Bartered Bride, page 8
“He listened to lessons?”
Warmth tickled Melissa’s heart. He’d sat at the table with those Norwegian ladies listening to their halting English, his long legs cramped under the rickety chair, his hair falling on his forehead. He hadn’t laughed at them or belittled their lack of education, nor had he sneered at the banners and sashes, the pamphlets and placards piled about the room. “I don’t know what his next move will be. I haven’t even seen him since the lawyer’s meeting on Monday.”
“Did your father really give you three million dollars?”
Melissa twisted her mouth in a grimace. “Not exactly. None of the papers has been signed yet. If and when I marry Jonathan Kennebrae, I will receive three million dollars of my own money.”
“And Jonathan agreed? No woman has money that isn’t her husband’s to control.”
“I will, thanks to Mother’s insistence.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I have a few ideas.”
A knock sounded at the door. The housekeeper marched in, her keys jangling on the chatelaine at her waist. “A note arrived for you, Miss Brooke.”
Mrs. Trolley’s sallow face pinched in displeasure. She held out an envelope, wrinkled and smudged. “The man who delivered it looked rather. . .untidy.”
Melissa’s lips twitched at this, the most dire description one could earn from Mrs. Trolley. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Trolley looked down her hooked nose, swept the tea tray with a glance, and departed.
“Who’s it from?”
Melissa slit the envelope with a butter knife. She scanned the single sheet of paper. Her mind raced. “What are we going to do?”
“What?” Zylphia’s voice rose in alarm. “What is it?”
Melissa bit her thumbnail, trying and tossing out ideas. No, that wouldn’t work. No, no, no. Why now? She folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “I need some help. I’ve got to see Jonathan.”
❧
Jonathan slung the papers down on his desk and rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. Why couldn’t he concentrate?
Melissa. Plain and simple, she wouldn’t leave his head. Even Noah had noticed his lack of concentration, his gazing into nothing, his preoccupation. Thoughts of her invaded every waking moment and even his dreams. He imagined he could smell her rose perfume, hear her laughter, see her determined little face as she stood up to him for what she believed in.
Her note crackled in his pocket, and he withdrew it. What kind of sap was he that even the sight of her handwriting stirred him? She needed to see him, as soon as possible.
He’d fired off a reply inviting her and her parents to dinner so quickly he’d smeared the ink. It pleased him that she needed him. The protective feelings he’d begun to harbor toward her swelled.
Jonathan paced his sitting room, his feet quiet on the Persian rug. He muttered to himself, sifting through his feelings, analyzing, evaluating, testing each one.
“Why are you so distracted by her? Sure, she’s pretty, but there has to be more.”
He stopped before the windows, pulling the drapes aside to look down on the pewter surface of the lake.
“Is it the money?” He had to face the question squarely.
An honest search of his heart told him the truth. No, his feelings had nothing to do with money.
“I’d feel this way if she had no more money in this world than those immigrant women she tutors.” A rush of relief followed the statement. He paused, gripping the heavy brocade fabric.
“But what is it I feel?”
Protective. He could acknowledge that. Friendly? No, it was more than that. He had plenty of friends, and he’d never felt this way about any of them.
“Are you really as dense as that?”
The unexpected voice caused Jonathan to spin toward the door.
Noah leaned against his door frame, ankles and arms crossed.
“How long have you been there?” Jonathan scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Long enough to know what you’re too dumb to see.”
“And what might that be?” Jonathan pursed his lips.
Noah rolled his eyes. “You’re in love with the girl you’re supposed to marry.”
Jonathan tensed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who’s being ridiculous. It’s as plain as a lighthouse beacon on a clear night that you love her. You’ve been all but walking into walls this week. You swing from wanting to talk about her all the time to not wanting to talk about her at all. You’ve lost your perspective and your sense of humor. If you don’t love her, then you’re giving a mighty good imitation.”
Did he love her? How could he tell? All he knew was that he felt better when he was with her than he’d ever felt before, and when they weren’t together, she was all he could think about. Maybe he did love her.
Noah crossed the room and put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “It’s not a crime to be happy, Jonathan. If you love her, then try to win her heart. It will be worth it in the end.”
Jonathan nodded slowly, his mind whirling. In love with Melissa Brooke? Wouldn’t that beat all?
Eleven
The carriage rocked along the street in and out of pools of light cast by the street lamps. Melissa smoothed her skirts and tugged at her gloves. Sarah had done a wonderful job getting Melissa ready on such short notice.
The tone of the horses’ hooves changed as they pulled off the road and onto a gravel drive. The carriage lurched to a stop. She didn’t know if she’d feel better or worse if her parents had been able to accompany her. But they’d had a previous engagement. It had taken all of Melissa’s persuasive powers to get her mother to allow her to accept Jonathan’s invitation to dinner at Kennebrae House without her parents.
The driver helped her alight. Lamps burned on either side of the massive front doors, casting shadows under the domed roof of the porte cochere. Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open.
A silver-haired man in a black suit stepped back for her to enter. “Good evening, Miss Brooke.” He inclined his head.
She hoped her smile wasn’t as nervous as her quivering middle. What was the matter with her?
“May I take your cloak, miss?” His gloved hands gleamed white in the light of the chandelier.
She loosened the velvet ties at her throat, trying to swallow. The reception hall stretched at least fifty feet to the right and left. Broad steps to the second floor dominated the wall across from her, everything paneled in darkly stained oak. Oaken carved pillars stood sentinel at intervals, vines and leaves and flowers with the occasional cupid face peeking out. She’d heard about the fantastic parties held in this room in years past, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer size of the building. It was less a home than a castle. Every inch declared it the abode of men. No flowers or bright colors, nothing soft or gentle.
The butler took her wrap and draped it over his arm. “This way, if you please.” He led her to the left, nearly to the end of the long hall before stopping at a door. “The gentlemen are in the parlor.” He opened the door. “Miss Brooke, sir.”
When he stepped aside, Melissa entered the room. A fire blazed in the marble fireplace. Another chandelier gleamed overhead, throwing prisms of light on the painted ceiling.
“Melissa.” Jonathan came forward to greet her.
She put out her hand. “Thank you for the dinner invitation. I need to speak with you.”
“And I with you, but later.” Jonathan tucked her hand into his elbow and led her to the fireplace. “Grandfather, Melissa’s here.”
“Hello, my dear. You’re looking splendid. Come, sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Warm yourself.” He patted the chair beside him. “I’m delighted you could join us. It’s too bad your parents couldn’t come, but we’ll have them over soon.”
Melissa eased into the chair, trying to calm her nerves.
Abraham Kennebrae was as charming as ever, chattering away.
Jonathan stood by the mantel, looking down on her. His intent gaze heated her through more than the fire. Though she’d thought of him constantly for days, being in the same room with him made her heart skip and her breath come fast.
The door opened once more. A bearded man of Jonathan’s height sauntered in, hands in his pockets. He stopped when he saw Melissa. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. It’s been years since this parlor was graced with so beautiful a woman. I’m Noah Kennebrae.”
He took Melissa’s offered hand and bent over it gallantly, squeezing her fingers and kissing the air above her knuckles. “You must be the girl who stole Jonathan’s heart. He’s been walking around like a lovesick duck for the last week.” Noah grinned wickedly at his brother. “But even his description of you doesn’t do you justice.”
Jonathan had been talking about her? Did he think she was pretty? Melissa tried to squelch that vain thought, but it wouldn’t lie down. She’d been on his mind. Was his brother’s teasing true? Had she stolen his heart? Ridiculous, not when he wanted out of this engagement as badly as she did. And she did want out, didn’t she?
Jonathan’s brows shot down, and he glared at his brother.
Noah chuckled, his teeth white against his dark beard.
Jonathan took two steps and removed Melissa’s hand from Noah’s grasp. “Knock it off, Noah.” His tone brooked no argument.
Melissa clasped her hands in her lap, glancing from one man to the other.
Noah didn’t seem upset by Jonathan’s glower. On the contrary, his grin widened, and he shoved his hands back into his pockets under his coat and rocked on his heels.
Abraham’s eyes danced, a smile quivering about his lips. “Ah, this is just what I envisioned when this engagement was first spoken of. The banter of family, the softness of a woman’s presence in our masculine household. If only Eli could be here to share it with us.”
Melissa turned her attention away from Jonathan to his grandfather. “Eli?”
“Eli is the youngest of the Kennebrae brothers, though only by a few minutes. He and Noah are twins, similar but not identical. He’s in Virginia studying shipbuilding. He’ll be home in a few months.”
Jonathan took a seat on the settee, stretching his long legs toward the fire.
Noah leaned against the wall beside the fireplace. “And some news he’ll come home to. If I were him, I’d stay away for a long time.”
Abraham’s hands fisted. “We’ve been through this.” His voice, so sharp in contrast to just minutes ago, startled Melissa. “He will accede to my wishes, or he’ll suffer the consequences, as will you all. I’m still the head of this family.” Pink suffused his pale cheeks.
Melissa looked to Jonathan, wondering how he would take this ultimatum.
He sat up, placed his elbows on his knees, and stared into the flames. Tired lines creased his face, the barest hint of bruise still coloring his temple. “Yes, Grandfather, we know. You’ve made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion.”
“Don’t get smart with me, young man. And don’t patronize me.” Abraham’s breath rasped, his narrow chest rising and falling quickly. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to with delaying signing the marriage contract. Mark my words, this marriage will proceed.”
“Take it easy. You know the doctor says you shouldn’t get worked up,” Noah said, standing up straight. “And you’re forgetting our guest. Melissa, don’t mind them.”
Apprehension fluttered across her skin. Was she to be a bone of contention between them always?
Abraham’s head swiveled Melissa’s way, the heat dying out of his face. “I beg your pardon, my dear. You see, this is what comes of an all-male household. We quite forget our manners.”
The butler stood in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”
Jonathan wiped his hand down his face and rose as if burdened with a great weight, his jaw firm, the skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. He offered Melissa his arm.
She tucked her hand into his elbow while Noah took the handle of Abraham’s chair and wheeled him ahead. Melissa’s heart went out to Jonathan, battling his stubborn grandfather. She knew what it was to fight her own parents for a bit of freedom, a bit of individuality.
When she squeezed his arm, he looked down at her in surprise, causing heat to rush up her cheeks. She averted her gaze, swallowing hard. They walked in silence down the long, carpeted reception hall to the dining room at the other end of the house.
Silver candelabras graced the table, throwing light toward the gleaming gilded panels of the coffered ceiling. Rich, tooled leather covered the upper walls, a luxurious forest green.
Noah wheeled Abraham to the far end of the table under the portraits.
Jonathan led Melissa down the row of chairs and pulled out the one on Abraham’s left. Jonathan took the chair opposite Melissa, with Noah on his right.
Abraham held out his hand to Melissa. Confused she placed her hand in his. The men all clasped hands and bowed their heads.
“Jonathan, will you offer the grace, please?” Abraham’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
Jonathan’s voice comforted Melissa. He prayed, not by rote but as if he talked to a friend of long-standing, asking God’s blessing on the food and those who partook of it and for a special blessing on Eli, so far from home. When he said, “Amen,” Melissa looked up, catching his eye. Some of her butterflies concerning the reason for her coming tonight subsided. If he could talk to God like that, surely he would listen to her needs. But when could they be alone?
Two maids carried in the first course. Did they dine like this every night, or was this a special occasion because she was here?
Melissa and her mother often ate together in the evening. Lawrence Brooke spent long hours at his office or closeted away in his den working. He usually had a tray sent in about nine every night. Only when guests were expected did he break with his routine and dress for a formal dinner.
“The Bethany should be ready to pull out just after Thanksgiving. We can make one last dash to Chicago with ore and hustle back with a load of coal before the season ends.” Noah picked up his fork.
Melissa studied Jonathan’s younger brother. He had lines at the corners of his eyes, as if he spent a great deal of time looking out at the sun on the water. His hands were rough, calloused, and large, dwarfing his crystal water goblet. Sky blue eyes—so different from Jonathan’s dark brown—didn’t miss a trick. His mouth had the look of one with a sense of humor.
“That’s leaving a bit late, don’t you think? The weather’s a bit tricky that time of year. You might be iced in by mid-November.” Jonathan pursed his lips.
“Life’s no fun if you don’t take some risks. Anyway, I thought you wanted me to take another look at the docks in Chicago. Wasn’t Jacobson headed down there to negotiate the sale?”
“What’s this?” Abraham scowled. “I haven’t heard about any docks in Chicago. When did this happen?”
“At the last board meeting. You weren’t there, remember? You were holed up with your cronies, mapping out the future to suit yourself.” Jonathan dropped his fork to his plate. “Like you have been for the last five board meetings. You said to take care of things myself, and that’s just what I’ve done.”
Abraham thumped the table with his fist. “I’m tired of this conversation. I’ve been over my reasons. Enough.”
Melissa’s skin prickled. How often this evening would she be reminded that she was a bartered bride? The food stuck in her throat, tasting of damp newspaper.
Jonathan flexed his jaw, clamping it shut on whatever he had been about to say.
Noah, his eyes filled with pity enough to make her squirm, changed the subject. “Melissa, I noticed you looking at the portraits.” He waved toward the paintings in their heavy, gilded frames. “Those are our parents, Isaiah and Isabelle Kennebrae.”
Melissa studied them, noting the dark hair Isaiah had passed on to his sons. Isabelle was more pleasant of feature than outright beautiful, but there was something in her expression, a liveliness, a fire, that drew Melissa’s attention. She had yet to meet Eli, but both Jonathan and Noah had inherited that same passion—Jonathan for business and Noah for sailing. She made the appropriate comments and fell silent.
Dinner finished, as uncomfortable and strained as it had begun, Jonathan brooding and quiet, Abraham fuming, and Noah trying to carry the conversation. Melissa regretted coming tonight. If she married Jonathan, was this the evening entertainment she could look forward to for the rest of her life? If Noah hadn’t been there, the meal would’ve been conducted in complete silence. Her dinner sat in her middle like an anchor.
Twelve
“Why don’t we go to the music room? Melissa can play for us.” Abraham tossed his napkin on the table, breaking his silence. “We’ve got a Steinway. Hasn’t been played since my wife died.”
Melissa shot Jonathan a pleading look.
Jonathan held her chair for her as she rose.
“I must speak with you.” She kept her voice low, tucking her hand into his offered elbow.
He nodded. “Later.”
She stopped, tugging on his arm. “Not later. Now.”
Noah halted pushing Abraham’s chair for only a second, and she realized she’d spoken louder than she’d intended.
“We’ll join you in a few moments.” Jonathan slid her chair under the table and waited.
“We’re not competing in a race,” Abraham scolded. “Slow down.” Noah’s reply was muffled by the doors closing.
Jonathan and Melissa stood alone in the dining room. She stepped back a pace and crossed her arms at her waist, pressing against her middle to still her nerves.
