle auction over at the Union Stockyards."

Kathleen said nothing, but privately she agreed with Phoebe for once. Dylan Francis Kennedy was delicious. She had glimpsed him a week earlier at a garden party at the Sinclair mansion, where her mistress, Miss Deborah Sinclair, lived when not away at finishing school. Kathleen had stolen a few moments from tending to her duties to look out across the long, groomed garden, and there, by an ornate gazebo, had stood the most wonderful-looking man she had ever seen. In perfectly tailored trousers that hugged his narrow hips, and a charcoal-black frock coat that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, he had resembled a prince in a romantic story. Of course, it was a glimpse from afar. Up close, he probably wasn't nearly as…delicious.

She spied a door painted with the words Ladies' Powder Room and gave Lucy's hand a tug. "Could we, please?" she said. "I think I need a moment to compose myself." She spoke very carefully, disguising the soft brogue of her everyday speech.

Phoebe tapped an ivory-ribbed fan smartly on the palm of her gloved hand. "Chickening out?"

"In a pig's eye," Kathleen said, a shade of the dreaded brogue slipping out. She was always provoked and challenged by Phoebe Palmer, who belonged to one of Chicago's leading families. Phoebe, in turn, thought Kathleen far too cheeky and familiar with her betters and did her best to put the maid in her place.

That, in fact, was part of the challenge tonight. Lucy swore Kathleen could pass for a member of the upper crust. Phoebe didn't believe anyone would be fooled by the daughter of Irish immigrants. Lucy asserted that it would be an interesting social experiment. They had even made a wager on the outcome. Tomorrow night, Crosby's Opera House was scheduled to open, and the cream of Chicago society would be in attendance. If Kathleen managed to get herself invited, Phoebe would donate one hundred dollars to Lucy's dearest cause—suffrage for women.

"You can gild that lily all you like," Phoebe had said to Lucy as they were getting ready for the evening. "But anyone with half a brain will know she's just a common weed."

"Half a brain," Lucy had laughed and whispered in Kathleen's ear, which burned with a blush. "That leaves out most of the people at the soiree."

They stepped into the powder room decked with gilt-framed mirrors and softly lit by the whitish glow of gaslight sconces. The three young ladies stood together in front of the tall center mirror—Lucy, with her black hair and merry eyes, Phoebe, haughty and sure of herself, and Kathleen, regarding her reflection anxiously, wondering if the vivid red of her hair and the scattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose would be a dead giveaway. Her long bright ringlets spilled from a set of sterling combs, and the flush of nervousness in her cheeks was not unbecoming. Perhaps she could pull this off after all.

"Lord, but I wish Miss Deborah had come," she said, leaning forward and turning her head to one side to examine her diamond-and-emerald drop earrings. The costly baubles swayed with an unfamiliar tug. Other than girlish games of dress-up, which she had played with Deborah when she'd first gone to work as a maid at the age of twelve, Kathleen had never worn jewelry in her life. The eldest of five, she had never even received the traditional cross at her First Communion. Her parents simply hadn't had the money.

"Deborah wasn't well," Phoebe reminded her. "Besides, if she had come, then you wouldn't have had her fabulous gown to wear, or her Tiffany jewels, and you'd be sitting at the school all alone tonight."

"Cinderella sifting through the ashes," Kathleen said tartly. "You'd have loved that."

"Not really," Phoebe said, and just for a moment her haughty mask fell away. "I do wish you well, Kathleen. Please know that."

Kathleen was startled by the moment of candor. Perhaps, she thought, there were some things about the upper classes she would never understand. But that had not stopped her from wanting desperately to be one of them. And tonight was the perfect opportunity.

The well-tended young ladies of Miss Emma Wade Boylan's School received scores of invitations to social events in Chicago. Miss Boylan had a reputation for finishing a young woman with charm and panache, and charging her patrons dearly for the privilege. In return, Miss Boylan transformed raw, wealthy girls into perfect wives and hostesses. A bride from Boylan's was known to be the ideal ornament to a successful man.

The gathering tonight was special, and well attended by members of the elite group informally known as the Old Settlers. As it was a Sunday, there would be no dancing ball, so it was dubbed an evangelical evening, featuring a famous preacher, the Reverend Mr. Dwight L. Moody.

Proper Catholics were supposed to turn a deaf ear to evangelists, but Kathleen had always been challenged by the notion of being proper. Besides, the lecture was nothing more than an excuse for people to get together and gossip and flirt on a Sunday night. Everyone—ex-cept perhaps the Reverend himself—knew that. It was all part of the elaborate mating ritual of the upper class, and it fascinated Kathleen. Many a night she had stayed back at the school, paging through Godey's Lady's Book, studying the color fashion plates and wondering what it would be like to join the rare, privileged company of the elite.

Tonight, fate or simple happenstance held out the opportunity. Miss Deborah had taken ill and had gone home to her father. As a lark, Phoebe and Lucy had decided to try what Lucy termed a "social experiment."

Lucy swore that people were easily led and swayed by appearances, and there was no real distinction between the classes. A poor girl dressed as a princess would be as warmly received as royalty. Phoebe, on the other hand, believed that class was something a person was born with, like straight teeth or brown hair, and that people of distinction could spot an imposter every time.

Kathleen was their willing subject for the experiment. She had always been intrigued by rich people, having lived outside their charmed circle, looking in, for most of her life. At last she would join their midst, if only for a few hours.

"Are you hoping for a private moment with Mr. Kennedy?" Lucy asked Phoebe teasingly.

"He will surely be the handsomest man in attendance tonight," Phoebe said. "But you're welcome to him. I have a different ambition."

"What is wrong with him?" Kathleen asked, remembering the godlike creature she had watched in the gazebo. She knew that if Phoebe had wanted Dylan Kennedy for herself, she would have had him by now. "What aren't you telling us?"

"The fault is not with Mr. Kennedy, but with our dearest Phoebe," Lucy said, her voice both chiding and affectionate. "She has set a standard no mortal man can possibly meet."

"What is it that you want?" Kathleen asked.

"A duke," Phoebe whispered, nearly swooning with the admission.

Kathleen burst out laughing. "And where do you suppose you'll be finding one of those? Beneath a toadstool?" She feigned a mincing walk and stuck her nose in the air. "You may call me ‘your highness' and be sure you scrape the floor when you bow."

Lucy swallowed an outburst of laughter. "Isn't a royal title against the law?"

"In this country," Phoebe said with an offended sniff. "And it's ‘Your Grace.'"

"You mean you would leave the States in your quest for a title?"

Phoebe stared at her as if she had gone daft. "I would leave the planet in order to marry a title."

"But why?" Kathleen demanded.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Honestly, you've never known your place, Kathleen O'Leary. Deborah spoiled you from the start."

"That's because Deborah is smart enough to see that divisions of class are artificial," Lucy said. "A s I intend to prove to you tonight."

"Let's not quarrel." No matter how hard-pressed, Kathleen always found it easier to tolerate Phoebe's snobbishness than to try to reason with her.

She checked inside her beaded silken reticule. As ornate as the crown jewels, the evening bag was anchored by a tasseled cord to her waist, the crystal beads catching the light each time she moved. As a lady's maid, she knew the contents of a proper reticule: calling cards, a tiny vial of smelling salts in case she felt faint, a lace-edged handkerchief, a comb and hairpin, a coin or two.

Because she was Irish, she could not deny a superstitious streak in herself. Before leaving the school tonight, she had snatched up a talisman to carry her through the evening. It was a mass card from St. Brendan's Church, printed in honor of her grandmother, Bridget Cavanaugh. The sturdy old woman had died three months earlier, and Kathleen ached with missing her. It seemed appropriate and oddly comforting to slip the holy card into her reticule, as if Gran were a little cardboard saint carried in her pocket. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "I am as ready as a sinner on Fat Tuesday."

She and her friends slowly approached the salon, their footfalls silent on the carpet patterned with swirling ferns. Kathleen savored every moment, every sensation, knowing that memories of this night would sustain her through all the long years to come. She tried to memorize the plush feel of the thick carpet beneath her feet, which were clad in silk slippers made to match the Worth gown. She felt the rich, heavy weight of the emerald-and-diamond collar around her neck, and the tug of the matching earrings. She listened to the polite, cultured burble of conversation in the grand salon. To her, the mingling voices sounded like a chorus of angels. Everything even smelled rich, she reflected fancifully. French perfume, Havana cigars, fine brandy, Macassar hair oil.

They reached the arched doorway flanked by tall potted plants. The breeze through an open window let in a hot gust of air, causing the ferns to nod as if in obeisance. The uncertain luster of the moon polished the spires and dome of the courthouse in the next block. Far to the west, the sky flickered and glowed with heat lightning. It was a night made for magic. Of that, Kathleen felt certain.

She paused between Phoebe and Lucy. Under her breath, she said the word prism and left her mouth pursed. Miss Boylan taught that prism was the most becoming word a young lady could utter, for it caused the mouth to shape itself into a perfect bow, so attractive in company.

The trouble was, Phoebe and Lucy, rigorously trained by Miss Boylan, also said prism, and the three of them made the mistake of looking at one another.

Lucy burst out laughing first and Phoebe stayed sober the longest, but eventually they all erupted into gales of mirth. Trapped and exposed beneath the archway, they were unable to hide from the disapproval of long-nosed society matrons and haughty gentlemen peering at them through gold-rimmed lorgnettes.

"Oh, that went well," Phoebe said, hiccuping away the last of her laughter.

"A most discreet entrée," Lucy agreed. She linked arms with Kathleen. "We must proceed as if nothing has happened."

"Welcome, ladies, welcome!" A jovial man in a beautifully tailored claw-hammer coat came forward, acting the host. "And your happiness is most welcome indeed." He made a gallant bow from the waist. "I was afraid the evening was going to get stodgy on me, but you've rescued us from that."

"Thank you ever so kindly, Mr. Pullman," Phoebe replied with an effortless curtsy. "We're honored to be included in tonight's affair."

"Everyone's welcome." He spread his arms to show off an impressively heavy watch chain anchored to a solid gold fob. "Do come in, come in."

"Mr. Pullman," Lucy said, "I'd like you to meet my friend Kate O'Leary from Baltimore." She winked and dropped her voice to a whisper. "You know, the Learys of Baltimore. They have just recently arrived in town for an extended visit."

George Pullman, famed entrepreneur whose palatial rail cars were described as "wonders of the age," fixed a keen, assessing eye on Kathleen.

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Table of Contents

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 60 )
Rating Distribution

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 60 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 13, 2010

    Not as good as the first book...

    I found myself wanting to put this book down. There were several instances that felt redundant, almost like the plot just kept repeating itself. It was a very good idea I think it just got a little sluggish in the middle. I would not recommend this book unless you just LOVE historical american romance.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 15, 2013

    Great history backdrop. d this book!

    Great history backdrop. d this book!

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  • Posted August 31, 2012

    I Love Susan Wiggs writing. The history of the Chicago fire was

    I Love Susan Wiggs writing. The history of the Chicago fire was a great backdrop for this story. It is about finding out what is really important in life. Kathleen and Dylan both pretend to be something they are not for their own gain. They get married and then spend the rest of the book figuring out who they really are and what is really important to them. The characters were well developed and likable.

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  • Posted April 2, 2012

    Higly Recommneded

    This series is an awesome Trilogy! The Hostage is just as good as the other two!

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  • Posted November 3, 2010

    Good read

    Good ready but not as #1 in the series.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 20, 2000

    Excellent reading!

    Phoebe Palmer said the rich knew who were of their high station. Lucy Hathaway insisted that they did not and even a penniless pauper could fool them. So a bet was made. Kathleen O'Leary was a penniless maid and the three went to a soiree for the elite. Not only did Kathleen pull it off, but attracted Dylan Kennedy, the richest man in society. Then the famous Chicago fire (started, according to newspapers, by Kathleen's mother and a cow) swept through the city! When Kathleen, Dylan, a priest, the mayor, and a dying city hall clerk were in their last desperate moments, the two main characters wed. <BR><BR> Amazingly, they lived! Kathleen must admit to not being an heiress. But Dylan turned out to be a con artist, as poor as she <I><B>Now the real battle begins! </B></I><BR><BR> *** Susan Wiggs has a way with words that made me feel as though I was actually in the fire with the main group! Readers will find their hearts pounding in their throats! An exciting story that I highly recommend with pleasure! ***

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    enjoyable Americana romance

    <P>In Chicago, impoverish Kathleen O¿Leary works as a maid at an exclusive school for young ladies. However, tonight, October 8, 1871 Kathleen pretends to be a wealthy debutante wearing a borrowed gown to attend a high society ball. Also at the gala event is the city¿s wealthiest bachelor Dylan Kennedy, just back from Europe. When they meet, Dylan sees a beautiful woman perfect for him to seduce. He wants funds from her because he is a con artist. She sees her soulmate. <P>On the other side of town, an inferno has erupted starting at the barn of Kathleen¿s parents. As the fire spreads and threatens everyone in the city, Kathleen and Dylan hastily marry. Somehow they survive and quickly fall in love, but both, not expecting to live, entered the marriage with deception and duplicity. He trusts no one and needs instant cash that she cannot provide while she continues to shower him with love. <P>THE MISTRESS is an enjoyable Americana romance that centers on the aftermath of the Chicago fire. The story line uses real events and people to propel the entertaining romance to its climax. The lead couple will receive reader empathy as they learn the importance of being truthful as well as earnest in a relationship. However, what makes Susan Wiggs¿ tale a cut above the norm is the intricate look at survivors whose prize for minor success is clinging to life one day at a time. <P>Harriet Klausner

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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