by Lily George
“It’ll be fine. We only have a little ways to go. St. Clair is meeting us at the train-station restaurant.” He tucked her arm into his elbow and ventured out into the milling throngs of travelers. Somehow, he felt calmer now that Ada was with him. So many times he had argued with his in-laws alone. Now he had someone on his side. True, she was somewhat forced to be on his side, but it was comforting, anyway.
He steered them over to the restaurant. St. Clair stood at the entrance, leaning on an ebony walking stick. The old man was as immaculate as always in his Savile Row suit, with a carnation in his buttonhole and his gray hair brushed sleekly back from his head. The old man took in Ada, surveying her from the crown of her hat to the tips of her boots peeking out from beneath her skirt.
“My dear,” he enthused, his thick Southern accent making it sound as though he said mah deah. He came closer and held his hand out to Ada. “You must be Miss Westmore.”
“Mrs. Burnett,” she corrected him, giving him a graceful smile. “Mr. St. Clair, I believe?”
“You believe correctly,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand. Then he turned his gaze to Jack. “Burnett,” he barked.
“Sir,” Jack replied. There was no shaking of hands, and no politeness in their meeting. There had been too much ugliness between them over the years.
St. Clair turned his attention back to Ada. “Come, my dear. I’ve reserved a table for our party.” He offered her his elbow.
With a puzzled glance at Jack, Ada broke free of his hold and took St. Clair’s elbow. Jack followed behind them into the restaurant, already beginning to seethe. The old man knew exactly what it took to enrage him, and already he was making progress.
St. Clair held Ada’s chair for her. Once she was settled, the two men sat. The glasses on the table were filled with water and lemonade, and no menus awaited their perusal.
“I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Burnett, but I presumed to order our meal,” the old man drawled. He cast a malicious glance in Jack’s direction. “If I let your husband order, he might make us eat a bowl of chili con carne with cornbread muffins.” He chuckled in appreciation of his dig at Jack.
Jack would not be riled. Too much was at stake. “Yup,” he responded, keeping his tone light. “There’s nothing like a good bowl of chili and corn bread.”
Ada was smiling, but it was a smile he had come to know as being one of tremendous strain and not of genuine good feeling. She took a sip of her lemonade. “I’m sure that any meal will be quite fine, Mr. St. Clair. In fact, I relish this opportunity to know you better. I understand that your daughter was married to Mr. Burnett.”
“Yes, my only daughter, Emily. She was a rare creature, Mrs. Burnett, as blond as you are brunette. I have no idea what such a gentle, sweet child saw in Jack Burnett, I can tell you that.” St. Clair flicked an appraising glance at Jack. “He came out to our home in Charleston to buy a few of my horses, and they fell in love, I suppose. They eloped and he carried her back to Texas. Emily died only a few years later.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Ada looked at a loss for words. She glanced at Jack, as though appealing to him to help carry the conversational load.
Although he’d like to rebut the older man’s story—and many detestable remarks hung on Jack’s tongue—he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he fisted his hands on his lap and gritted his teeth to keep his thoughts from spilling forth. Anything he said would make St. Clair angrier and more stubborn. Ada had a job to do. It was up to her charm and wit to bring Laura home. He had tried too many times in the past and failed.
St. Clair nodded as the waitress approached their table, bearing a tray of toast rounds and caviar. Jack despised caviar. He had never understood why such a disgusting thing was considered a delicacy. But if he refused, St. Clair would start ribbing him about being a backward cowboy, and he could only take so much of that before he snapped. So he helped himself to two, ready to choke them down.
“So, Mrs. Burnett, you are of the Westmore family in New York. I knew of your father, Augustus. I never met him personally, but one hears of such a powerful man, you know.” St. Clair took a careful bite of his caviar. “Tell me, did the scandal surrounding his memory have a basis in truth? The word is, he was trying to fix a local election.”
Ada grew pale and pushed her toast round away. “I never had a chance to ask him, Mr. St. Clair. He died before I could learn what really happened. Of course, I don’t believe it has basis in fact.”
“Pardon my asking, my dear.” St. Clair leaned across the table, his gray hair glinting in the sunlight. “It’s just that I have to make certain that Laura is going to a good home. I want her to be raised in a proper manner, in genteel surroundings. Now, as you have seen yourself, Winchester Falls is a rather rough-and-ready town.”
Ada inclined her head a trifle. “Yes, it is.” She fixed St. Clair with an understanding look. “On the other hand, I must say that Jack’s deep love for his daughter is abundantly clear to me. I think that having a loving parent—two loving parents, that is—accounts for as much or even more than a polished atmosphere.”
Jack glanced over at Ada. No one except Pearl Colgan had defended him to the St. Clair family. She gave him a warm smile, her blue eyes twinkling.
All talk lapsed as the waitress took away the caviar and replaced it with bowls of clear chicken broth. This was better than the previous course but, still, hardly filling.
St. Clair sipped at his soup. “You are active in the suffragette movement, are you not?” He spoke so abruptly that Ada choked on her broth. The old man waited until she had taken a sip of water and then pressed on. “I’m not certain that I want Laura exposed to progressive ideals.”
Ada, red faced from swallowing wrong or from the line of questioning—or possibly both—turned to Jack, the light of appeal in her blue eyes.
He gave in to pity. She was doing the best she could, and he needed to step up, too. He turned to the old man. “Laura’s my daughter, St. Clair,” he responded. “If I don’t mind Ada as her mother, then neither should you.”
These were fighting words, and he knew it. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to permit St. Clair attacking Ada. She was trying to help. Because of her, he might get Laura back. If the old man wanted to mock him for being a rube, he could have at it. These insults were nothing new. Insulting Ada was an entirely different matter.
St. Clair glared at him. “You know full well that my daughter’s will gave me authority over certain aspects of Laura’s life. She didn’t trust you to do much of anything with Laura in the event of her death.”
Jack fixed his father-in-law with a defiant stare, all the rage he had initially felt over Emily’s will rushing back, filling him with anger so potent that he clenched his fists.
The waitress chose that opportune moment to clear the soup bowls away and brought the main course.
“Chicken à la King,” Ada murmured appreciatively. “I haven’t had this since leaving New York. It’s one of my favorites. Our cook had just learned the recipe.”
Jack shifted his attention to her. How could she even have an appetite now? Was the woman made of stone? Yet, as he glowered at her, her hands trembled when she took up her fork. Her face was now drained of all color.
Her enthusiasm was a ruse to break the tension. She took an unsteady bite of her dinner, and as she chewed, her jaw squared. She was girding herself, in the same way he had done, for battle. Ada was nobody’s fool. By this time she had surely learned his father-in-law’s manner. First, flattery. Later, he would go for the kill.
“I understand your hesitation, Mr. St. Clair,” she continued, as though the fracas between the two men had never happened. “After all, you are Laura’s grandfather. She is your treasure, too. I assure you that my intention is to help bring her up as a young woman should be raised.”
St. Clair nodded, looking at Ada, and his keen brown eyes narrowed. “I worry that if I release her to your care, I’ll never see her again. St. Louis is neu
tral territory. If she goes with you to Winchester Falls, then I would probably have to journey to that rustic community just to see her.”
Ada shot Jack a pleading glance. “I’m sure my husband would have no objection if Laura came to visit.”
“I want her to come to Evermore, our family home, for two weeks every year. The rest of her family—cousins, aunts, uncles—wish to see her as much as I do.” St. Clair’s voice took on a clipped tone. He was in full bargaining mode now.
“One week,” Jack countered. He was feeling reckless. St. Clair had managed to rile him up enough that he was beginning to enjoy the thought of needling the old man.
“It will take at least a few days for her to journey there and back,” Ada spoke up. “Two weeks must include her traveling.”
“Two weeks if Ada goes along as her chaperone,” Jack snapped. Ada had no business lengthening the visit without his consent.
“Don’t you want to go?” Ada asked, her eyes widening.
“I’m never setting foot on Evermore soil again.” He leaned across the table, staring down his father-in-law.
“That, young man, is certainly fine with me,” St. Clair retorted.
Ada gasped. “Gentlemen.” It was the first time she had intervened without merely trying to change the subject.
Things must be too far gone if she was stepping in like this. A hollow feeling filled the pit of Jack’s stomach. Had he allowed himself to be goaded to the point that there was no way Laura could come home?
“Perhaps it would be best if I laid out a few plans,” Ada continued, giving each man a glare that easily said, clearer than words, Behave yourselves. “After all, each of you feels passionately about Laura’s welfare. That speaks highly of both your characters. Let us, then, come to an arrangement that will benefit the child, and not one borne of a grudge.”
St. Clair opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Ada quieted him with a wave of her hand.
“Your first concern was of my pedigree, Mr. St. Clair. As you have demonstrated, you know as much about my family as most people do. If my family background is repugnant to you, I beg you would say so now. It is still difficult for me to speak of my father’s passing. As much as he was flawed, I loved him in my way and I miss him.”
St. Clair flushed. He shook his head. “No, my dear. I have no objection to your family. Quite the contrary, in fact. The Westmores have been known in social circles for generations.”
Ada turned to Jack. “Your father-in-law is worried that he will not get to see Laura if she is removed from school. No matter how you feel about the man, he is Laura’s grandfather. A few visits to Charleston for her to know her mother’s family is not too much for him to ask.” Though her voice was sharp, her eyes held a beseeching look.
“I would like, in addition to a summer visit, to have regular reports on her progress,” St. Clair continued. “If at any time I feel Laura is not receiving adequate care, I will bring her back to boarding school.”
Jack’s anger, which had begun to cool, hit the boiling point once again. He opened his mouth to tell the old man to jump in a river, but Ada touched his arm under the tablecloth. He glanced over at her. She gave him a barely perceptible shake of her head.
Her touch was calming. He took a deep breath, willing his fury to ebb.
“I can send weekly letters, if you wish,” Ada replied. She started to withdraw her hand from his arm, but he grabbed it and held on tightly. He needed her. She was the only thing standing between him and disaster.
St. Clair looked skeptical, as though he didn’t expect Ada to be entirely honest when writing. She returned his stare evenly. Jack glared at the old man, too. If he spoke just one word against his wife— He was already thinking of Ada as his wife. That was an odd sensation. Even after he had been married to Emily for a year, he didn’t feel as close to her as he did to Ada.
“I suppose that will be sufficient, although I might have my man of affairs stop in now and then, when he can be spared,” St. Clair retorted. “And the summer visit?”
“Laura can go if Ada accompanies her,” Jack repeated shortly. It was all he could promise. He looked over at Ada, and she gave him an encouraging smile. It felt good and right to receive her support in all this. She had done so much more for him than he expected. In times past, a meeting like this would have drawn to an unsuccessful close much, much sooner.
Ada turned back to St. Clair. “Is that agreeable to you, sir?”
“I should be happy to have you as my guest,” St. Clair replied with a courtly little bow.
Ada took a sip of water. Her hand, still clutched in his, trembled.
Jack squeezed her hand gently and glanced coolly over at his father-in-law. She deserved the same sort of backup that she had bestowed on him. It was going to be all right if St. Clair stopped being stubborn. Would the old man relent? Ada had promised more than Jack had ever consented to before. Was this enough? Or would the autocrat continue pulling all the strings in Jack’s life?
“So?” Jack snarled.
St. Clair ignored him completely and focused his attention on Ada. “I would never give my approval without you here, my dear. I think, though, that aside from some troubling progressive tendencies, you would make a good stepmother for Laura.”
Ada gave an uncertain laugh. Jack’s gut wrenched. How could they continue bantering when so much was at stake?
“Does that mean we can take her home?” Ada’s voice was high and tremulous.
“Yes.” St. Clair beckoned the waitress over. “Now, let’s have some chocolate cake, shall we? Negotiations of this magnitude are deserving of a little reward.”
*
Ada’s knees still trembled, even though she sat in a carriage and the restaurant and train station were far behind them. She could still feel Jack’s touch burning through her glove despite the fact that he’d stopped holding her hand the moment dessert had been ordered. If only Jack would say something soon. His continued silence, since they had left the restaurant, was troubling. Part of her wanted to commiserate with him on their harrowing negotiations, and another part of her wondered if his silence was, in actuality, a reaction to finally getting what he wanted. The entire luncheon had been a sort of battle, and she craved the opportunity to decompress with her fellow soldier.
The driver negotiated the heavy afternoon traffic as they rolled through the streets on the way to Mrs. Erskine’s Seminary. She had to stop thinking of Jack and focus instead on her role. In just a few short minutes, she would meet Laura—her daughter. She was Laura’s stepmother now and would be charged with her care. Make no mistake about it, St. Clair would follow the progress of the entire family. If her guardianship failed to meet with his approval, Laura would likely be shipped right back to St. Louis. No, despite what he said about boarding school, he would probably insist on her coming home to Charleston.
She would have to send a few more telegrams to Aunt Pearl, making certain the house looked absolutely spotless.
Ada glanced over at her husband, who was still brooding out the window. Silhouetted against the curtains, he cut a very handsome figure. Even sitting, it was obvious that he was quite tall and powerful. A sudden burst of loneliness struck her as she looked over at him. What was the use of being a wife—or a paid mother, or whatever you could call her place in his family—if she had no one to confide in? It could be nice to talk to Jack.
Well, Jack wasn’t going to say anything. It was up to her to break the tension, just as she had when their argument had heated up in the restaurant.
“In a few moments, you’ll get to see her again,” she said with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“No,” he admitted, his voice on edge. He settled back against the cushions and then straightened abruptly. “I wish he’d hurry up.”
“Traffic makes for slow going,” she responded. He was nervous. Well, that was understandable. She was, too.
“Why’d you say you’d let Laura go there in the summer?” It wasn’t a
mere question. He was demanding an answer.
“Because the situation was quickly unraveling.” She was not going to get a thank-you from him, not from the sound of it. “Moreover, it really isn’t too much for him to ask. Laura should know her mother’s people.”
“I don’t like the St. Clairs,” he responded. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“You made that abundantly clear,” she retorted. If only they could get back to the teasing manner to which she had grown accustomed. “I wasn’t overly fond of him myself. He was rather rude about my family and about my work in the suffrage movement.”
Jack turned to face her. Ada struggled to maintain her composure. When he focused his full attention on her like that, it made her feel as shaky as that first day at the train depot when she met him. “I’m sorry for his behavior,” he said. “He is just that way. They all are. Emily was, too. I guess I was charmed by her at first. I soon regretted it, I can tell you.”
Mixed feelings swirled within Ada. On the one hand, it would be good to learn more about Emily and how happy her relationship with Jack had been. Knowing these things might help Ada to understand Laura better. On the other hand, it was somehow distasteful to her to learn more about his first wife. How did Ada measure up to Emily? Was she sweeter and prettier? Mr. St. Clair had said she was blond. Ada caught a glimpse of a straggling dark lock of her own hair and sighed.
Here she was, falling into unhelpful comparisons. To compare herself to any other woman, in how they might be pleasing to men, was a betrayal of sorts to the sisterhood. It reduced all women to one common denominator: how they suited the men in their lives.
Besides, it didn’t matter how Jack felt about her or how she looked to him. Their marriage was forged for only two purposes: to help Ada provide for her sisters and to bring Laura home to her father.
The carriage swung onto a gravel driveway. A sign flashed past that read Mrs. Erskine’s Seminary for Young Ladies. They had arrived. One of the purposes for which they had wed was about to be fulfilled.