Bartered Bride, page 6
He led her up the starboard side, past the forward sail hatch, to the prow.
A deckhand nodded to them and finished winding a rope. He touched his cap and backed away. Father claimed to love being on the lake, but he did none of the sailing himself. A captain and crew of six manned the Almina Joy.
“As your father said, we have much to discuss, don’t we, Melissa?”
It was the first time she could recall his using her given name. The way he said it didn’t sound too friendly. More like a warning shot across her bow.
She released his arm and stepped to the rail, turning her back on him. “Father says you enjoy sailing. Do you have a vessel?”
“Yes, the Lady Genevieve, a seventy-four footer. She’s tied up at the dock at the house. But I didn’t bring you up here to talk about boats. Let’s stop pretending, shall we?”
“Pretending?” Melissa looked at him over her shoulder. Her heart picked up the pace. She turned to face him.
“Yes, stop acting like you don’t know about last night. You owe me an explanation, and I intend to get one.” He loomed over her, arms crossed on his chest, the wind ruffling his dark hair.
“Mr. Kennebrae, I don’t owe you anything.” She backed up until the rail embraced her waist.
He stepped forward, trapping her neatly. “Yes, you do. For the moment, I’m your fiancé. That entitles me to some answers.” His eyes trapped hers as easily as his body hemmed her in. He put a hand to the rail on either side of her and leaned forward.
She eased back and tried to see over his shoulder. Where had everyone gone? “This engagement is a farce, and you know it. You said yourself you were looking for a way out of it.”
“And I may have just found it. You’ve handed it to me on a platter.” He looked grim, not like she thought he should at such wonderful news.
“How have I done that?” His eyes mesmerized her, and the words came out breathlessly.
He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. His breath tickled her cheek, warming it to tingling. “One word from me and the engagement will be off. I only need to mention the fact that you are in the habit of traipsing down to the harbor at night to meet a man and”—he snapped his fingers—“no more wedding.”
She blinked, her mouth dropping open. “Is that what you think? That I—”
“What else am I supposed to think? It was obvious from your bodyguards’ conversation when they took me home last night that this wasn’t the first time you took yourself down there. And who was that in the shadows? I may not be in favor of this engagement, but I will not be made a fool of for its duration.”
Relief crashed over her like a wave against a pier. He was off base. So far from the truth as to be laughable. But she still sailed dangerous waters. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you’re in trouble right up to your pretty little neck.”
His patronizing manner infuriated her. She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Kennebrae, I can assure you, my late-night jaunts have nothing to do with meeting a lover. That you jumped to that conclusion does you no favor in my eyes.”
His hands moved from the rail to her arms. “It was not a far leap. Can you deny that I found you in the presence of more than one man in the middle of the night on Lake Avenue? What were you doing down there if not an assignation? Aside from your minders, who was the person you embraced in the shadows?”
“None of your business. Now unhand me, you ungallant oaf.”
His grip tightened for a moment, his eyes angry and hot. Then his hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back. “Very well, you give me no choice. I shall have to discuss this with your father. I’ll get out of the engagement in such a way that my grandfather cannot object, and you’ll find your night ramblings put to an end.”
To his credit there was no triumph in his look. . .only sadness and disappointment. Had he really been hurt thinking she was seeing someone else?
But if Father found out, it would be disastrous. Time for a little diplomacy. “Please, don’t tell Father. Won’t you accept my word that I’m not seeing another man?” She smiled up at him, tilting her head and giving him an entreating look.
“I cannot. If for no other reason than your safety. Those two delinquents you use as bodyguards, while effective last night, aren’t to be counted on in real trouble. Something far worse might happen to you wandering in that part of town at that hour. Then there is your family to consider. If someone finds out, your reputation will be in tatters—and not only yours but, as your fiancé, mine as well. I’ll be a laughingstock. And I can’t imagine what your mother would say. She’s a social dragon as it is.” He took her hands in his, all anger wiped away. “Come clean, Melissa. If it isn’t another man, then what is it?”
“I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me. You must tell me if for no other reason than to clear your name.”
She twisted her hands, staring at the shore slipping by, the waves lapping on the rocky beach. He’d do it. She could see it in his eyes. His way out of the engagement. But would he hold his tongue if he knew her secret? Perhaps, once he understood. . . She’d have to risk it.
She drew in a ragged breath. “I can’t tell you, but I can show you. Tomorrow night.”
Eight
Melissa slipped out the door, waggling her fingers back at Sarah. “I’ve got my key. Don’t wait up for me.”
“You know I have to. I never rest easy until you’re back, miss. And I’m worried, you taking him. What if he blows the whistle?”
“If I don’t take him, he says he’ll tell Father I’m meeting a man at night. I have no choice. Now, I must go. He’s waiting.”
She closed the door and stood still to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. An ever-present damp smell off the lake surrounded her.
Please, Lord, let him understand. I don’t want to take him, but I don’t know what else to do. If he does tell, help me to bear it. Help me to stand up to Father and Jonathan.
Her shoes crunched on the path. She slipped through the iron gate, latching it with a click that sounded like a gunshot to her ears. Melissa sucked in her bottom lip and melted into the hedge. No lights appeared in the upstairs windows.
He was waiting for her—but not alone.
“What is this?”
“A carriage. Surely you’ve heard of them? I’m sorry I don’t have an automobile. I’ve one ordered, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”
“We can’t have this standing in the street while we’re inside. The Kennebrae crest on the door would be a dead giveaway.”
She couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his hat, but his hand on her arm closed tight. “Use common sense for once. You’ll ride in my carriage, or you won’t go. Where do I tell the driver to take us?”
The obstinate man needed a kick in the shin. He was ruining everything, and he didn’t even seem to care.
“The Cassell Building.” With bad grace she climbed into the carriage and plopped onto the seat.
He ducked inside and eased down on the seat opposite her. He put his gray-gloved hands atop his walking stick and stared at her. “Are you sure you just can’t tell me what this is all about? I’d much rather be home in my own bed right now than traipsing about the harbor at this hour.”
She lifted her chin and gave him a haughty stare in the light of the carriage lamps. “You can always let me out and go home. No one invited you. You’re here of your own stubborn free will.”
He laughed but not a friendly one. “Don’t speak to me of stubborn willfulness. You epitomize the term. I can only imagine our destination. You say it isn’t a clandestine meeting with a man, so I can only surmise the truth. A gambling den? Is that it? Are you squandering your inheritance on the turn of a card or the roll of a die? I’ve heard there are a few such establishments in the harbor area, though I confess I’ve never been to one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not gambling. I wouldn’t begin to know how.”
He grunted. The sound grated on Melissa like sour notes on the piano.
The carriage clattered to a stop. Jonathan opened the door and hopped out, then he held up his hand to help her alight.
Her feet had barely hit the pavement when she turned to him. “Please, won’t you at least send the carriage away? No one could mistake it in this town, and it would cause talk. Please?”
“I don’t intend to be here that long. The carriage stays. People will think I’m working late as we’re right across the street from my own building.”
She wanted to whack him with her handbag. Stubborn oaf. If only Peter and Wilson were here. He needed another crack on the head.
Tears of frustration stung her eyes. Before she completely embarrassed herself, she lifted her hem and headed around to the side of the multistoried brick building.
Narrow strips of light seeped around the edges of the basement windows. Thick bars covered the arched glass at street level. She descended the concrete steps to the basement entrance, her shoes echoing grittily.
Jonathan followed behind without a word.
She dug in her handbag for the key, but before she could use it, the door cracked open. She blinked in the light, the heat from inside the building puffing against her face.
“Melissa. We’ve been waiting.” Beatrice Britten smiled at her, reaching for her hand to draw her inside. She glanced over Melissa’s shoulder and froze, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry. He made me bring him.” Guilt swamped Melissa, along with anger at Jonathan for putting her in this position. “This is Jonathan Kennebrae, my. . .” She swallowed hard. “My fiancé.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes, looking Jonathan over from shiny boots to brushed hair. “What do you want here? This isn’t any place for the likes of you.” She put her hand to her hip, bunching her apron over her plain wool dress.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jonathan didn’t back down from her scrutiny or her unwelcoming glare.
“The rest of them aren’t going to like it. I don’t know that we should let him in. You know what will happen—”
“Please,” Melissa interrupted, “I’ll vouch for him.”
Beatrice gave them both one more doubt-loaded glance before stepping back. Melissa hurried inside. Jonathan entered, removing his hat and smoothing his hair.
A narrow hallway with doors on one side, lit at long intervals with electric bulbs on cords from the ceiling, led off to the right. A rumble of voices came from the far end.
“Go ahead.” Beatrice waved them down the hall. “I’m still waiting for folks.”
Melissa eased off her gloves as she hurried toward the far end. Jonathan kept pace easily.
At the last door she turned to plead with him one more time, but the determined look in his eyes and the set of his jaw told her it was no use. She opened the door.
❧
Jonathan steeled himself, but nothing prepared him for the scene that met his eyes.
All noise ceased. At least two dozen pairs of eyes stared at him. Women crammed every corner of the room.
Piles of fabric lay on tables in the center of the room, yellow, white, and purple. Around one small table near the door, six young women huddled with books and paper. A blackboard covered most of one wall, while pegs holding more fabric dominated another. What was this place?
“At least you now know I’m not meeting men here.” Melissa crossed her arms and gave him a petulant glare. Her mouth scrunched up prettily, her thick lashes filtering her look.
For the first time he took in her dress. Plain in every respect. Dull brown tweed coat, ordinary black skirts showing below, and a simple straw boater with a black ribbon. She dressed like the other women in the room.
“What is this place? And what is the fabric for?”
“We’re organizing a rally, and the fabric is for sashes and banners.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or shout. “A rally? What’s so secret about a rally? What cause could necessitate all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense?”
Every eye in the room was still on him, every ear listening.
“It’s all right, ladies.” Melissa sought to reassure them. “This is my fiancé, Mr. Jonathan Kennebrae.”
At least this time she didn’t choke on the term. He chose not to analyze how content he was to have her recognize him as her intended.
She grabbed his elbow and tugged him over to the blackboard. “It’s a rally for women’s suffrage. Now do you understand?”
He looked about the room again.
Though the women had gone back to their work, no one was talking. They cast suspicious glances at him, particularly the group with the books in the corner.
“I’m afraid I must be obtuse. I fail to see the need to hide in a basement. The issue of women’s suffrage is not a new one. Rallies for the enfranchisement of women have been held in many cities in this country.”
Melissa closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, as if amazed at his denseness. “Not in this city and not with these women. Come here—maybe then you will understand.” She led him to the corner table.
Wide eyes, pale hair, narrow bodies. The six women could be sisters.
“The women in this room are for the most part wives and daughters of dockworkers. They’re immigrants, mostly from Scandinavia but Germany and the Slavic countries, too. We meet here at night because it is the only time many of these women are free of their other responsibilities. They sacrifice sleep to come here. And it isn’t just for these women we’re working. It’s for women in every corner of this state. If certain people knew we were planning this rally, they would take steps to stop it. So we’ve kept it quiet.”
“How many women are involved in this?”
“More than one hundred at last count. Obviously we can’t all come every night. We take turns. And until now, no one has breathed a word of it outside the circle.” Again the accusing look.
“All right.” Jonathan crossed his arms, relieved her night ramblings were so benign. “But what about the books and the blackboard?”
“Some of these women barely speak English. We, the other educated ladies and myself, take turns teaching them to read and write. They want to speak and read English. They want to take part in the government of their new country, to be able to understand what their children are learning in school, to read the newspaper. They aren’t stupid, like so many people think. They are intelligent, strong women who deserve a chance to speak for themselves in this country.” Each word came more forcefully, her hands fisted, eyes flashing.
He rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face. The eyes of these women—worried, harried, tired—pierced him. How could he, who loved reading so much, who owed so much to his own schooling, deny them the chance to learn to read, to better themselves? As for women’s suffrage, well, he had to admit, he’d not given it much thought.
“What are you going to do, Jonathan? I’m telling you right now, this movement will go on. It’s too important. If you let the secret out, the meetings will just move to another place. It might slow us down, but we won’t stop.” Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowing with the passion of her cause. He had no idea she had such fire inside.
He cleared his throat, stepping back.
“Well, what are you going to do, Jonathan?” She challenged him again, hands on hips.
“I don’t know. I’m going to think about it.” And he’d have to do some hard thinking about how his attraction to her was growing. He tunneled his fingers through his hair.
She turned, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder. “Well, if you’re staying, grab a needle and thread or a primer. We have work to do.”
Nine
“Stop your gloating.” Jonathan pushed Grandfather’s chair down the hallway toward Lawrence Brooke’s office.
“Now, now, don’t be cranky. You’d think you didn’t sleep at all last night. Are you nervous?” Grandfather clasped his portfolio in his weathered hands. “It’s a mere formality.”
“I’m not signing anything today. I told you that. And if I could think of a way to delay this meeting, I would.” Especially until he got his feelings for Melissa under control.
He hardly understood himself these days. Even after returning from seeing her home last night, he lay awake, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling but seeing her face, hearing her voice as she patiently corrected pronunciation, smelling her rose perfume each time she came near.
“You’re only putting off the inevitable. You’ll see. It will be for the best.”
A clerk stood at the end of the hall, holding the oak and glass door open. Jonathan nodded his thanks and directed the chair through the doorway.
Geoffrey met them first, his most impartial lawyer’s expression firmly in place.
Lawrence Brooke sat behind a massive carved desk. An inkwell in the shape of a sinister black panther crouched on the glass top, looking ready to pounce on the unwary. Lawrence stood, grave faced. “Let’s go into the conference room, shall we?”
Jonathan wheeled Grandfather through to an adjoining room. A long oval table dominated the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs. He nodded to Wasserman, not surprised to see his grandfather’s favorite lawyer in attendance. At least Jonathan had Geoffrey there for moral support.
Two other occupants captured Jonathan’s attention. Almina Brooke sat at the head of the table as if to conduct the meeting herself. On her right, Melissa stared at her lap. He hadn’t expected her to be here.
Melissa looked up, eyes pleading with him.
His heart jumped. She had pale gray smudges under each eye. A glare from her mother had her dropping her hand from her mouth to her lap. Jonathan was amazed at how familiar the gesture had become to him in such a short time. She always bit her nails when she was worried. A wave of protectiveness washed over him.
Jonathan strode the length of the table and took a seat beside her, ignoring the questioning look from Geoffrey and the triumphant gleam in Grandfather’s eyes. No one seemed to appreciate how difficult this was, especially for Melissa. The two of them were being bartered like company assets.
