by Sherry Lewis
“No.” Mordechai shook his head and thrust out his lip in a gesture so reminiscent of his mother, Zacharias had to look away. “He’s killed, all right, and now we’ll have to bury him in the garden.”
“Not killed,” Andrew sang out from his speeding rocking horse. “Papa said so.”
Mordechai whirled around to glare at him. “Is so.”
“Is not.”
“Is so.” Mordechai’s face reddened and he looked as if he might cry.
“Honestly, Zacharias,” his mother’s voice from the doorway behind him caught him off guard. “How can you allow these children to be so morbid?”
“Notkilled-notkilled-notkilled,” Andrew sang again. As the elder, by less than five minutes, he took great delight in keeping Mordechai in his place.
Zacharias put an arm around Mordechai’s shoulders and spoke softly. “Keep a careful eye on your soldier for now. If he truly is killed, we’ll bury him this afternoon.”
Mordechai sent him a brave smile. “Okay.”
Andrew rolled his eyes and rode his horse a bit faster. “Not killed,” he warned.
Victoria took a step into the nursery and folded her arms, which had the effect of dropping a pall over both boys. They fell silent and watched their grandmother warily.
Zacharias resented the intrusion. He remembered only too well being their age and feeling the same disquiet during his mother’s rare visits. He stood and crossed the room to her. “Grandmama and I will leave you two alone,” he said to the boys and guided her firmly from the room.
She wasn’t happy, but that came as no surprise. She rarely was. “You’re entirely too lenient with those children. You spoil them horribly.”
“Perhaps.” He linked his hands behind his back and set a pace away from the nursery. “But at least they’re mine to spoil.”
“Indeed.” Her face puckered with disapproval, but she dropped the subject and launched another. “What are your plans this morning?”
Whenever she asked about his plans, that meant she had something in mind for him—usually something he’d rather avoid. A lie sprang easily to his lips. “I’m riding into town to take care of some business.”
“Not today, Zacharias. We’re expecting a guest for luncheon and I’ll expect you to join us.”
A guest could only mean Patricia, and Zacharias didn’t feel up to facing the two of them today. “Unfortunately,” he said, “that won’t be possible.”
“And why not? What could you possibly have to do in town?”
“I’m meeting Philip at my club.” Another lie, but a necessary one.
His mother’s lip curled as it always did whenever his friend’s name came up. “You made it sound as if you had something important on your schedule. Since that’s obviously not the case, I’ll expect you for luncheon.”
“My apologies, Mother, but I won’t be there.”
She stopped walking abruptly and turned to glare at him. “I don’t like your tone, Zacharias.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my tone,” he argued mildly. “What you don’t like is me saying no to you.”
“I have no trouble accepting no for an answer . . .” Her eyes flashed and her mouth thinned. “. . . if there’s a justifiable reason for it. But to put an afternoon with an acquaintance before your duties as a host is the height of rudeness.”
“Philip is a friend, not an acquaintance,” Zacharias said firmly. “And your luncheon guest is your responsibility, not mine. I don’t recall issuing any invitations.”
His mother’s eyes flashed again. “What has gotten into you, Zacharias? You’re behaving so strangely the past few days.” She studied him for only a second, then went on. “It’s That Woman’s fault, isn’t it?”
“Agatha’s?” He said the name purposely, knowing how much his mother hated to hear it.
Victoria’s nostrils flared slightly. “Surely you haven’t let one case of the vapors wipe everything she’s done from your mind.”
Zacharias sent his mother a thin smile. “I believe it was more serious than the vapors.”
“She’s mad, Zacharias. For her to summon you, after five long years—”
“She didn’t summon me,” he snapped, then felt a twinge of guilt for his rudeness. He made an effort to soften his tone before he went on. “If you’ll recall, Colin came to inform me of the trouble.”
“At her bequest.”
“Not at all. She assured me—”
“She spoke to you?” Shock registered on his mother’s face. “You must be joking.”
“Not at all.”
“She’s up to something.”
“Actually, she seemed quite genuine.”
“Genuine?” His mother let out an acid laugh. “Surely, you don’t believe that. Not after everything she’s done.”
“Our estrangement isn’t entirely her fault,” Zacharias reminded her softly.
His mother glared at him. “It most assuredly is. You did nothing wrong.”
“I hurt her. And I’m not particularly proud of it.”
“Nonsense.” Victoria met his gaze levelly. “You did nothing your father didn’t do. Or his father before him. She behaved in a most unreasonable fashion about the whole episode.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted grudgingly. “But—”
“Listen to me, Zacharias. I will not have you behaving like an adolescent over her. Not again.”
“She is my wife,” he reminded her gently.
“In name only. You allowed her to make a mockery of you and of the entire family once. You cannot allow her to do it again.”
“Perhaps not,” he admitted grudgingly. He hated gossip passionately, and hated being the subject of it even more.
Victoria started walking again, slowly. “I know you don’t want to discuss this, but in light of your attitude, I feel I must bring it up again.”
“Divorce? He sent her a smile twisted with bitterness. “No.”
“You must divorce her, Zacharias. You really have no choice.”
“No divorce.” They’d been over this subject a thousand times, yet he could never make headway with his mother. “Divorce would only subject Andrew and Mordechai to more scandal. I won’t do that to them.”
His mother started down the staircase. “Do you really think you’re protecting them from scandal by remaining married? You must think of your children, of the Logan name, of the dynasty your father left in your hands.”
“I do think of them,” he assured her, following more slowly. “Almost exclusively.”
“And you still intend to spend your life chained to a mad woman?
“I intend to spend the rest of my life chained to no woman. That would be the only purpose for divorcing Agatha, wouldn’t it? So I could marry again.”
“To a woman more suitable, yes.”
“To Patricia.”
“Patricia would be a far more suitable wife, a far better representative of the Logan name than That Woman has been. You know that as well as I do.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t love Patricia.”
“Love?” Victoria pushed away his argument with a brisk wave her hand. “Love is for the lower classes. For servants. For people who have no land or fortune to preserve, or who have no standing to think about. You can’t afford to concern yourself with love.”
“I won’t marry without it,” he insisted.
Victoria let out a sigh heavy with impatience. “Then fall in love with Patricia. Considering your history, it shouldn’t be difficult to do.”
Zacharias would have protested that unfair remark had Badgett not stepped into view at precisely that moment. “Pardon me, sir, but there is someone here to see you.”
Victoria leveled the man with a glance. “Mr. Logan is occupied, Badgett. Tell whomever it is—”
Suddenly irritated by the way she tried to make every decision for him, Zacharias cut her off before she could finish. “Mr. Logan is not occupied, Badgett. My mother and I have just finished our conversati
on.” He abandoned her without ceremony and motioned for Badgett to lead on.
Badgett executed a turn in the narrow hallway and preceded Zacharias toward the staircase. When they’d put some distance between them, Badgett slowed his step. “I’ve shown the caller into the library, sir. I hope I’ve done the right thing. It seemed to be the best thing—”
“I’m not in the habit of turning away guests, Badgett. You know that.” He took a deep breath, tried to rid himself of the lingering aftertaste of disagreement, and matched Badgett’s pace. “So, who is my mysterious visitor?”
Badgett slowed his step and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Victoria hadn’t followed. Then he turned back to Zacharias and nearly whispered.
“It is Mrs. Logan, sir. Mrs. Agatha Logan.”
FIVE
Zacharias stopped walking entirely and the echo of his footsteps died away. He eyed Badgett suspiciously. “Agatha? Here?”
“Yes, sir.” Even Badgett couldn’t manage to keep his normally inscrutable expression in place. His nose quivered and his lips curved downward.
“You’re absolutely certain it’s her?” It was a fool’s question. Badgett had known Agatha as long as Zacharias had. Perhaps not as well, but certainly as long.
“It is Mrs. Logan, sir. I ought to know her when I see her.”
Zacharias stole a glance over his shoulder. Good Lord, if his mother knew Agatha was here . . . He shuddered at the thought. “I believe it would be best if we don’t tell my mother about this.”
“My thoughts exactly, sir.”
Zacharias paced a few steps away and scrubbed his face with his palm. “Did she say what she wants?”
“Not to me, sir.”
“No. No, of course she wouldn’t.” He laughed harshly, a lifetime of schooling his expressions and keeping his thoughts hidden from the servants forgotten. “Forgive me, Badgett. It’s just that this comes as quite a surprise.”
“Of course it would, sir.” Badgett sent a pointed look toward the library door. “If I may make a suggestion, sir, perhaps you should see Mrs. Logan before your mother comes to see who your caller is.”
It was the furthest Badgett had ever stepped over the line between servant and employer, but Zacharias didn’t intend to correct him. He was grateful to the man for snapping him out of his daze.
“Yes. Yes. Good idea, Badgett. Of course I’ll see her.” Zacharias took a steadying breath and darted one last glance behind him. “Yes,” he said, more to himself than to Badgett. “I will see her.”
He took the stairs quickly and Badgett’s inscrutable expression dropped back into place as he opened the library door. Zacharias stepped inside, but when he didn’t immediately see Agatha, he thought surely Badgett had brought him to the wrong room. He started to turn back to the door and caught sight of her standing in front of the bookshelves that flanked the window.
She’d always tolerated his love of books, but only just, and only because she considered it proper for a gentleman to read. As for herself, she’d never shown any interest. But this morning, she traced one finger across the spines of the volumes and studied them with rapt interest.
She turned quickly when she heard him, but she didn’t drop her hands at once. “You have some wonderful books here. Do you have anything by Mark Twain?”
“Twain?” Zacharias laughed in spite of his confusion. “The man’s a quick wit, but hardly worth granting shelf space.”
Agatha smiled gently. “You might be surprised. His wit hides some caustic social commentary.” She tilted her head and looked him over slowly. “Do you know him?”
“Twain?” He shook his head and moved toward his favorite leather wing chair. “I know of him, certainly. He’s garnered a small amount of fame.”
“That’s too bad,” she said with a soft smile. “I’d like to meet him.”
Zacharias lowered himself into his chair and gestured for her to sit as well. “How is it that you know of Clemens, but you don’t remember your own life?”
She remained standing, but her smile faded and a faint stain tinted her cheeks. “Good question. I can’t explain it.”
He ignored the sudden appeal of Agatha flustered and crossed his legs with studied indifference. “And is that why you’ve come? To admire my library?”
“No.” She pulled her hands away from the leather-bound books reluctantly and clutched the fabric of her skirt. “I came so I could talk to you.”
“I thought we’d decided yesterday that we had nothing to say.”
“But we do have something to say. Beginning with why you’re so angry with me.”
“Angry? I think perhaps you could find another word that would better describe it, don’t you?”
“Could I?” She took a hesitant step toward him, looking so confused, Zacharias felt an unexpected twinge of compassion.
He forced it away. “Why are you so determined to discuss what happened between us?”
“Because you’re my husband.” She seemed to hesitate over the word, but she smiled again and went on. “And, as I told you yesterday, I have no recollection of what went wrong between us.”
Grudgingly, he admitted she must be telling the truth. Why else would she come to Winterhill? Why else would she risk meeting his mother or making herself the subject of whispered speculation? Why else would she even speak to him when she’d remained stubbornly, spitefully silent these past five years?
But he refused to let his doubts weaken him. Nor would he let her beauty cloud his judgment. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but if what you say is true I have no wish to remind you.”
“Don’t you think you’re being unfair?”
“Perhaps. But I still think the past is a subject better left alone.”
Her brows knit, not with the anger he was used to seeing, but with confusion and even a little frustration. “If we don’t talk about it, how can we ever hope to fix it?”
“Fix it?” He laughed sharply. “Perhaps it has escaped your attention, my dear, but there is nothing left to fix.”
“Oh, but there is.” She closed the distance between them and sat on the edge of the chair facing his. “There must be. We are still married. . . ”
A soft floral scent teased his nostrils and her wide brown eyes made her look soft and feminine. “Unfortunately,” he said, making sure to keep his voice gruff. He could not, would not allow her to bewitch him.
She let out a sigh so soft it might have been a baby’s breath. “You must really hate me.”
“On the contrary. I feel absolutely nothing for you.” He had to lie through his teeth to get the words out, but he did it. At the moment, he didn’t know what he felt. But whatever it was, it nearly overpowered him.
“You loved me once.”
“Yes.” He turned away to avoid looking at her. “Yes, I did. Once. Many years ago.”
She put a hand on his arm and her touch ignited a flame he’d thought long dead. “Then surely there’s something of those old feelings left.”
Giving himself a stern mental shake, he rose to his feet and stepped away. All the anger and hurt threatened to evaporate when she touched him, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He forced a cold smile. “I’m afraid not.”
“When did you stop loving me?” Soft words to match the sadness in her eyes.
Scowling, he put half the room between them. “I see no purpose in talking about this, Agatha. No possible good can come from it.”
“There is a purpose if it mends the rift between us. If the four of us can be together again—”
“The four of us?”
“Yes. You and me . . . and our sons.”
As it had yesterday, her mention of the twins cleared away his confusion and brought him back to solid ground. Difficult as it was to believe she wanted to mend their marriage, it was a thousand times more difficult to believe she suddenly wanted to be a mother to Mordechai and Andrew. And her behavior toward them a thousand times more difficult to forgive.
With sinking heart, Shelby watched the color flood Zacharias’s face and the fury fill his eyes. Obviously, she’d said the wrong thing . . . and just when she thought she might actually be reaching him.
He gripped the back of a chair so hard his knuckles turned white and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Leave.”
There was so much anger in that single word, Shelby felt herself recoil from him. “What?”
“Leave here now,” he said, his voice low and cold. “And don’t come back.”
Shelby thought back over the last few exchanges in their conversation, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong. If didn’t take a genius to figure out that he got angry with her every time she mentioned the twins.
She admired him for caring so deeply for his children. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to protect them. She’d have given anything to have had someone care about her that way when she was young and alone. But if she was here to mend this rift, she couldn’t back down.
“I won’t leave,” she said. “Not until you talk to me.”
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Agatha, but I want no part of it.”
He looked as if he could cheerfully wring her neck, and Shelby’s stomach lurched. She tried to look strong and brave. “Zacharias, please. . . At least let me see the children.”
His face reddened dangerously. He released the chair, threw open a humidor on the desk, and pulled out a cigar. Instead of lighting it, he tossed it back inside and slammed the lid. “Never.”
“Why not?”
His eyes turned to blue flame, his face to granite. “Until this moment, you’ve refused to even look at them.”
Shelby’s heart ached for all four people involved. She took a deep breath and blinked back the unexpected tears that stung her eyes. “But they’re my sons.”
Zacharias backed away from her slowly but his eyes never left her face. “You really have gone mad, haven’t you?”
Great. She was making things worse, not better. “Is it so difficult for you to believe I’ve changed?”
“Not difficult. Impossible. You’re a dangerous woman, Agatha. I don’t want you anywhere near my sons.”