She swept out of the room with more grace than she actually felt and, once in her room, she collapsed onto the bed.
Marry Kane Taggert? she thought. Marry a man who talked and acted worse than any River Street ruffian? Marry a man who treated her without respect, one who hauled her in and out of carriages as if she were a sack of potatoes? Marry a man who kissed her as if she were a scullery maid?
She sat upright. “Marry a man who, as Blair says, when he kisses me makes me see red with little sparks of gold and silver?” she said aloud.
“I just might,” she whispered, leaned back against the bed, and for the first time began to consider becoming Mrs. Kane Taggert.
Chapter 6
By morning Houston had convinced herself that she couldn’t possibly, under any circumstances, marry Mr. Taggert. Her mother’d sniffed throughout breakfast and cried repeatedly, “My beautiful daughters, what will become of them?” while Blair and Duncan’d argued about how Blair’d ruined Houston’s life. Houston wasn’t sure it was an argument, since they seemed to be agreeing with one another.
Houston entered the discussion when it was said that Kane Taggert was her means of punishing herself for losing Leander. But no one seemed to hear what Houston said, and nothing made any difference to Blair’s misery, so Houston stopped listening to them. But being the cause of so much weeping made her decide she couldn’t marry Mr. Taggert.
Immediately after breakfast, people began “dropping by.”
“I was just starting to bake an apple pie and knew how much you liked them, Opal, so I baked two and brought you one. How are the twins?”
By midmorning, the house was full of food and people. Mr. Gates stayed in his brewery office, having one of the maids bring him his lunch, so Houston, Blair and Opal had to fend off the questions by themselves.
“Did you really fall in love with Mr. Taggert, Houston?”
“Have another piece of pie, Mrs. Treesdale,” Houston answered.
At eleven, Blair managed to slip away, leaving Opal and Houston alone to cope, and Blair didn’t return until three o’clock. “Are they still here?” she gasped, looking at the crowd on the lawn.
At three thirty, a man pulled up in front of the Chandler house driving a beautiful carriage such as no one in Chandler had ever seen. It was painted white, with white wheels, a cream-colored collapsible hood on top with shiny brass detailing. There was a seat in front upholstered in red leather and a smaller seat in back for an attendant.
The group of people on the lawn, on the deep porch, and spilling into the garden, stopped their questions and gawked.
A man, crudely dressed, stepped down and walked straight into the midst of the people. “Who’s Miss Houston Chandler?” he asked into the silence.
“I am,” Houston said, stepping forward.
The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and began to read. “This here carriage is from the man you’re gonna marry, Mr. Kane Taggert. It’s a lady’s drivin’ carriage, a spider phaeton, and the horse is a good ’un.”
He folded the paper, put it back into his pocket and turned away. “Oh yeah.” He turned back. “Mr. Taggert sent you this, too.” He tossed a small parcel wrapped in brown paper toward Houston and she caught it.
The man went down the path, whistling. Everyone watched him until he was out of sight around a corner.
“Well, Houston,” Tia said, “aren’t you going to open your gift?”
Houston wasn’t sure she should open the package because she knew what she’d find inside, and if she accepted his ring, it would mean she accepted him.
Inside the box was the biggest diamond she’d ever seen, an enormous, breathtaking chunk of brilliance surrounded by nine square-cut emeralds.
The combined intake of breath from the women around her was enough to stir the tree leaves.
With resolution, Houston snapped the blue velvet box shut, and walked straight down the path toward the carriage. She didn’t hesitate or answer any questions thrown at her but snapped the reins and the lovely brown horse moved briskly.
She drove straight up Sheldon street, across the Tijeras River that separated the north and south sections of town, and up the steep drive to the Taggert house. Since pounding on the front door brought no answer, she strode inside, took a left and stopped in the doorway of Kane’s office.
He sat hunched over his desk, puffing away on a vile cigar, making notes and giving quick orders to Edan, who was leaning back in a chair, his feet on the desk, smoking an equally awful cigar.
Edan saw her first and the big blond man stood at once and punched Kane on the shoulder.
Kane looked up with a frown.
“You must be Edan,” Houston said, going forward, her hand outstretched. She wasn’t sure if he was a servant or a friend. “I’m Houston Chandler.”
“Houston,” he said. He was not a servant, not with that air of confidence.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Houston said, turning to Kane.
“If it’s about weddin’ plans, I’m real busy right now. If you need money, tell Edan, he’ll write you a check.”
Waving smoke away from her face, she went to a window and opened it. “You shouldn’t sit in this smoke. It isn’t good for you.”
Kane looked up at her with cold eyes. “Who are you to give me orders? Just because you’re gonna be my wife, don’t—.”
“As far as I can recall, I haven’t yet agreed to be your wife and if you can’t find time to talk to me—in private—I don’t think I will be your wife. Good day, Mr. Taggert, and Edan.”
“Good day, Houston,” Edan said with a slight smile.
“Women!” she heard Kane say behind her. “I told you a woman’d take a lot of my time.”
He caught up with her at the front door. “Maybe I was a little hasty,” he said. “It’s just that when I’m workin’ I don’t like no interruptions. You got to understand that.”
“I wouldn’t bother you if it weren’t important,” she said coolly.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll go in here an’ talk.” He pointed to the echoing emptiness of the library. “I’d offer you a chair, but the only ones I got are in my bedroom. You wanta go up there?” He gave her a grinning leer.
“Definitely not. What I want to talk about, Mr. Taggert, is whether or not you are quite serious about your marriage proposal to me.”
“You think I got the time to waste doin’ all the courtin’ I been doin’ if I wasn’t serious?”
“Courting?” she said. “Yes, I guess you could call Sunday morning courting. What I want to ask you, sir, is, well, have you ever killed or hired someone to kill for you?”
Kane’s mouth dropped open and his eyes grew angry, but then he began to look amused. “No, I ain’t never killed nobody. What else you wanta know about me?”
“Anything you care to tell me,” she said seriously.
“Ain’t much. I grew up in Jacob Fenton’s stable”—a muscle twitched in his cheek–“I got tossed out for messin’ with his daughter and I been makin’ money since then. I ain’t killed nobody, robbed nobody, cheated nobody, never beat up no woman and only knocked out an average number of men. Anythin’ else?”
“Yes. When you proposed, you said you wanted me to furnish your house. What do I get to do with you?”
“With me?” With a grin, he looped his thumbs in the empty belt loops on his trousers. “I ain’t gonna hold nothin’ back from you if that’s what you mean.”
“I do not mean whatever you’re implying, I’m sure,” she said stiffly. “Mr. Taggert,” she said, as she began walking around him. “I know men who work in coal mines who are better dressed than you are. And your language is atrocious, as well as your manners. My mother is scared to death of my marrying a barbarian like you. Since I cannot spend my life frightening my own mother, you will have to agree to some instruction from me.”
“Instruction?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “What can you teach me?”
“How to dress properly. How to eat—.”
“Eat? I eat plenty.”
“Mr. Taggert, you keep mentioning names like Vanderbilt and Gould. Tell me, were you ever invited to the homes of any of those families when the women were present?”
“No, but—,” he began, then looked away. “I was once, but there was an accident and some dishes got broke.”
“I see. I wonder how you expect me to be your wife, to run a magnificent house like this, to give dinner parties like you want while you sit at the head of the table eating peas from a knife. I assume you do eat peas with a knife.”
“I don’t eat peas at all. A man needs meat, and he don’t need a woman to tell him—.”
“Good day, sir.” She turned on her heel and took two steps before he grabbed her arm.
“You ain’t gonna marry me if I don’t let you teach me?”
“And dress you, and shave you.”
“Anxious to see my face, are you?” he grinned, but stopped when he saw how serious Houston was. “How long I got to decide this?”
“About ten minutes.”
He grimaced. “Who taught you how to do business? Let me think about this then.” He walked toward a window, and stood there for several long minutes.
“I got some requests of you,” he said when he came back to her. “I know you’re marryin’ me for my money.” He put up his hand when she began to speak. “Ain’t no use denyin’ it. You wouldn’t consider marryin’ me with my knife–eatin’ ways if I didn’t have a big house to give you. A lady like you wouldn’t even talk to a stableboy like me. What I want is for you to pretend, and to tell ever’body, that you . . . ” He looked down at the parqueted floor. “I want people to think you did, uh, fall in love with me and that you ain’t just marryin’ me ’cause your sister jumped the gun and I just happened along. I want even your sister”—he said this with emphasis—“to think you’re crazy for me, just like I said in front of the church. And I want your mother to think so, too. I don’t want her to be afraid of me.”
Houston had expected anything but this. So this was the big, fearsome man who stood aloof from the whole town. How awful it must be to not be able to do the smallest social thing. Of course women wouldn’t put up with having him in their houses when there were “accidents” and china was broken. Right now, he didn’t fit into any world, neither the poor one where his manners and speech placed him, nor the rich one where his money placed him.
He needs me, she thought. He needs me as no one ever has before. To Leander, I was something extra, nice but not necessary. But to this man, the things I’ve learned are vital.
“I will pretend to be the most loving of wives,” she said softly.
“Then you are gonna marry me?”
“Why, yes, I believe I am,” she said with a feeling of surprise.
“Hot damn! Edan!” he bellowed as he ran out of the room. “Lady Chandler’s gonna marry me.”
Houston sat down on a window ledge. He was going to marry “Lady” Chandler. Who in the world had she agreed to marry?
It was evening before Houston drove back to her own home. She was exhausted, and at the moment she wished she’d never heard of Kane Taggert. He seemed to think he would be able to stay at his house and work, and his fiancée could attend all the engagement parties alone, tell everyone she was in love with him, and all would be well.
“Unless they see us together, no one will believe we even know each other,” she said to him across his littered desk. “You have to attend the garden party the day after tomorrow, and before then we have to make you a proper suit of clothes and shave you.”
“I’m tryin’ to buy some land in Virginia and a man’s comin’ tomorrow. I got to stay here.”
“You can talk business during your fittings.”
“You mean, have one of them little men put his little hands all over me? I ain’t havin’ that. You have somebody send over some suits and I’ll pick one out.”
“Red or purple?” she asked quickly.
“Red. I seen some red plaid ones once—.”
Houston’s half scream stopped him. “You will have a tailor make a suit for you and I will choose the fabric. And you will attend the garden party with me, and you will also attend several other functions with me within the next few weeks before our marriage.”
“You sure real ladies are this bossy? I thought real ladies never raised their voices.”
“They don’t raise their voices to real gentlemen, but to men who want to wear red plaid suits they are allowed to use blunt instruments.”
Kane had looked sulky at that, but he’d given in. “All right then, I’ll have a suit made like you want, and I’ll go to your dam . . . your lovely, dainty tea party,” he changed it to, making her smile, “but I don’t know about them other parties.”
“We’ll do one day at a time,” she said, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I must return home. My parents will be worried.”
“Come ’ere,” he said, motioning her around his desk.
Thinking he wanted to show her something, she did as he bid. Roughly, he caught her wrist and pulled her into his lap. “You get to be my teacher, I guess I’m gonna have to teach you about some things, too.”
He began nuzzling her neck with his face, his lips nibbling her skin. She was about to protest his treatment of her, but then parts of her body began to melt.
“Kane,” Edan said from the doorway. “Excuse me.”
Without ceremony, Kane pushed her off his lap. “You’ll get more of that later, honey,” he said, as if she were a street trollop. “Go on home now, I got to work.”
Houston swallowed what she wanted to say and, with a face red from embarrassment, murmured a good night to both men and left the house.
Now, driving home at last, tired, hungry, still suffering from an emotion that was half anger, half embarrassment, she faced telling her family that she’d agreed to marry the notorious Mr. Kane Taggert.
Why, she asked herself as she slowed the horse to the barest walk. Why in the world was she agreeing to marry a man she didn’t love, who didn’t love her, a man who made her furious every other minute, a man who treated her like something he’d bought and paid for?
The answer came to her quickly.
Because he made her feel alive. Because he needed her.
Blair had said that when they were children, Houston had thrown snowballs with the best of them, but Duncan and Leander had taken away her spirit. Long ago she’d learned that it was easier to give in to the men, to be the quiet, ladylike, spiritless woman they wanted.
But there were times, at receptions, at dinner gatherings, when she felt as if she were a painting on a wall—pretty and nice to have around, but completely unnecessary to anyone’s day-to-day well-being. She’d even said something like this to Leander once and he’d talked about the quality of life changing without art objects.
But in the end, Lee had traded Houston’s quiet, serene beauty for a woman who set his body on fire.
Never had a man made her feel as Kane Taggert did. Lee’s taste in clothing and furniture was impeccable. Easily, he could have done the interiors of the house he’d had built for them by himself. But Mr. Taggert was at such a loss about what to do that, without her, he couldn’t even arrange his furniture, much less buy it.
Houston thought of all the years of work she’d gone through at school. Blair seemed to think her sister had done little but drink tea and arrange flowers, but Houston remembered the strict discipline and Miss Jones’s ruler slapping on tender palms when a girl failed.
When she was with Lee, she had to make a conscious effort to put all her schooling into effect because Lee would know when she was wrong. But with Mr. Taggert, she felt free. Today she’d screeched at him. In fourteen years of knowing Lee, never once had she raised her voice to him.
She took a breath of cool, night air. All the work ahead of her! Arranging the wedding, the surprise of exploring the attics and putting
the furniture where she wanted it. And the challenge of trying to turn Mr. Taggert into some form of gentleman!
By the time she reached home, she was bursting with excitement. She was going to marry a man who needed her.
She left the horse and carriage with the groom, straightened her shoulders, and prepared herself to face the storm that was her family.
Chapter 7
Much to her surprise—and relief—the house was quiet when Houston entered through the kitchen, only the cook and Susan washing up.
“Has everyone gone to bed?” she asked, her hand on the big oak table that nearly filled the room.
“Yes, Miss Blair-Houston,” Susan answered as she cleaned the coffee grinder. “More or less.”
“Houston,” she said automatically, ignoring the maid’s last comment. “Will you bring me something on a tray and come to my room, Susan?”
As she walked through the house to the stairs, she noticed several large bouquets of freshly cut flowers, not flowers from her mother’s garden. She saw a card attached:
To my wife to be, Blair, from Leander.
Leander had never sent her flowers in all the months they were engaged.
She held her head high and went upstairs.
Houston’s bedroom was papered in a subtle cream and White design, the woodwork was painted white and the windows were hung with handmade Battenberg lace. The low tables and the backs of the two chairs were also adorned with the airy lace. The underside of her bed canopy was of gathered silk in a light tan and the bedspread was intricately quilted, all in white.
When Houston had undressed down to her underwear, Susan came with the tray. While eating, Houston began giving orders.
“I know it’s late but I need you to send Willie on some errands. He’s to take this note to Mr. Bagly, the tailor on Lead Avenue. I don’t care if Willie has to drag the man out of bed, he is to make sure Mr. Bagly personally gets this. He must be at the Taggert house at eight o’clock tomorrow.”
“At the Taggert house?” Susan asked, as she put away Houston’s clothes. “Then it’s true, Miss, you’re going to marry him?”
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