Her response, at first, was a low growl, but then she quickly changed it to an only somewhat whiney "Yes."
Despite the fact that she'd been denied the chance to support her sisters in their fight for the same freedoms that men enjoyed, and she'd intended to spend the weekend in full pout, her husband had other ideas and actually brought her in to the high level meetings he was having with investors and bankers, trying to leverage this buyout.
At first, she went only under protest. He'd practically had to throw her over his shoulder, like he was apt to do at any given moment. But after that first day, when she noticed how ill at ease all the other men were at having a woman in the meeting with them, and knew that she was giving her husband the advantage because of it, she started to pay more attention to what was going on.
Brandon's thought in having her accompany him was several fold. First, if she was with him, she couldn't be getting herself into trouble. Secondly, he liked having her around, thirdly, if she got involved in doing this kind of thing with him, maybe she'd let go of some of her more outspoken ideas, and lastly, she was actually helping him a lot, because her presence was a considerable distraction to the other men. He was making better strides than he'd thought he could because everyone else was fidgeting, worrying about their language, their eyes constantly wandering to his beautiful bride.
She actually helped him get the company he was interested in for much less money than he'd expected to pay, and he took her out to an incredibly extravagant dinner to celebrate, then proposed something more of a partnership in regards to the business.
Nola was surprised and proud that he thought she'd helped him so much just by sitting there, and a warmth suffused her that she hadn't felt in a very long time. "Well, I think I make a better secret weapon, don't you? If I'm always with you, the novelty will wear off."
He had to agree that she was exactly right. But he held his glass up to her regardless, thanking her for all of her help.
Not knowing quite what else to do, Nola drank to herself, the got up the gumption to ask, "Does this mean that I can go to one of my rallies?"
Brandon nodded yes, quickly, before he tried to talk her out of it. "Yes, you can. You just tell me where and when, and we'll go."
It ended up that the next rally was up in Glens Falls, in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains. Once they got up there, he accompanied her everywhere she went, until she collapsed into bed each evening. He actually worried that she was overdoing a bit, but she pushed herself much like he pushed himself in business, and he couldn't quite find it in himself to forbid her from doing what she so obviously loved. He probably felt as much as a fish out of water listening to what he had been surprised to hear was quite vehement diatribe about men and their oppression of women as she had listening to all of the business jargon he'd subjected her to recently, but he just stood as close to her as he could, keeping her within his line of sight as much as possible, and constantly scanning the crowds for possible troublemakers.
Although they were supposed to go back to the city that Sunday, he had a surprise in store for her and had gotten them a gorgeous cottage on Lake George, just north of Glens Falls. It was just off season, just after Labor Day, and still quite warm, and they spent their days swimming, canoeing - badly, in her case - and making love in various locations guaranteed to shock the locals and few remaining tourists.
Nola was sitting in the sunroom of what he euphemistically called a cabin - it was kind of like him calling their house in the Hamptons a cottage. This place was absolutely huge, with tons of gorgeous, pristine lake frontage, a sandy beach, a boat dock and six bedrooms. The room she was sitting in had floor to ceiling windows on three sides, and it had a gorgeous view of the water. She had a cup of chamomile tea at her side, and a book in her lap, and she realized, all of a sudden, that she'd never been happier in her life, and that her improved relationship with her husband was a large part of the reason why.
She liked him. She genuinely liked him. Yes, he could be a pain in the butt. A pain in her butt, most particularly. But he was smart and could be funny when he wanted to be, and he was incredibly good at making her feel incredible when they came together in their big bed. Of course, he was equally good at making her feel atrocious when he decided to spank her, and he'd been a real idiot at the beginning of their marriage.
But things were evening out nicely, she thought, and she was amazed to find that she was actually starting to have tender feelings about him. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was even coming to love him.
Nola was a realist, though. Her husband most certainly wasn't falling in love with her. He wasn't the type. He was a realist, a pragmatist - not likely to believe in something as ephemeral as love in any case. She didn't think he'd ever loved much of anything in his life beyond succeeding in business. Maybe his father and grandfather, but if he did it was a gruff type of love that was never spoken, never communicated among the three of them.
They were all very much alike - the three generations of Sawyers. The son was most like his grandfather, truth be told. Alexander was the weakest of them - which was still damned strong for most men, but he was the most likely to express any sort of feelings at all, whereas it seemed the other two were more likely to carry their feelings about things - anything but work - to their graves.
Nola was finding - finally, after nearly a year of marriage - that she was nowhere near as miserable as she'd been when they'd first gotten married, and that was an incredible relief. Yes, she was spanked, and as much as she wished it never happened, late at night when she was alone with her own thoughts, she had to admit that it did add something to their relationship. A sexual tension that she didn't think would be there if they didn't have a disciplinary type of relationship.
And she knew she wasn't the only woman who got spanked, either. Since she'd been married, several of her old friends, who were already on to having children, having gotten married at a much more respectable age, had gotten back in touch - they'd been invited to the wedding and that was where contact had been reestablished, and several of them had confessed that they, too, were under the rule of their husband's thumb.
It had surprised her just how easily this information was imparted to her. It wasn't as if she'd gone fishing to hear true confessions like that. She hadn't. And she didn't even know any of these women all that well. It seemed that they were quite eager to make these confessions, even though all of the meetings she'd had with each of them had been conducted in public establishments - tea rooms and restaurants.
Nola didn't find herself being quite that forthcoming about her relationship with her husband, but she was absolutely fascinated by what everyone else insisted on telling her. And she knew from dealing with downtrodden women that spanking could have been the very least of their problems - at least no one seemed to be dealing with a husband who truly beat them - including Nola herself.
It was funny. The women who had confessed to her that they were routinely put over their husband's lap were the happiest of the lot of them. The ones whose husbands didn't pay any kind of attention to them whatsoever were the most miserable. That was one thing to be said for living under the threat of male discipline - at least he had to be keeping track of what you were doing.
Nola sniffed. Sometimes, though, that just ended up being annoying.
Her quiet musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, which her husband answered. It was a messenger, and from the looks of it, the news he brought was not good. Nola rose immediately. Brandon was looking distinctly pale.
"What is it?" she put her arms around him as best she could, although he was actually too big for her ever to truly succeed at it.
"Grandfather. He's had some sort of attack, and he's not expected to make it very long. We have to go home."
"Of course!" She hugged him tightly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, Brandon."
He'd never been much of a hugger, but he had to admit that it felt good, coming from her. He drew back, saying, "We'd bett
er get a move on."
The ride back home was accomplished in near silence, with the exception of a few minutes when they were nearly home, and Brandon whispered, "If it had been Father, I would have been more prepared for it. He's been sickly for a while."
"I know, and I'm sorry. Both your grandfather and your father are wonderful people." She had seated herself right next to him for the trip, wanting to offer what little comfort she could, and now she reached over and grabbed his hand tightly.
His wan smile tugged at her heart. "Thank you. They're both completely enamored of you, in case you hadn't guessed."
She grinned slightly. "It's not their opinion I worry about, though."
He tucked that offhand confession into the back off his brain to be explored further when he had a moment.
They made it to Serenity in time to see Alexander, but not to talk to him. The doctor informed them that there wasn't any hope, and that it was just a matter of hours, perhaps a day or so. The family sat vigil by the beloved old man's bedside, and Nola tried to make herself as invisible as possible, making sure they all had whatever they needed, bringing in small snacks and making Geoffrey take frequent breaks, because his health wasn't doing all that well, either.
A lot of the time it was just Brandon and herself by his bedside, and she encouraged him to talk about growing up with Alexander, who had always been a huge influence in his life - almost more so than his father. He mentioned the tree house that they had built together on the grounds, and the time he'd drilled a hole in his bathroom floor because he'd overflowed it playing with his boats in the tub. Nola held his hand throughout, and ran and fetched anything he wanted or needed, but mostly she simply provided unflinching support and companionship, and he couldn't have asked for anything more precious at a time like that.
Alexander Pruitt Sawyer died in the early hours of the third morning after they'd gotten back from Lake George, and all of his surviving family, was around him when he left them for a better place, and then the vigil of sitting with the body until it could be laid to rest began, and Nola took her own turn with it. He was to be buried in a cemetery that was just down the road, next to his beloved wife who had predeceased him by twenty or so years.
Nola did everything she could to relieve her husband and her father in law of having to deal with the minutia. She made as many decisions regarding the funeral arrangements as she could, and only went to them with things she was truly uncertain about. Alexander was an important person, a scion in business and society, and the funeral itself would be attended by various dignitaries and heads of state. Some of what she was doing was definitely out of her league, but she did her best, and the men just seemed to agree to anything she suggested.
When it was all over, it took a long while for the inhabitants of Alexander's house to come to grips with his loss - even at his advanced age, the man, like his grandson, was a force to be reckoned with. Nola could well imagine what he had been like as a young man, knowing Brandon. They were almost frightfully alike - they even looked alike. There was a portrait of Alexander that was done when he was forty or so, and when she'd first come to Serenity she had mistook it for one of Brandon.
Brandon took the loss of his grandfather very hard, and he'd turned to his wife for comfort, which had surprised Nola to no end, although she was very honored by it, too. One night - several months after he'd passed, Brandon had awakened her in the middle of the night and cried. Nola had been watching him closely. He hadn't betrayed any sort of emotion during the entire ritual - not at the wake or the funeral or for several weeks afterwards. He'd spoken fondly of the old man, but had never teared up or choked up while doing so.
But that night he had held onto her so tight and cried his eyes out. And she'd held him through it all, rocking slightly, just hugging and holding him and letting him know that he wasn't alone. They never spoke of it, but he seemed to be more at peace with his loss the next morning, and she knew that his late night breakdown would be a secret she would take to her grave.
Her husband responded to his grandfather's death by throwing himself into work, and she realized quickly that, if she wanted their still somewhat tentative idyll to continue, that she would need to involve herself in the family business even more so than she already had been.
It wasn't Nola's forte - business - but she did find it interesting, so she began to ask him if she could come with him occasionally. She didn't want to impose, so she only did it sporadically at first, but then he began to actually ask her if she was going to accompany him.
They made a fantastic team. Granted, just as in their marriage, he was the one who made the final decisions about things. But she felt free enough with him to speak her mind, and he found that very refreshing. He was surrounded by enough yes men. Granted, they were the cream of the crop of yes men, but he had no delusions that that was exactly what they were.
Nola was a fresh voice, one not guided or blinded by the fact of who he was or what his last name was, and sometimes her observations were dead on, or she brought up things that he hadn't thought of. She had a woman's intuition that everyone around him - and he himself - lacked, and he found himself leaning on her comments, especially after a board meeting where her presence was most definitely resented. That seemed to be where she came into her own that much more. She liked making the men uncomfortable, and she did nothing whatsoever to betray that she was anything more than window decoration for a relatively new husband who was apparently so besotted by his wife that he couldn't even bear to go to work without her.
As she began to make friends with the wives of the men who were in their social set, she was able to garner information that was extremely helpful to their various causes, merely by attending teas and luncheons.
Of course, she also had an agenda of her own, and, as she involved herself in the more usual, charitable causes, she also attempted to recruit for her own - although she didn't find very many converts.
And Brandon actually got called on the carpet by several members of the board, whose wives she had proselytized to, who were none to happy for that fact. Brandon found himself in the unique situation of having to defend his wife's unusual opinions, most of which he didn't agree with, either.
But he did it.
And while he did it, while he was arguing for her cockamamie ideas, he realized something.
He loved her.
There was no way in hell that he would do what he was doing right now for any other reason. No way in hell.
That discovery didn't make him feel any better about what he was having to do at that moment, but he and his wife would be having a discussion about her tendency to try to recruit society ladies to her causes later on that evening and he was quite sure he would end up feeling much better after he'd taken a bit of his time and effort out of her hide.
Their usual dinner table had been reduced by one, and it suffered considerably for the lack of Alexander, with his tendency to tell somewhat ribald stories of his wilder years and consume just a bit too much wine with the rich food.
"A baby, that's what we need. A baby," Geoffrey pronounced, with a sharp eye at what he obviously saw as his recalcitrant son.
"Don't look at me, Father. I'm trying as hard as I can, believe me!" He waggled his eyebrows at his wife.
Nola was going to have absolutely no part of this conversation whatsoever. She was already red enough just being forced to listen to it, much less participating in it. She ignored the men and continued to delicately dissect the perfectly cooked chicken in lemon sauce, until she realized that the conversation had stopped and they were both looking at her expectantly.
Chapter Eight
"Don't look at me!" she crowed, sounding like an echo of her husband.
"Well, I have to look at one or the other of you, and given a choice, I'd certainly rather it be you than my son," Geoffrey neatly put down his son and complimented his daughter in law in one fell swoop.
"Thanks, Father," Brandon commented dryly.
He had to go and ruin it. Alexander would have known when to give a compliment and then shut the heck up about it. But not Geoffrey. He was too brash and sometimes downright pushy.
"Yes, well, she and I are going to have a discussion about those very things this evening," Brandon pronounced, and Nola nearly choked on her au gratin potatoes.
"We are?" she asked impolitely, her mouth still full of food.
He gave her that awful look she'd become so familiar with. "Yes, we are. I don't want to get into it here, in front of Father, but I know what you've been doing at your teas and socials, and it's not to continue."
Nola honestly had no idea what he was talking about. Absolutely none at all. "What have I been doing, besides drinking tea and being sociable?" She didn't give him a chance to respond before saying, "And getting information that helps the family business, I might add."
Brandon fairly glared at her, and he hadn't done that in quite a while. But it had lost some - not all, but some - of its heat. She was innocent. She had to be. She couldn't think of a think she'd done that might earn her a "discussion".
"You've been trying to get your women friends - whose husbands are not at all happy with the idea - to join in your crusade for female voting rights, among other things."
Nola was unrepentant. "Well, they're there trying to get me - the family - to contribute all sorts of money and time to their pet causes. Why can't I get them to work on something that really means something to half of the population of this country?"
She had to give it to him. Brandon didn't roll his eyes. But Geoffrey did. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what tripe! Women should be wives and mothers, and that's it. That's their lot in life. They've got it easy. It's the men in the world who have to go out and slay the dragons, and that's why they have the vote. Women don't need it, and it would just be a waste and upset the rightful balance of things." His daughter in law's baleful look did nothing to penetrate his stubborn righteousness.
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