A Proper Wife

by Sandra Marton

  “Why are young men always so impatient?”

  “Grandfather...” Ryan said, his tone a warning.

  “All right, all right. I suppose you know that my eighty-seventh birthday is fast approaching.”

  “So you gave yourself an early gift? A meal that would make your doctors tear out their hair if they saw it?”

  “This is my life, not theirs.” James’s eyes met his grandson’s. “Do you remember any of what you learned in Sunday school, my boy?”

  “Well,” Ryan said carefully, “that depends.”

  “I’m referring to the biblical injunction that a man is entitled to live three score years and ten.” James smiled. “I’ve done a bit better than that.”

  Ryan smiled, too. “You always managed to get a good return on your investments, sir.”

  “I went on that hideous no-fat, no-sugar, no-taste regimen seven years ago at the urging of my doctors. They convinced me that a man of eighty, who’d survived the sort of surgery that kills men half that age, might improve his lot by eating wisely if not well.”

  “It was good advice.”

  “It was—until now.”

  “Come on, Grandfather. You’re not going to throw in the towel just because you’re turning eighty-seven in a couple of months!”

  “I had my semiannual checkup last week.” James’s tone was brisk. “The doctors suggested I make certain my affairs were all in order.”

  Ryan’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that not even a diet of pap can keep a man living beyond his time—which is as it should be. No one should take up room on this overcrowded planet forever.”

  “That’s nonsense!”

  “It is absolutely logical, and you know it. And before you ask... yes, I have sought a second medical opinion. It confirms the first. It’s time to tally up the books.”

  Ryan felt his gut twist. He loved his grandfather fiercely. James had been his surrogate father and his professional mentor. He’d been everything, all the family Ryan had ever known. The years had passed—of course they had. Still, in a way that had nothing to do with rational thought, he’d expected to have more time.

  “There’s no reason to look so bleak, boy. I’ve enjoyed my life. Truly, I have no regrets.”

  Ryan cleared his throat. “What about seeing another doctor? A specialist?”

  “I told you, I already have. A battery of them. They’ve all muttered their magical incantations and read their chicken bones—and they’re in complete agreement.”

  Ryan got to his feet and paced across the room. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Something I can do, then!”

  “There is.”

  Ryan swung around. “What? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  “Will you?” James said softly. “Can I count on you to do something that may, at first glance, seem...difficult?”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Have I ever let you down, sir?”

  The old man smiled. “No. No, you have not.”

  “Tell me what you want and I’ll take care of it.”

  James hesitated, then cleared his throat.

  “I had a visitor last week,” he said. “Two visitors, actually. Your brother’s widow—and his stepdaughter.”

  Ryan frowned at the abrupt change in topic. “Bettina came to see you?”

  “Yes. With her daughter, the offspring of husband number one, Gordon’s unlucky predecessor twice removed.”

  “But why? I mean, Gordon’s been dead more than a year.”

  “Oh, Bettina babbled on and on about family for a while but eventually she got down to basics.”

  “I’ll bet.” Ryan’s tone was harsh. “What did she want?”

  “Money. Not that she said so. Whatever else she is, Bettina’s not stupid. She’d never be so obvious.”

  “She’s obvious enough. The only one who never saw through her was Gordon.”

  “Evidently he did, at the end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He not only left Bettina, he cut her out of his will.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows angled in surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. He left his money to charity and his house in San Francisco to me.”

  “Damn,” Ryan said softly. A slow grin crept over his mouth. “Now Bettina wants you to do something about it.”

  “What she wants, as she so delicately put it, is for me to remember that she is one of us.”

  “The hell she is!”

  James nodded. “I agree. But there are other considerations.”

  “What other considerations? The woman’s no good. She must have slept in a hundred different beds before she set her sights on Gordon.”

  “Including yours?”

  Ryan swung toward James. “No,” he said harshly, “not including mine—but it wasn’t for lack of effort. She made that clear enough.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

  James smiled. “I was only seventy-nine when she married Gordon,” he said wryly. “A man in his prime can always read a woman like that.”

  “Gordon couldn’t,” Ryan said, his expression still stony.

  The old man sighed. “This isn’t about your brother’s inability to see the truth, it’s about responsibility.”

  “Are you saying you feel sympathy for this woman?”

  “I’m not talking about sympathy. I’m talking about responsibility. And family obligation. Those things are important, Ryan. Surely you know that.”

  Ryan looked at James’s lined face, at the hand holding the cognac glass and its slight but perceptible tremor, and he forced himself to swallow his anger.

  “You’re right, so if you’re about to tell me you’ve decided to deed Bettina that house in San Francisco or include her in your will, you needn’t worry. What you do with your estate is your business, sir. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “But you wouldn’t approve.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  James laughed. “Direct, as always.”

  Ryan smiled back at the old man. “I wonder where I could possibly have picked up such a trait?”

  “Believe me, my boy, I have no intention of giving Bettina anything. I’d never countermand Gordon’s desires.”

  “Well, then, I don’t see—”

  “Did I mention that her daughter was with her?”

  “Yes.” Ryan crossed the room and poured himself some more cognac. “She must be...what? Seventeen? Eighteen? The last I saw her—the only time I saw her, come to think of it—was the evening before Gordon moved to the coast. He brought Bettina and the girl here for dinner.”

  “Your memory is better than mine. I didn’t remember the girl at all.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to remember. The child sat like a lump. She was a gawky-looking thing, all bones and knees, decked out in frills that didn’t become her.”

  James smiled. “You’ll be glad to hear she’s improved somewhat,” he said dryly.

  “Well, I suppose she’s past the awkward age.”

  “Indeed,” James said, holding out his empty glass and nodding toward the cognac bottle.

  Ryan looked at the glass in the old man’s hand, hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. What did it matter now?

  “Meaning,” he said as he poured the cognac, “she’s a chip off the old block?”

  “Like her mother? No, not at all. They don’t even look alike. The girl must take after her father. She’s very fair.” James smiled. “Bettina was all got up in some purple thing like a pair of Doctor Denton’s, only two sizes too small and without attached feet.”

  Ryan laughed. “A catsuit, I think it’s called.”

  “But the girl was dressed as if she were going to have tea with the Queen. Demure little suit, white blouse with a bow at the throat, yellow hair skinned back in a bun.”

  “Probably as much a costume as Bettina’s,” Ryan said with a
shrug. “Maybe they figured you’d be an easier touch if the girl looked sweet and innocent.”

  “It’s possible, but somehow I don’t think so. The girl was very quiet. Bettina kept trying to involve her in the conversation but she just sat there, quiet as a mouse.”

  “Still a lump, it would seem.”

  “Well, Bettina certainly did all the talking. She says Gordon cut her out of his will in a fit of temper.”

  Ryan snorted. “She only wishes!”

  “I didn’t believe it, either. So after they’d left, I phoned my attorney and had him do some checking.” James smiled coldly. “Cutting Bettina out had been deliberate, all right. Seems Gordon had found her in bed with some man.”

  Ryan finished his cognac, put down his glass, and folded his arms over his chest.

  “I hope you phoned Bettina and told her that.”

  “I haven’t told her anything, Ryan. I wanted to speak with you first. You see, my attorney learned something quite unexpected. It seems Gordon had intended to make another change in his will.”

  “What kind of change?”

  “The week before his death, he stopped by to see his lawyer. He said he’d been thinking about the girl.”

  “Bettina’s daughter?”

  James nodded. “He said Bettina had shuttled her off to boarding school as soon as they were married because she didn’t want a child underfoot and he felt guilty, not having done anything to stop it. He said he’d never paid her enough attention or fulfilled the obligations of a stepfather.”

  Ryan sighed. He was beginning to see the picture.

  “Look, Grandfather, if you want to continue paying the girl’s tuition—”

  James chuckled. “She’s twenty-three, Ryan. She’s been out of school for four years. And I can see why Gordon was concerned about her. She’s not at all like the young women one sees today. There’s no hard edge to her, no sophistication. I suppose it’s the boarding school that did it. It’s one of those old-fashioned places that hardly exists anymore, where young women are taught to be proper ladies. According to Bettina, the girl plays piano, embroiders, even knows how to serve a proper tea.”

  Ryan laughed. “Maybe we should introduce her to Frank.”

  “This has nothing to do with Frank,” the old man said sharply. “Are you paying attention to me, Ryan?”

  “Certainly, sir. And she sounds...charming.” She sounded either simpleminded or dull as dishwater, but there was no need to say that to his grandfather.

  “At first, I was surprised Bettina would have chosen a school that emphasized such things but then I realized she’d hoped her. daughter would make the right friends, perhaps meet the brother of some rich classmate and marry him.”

  “But she didn’t?” Ryan grinned when James shook his head. “I see. She’s not awkward anymore, she’s just homely. Poor Bettina. Her scheme backfired.”

  “I wouldn’t call the girl ‘homely,’” James said thoughtfully. “It’s just that she’s without artifice. Quite proper and demure.”

  “Well, then,” Ryan said, trying to mask his impatience, “I’m sure she’ll find a good husband sooner or later.”

  “I’m certain of it,” James said, and smiled.

  “Look, Grandfather, haven’t we gotten off the subject? We were discussing—ah, we were talking about—”

  “My death, that’s what we were discussing, and what you can do to make its approach easier. I’m getting to it, if you’ll—” There was a knock at the library door. “Yes?” the old man said irritably as it opened. “What is it now, Brimley? Can’t you bear to leave me in peace for a moment?”

  “You have guests, sir,” the housekeeper said, her voice fairly humming with disapproval.

  “Is it nine o’clock already?” James sighed. “No wonder you were getting impatient, my boy. I lost track of the time. I thought we had at least another hour before Bettina and her daughter arrived.”

  Ryan stared at his grandfather. “What do you mean?”

  “I asked them to come by this evening, after dinner.”

  “What in hell for?”

  “So you could meet her, of course.”

  Ryan thrust his hand into his black hair and scraped it back from his forehead.

  “Sir,” he said gently, “I’m afraid you’re a bit confused. I’ve met Bettina before, remember?”

  James slapped his hands against the arms of his chair.

  “Don’t patronize me, boy. I am not senile. It’s my body that’s failing, not my brain. I am not talking about Bettina. It’s Devon I want you to meet.”

  “Devon?”

  “Don’t look so blank, for heaven’s sake. Yes, Devon. Bettina’s daughter. Your brother’s stepchild.”

  “But why? Look, if you want to do something for her... give her money, whatever—”

  “What I want, Ryan, is that you promise to honor the request I shall make of you.”

  “I will. I’ve already told you that, sir, but what does it have to do with—what’s her name?”

  “Devon,” the old man said. “And it has everything to do with her. You see, I’ve thought of a solution to all my problems.”

  “What problems?”

  “The ones I’ve spent the last hour enumerating,” James said testily. “Haven’t you been listening? My concern that you settle down with the right wife.”

  “That,” Ryan said with a wave of his hand.

  “Yes. That. And now this other thing that’s come up, your brother’s wish that his stepdaughter be provided for.”

  “Grandfather,” Ryan said patiently, “I fail to see what one thing has to do with another.”

  A sly smile curved across James’s mouth.

  “They have everything to do with each other. You need a wife and the girl needs to be taken care of.” The old man chuckled. “It’s quite simple, Ryan. I have found you the proper wife and I want you to marry her.”

  The words seemed to echo through the library. Behind him, in the fireplace, Ryan heard the pop of a damp log as the heat drew the last bit of moisture from its core.

  That’s how I feel, Ryan thought dazedly, as if the last bit of air were being pulled from my lungs.

  “You can’t be serious,” he said.

  “I’ve never been more serious. And I will remind you that you gave me your word. You will marry Devon Franklin.”

  Franklin? Ryan thought. His heart slammed against his ribs. Franklin?

  “Grandfather,” he said in a strangled voice, but James shifted suddenly in his chair and peered beyond Ryan, his eyes lighting with pleasure.

  “Devon, my dear. Please come in. I want you to meet my grandson.”

  Even before Ryan turned, before he saw her, he knew.

  There, standing in the doorway, was the same gorgeous, evil-tempered blonde who’d slugged him six hours earlier in Montano’s.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RYAN had heard it said that in moments of danger, time seemed to stand still.

  That had never been his experience. He liked danger: it was one of the things that had made him so successful in business. When things got dicey, when other men blinked, Ryan only felt his heartbeat quicken. And then time would seem to speed up. Events, words, gestures would clip by at a lightning-quick rate, so that afterward he’d have to sit down and sort them all out.

  Now, as he confronted the demure, sweet-tempered, old-fashioned girl his grandfather had hand-selected as his bride, Ryan knew for the first time what people meant when they spoke about a moment frozen in time.

  He could feel each beat of his heart, hear each breath as he drew it. He could see Bettina, standing just beyond the girl, her blood-red lips moving so slowly that the words were undecipherable.

  But the most incredible part of the experience was watching the tangle of emotions pass across Devon’s face. Recognition first, and then disbelief. Then shock. And finally, horror.

  Whatever she had expected to find in this house tonight, he had to be her worst nightmare
come true.

  But she couldn’t be any more stunned than he was. Devon Franklin, sitting by the fireside with an embroidery hoop in her lap? Chatting politely with the other ladies of the sewing circle before returning home to cook her husband’s dinner?

  Ryan almost laughed. It was easier to imagine Jack the Ripper hired to carve roasts at a dinner party.

  But it was easy to see why James had been fooled. The girl was a chameleon. She could take on whatever coloration she needed. At Montano’s, she’d been the portrait of sexy sophistication: blond hair loose and flowing, eyes ringed with kohl, long legs flashing seductively beneath the ankle-length, velvet cape.

  Tonight she looked as chaste as a nun ready to take her vows. Her silky hair was bundled back into a loose knot, her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and her delectable body and long legs were hidden beneath a gray wool dress that hung to midcalf.

  And yet, if anything, she was more beautiful than before.

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed. Her beauty didn’t change reality. She was a woman who had learned she could get whatever she wanted by trading on her looks. It was no accident that she should turn up for a visit with an old man, pretending to be Miss Innocence.

  The whole pathetic scheme was obvious. Devon Franklin had created herself to suit his grandfather’s tastes. James was not just an old man, he was an old-fashioned one nearing the end of his life, he had lots of money and only one heir.

  Bettina and her daughter had seen a golden opportunity and moved on it.

  A surge of anger roiled Ryan’s blood. It was not only a ridiculous scam, it was a cruel one to try and pull on a frail old man. Neither woman had thought, if they’d thought at all, that the old man’s grandson could stop them.

  And Devon, he thought grimly, had not thought about him at all.

  He started forward, his eyes fixed to hers, relishing the look of dread that would soon replace the horror in her face....

  “Ryan!”

  Bettina’s squeal of delight shattered the silence. She hurtled past Devon and threw herself at him, rising off her toes as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, Ryan, how wonderful! I hoped you might be here tonight! How lovely to see you again after so many years.”