Bartered Bride, page 12
Could this day get any worse?
A streak plummeted past his nose, quickly followed by another. In dismay he glanced up toward Skyline Drive to see clouds boiling. The heavens opened like a washerwoman throwing out the rinse water. Jonathan was soaked to the skin before he reached Kennebrae House.
❧
Melissa straightened from bathing her face with cool water and looked in the mirror at her blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes. She dabbed with a folded towel then returned to her adjoining boudoir.
The remains of tea lay scattered across the tray on the low table before the fire. A fire roared in the grate, chasing the chill from the room. Lamps blazed, the bed was turned down invitingly, and Sarah straightened the tray to return it to the kitchen.
“You didn’t eat anything.” Her brown eyes looked mournfully into Melissa’s, her mouth drawn into a disapproving pout. “You didn’t have lunch either. Aren’t you hungry?”
Melissa picked up her hairbrush and dragged it through her rumpled brown tresses. She shook her head. “I don’t want anything to eat. Is Mother home yet?”
As if in answer, the door was flung open. Mother glided into the room, her skirts swaying, her expression fierce.
“What’s this nonsense I hear about you quarrelling with Jonathan?”
Melissa braced herself, set the brush on the dressing table, and lifted her chin. “The marriage is off.”
“Fiddlesticks. What utter foolishness. I don’t know what sort of slight you imagine he’s done you, but I assure you, the wedding will take place as planned.”
“Never.” I’ll run away first.
“Stop acting like a child, and wipe all notions of running away from your silly head.”
Melissa gasped.
“Oh yes, I know what you’re thinking. Your expression says it all. But I want you to listen to me and listen well. You will attend the Shipbuilders’ Ball the day after tomorrow as Jonathan’s fiancée, and you will do so with grace and dignity.”
“But, Mother, have you any idea—”
“I don’t care to know the particulars. It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter to you that he’s marrying me for money? That he doesn’t care a whit about me?”
Mother rolled her eyes heavenward, as if pleading for assistance from above. “Of course he is. What did you think, that he was marrying you for—love? Don’t be ridiculous. Love is a fleeting, traitorous emotion that is beneath you. Now, pull yourself together. You have a duty to this family and to Jonathan to behave with some decorum. The wedding contract has been signed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Melissa narrowed her eyes and bit her thumbnail.
We’ll see about that.
Eighteen
“She sent them back, sir. The envelope is unopened.” McKay set the vase of roses on the table by the office door. “And the chocolates came back, too.” He handed the package to Jonathan.
The confections hadn’t fared as well as the envelope. The box looked decidedly as if someone had stomped on it. He pitched it into the trash can and ran his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to make things right when she wouldn’t even see him? His lone hope lay in the Shipbuilders’ Ball and Almina’s promise that Melissa would be there. “Thank you, McKay. That will be all.”
“Dinner is served, sir.”
Thanksgiving dinner at Kennebrae House was a bust. Anticipating spending it with Melissa, Jonathan had waited in vain for an invitation. Noah was dining with friends across the harbor in Superior and would be coming to the ball from there. That left Jonathan and Grandfather, who never ate much anymore, to stare at each other over the roasted bird and trimmings. Grandfather’s scowl and baleful glares did nothing to improve Jonathan’s digestion.
Jonathan quit the meal long before the dessert course, stalking up to his room to stare into the fire. “Lord, I don’t know where this is headed. I don’t know how You can pull this from despair to hope. I don’t know which way to turn now. You say the king’s heart is in Your hand, and You can turn it however You wish. I’ve been praying pretty much nonstop that You would change Melissa’s heart and cause her to hear me out, but You haven’t been able to manage it. I feel like I’ve lost my anchor here and I’m drifting in a storm.”
The clock on the mantel chimed six. Time to dress. More weary than he could remember, Jonathan pushed himself up from the chair. At least it wasn’t a masquerade ball this time. Last year he’d borne with stoicism maidens in costume and men in turbans and pointy shoes, Russian hussars, and three different Napoleon Bonapartes. His own costume, ordered and insisted on by Grandfather, at least had a bit of dignity to it. He’d gone as Admiral Lord Nelson.
Would she come? Would she give him a chance to explain? And if she did, what could he say? Why should she believe him? He fumbled with his tie, fingers clumsy as his mind raced. And if he couldn’t make her understand, if she broke the marriage contract, what would happen to Kennebrae Shipping?
He yanked the ends of his crooked bow tie and snatched up his hat. “McKay! Where are you? Come help me with this thing!”
Finally put together with the butler’s help, he trotted downstairs.
Grandfather, resplendent in evening dress with a cunningly cut jacket made especially not to bunch or wrinkle in his wheelchair, waited by the door. A black satin lap robe covered his legs. Shiny black shoes rested on the foot tread.
Jonathan stopped short. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I’m going along to see you don’t foul things up more than you already have.” Grandfather pulled on his gloves and accepted his cloak and hat from McKay.
A direct hit. Grandfather had the ability to pierce Jonathan’s reserve like no other. Except Melissa. In fact, his desire to shout at both of them bubbled and hissed like lava under pressure. He was a man nearing explosion. He rode in stony silence to the club.
The country club lights shone like diamonds, casting winking beams on the lake. Carriages and automobiles packed the long, curved drive, passengers arriving in a steady stream at the wide front doors. The night air held the tang of snow, and the breeze off the lake hit his skin like ice water.
Jonathan clenched and unclenched his hands on his thighs as they awaited their turn to go inside. He mentally rehearsed and discarded several opening lines.
The coachman opened the door and pulled out the custom-made ramp to accommodate Grandfather’s chair.
A blast of warmth hit them in the foyer. Attendants led ladies upstairs to lay aside capes and coats and freshen their appearances, while the gentlemen swirled off cloaks and stuffed gloves into top hats, and placed them in capable hands in the coatroom. Music drifted down the hallway from the ballroom.
Jonathan wheeled Grandfather toward the sound. A waltz in progress greeted their eyes beyond the gilded doors. Pinwheels of color in the ladies’ dresses, stark black stiffness in the men’s attire, and overall the golden glow of six crystal chandeliers bolstered by countless wall sconces.
He saw many familiar faces, business colleagues, shipping rivals, church friends, but not the one he so desperately sought. The knot in his stomach tightened. Where was she?
“Stop looking like a condemned man and get me some punch.” Grandfather poked him in the leg. “She’ll be here.”
❧
Melissa winced as the cold beads touched her throat.
Sarah fastened the five-string choker of perfectly matched pearls. From the center a sapphire and diamond pendant hung, reflecting the dressing table lights. “It’s perfect, miss.”
“Almost.” Mother tapped an ivory folded fan against her palm. “Where’s the ring?”
Melissa glanced down at her bare hand. “I’m not wearing it.”
“Yes, you are. All of Duluth society will be there tonight, they’ve heard about the ring, and they’ll want to see it. Where is it?” She stalked to the dresser and opened the jewel case.
“I don’t know. I threw it away.”
Mother whirled, mouth agape. “You what? You little fool!” She advanced on Melissa, cheeks red, eyes blazing. “You’re ruining everything. Do you want me to be the laughingstock of all Duluth society?”
“Why won’t you listen to me? Jonathan is only marrying me so he can get his hands on Father’s money. If nothing else, this marriage isn’t a sound investment for Father.”
“You know nothing about such things. Let the men handle the business end. You’ll do your part like a dutiful daughter and keep your nose out of business affairs. Your liberal notions are making you overstep your bounds. You won’t mention a word of this to your father, and if you’ve lost that ring. . .”
Sarah stepped forward. “Ma’am, the ring’s not lost.” Her voice cracked. “It was on the hearth when I swept up this morning.” She hurried to Melissa’s jewel case on the dresser and withdrew the ring.
Mother snatched it from her hand and pushed her aside. “Put it on.”
Melissa bowed her head, shoulders slack. She held out her hand for the ring. Would she ever have a say in her own future? Pawns and bartered chattel had no say at all.
“We’ll be leaving in five minutes. Do not make me come up and get you.” Mother stormed from the room, her heels clacking down the hall.
“I’m sorry, miss.”
“It’s all right, Sarah.” Melissa slipped the ring on and looked in the mirror.
Melissa came down the stairs on the dot of her mother’s deadline.
Mother looked her over from coif to slippers, taking note of the engagement ring with icy satisfaction. Father frowned, preoccupied as always, then helped Melissa with her cloak.
The atmosphere in the automobile was even colder than the air outside. No one said a word.
Lord, just help me get through tonight with some dignity. I will not marry a man I cannot trust.
Her mother took her by the arm and ushered her into the ladies’ changing room, standing guard with crossed arms while Melissa hung up her cloak and checked her appearance. Melissa stared into her own eyes, building her resolve. She lifted her chin. Dignity.
Thankfully one of Mother’s friends drew her attention away from Melissa when they emerged into the hall, and Melissa was able to go downstairs alone.
Zylphia pounced on her at the bottom of the grand staircase, her mint green silk swishing. “Ooo, you look beautiful. What a perfect gown. Did the modiste make it?” She squeezed Melissa’s arm. “Indigo velvet. Now why didn’t I think of that? It makes your eyes so blue.”
Melissa tried a smile. “Your dress looks just right. You’ll have men lining up for dances.”
“Actually, my card’s already full.” She held up a wrist from which dangled a tasseled ivory booklet. “I’m having the next waltz with”—she consulted her list—“Frank Strand.” A satisfied smile played on her lips. “You’re lucky to be engaged. You can dance with Jonathan all you want. Where is he, by the way?” She looked over the crowd. “You can hardly find anyone in this crush.”
Melissa fervently hoped Zylphia was right. Nothing would suit her more than to avoid Jonathan all evening.
God did not see fit to grant her wishes. Jonathan approached through the milling guests, tall and lean and devastatingly handsome in evening dress.
She chided her traitorous heart for flipping like a landed fish in her breast.
“Good evening, ladies.” He bowed from the waist. “You look lovely.”
Zylphia giggled and held out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Kennebrae.”
“Please, call me Jonathan. I’m sure, as a friend of Melissa’s, we shall see quite a lot of each other in the future.” He smiled, but Melissa noted the strain around his eyes.
Stop it. He’s feeling no pain. He knew all along it was a lie.
“Melissa”—he turned to her—“I’d like a word with you in private, if I may.”
“No, you may not. Leave me alone.”
Zylphia swung around to stare at Melissa. Her mouth dropped open. “Melissa?”
Jonathan set his jaw like granite.
The heat of wounded anger built in Melissa.
A voice broke into their conversation. “Ladies, Jonathan, we just got here. Wicked cold on the harbor tonight.” Noah Kennebrae clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “The music’s starting, and if it isn’t too brash, I’m going to steal a dance with my future sister-in-law. Come, Melissa, before he occupies all your time this evening.”
Noah grabbed her hand and tugged her onto the dance floor.
Helpless to stop him without causing a scene, she went into his arms.
Nineteen
Noah leaned to whisper in her ear. “Melissa, you have to give him a chance to explain. It isn’t what you think.”
She sent him a cold glance, stiff with indignation at being maneuvered into dancing with Jonathan’s brother, forced to listen to him plead Jonathan’s case. “It is exactly as I think. There’s no mistake. Kennebrae Shipping is in trouble, and Jonathan cast about for a wealthy bride to bail him out. I don’t blame him for that. It is hardly uncommon these days, though I think it is a calloused and mercenary approach to marriage.”
“Then what are you blaming him for? Sending back flowers, returning gifts. Hardly the behavior of a proper fiancée.” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
She swallowed hard, forcing back the ever-ready tears of late. She would not cry. “I blame him for lying to me. For pretending he felt some tenderness, that he cared for me as a person rather than a bank account. The man has a strongbox for a heart that he could perpetrate such a charade. It’s cruel and unfeeling.”
Noah frowned. “I think it is high time you learned a few things about my brother. Jonathan’s guarded his heart and feelings for a long time, protecting them under plating thicker than the hull of my ship. But that isn’t because his heart is cruel and unfeeling. It’s because his heart feels too much, is too tender to trust to just anyone. I was mighty happy when I saw him falling in love with you. He was more content, more at peace than I’d ever seen him. I don’t think he lied when he professed his feelings for you.”
Melissa had been hurt too deeply to allow a few words to change her mind. “I know what I heard.”
Noah gave her a little shake, pivoting her sharply. “You know what you think you heard. I’m the one who made the clumsy remark. Not Jonathan. I’m the one you should be angry at. Stop taking my thoughtlessness out on my poor brother. He’s heartsick to think you’ve been hurt. If you could’ve heard him rounding on me after you ran away from him in the street, you’d know how badly he’s taking this.”
She shook her head. “But is it true? Is Kennebrae Shipping in financial trouble? Will marrying me save the company?”
Noah’s lips flattened, his brows coming down. “I won’t lie to you, Melissa. Grandfather’s in a precarious state, moneywise. There is no denying your dowry would patch his leaky boat. But that’s irrelevant to what Jonathan feels for you. I’m telling you he loves you and would marry you if you came to him with nothing more than the clothes you stood up in. Just give him a chance. Talk to him. Let him explain.”
The music ended. Melissa dropped her hand from his shoulder and applauded politely for the orchestra. Could she trust Noah when he stood to gain from her believing him? Was he playing her just like Jonathan?
“Please, Melissa, give him a chance.” He led her to the sidelines.
Mother waited with Abraham Kennebrae. Her icy fingers dug into Melissa’s arm. “There you are, dear.” The words came out falsely bright between clenched teeth. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“My fault, Mrs. Brooke. I snatched her up for a dance from under Jonathan’s nose.” Noah bowed to Melissa. “Thank you, Melissa, and think about what I said. You won’t be sorry.” He winked and turned on his heel.
Abraham took Melissa’s hand between his dry palms. “You look lovely, my dear girl. A credit to us all.”
Melissa mustered a smile, though she longed to yank her hand from his grasp. Here sat the originator of her misery, like a king holding court, and they all danced to the tune he called. It wasn’t fair, not to her and not to Jonathan either.
And Mother was no better, standing at his shoulder like a vizier, carrying out his plans with relish. And to what purpose? If Mother believed her that the Kennebrae Empire teetered on the brink of financial disaster, that it was her husband’s money that would shore it up, would she be so eager to push this marriage?
A hand touched her elbow. “May I have this dance?” Jonathan’s voice was velvet smooth, but there was an iron look to his eye.
“Of course you may,” Mother answered for Melissa. “Go, enjoy yourself. We’ll be waiting right here for you.” Her tone forbade argument.
Melissa, perforce, went into Jonathan’s arms, stiff as a mannequin.
“If you don’t relax and stop pushing away from me, you’re going to topple over backwards,” Jonathan spoke to the top of her head. “You weren’t this rigid when you danced with Noah just now.”
“Noah is a good dancer.” She refused to look up at him, refused to acknowledge the bittersweet pain of her palm in his, his hand at her waist.
“Most sailors are. But my dancing prowess, or lack of it, isn’t the reason you’re acting like you want to bolt from my arms. Either you listen to me here on the dance floor and stop acting like you’re heading to your own execution, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here like the brat you’re being. And believe me, I won’t care a whit for the scandal it causes.”
She looked up into his stormy brown eyes. He’d do it, too. She relaxed a fraction and allowed him to draw her closer to match his steps.
“That’s better. Melissa, I want to apologize for Noah. He spoke without thinking. But I can assure you, I never lied to you. I didn’t even know about Grandfather’s problems when I proposed to you. I signed those marriage contracts as a gesture of obedience and honor to your father and my grandfather. The money means nothing.” He let go of her hand to lift her chin. “Melissa Brooke, I love you. I don’t care about Kennebrae Shipping. I don’t care about Brooke Grain. I care about you.”
