Yes, her own good name would also be sullied, she realized, but only for a short while. And after the yokel was gone, things would return to normal quickly. Araminta was sure of it.
"Well?" she prompted Chickadee. "Do you wish to come, or not? It seems to me you would be anxious to do the things Saxon wants you to do. You did say you loved him. Doesn't that make you want to please him?"
Chickadee's narrowed eyes suddenly widened. Araminta, witch though she was, had a valid point, she realized. If she were to throw herself into the social whirl, heart and soul, wouldn't that prove to Saxon how much she loved him? He was well aware of her loathing for society. Surely if he saw how hard she was trying to adapt to his way of life, he would understand how much he meant to her! After all, he was the only one in the world for whom she would do something so disagreeable.
And the Quinten tea was indeed disagreeable. It started out well, but when Chickadee saw two beautiful, exotic birds imprisoned in a gilded cage, the trouble began. She'd had no idea Ashley Quinten's father had paid a small fortune to have them shipped from South America as a birthday gift for Ashley. Her only thought as she released them was that birds as pretty as those should be free.
And at Jacqueline Richard's luncheon—well, how was she to know Jacqueline was an accomplished wax sculptress? The bowl of fruit looked real enough to her. The apple she took a huge bite out of was the prettiest apple she'd ever seen, and it was only when it stuck to her teeth and Jacqueline began the most God-awful shrieking known to man that she realized she'd done something wrong. Well, whoever heard of wax fruit anyway? And if Jacqueline didn't want her art eaten, she never should have placed it in the middle of the dining room table.
And that huge guard dog she met at Dee Gentry's didn't make any sense either. All of Boston was fascinated by the vicious beast. Chickadee heard Mr. Gentry say the dog was surely the meanest in the land. But why would anyone be so proud of such a terrible animal? True, Khan was dangerous too, but only when he was forced to defend his loved ones. But that Gentry monster wouldn't even let the Gentrys near him! They kept him in a pen and had to throw his food to him from a distance! And all they fed him were raw cow livers. Anyone would have a vile temper with a diet like that, she thought. And what if the thing got loose and killed the Gentrys? Having such a bloodthirsty animal around was definitely not a good idea, and she set about correcting the matter when the Gentrys and the guests had tired of taunting the beast and returned to the mansion. It didn't take long to do. She discovered all the dog needed to calm down were some softly spoken words and a hambone she filched from the kitchen. Now he was as gentle as a kitten. It was beyond her comprehension why the Gentrys had gotten riled instead of thanking her for taming him.
Her confusion with these Bostonians mounted when Araminta took her to an English fox hunt. She'd never seen anything so cruel in her whole life. All those howling hounds, that loud bugle, that cracking whip, those galloping horses... all that fancified fuss for the slaughter of one poor, defenseless fox. There was no way on earth she could have sat there and remained a spectator to it all. Relying on her hunter's instincts, she'd trailed the fox and found him trapped in a dense thicket. Cooing to him, she'd caught him, tucked him inside her coat, and then beat off the hounds when they arrived. No one could induce her to free the shivering animal, and the hunt ended on a very sour note.
Now she was the talk of Boston, the subject of every gossip session. Her name and the descriptions of her antics were bandied about from one end of the city to the other.
*
The outlandish tales finally reached Saxon through Max. "She fed him a hambone?" he demanded, tears of laughter streaming down his face.
"You're not worried?" Max asked and smiled.
"What about? Keely seems to be enjoying her time with society. She doesn't complain about it anymore as she once did. And Grandmother is taking her everywhere. You know how Grandmother is, Max. She's fanatical about her reputation and would never risk her own name if it were really all true. Besides that, even if the gossip is based on truth, it'll die away. It always does."
Max agreed. "Yes, we've both been the victims of outrageous chatter. You're right, Sax. It'll die away."
They laughed together awhile longer, and later that night, while Chickadee lay sleeping in his arms, Saxon chuckled again when he remembered Max's words. "Outrageous chatter," he whispered too softly for her to hear. He pulled the sheet over her bare shoulder and smiled in the darkness when he thought of Jacqueline Richard's wax apple.
"Seems to me she should have taken your mistake as a compliment. I'd have been flattered you thought the fruit was real. And as for the birds... Mr. Quinten caught them, so what harm was done? The Gentry dog has turned out to be a nice playmate for the neighborhood children, and the fox..."He paused a moment to laugh quietly. "Keely, I'd have given anything to see you beat off those hounds." Smiling, he pulled her closer and held her for a long while as he thought about how much he'd missed being with her lately. He'd enjoyed none of the outings he'd attended.
"My life is boring without you in it, little one. Perhaps it's time we go to something together. As soon as this latest gossip is forgotten, you can make a new start. I'll be with you, and then I can see for myself what chaos you cause." He snickered again at all the wild tales he'd heard and was still grinning when he fell asleep and allowed her to invade his dreams.
Dreams were on Araminta's mind too. Dreams of yet another scheme to be rid of that creature Saxon called a wife. She sat at her desk downstairs, scribbling furiously, and dwelling on her disappointment at Saxon's total disregard for all the gossip.
"But then I should have realized mere hearsay wouldn't affect you," she said aloud, her thumb drumming on the desk. "You must witness that girl's humiliating behavior with your own eyes. You must experience firsthand the bitter shame she is capable of causing you. You've no idea what it's like since you've never had to endure it!"
She caressed her brooch and sneered. "But Saxon, my boy, if you know firsthand the mortification that mountain creature can and will bring you, you'll have no choice but to divorce her. Surely you won't relish spending the rest of your life wallowing in shame! Once she's gone, you'll have to remarry for your inheritance, and this time around, I'll make certain you court only the most refined ladies in Boston!"
She looked down at the paper on her desk and scanned what she'd written. It was time to hold the annual Blackwell sled race, and she knew society's opinion of Chickadee Blackwell would make no difference in the size of the crowd. Hadn't she herself joined undesirable gatherings for the express purpose of harvesting gossip?
The time was ripe. Time to urge the girl's shocking behavior to a new, even higher level. And this had to be done before Chickadee's recent behavior was forgotten, while society was still in an uproar over it all. People would come in droves to witness further scandal. After all, if the disaster didn't occur in their own homes, they'd have nothing to fear and everything to gain. Araminta had no idea what the girl would do to embarrass Saxon, but she knew the creature wouldn't let her down.
"Heathen," she hissed. "You escaped the death I planned for you by falling from the wagon that night. You should be dead! You escaped Saxon's wrath over the gossip. I did not rid myself of you with those two plans, but I will surely succeed with this one."
That thought dancing in her mind, she addressed the last invitation to the sled race and placed it on the stack.
*
Chickadee was more and more thrilled with each passing day. Saxon was at her side almost constantly now. He even missed work several times to spend the day with her and Desdemona. He brought work home from the offices and concentrated on it while she and Desdemona sewed the quilt.
"I like these lazy Saturdays with you, outlander," Chickadee purred after an hours-long session of lovemaking. "But it ain't jist Saturdays. It's all these days lately. It's nice a-havin' you here." She drew tiny circles over his nipples before she leaned over and kisse
d them. "I love you, Saxon."
He sighed. But whether it was with pleasure or disquiet, he didn't know. All he knew was that he'd fought a losing battle in his attempt to understand what it was he felt for her. He'd decided to let his emotions flow freely and see what happened. He was confident his confusion wouldn't last forever.
Sooner or later he'd find a name for the feelings he had for the beautiful girl he'd married.
Chickadee smiled at the bewilderment she saw in his sky-blue eyes and started to kiss him again. But a noise coming from outside stopped her in mid-action. She slipped out of bed and went to the window. "Lord o' mercy, Saxon. Git over here and take a look at all them people down thar!"
He joined her and saw the large congregation in the courtyard. "What the hell?" He yanked his robe on and threw Chickadee's to her before he rang for Thatcher.
The butler came without delay. "I will see to your bath immediately, Mr. Blackwell. No doubt you are anxious to join your guests."
"My guests?"
"They are here for the sled race, sir."
"Sled race? What sled race?"
Thatcher sniffed. "The annual Blackwell sled race. Mrs. Blackwell is holding it in honor of you and your wife this year, sir. I understand she is planning on formally introducing your new bride to society. She—"
"That will be all, Thatcher," Araminta said as she arrived at the door. She waited for the butler to leave and then swept into the room.
"Law, Saxon, Wesley Melville's down thar!" Chickadee shouted from her vantage point at the window. "Dang that buzzard. He's right nervy a-showin' his face 'round here after the way he acted when we met up with him at that eatin' place. But don't you worry none, outlander. This time I'll have my shootin'-arn with me. Cain't take Khan down thar on account o' he's still on the mend, but—"
"You are not taking your rifle anywhere!" Saxon asserted. "Keely, you—"
"Why aren't the two of you dressed?" Araminta asked and tapped her brooch. "You were expected downstairs over an hour ago."
"Why wasn't I informed of this little get-together?" Saxon demanded.
"It is by no means little. And I thought I'd mentioned it. So sorry. It must have slipped my mind."
The shriveled hag was up to something, he realized. He knew it by watching that Cyclops's glitter at her throat. Then he noted the undisguised pleasure in her eyes as Chickadee marched to the corner and picked up her rifle.
His eyebrow rose nigh. Why would the rifle and Chickadee's obvious determination to use it please Araminta? he wondered. Surely she was aware of the chaos Chickadee could cause with a gun. Didn't it upset her that Chickadee might actually be goaded into shooting someone? Why, that telltale, spiteful gleam in her eyes made it plain she was actually counting on trouble!
But why? "Grandmother, why have you waited until now to introduce Keely to society? We've been in Boston for months already, and—"
"Because I thought she would have met most everyone by now. But she has attended very few affairs, and many people have not had the... pleasure of meeting her. And it is customary to formally introduce a bride, is it not? I realize I should have done it months ago, but it never occurred to me to do it until now."
And why did it occur to you now? Saxon asked her silently, keeping a close eye on her brooch. Why now, when all of Boston was gossiping about Chickadee? When she stood the least chance of being welcomed? When—
The vein in his neck pumped rhythmically as he began to understand. It was because of all the gossip that she was doing this! Because society was sure to spurn her now! Damn the shrewd crone to hell and back!
He would not allow her to even begin her scheme. He'd fully planned on escorting Chickadee into society himself but, dammit, not until people had had time to forget her recent mistakes! "It's a real misfortune you neglected to advise me of your plans, Grandmother. I'm leaving for my office, and I'm taking Keely with me."
"But Saxon!" Chickadee cried, excited by the idea of a sled race. "Today's Saturday!"
"Work can wait until Monday," Araminta said. "Our guests are waiting now, and you've never missed our sled races. In fact you've won them year after year. And what about the new sled you had custom-made last year? If I remember correctly, you paid a small fortune for it. I would think you'd be anxious to use it again."
Chickadee flung her rifle to the bed and rushed to him. "Oh, Saxon, please! We'll have a larripin' good time, and maybe Desi'll come too!"
He looked down, saw the happiness in her eyes, and realized she was absolutely thrilled with the chance to go to the race. His mind spun with possible reasons that they couldn't attend, but none were feasible. And if he told her the real reason that society already looked down on her and this day might possibly cause her to be banished forever—it would devastate her. She'd been trying so hard to fit in. But dammit, the time just wasn't right! "Keely—"
"Please, Saxon," she begged and squeezed his hands. "I want to go so bad. Please let's go."
There was very little he'd ever been able to deny her when she looked at him that way, and he felt his determination waver now, too. Perhaps he was worrying for no reason. After all, he'd be with her all afternoon. Surely he could see to it she behaved herself. "All right," he said softly. "Grandmother, inform the guests we'll be down shortly."
He was soon bathed and dressed, and Chickadee was still rummaging through her closet for something to wear. He realized there was only so much he could do about what she might say or do, but he could damn well make sure she looked beautiful when she was introduced. He joined her in searching through her many clothes, soon selecting a gorgeous gown of dark green velvet and soft kid boots.
"I'll meet you in the courtyard, little one," he said as she dressed. "I'm trusting you to leave your rifle here. Do something nice with your hair, and wear your best fur."
He'd help her as much as he could, he thought when he reached the staircase. He'd do everything within his power to keep a close eye and a firm grip on her. He could interrupt her if it appeared she might say something unacceptable. It wouldn't be easy, but what else could he do? And as far as what she might do, without her rifle or her wolf, the worst would be throwing someone over her shoulder. Even that he could probably prevent.
But still, he was uneasy. He muttered damn with each step downward, reaching a grand total of forty-eight damns by the time he stepped off the last one. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about her appearance, he reminded himself. He'd selected her outfit himself and she'd look lovely. With that thought in mind, he headed for the courtyard.
Chickadee, still in her bedroom but now dressed, quickly ran a brush through her tangled hair and left it to fall free about her shoulders. Saxon would like that, she thought as she went back to her closet.
"Let's see. He said to wear my best fur."
Eyes twinkling, she found the one she wanted. Carrying it out of the closet, her hands fondled it as she held it tightly to her breast.
"Bahr fur," she whispered. "Best dang fur thur is!"
Chapter 18
"So where is she, Sax?" Max asked, his breath frosting in the cold air. "You talk of no one but her, yet I haven't laid eyes on her. It's about damn time I got to meet her."
"Yeah, Sax," Nate said. "We're all anxious to meet the girl about whom we've heard so many... anecdotes."
"Heard she's rather, uh... unusual," Oliver added.
"Unique might be a better word," Kyle ventured.
Charles smirked. "It would appear Saxon has little to say, fellows. After all, what can he add to tales that are already so outrageous?"
Vaguely, Saxon heard them talk, but his mind was on Chickadee. What was she going to do today? he wondered. What sort of havoc would she manage to cause despite his every precaution?
Trying to rationalize the situation, he reminded himself it was only a simple sled race, but he groaned at that thought. Nothing was ever simple when Chickadee was involved. She'd find a way to ruin a padded cell, which was exactly where he
belonged for agreeing to attend this race. It just wasn't the right time for her to mingle with society again. He knew well from experience that it was always best to wait for gossip to die down before venturing out into the fashionable world again.
"Hey, Sax," Oliver said. "Didn't I hear your wife has flaming red hair?"
"Not flaming, really," Saxon replied. "It's sort of—"
"Red is red, Sax," Max said, "and the pretty girl skipping this way definitely has red hair."
"What's that thing she's wearing?" Charles asked. "Did you buy that for her, Sax?"
"Most unusual wrap I've ever seen," Kyle observed, squinting to see Chickadee better.
But Saxon's eyes widened. Good God! She was wearing a bearskin rug! When the hell had she made a coat out of it? Dammit, Keely, he moaned to himself. I spend a fortune on the finest, most expensive furs for you, and you wear a damn rug!
"Saxon!" she greeted him gaily. "I hurried as fast as I could. Near about ripped up them fancy underwear thangs a-tryin' to git 'em on. Finally left 'em off on account o' thur so dang scratchy anyhow. But here I am, all ready fer the race!"
Saxon's friends and some others who had just joined the circle gaped at her. Their wide eyes went from the top of her bare head to her boots, already soiled with mud.
"What are all you-uns a-starin' at me fer? Got some sorter menfolk secret betwixt you?"
Max's slight grin broadened to a warm, friendly smile. "Mrs. Blackwell, you've no idea how long I've been waiting to meet you." None too gently, he nudged Saxon.
Jolted back to reality, Saxon quickly made all the introductions. As he introduced Chickadee to the men, he felt a strange irritation when a few of them began to snicker.
"Well," Chickadee said, bending to pick up a handful of snow, "when's the race gwine commence? I'm ready to try and win it. 'Course, it ain't gwine be easy a-settin' on a sled with these dang skirts. I'll have to hike 'em up—"
The Barefoot Bride Page 24