Mary Ellen was not surprised, nor did she blame him. She hadn’t been the adoring wife, had never shown him the love and affection that were his due. If their marriage was less than perfect—which it certainly was—she was the one responsible. Daniel made up elaborate stories, explaining that it was absolutely necessary that he stay out till all hours. It was business. She knew better. It was monkey business. Daniel wasn’t a very convincing liar. She knew exactly where he had been. Everyone in Memphis was aware of Antole’s, the fancy sporting house that catered to the city’s moneyed patricians. Years ago she had heard house servants whisper that many of the city’s most illustrious citizens, including Daniel’s distinguished white-haired father, had on occasion been a patron. Apparently Daniel had now joined the ranks of his father and those other aristocratic gentlemen who spent evenings at the famed brothel. She suspected that he’d also resumed an intimate relationship with his former lover, Brandy Templeton Fowler.
