Bartered Bride, page 2
“I’ll help you with your dress.” Sarah took down the evening gown, slipping it from the padded, satin hanger.
Melissa stood, her mind awhirl. How could she get out of this? Could she pretend to be sick? The way her stomach was pitching at the moment, there would be no need to pretend. With numb fingers she loosened her pink dressing gown and laid it on the bed.
She jumped when the veranda door blew open. Chills raced up her bare arms. The cool October breeze off the lake wafted in, billowing the lace sheers. More than anything,she wanted to escape to the water. Perhaps the scrape and gurgle of the waves on the rocky shoreline would afford her the peace she needed to see a way out of this.
“Miss?” Sarah unfastened the bodice in the back and held out the gown.
How long had they been planning this? How could they choose a husband for her without even asking her what she thought? And a man she’d never met. What had they promised him? Well, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to go along with this. She stepped into the dress and slid her arms through the sleeves.
Sarah finished hooking her up the back and turned Melissa to look in the full-length mirror in the corner. “Ah, miss, the gentlemen won’t be able to look away from you tonight.”
Melissa smoothed her hand down the bodice, the fabric slippery and cool under her palm. Yards of white satin gleamed in the lamplight. And over the bodice and skirt, a curly grillwork of appliquéd indigo velvet like a wrought iron silhouette. The train curled around her feet. How happy she’d been when she’d chosen this dress. She adjusted the neckline and settled the short white puffed sleeves.
“Here’s your gloves, miss. Do you want a fan tonight?” Sarah held out the blue gloves, so dark they were almost black.
Melissa shook her head. “I can’t wear the gloves while I play. Fold them up and take them downstairs and have one of the footmen put them on one end of the piano bench. And no fan. I feel so awkward when I have one.”
While Sarah hurried on her errand, Melissa paced her bedroom, her mind a muddle. How did Mother expect her to play tonight after tossing a bomb like this at her? At the moment, Melissa couldn’t even remember the music she’d selected. Surely Mother wasn’t serious. And yet, Almina Brooke never said anything she didn’t mean.
Sarah hurried back into the room, her apron crackling with starch.
Melissa sat on the low dressing stool once more and opened the blue velvet case. Nested on a bed of white satin, sapphires and diamonds twinkled mysteriously. Melissa’s shoulders drooped. The jewels were perfect with the gown. Mother had thought of everything, as if Melissa were no more than an objet d’art to be shown off and admired. And sold to the highest bidder.
Sarah gasped at the jewels. “Oh, miss, they’re wonderful! You’ll be the most beautiful lady at the party. If those don’t give you confidence, nothing would. Your parents will be so pleased, especially your father. He takes such great pride in you.” She clasped the glittering stones around Melissa’s throat.
They rested against Melissa’s skin as cold and heavy as her heart. Melissa attached the dangling earrings, teardrop sapphires surrounded by diamonds.
Father did take great pride in her. Not an easy man to get close to, he did share her love of music and took pleasure in hearing her play.
“Sarah, please lay out the things I will need for later.”
“Oh, surely not tonight, miss? Not with the concert.”
“Yes, tonight. It will be tricky, but I’ll manage. And, Sarah, thank you. I couldn’t do this without your help.”
Melissa regarded her reflection once more. No moping. Her chin lifted. She was more than a trinket to be trotted out by her parents and shown off. She’d play their game for a while tonight. And she would find a way out of this mess, or her name wasn’t Melissa Diane Brooke.
Three
Skimming the waves in The Lady Genevieve. Riding his thoroughbred at a gallop over fences. Sealing the deal on a new shipping contract. Jonathan ran through a list of things he’d rather be doing at the moment. He stood to one side of the brightly lit foyer watching his grandfather, impeccable in black tie, greet their hostess.
“Ah, Almina, you look radiant.” The old rogue took her hand and kissed the air over her diamond-dusted knuckles. “May I present my grandson, Jonathan Kennebrae?”
Jonathan took the matron’s offered hand and bowed. “How do you do, Mrs. Brooke?” He refrained from saying it was a pleasure to meet her, not wanting to lie. He took the measure of the woman his grandfather planned to make his mother-in-law. Handsome enough, he supposed, with high cheekbones and intelligent eyes. But calculation lurked in her glance as well. He swallowed and released her hand. Now he knew how a fish in a bucket felt.
“Lawrence is in the music room already. I’ve saved seats for you in the front row. I do hope you enjoy the concert. Do you like piano music, Mr. Kennebrae?”
Grandfather waved a hand. “Oh, call him Jonathan, and he enjoys piano music. We were just talking this afternoon about his past experiences at musical evenings such as this one, weren’t we, Jonathan?” Grandfather sent him a wicked grin. “It seems he’s particularly fond of nocturnes.”
Jonathan stepped behind the wheelchair and clenched his fists around the steering bar. “Let’s get you settled, Grandfather. I’m sure the music will begin soon.” He directed the chair through the central hall, following the stream of guests. He leaned down and whispered, “Behave yourself. And I’m telling you, if this girl plays “The Wedding March,” I’m leaving so fast you won’t see me for dust.”
“Beautiful home, isn’t it?” Grandfather ignored him, pointing to the staircase rising ahead and curving off to right and left galleries above. “Stunning architecture.”
Jonathan barely glanced at the ornate stained glass, marble, and gilded woodwork. A trip to the firing squad had to be better than this. His collar tightened a notch. He wouldn’t admit—even to himself—he was a tiny bit curious to see Miss Brooke.
Perhaps there was still a way out of this. But how? He’d done nothing but mull it over all afternoon. As Jonathan saw it, only one possible plan of escape might work. He had to find something in the girl’s nature or background that made her unsuitable as a bride. While the idea of digging into a young woman’s life for something unsavory didn’t appeal to him, marrying her in order to keep Kennebrae Shipping appealed even less. And perhaps he wouldn’t have to dig too deep. Everyone had a secret or two in his or her cargo hold.
The music room, with its golden parquet floor, Renaissance paintings, and high windows draped in heavy brocade, trumpeted wealth in every detail. Chairs had been set out in neat rows—there must have been at least fifty of them—and yet the room didn’t seem crowded. Dominating the far end, a grand piano stood alone under a blazing crystal chandelier.
Jonathan scrutinized each young woman in the room, wondering which one was Miss Brooke.
Several business acquaintances stopped to speak with Grandfather. Michaels and Zahn, coconspirators in this marriage scheme, both greeted Grandfather with smiles and knowing looks. Jonathan schooled his features and pretended not to listen to them.
Lawrence Brooke stood near the front row, beckoning them to join him.
Jonathan regarded Brooke with a cold eye. Prior to this evening they had met only as business acquaintances—and that rarely. Tall, barrel-chested, with the look of a tenacious bulldog, Lawrence Brooke was a formidable man. Kennebrae Shipping had long sought his business but to no avail. Brooke shipped—through a Kennebrae rival—thousands of tons of wheat every year from Duluth Harbor and owned the three largest grain elevators on the docks. Added to that were more than two thousand miles of railroad through Minnesota and the Dakotas, all leading to Duluth. Brooke just might be the wealthiest man in a town that boasted more millionaires per capita than any other city in America.
“Abraham, glad you could make it. Going to be a fine evening.” Lawrence clasped Grandfather’s hand. “Jonathan.”
When it was Jonathan’s turn to shake hands, Lawrence Brooke’s eyes bored into him, challenging and assessing. Jonathan tightened his grip, not backing down. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and he didn’t care how intimidating Brooke tried to be.
Brooke broke the stare first, stepping back. “Welcome to Castlebrooke. Have a seat here beside me. Melissa will be down soon.”
Melissa. So that was her name. Pretty name.
Jonathan wheeled his grandfather to the space of honor provided in the center of the front row. A business acquaintance caught his eye. “Excuse me for a moment.” He nodded to Brooke and eased into the aisle.
“Don’t be gone long.” Grandfather’s eyes flashed a warning.
“I won’t.”
Guests filed into the rows. Jonathan shook hands with one of his favorite clients near the back of the room, trying to ignore the way Grandfather and Mr. Brooke had their heads together in the front row. Maybe he could find a seat in the back of the room.
Almina Brooke made her way to the front. “Good evening, friends. Lawrence and I are so glad you could join us.” She smiled, her dark eyes gleaming. “Without further ado, may I present our daughter, Miss Melissa Brooke, who will play for us tonight.”
Polite applause from the audience.
A side door opened, and she entered.
Beautiful was the first word that sprang to Jonathan’s mind. The second was tiny. His chest tightened. Steady, man, you’ve seen pretty girls before.
She had feathers in her hair. And her waist looked impossibly small. Jewels sparkled around her slender neck. Her train swept the parquet.
She stopped beside the piano, rested her hand on the edge, and scanned the crowd. Her gaze lingered on her parents then shifted to Grandfather. How old was she? Eighteen, nineteen at the most? She stood stock-still, staring at the front row. She reminded Jonathan of a songbird he’d once held in his hands, the tiny heart beating, the panic in the bird’s eyes.
Blue. Her eyes were blue and fringed with dark lashes. Stunning.
Was it his imagination, or did her skin lose all color, washing as pale as the alabaster statue in the alcove behind the piano? She wavered a moment, and he thought she might faint. Then she swallowed and lifted her chin. Her breath came in short gasps, the jewels at her throat catching the light and winking it back at him as they shifted on her collarbones. She cast one desperate glance toward the door, her eyes locking on his for a long moment, then took her seat at the instrument. She looked like she might be ill.
Was he so disagreeable in looks that she nearly fainted? He admitted he was no dandy, but no one had actually gotten sick catching sight of him before. He scowled and shifted, lowering his arms to his sides.
For long moments she sat still, her hands in her lap. Not a breath of air stirred the ostrich feathers.
The audience began to fidget.
Mrs. Brooke turned her head and frowned, motioning for Jonathan to come take his seat. Maybe that’s what the girl was waiting for.
His collar tightened another notch, and his mouth went dry, feeling the audience’s eyes on him as he slid into the chair next to his grandfather.
At last the girl lifted her fingers to the keys.
Beautiful and gifted. It took Jonathan less than a minute to reach that conclusion. She played with total concentration, evoking emotion through the music, breathing life into the piano with her own passion.
He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Grandfather elbowed him in the ribs and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Might not be quite as bad as a hanging, huh?”
❧
One glance at the man seated beside her father confirmed her worst fears. How could they? Her own parents. Why, it was monstrous. No one would blame her for refusing to obey in this instance. The man they had chosen as her husband was old! Old, gray, and in an invalid chair. It took every ounce of courage she possessed not to hike up the skirt of her couture gown and run from the room. Why, he was old enough to be her grandfather. Tears stung her eyes, and a hot coal burned the pit of her stomach.
Someone cleared his throat, startling her back to her surroundings. The concert. She must play. She raised her hands to the keys, noticed her fingers shaking, and forced them to be still.
Don’t look over there again. You’ll lose your nerve if you do.
Melissa pushed aside the panic and focused on the music. The melody took over, soothing, carrying her away from her troubles to a place that was beautiful and peaceful. Chopin always had that effect on her.
Each time she emerged from the music at the end of a piece, the audience applauded politely. Their approval sounded far away to Melissa, whose thoughts raced, fragments of worry scattering across her mind. Visions of false teeth and rheumatism medicines, watery eyes, and gnarled hands crowded in on her.
No, don’t think about it. Think about the music. Lord, help me!
After the second encore, her mother rose and stood beside the piano. “Thank you, thank you.” She accepted the applause as if she had performed every piece herself. “No, no more tonight. Please join us next door in the ballroom for refreshments.”
Melissa picked up her gloves and put them on, smoothing the satin up over her elbows. There was no escape now. How was she going to get through the rest of the evening, and when would she be introduced to her “groom?”
Guests crowded around her, complimenting her, thanking her for her performance. She deliberately kept her attention directed away from her parents and their guest of honor.
Finally her mother’s hand snaked through the crowd and grasped Melissa’s elbow. “I’m sorry to take her away from you, but there is someone waiting to meet her. Please, all of you, come enjoy the punch and delicacies next door.”
The iron grip told Melissa her mother wasn’t fooling. Melissa plastered a pleasant smile on her face and accompanied her mother to the front row of seats.
“Ah, Melissa dear, splendid performance tonight. I particularly enjoyed the last piece.” Her father leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Abraham, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Melissa Brooke. Melissa, this is Abraham Kennebrae of Kennebrae Shipping. I believe your mother mentioned he would be in attendance tonight?” Father’s stare pierced her, demanding she behave herself and do him proud.
Melissa’s mouth went dry. Mr. Kennebrae took her hand and gave it a squeeze, his brown eyes twinkling. “A pleasure, my dear. It did my old heart good to hear such beautiful music so excellently played. But it’s even better to make the acquaintance of such a lovely young woman.”
The old roué. Melissa withdrew her hand. Up close he was even older than she’d feared, his skin papery thin, his bones prominent. A shiver of nausea passed over her at the thought of being his wife. “Mr. Kennebrae.” She nodded and sent her mother an imploring look. “I believe I’ll check on the refreshments, if you will excuse me?”
Her father frowned. “Now don’t run off just yet.” He turned to a young man who had his back to the group, speaking to another couple.
“Jonathan?” Father tapped the man on the shoulder. “Melissa, Jonathan came with Abraham this evening.”
Melissa lifted her hand, her mind astir with extricating herself from Abraham Kennebrae.
The young man took her fingers in his.
Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. She stared into a pair of velvety brown eyes fringed in heavy lashes. Dark hair touched his collar in the back. His cheeks and chin bore a hint of rough darkness indicating a heavy beard should he choose to grow one. A jolt sizzled up her arm as the heat of his hand penetrated her glove.
“Jonathan, may I introduce you to my daughter, Melissa? Melissa, Jonathan—”
A roar of laughter sounded from the ballroom.
“Oh, perhaps we should join them in the other room. We can continue our conversation over some refreshment.”
The young man released her fingers, which still tingled strangely, and she lifted her hem to follow after her parents. He put his hands to the back of the chair to wheel Mr. Kennebrae to the reception. He must be her intended’s caretaker. An invalid like Mr. Kennebrae would need someone to care for him.
“My dear, I do hope you’ll sit beside me. We have so much to talk about.” Mr. Kennebrae smiled up at her.
Though it chilled her to the bone to think of being his wife, she had to admit he had a certain charm. Like a favorite old uncle. She’d play the hostess for a while then find a way to escape. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confront her mother about this impossible situation. For tonight she’d be polite. “Of course, Mr. Kennebrae. I’d be delighted.” She walked beside him into the brightly lit ballroom, but she couldn’t resist glancing at the younger man.
Jonathan? Too bad he wasn’t her parents’ choice. She might have entertained the idea then.
Four
“I would recommend you consider the Chicago property. Your docks in Detroit have paid off handsomely, not only in the fees you’ve saved on your own ships but in revenue received from other companies who use the docks. Chicago should pay as handsomely in the long run.”
Jonathan took the batch of papers from his attorney and tried to focus on the columns. Where was his head today? Why couldn’t he concentrate?
He blamed Grandfather. Grandfather and the conniving Brookes who’d cooked up this whole charade. The entire evening had been like a bad dream, unsettling and unreal.
Jonathan tried to loosen his jaw muscles and ignore his thoughts. Grandfather. The old codger sure enjoyed himself, shooting sly glances and addlepated grins at Jonathan every few minutes last night.
And the girl—she danced attendance on Grandfather as if he held the secrets of the ages. Why, she’d hardly paid any attention to Jonathan. Astute of her to study the old man. She must’ve been in on the plan from the start. Only Jonathan had been left in the dark.
And what a plan. Everything from the silver trays of canapés and savories to the masses of flowers surrounding the crystal punch fountain, every detail had been laid on to impress. One would have thought the king of England was visiting. And hadn’t Grandfather lapped it up? Well, not Jonathan. He wasn’t going to be shoved into this farce. Neither the sums involved nor the temptingly beautiful Melissa Brooke would entice him to stick his neck in this custom-designed noose.
