Bartered Bride Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Very well.” He still managed to sound disgruntled even as he tucked the cigar back into his pocket then returned to the more pressing matter. His eyes narrowed. “A dinner party?”

  “Precisely.” She inclined her head. “Albeit one you interrupted. It’s rude to leave one’s guests, you know.”

  “It’s rude to throw a party in a man’s house without informing him, much less inviting him.” His rich baritone was silky smooth, a signal of danger she’d come to recognize. “Isn’t it customary for the man of the house to be present at such proceedings?”

  “Traditionally.” Libby fought to keep her temper but lost the fight when Gregory’s chest puffed up in triumph, his gaze scornful and dismissive as he began to speak once more. She swiftly cut him off. “Though it is also customary for the man of the house to spend time at said house. With you absent almost continuously for the past two months, it would have been nigh impossible to coordinate a gathering according to your timetable.”

  “That would almost prove an acceptable explanation—a worthy argument, even, but for one fact.” He moved forward, effectively trapping her against the end of the sofa. “You disobeyed my wishes. Tabitha is here.”

  “Yes.” Libby raised her brows. “My sister kindly agreed to support me by attending my first party, even though she’d been unceremoniously ordered away when last she stepped foot in our home.”

  “A good wife obeys her husband’s edicts,” he countered.

  “Marriage is supposed to be a partnership.” Libby laid a hand on his arm. “We’ll both be stronger when we stand together.”

  “Tonight you chose to stand beside your sister.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Will you choose to stand beside me instead?”

  “I want to, Gregory.” The tears worked past her defenses at last as she whispered, “You’re my family, but I can’t stand beside you when you’re not here.”

  “Do you want me by your side, Libby?” His voice rumbled with doubt.

  “Yes.” Her heart hammering in her chest, Libby broached the subject that could well tear apart their newfound trust. “Gregory, I understand if you don’t want Tabitha at Cranberry Hill—it was wrong of me to disregard your wishes and have her here—but I still love my sister.”

  “I see.” He stiffened and pulled away his hand.

  “I won’t have her here again,” she vowed, snatching his hand with both of hers, willing him to listen. “But I need to be able to see her other places.”

  “We’ll see.” His frown softened, and he laid his hand over hers, covering her with warmth. “It’s not right for me to expect your support when I’ve withheld mine for so long.” He cupped her cheek with his other hand. “We’ll do better from now on, yes?”

  “I hope so, but I need an answer about Tabitha. I don’t ask you to spend time with her, but I do ask that you let me do so.” She held her breath as she waited.

  “I respect that.” He finally agreed. A faint smile replaced his frown now. “But I’m going to have to exact a price, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?” Libby sensed he was being more lighthearted. Anything you want, Gregory.

  “You’re going to have to follow this one final edict.” His expression turned serious once again, making Libby’s heart plummet.

  “What edict?” She somehow dredged up the courage to ask.

  “You will never”—he closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms—“under any circumstances, cut your hair without my permission again.”

  And as he smoothed his large hand over her curls, gently tugging them to watch as they sprang back into place, Libby could speak again.

  “You don’t like it?” She squeaked, full of remorse.

  “No.” He threaded his fingers through more of her curls and lowered his mouth to hers. “I love it.” His whisper fanned across her lips as he kissed her. It was a good while before he drew back and touched his forehead to hers. “Do you agree to my terms?”

  “Oh.” Libby smiled at him, sliding her arms around his neck. “I think that can be arranged.”

  Chapter 11

  The days and weeks slipped by, fluid as river water, while Gregory worked to improve his marriage—and Cranberry Hill. He fell into a comfortable pattern with Libby. For the first time, the captain who set up his own business, set out on capitalist voyages, and never rested long enough for life to become mundane had fallen into a rut. And he liked it.

  He’d wake up to find the sun shining and Libby’s head pillowed against his side. Together they shared a hearty meal in the breakfast room before separating until dinner. He spoke with the architects, raising a low stone wall around the property and seeing the roof of the carriage house installed. Libby, for her part, saw to the running of the tiny details that made Cranberry Hill run smoothly.

  At dinner they discussed their plans for the rest of the day. After he took care of business and paperwork, they fell into the habit of meeting for a short ride or walk in the afternoon, discussing possible landscaping projects to best showcase Cranberry Hill. Typically they would attend a dinner given at a friend’s house. Occasionally they hosted one at Cranberry Hill, but not since they had begun construction on the wraparound porches.

  The days may have melded into one another, but each was full of partnership, encouragement, and progress. Their excitements were minor but made richer by their shared joy. Slowly, the relationship grew and prospered, colored by the nuances they lavished on Cranberry Hill and each other.

  Only one thing troubled Gregory’s thoughts, marring the happiness he’d found. Libby had been forced into this marriage. Granted, she’d made the best of things, and her sister’s letter hinted that his wife might bear deeper feelings for him, but had he made up to her his horrible neglect during the first months of their marriage?

  Libby loved their home, lavished attention upon it, and shone with satisfaction as she surveyed the house. No doubt about it, Libby was happy at Cranberry Hill. The question was, was she equally happy with him?

  He could think of one way to find out. Gregory left the accounts in his study and stopped by the parlor, looking for Libby. He finally tracked her down in the sewing room upstairs, hemming some sheets.

  “There you are,” he greeted her as he crossed the room to drop into the chair beside her.

  “Here I am,” she agreed, teasing him with the soft smile he’d come to crave. “What did you need?”

  “I’ve an important question to ask you.” He leaned toward her as he spoke. “Think about it before you answer. I don’t want to push you into anything, mind.”

  “Go on.” She pushed on his arm to accompany her demand. “You’re making me nervous with all the suspense!”

  “I’ve another business trip to take.” He paused, pleased by the way her eyes widened and smile faded. She’ll miss me, a voice in his heart crowed. “I’d put it off so as to spend more time with you, but it can’t be postponed any longer.”

  “Don’t worry, dear.” She set aside her sewing. “It’s been wonderful having you here, but I understand you must run your business.” A twinkle came to her eyes, made green by the rich shade of her dress that day. “So long as you come back and stay awhile without rushing away again.”

  “I wouldn’t do that—” he vowed. “Again,” he added, being completely honest. “We both know I already pushed my good fortune to have such a patient wife.”

  “If I recall, she pushed back when she had to.” Libby gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “She’s an amazing woman,” he confided. “In fact, I was hoping that amazing woman might consider going along with me on this trip. What do you say, Libby?”

  “Absolutely!” She sprang out of her chair. “When are we leaving? Where are we going? What types of things will I need to pack?” She scooped the rest of the sewing into a basket in the corner and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited by the door. “Why are you sitting there when there’s so much to do?”

  “I’m just taking a moment to
appreciate my beautiful wife,” he assured her. A few steps, and he had her in his arms. She wants to spend her time with me. Me. “We’ll leave tomorrow, if you like. You pack a few dresses and such. I’ll take care of everything else you need.”

  Thank You, Jesus! Gregory asked me to go with him on his next business trip! Things have been going so well since the night of that first dinner party, and I’ve been truly grateful … but You know my heart, Lord. You know I wondered whether it was the idea of having a home, the pastime of putting the finishing touches on Cranberry Hill that really captured his heart. Now I know his affection is for more than the house, lovely though it may be.

  Libby practically skipped down the hall to the master bedroom, already planning what dresses to take. She would pack underskirts, chemises, pantaloons, silk stockings, and garters, of course. The dresses were more difficult. She threw open the doors of the great wardrobe and began flipping through her outfits, thinking aloud.

  “I won’t need a riding habit for a trip on a paddleboat,” she decided easily. “And I suppose we won’t be dressing for dinner … though perhaps once we’ve reached the city? I’ll bring along the sapphire evening gown then …” She plucked the dress out of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed, along with the undergarments she’d chosen. A day dress in light green followed, accompanied by a similar frock in rich rose. She’d wear the cream-and-gold at the departure.

  A few other dresses made the pile on the bed grow ever higher, until Libby judged the selection complete. “Now … where did I put the trunks I’d brought over from Papa’s house?” She thought for a moment before vaguely recalling the storage in the attic. She made her way to the small stairwell behind the master bath.

  The stairs brought her up to the attic beside the access to the widow’s walk. She rummaged around the boxes until she found her trunks, carrying them one at a time back to her room. When she came back for the second, she spied a small door next to the maids’ quarters. Curiosity getting the better of her, she put down the trunk and walked over, trying to open it.

  The door wouldn’t budge, though it appeared to have no lock. She grasped the knob more tightly and pushed, hearing the rattle of a lock on the other side. Intriguing. Libby went through the maids’ quarters, searching for an entrance through the wall shared with the small chamber. Nothing.

  Must be a construction mistake of some sort. Brow wrinkled at the mystery, she retrieved the other trunk and made her way back to her bedroom. She’d be sure to mention it to Gregory. After all, he’d been involved in designing the house and drawing the blueprints. He’d want to know about the mysterious sealed room with no access. Of course, it could be like the basement, an area taken up by the steam heater and electric wiring. It could have been sealed for safety.

  Half an hour later, she’d packed everything into the trunks. Fighting the feeling she’d forgotten something important, Libby searched through her dresser drawers and bathroom cabinets. In a last-ditch effort to pin down what she’d forgotten, she opened the wardrobe once again. Pushing aside coats and dresses, she spotted her old black hooded cloak wedged in the back corner of the armoire. She tugged but couldn’t pull it out.

  Determined, she pushed her upper body between two dresses and tried again, pressing one hand against the back wall for better leverage. Libby swiftly found herself flat on her face, half sprawled in the wardrobe as the back wall of the armoire sprang back to reveal a secret staircase.

  Chapter 12

  Pressing her palms against the wardrobe bottom, Libby levered herself to her feet. She spent several moments staring in disbelief, unable to believe the sight before her.

  What is a hidden staircase doing behind my wardrobe? More importantly, where did it go? Libby stepped through the clothing and into the small passage. Her hands encountered a light switch as she groped at the walls to gain a sense of her dark surroundings.

  Instantly, the yellow glow of electric lights illuminated the way, almost beckoning her forward. Unable to resist, she followed the narrow passageway, up into a dark space. Squinting, Libby could see that she was in a small room. She groped about the walls, hoping for and finding another light switch.

  She blinked for a moment before seeing that the room stood empty, not so much as a picture, rug, or old rickety chair gracing the barren space. Why? She moved farther into the room, searching for some clue as to why it even existed. Her eyes fell on the doorknob—and the lock beneath it.

  The room in the attic that locks from inside. Elated that she’d made the connection, Libby unlocked the door and opened it, still not quite understanding why Gregory would have commissioned a third stairway to the attic. There was already one leading here from the second floor, which she’d used not long ago, and one that connected the attic to the pantry.

  The second was to give the maids ease of movement as they bustled between the kitchen and their chambers—Libby’s elated excitement died a swift death as she turned to see the maids’ rooms just beside her.

  It was suddenly so clear. There was only one reason why a man would construct a secret stairway from his bedroom to the attic, which held no more than the maids’ quarters. And how brilliant of him to have hidden the passage at both ends—a spring-loaded wardrobe in the master suite below, a mysterious door above, locked from within. All to conceal the sordid truth from a wife’s prying eyes.

  Gregory thought of everything, Libby admitted even as she relocked the small chamber and returned to the bedroom she shared with him. Almost tripping over her just-packed trunks, she stopped for a moment before mechanically unpacking them. Her chest ached from the simple act of breathing, the daylight streaming in through the windows as sharp as daggers to her eyes.

  Now what am I to do? Footsteps shook her from her reverie.

  “Libby?” Gregory’s excited voice floated up the stairs.

  She looked around, wild for a way to avoid him. Not now. I can’t face him now! Inspiration struck with an ironic blow, as Libby opened the back of the wardrobe and darted inside the stairway she shouldn’t have even known existed. Sinking onto the bottom step, cradling her knees against her chest, Libby listened as Gregory stomped into the room and back out.

  She could have sneaked away, but what was the point unless she was ready to confront her husband? So Libby sat in the secret stairwell in the dark and prayed.

  “Where are you?” The playful question lost its humor as Gregory checked room after room without finding Libby. Perhaps she’d been freshening up when he’d gone to their bedroom and hadn’t wanted to draw attention to it? He loped back up the stairs.

  No such luck. The room was empty save two trunks near the open wardrobe. He smiled at the evidence his wife had been packing for their trip together. The smile faded as he realized Libby was still missing. Gregory mentally ran through all the rooms of the house—parlor, dining room, breakfast room, kitchen, music room, spare bedrooms, sewing room, nursery. He’d checked them all.

  She wouldn’t have left without telling him, so where could she be? He circled their bedchamber, more restless than he should have been at his wife’s sudden disappearance. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  Think, Gregory. Where would she be? He rejected the basement. The only things down there were the steam heater and electrical wires. Libby would have no reason to venture there. The attic? He couldn’t imagine why. Besides, she still should have heard him calling. The widow’s walk! That had to be it. Libby was on the flat, railed walkway set atop the house.

  He’d had it built following the sailor’s tradition. During troubled times, a seaman’s wife could stand atop her home, looking out over the water, and wait for her husband’s safe return. Libby had never mentioned it to him, but the housekeeper had said Libby liked to venture up there on fine days.

  This will be a good chance to try out the hidden stairwell. I’ve not seen it since its installation. Smiling broadly at the thought of showing Libby his secret staircase when they re
turned to their room, he pushed on the back panel of the wardrobe, feeling along the revealed wall for the light switch.

  As light flooded the stairway, Gregory saw his wife huddled on the bottom step. He sank to his knees immediately, grasping her cold hands and chafing them between his own.

  “Libby? Libby, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t.” Her voice sounded dull as she jerked her hands from his grasp and scuttled away from him.

  “Don’t what?” He tried to catch her eye, but she’d turned her face from him. A sudden image of her falling down the dark staircase made his stomach roil. “Libby, are you hurt? Let me see.”

  “Can’t you already see?” She gave a hollow bark of laughter. “It’s obvious to me.”

  “What is?” He crooked a finger beneath her chin and turned her face toward his. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks when he saw no purple bruises or angry bumps. “What happened since we spoke in the sewing room?”

  “This.” She waved her arms to indicate the stairwell, knocking his hand away in the process. “I discovered your secret, Gregory. Stop acting as though it’s nothing.”

  “You’re upset because I hadn’t shown you the staircase?” He tried to clarify things, but they seemed more muddied than ever.

  “Oh, yes, I’m upset about the staircase.” She drew a shaky breath before glaring at him. “How could you design such a thing in the house you built for your bride? I know I’m not the bride you had in mind, but that makes it no better! The maids, Gregory?”

  “What are you—?” In an instant, he understood. “You’re talking about how the stairway leads to the attic, near the maid’s room. You think …” He couldn’t even bring himself to the words, instead recoiling from the very thought. Is that what she thinks? After all the time we’ve spent together in the past weeks, she can believe such a thing of me?

  “Why else,” she demanded fiercely, “would you construct a hidden passageway from your room—our room—to the attic?”