The Vow

by Lindsay Chase

  With those mismatched lips pressed delightfully against his, James wanted to kiss her deeply with his tongue, as the Countess’s girls had taught him, but he restrained himself. There would be time enough for that and much more once they were wed.

  He pulled away.

  Georgia looked at him, her great hazel eyes hurt. “Don’t you like my kisses, James?”

  “I like them fine.” He blushed. “Too well.”

  She smiled. “You’re my betrothed now. You may kiss me as much as you like.”

  James stared at the tips of his shoes. “I fear that if I do that I’ll turn into the kind of man who shamed you.”

  Georgia’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, James, you could never be like him if you tried. Anything you did would never shame me.”

  “I still want to wait until we’re married.”

  She smiled up at him. “Then we had better marry quickly, or I shall go out of my mind.”

  He drew her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. “I’d like my brother Samuel to come to the wedding.”

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  “Mrs. Shaw told me about him. He’s the artist who did that beautiful picture of her and went to California.”

  “Now he’s in Australia, according to the letter Benjamin received last month.”

  Georgia stood back and smiled. “Before we can invite your brother to our wedding, we have to tell the others. Perhaps we can make an announcement tonight at dinner.”

  James thought of Benjamin and shook his head. “I’d rather tell them personally, if you don’t mind.”

  “Just as long as you tell them.”

  James grinned and kissed her again.

  Benjamin took the news of his uncle’s betrothal better than Hannah expected.

  When Reiver told him that evening before dinner, the stalwart Benjamin turned pale and his eyes grew unnaturally bright, then he pulled himself together and said that he wished James and Georgia every happiness.

  He repeated his good wishes that evening at the dinner table, making Hannah glow with pride at her son’s newfound maturity.

  “When do you wish to marry?” Hannah asked them. “Fall is a beautiful time of year for a wedding.”

  James said, “We want to invite Samuel, so we’d wait until he could come home.”

  Hannah tensed, her eyes darting to the head of the table, where Reiver sat as still as stone.

  “I wouldn’t have my heart set on it,” Reiver said.

  Davey said, “I don’t think Uncle Samuel is ever coming back.”

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  “Why should he?” Mrs. Hardy muttered. “He’s probably happier where he is.”

  Hannah took another sip of soup, her mind whirling. Samuel back in Coldwater…

  Georgia said, “There must be some way we could tell him.” She glanced at her fiancé. “James does have his heart set on his brother being here for our wedding.”

  “I could write him another letter,” Benjamin suggested.

  “No, I shall,” Hannah said, avoiding looking at her husband. “But you two mustn’t get your hopes up. Australia is a long journey to make just to come home for a wedding.”

  “Perhaps Uncle Samuel would come home for good,” Davey suggested.

  But Hannah knew Reiver would never allow that.

  Later that evening, just as Hannah was about to go upstairs, Reiver stopped her in the downstairs hall.

  He extended his hand. “Come for a walk with me. It’s a beautiful moonlit night.”

  She eyed his hand warily before letting him tuck her own through the crook of his arm.

  Outside, a huge full moon hanging low in the star-strewn sky almost rivaled the sun in brightness, though this light was cool and silvery. Hannah and Reiver needed no lamp to guide them as they strolled around Mulberry Hill, now carpeted with green spring grass instead of snow.

  She waited until they were far enough away from the house to be overheard before saying, “Are you going to let Samuel come home for James’s wedding?”

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  “Why not?” Reiver replied. “He’s been gone for almost seven years.” He looked at Hannah, his expression in shadow and therefore unreadable. “I’m assuming that you don’t feel the same way about him.”

  “I don’t.” She looked away.

  “I’m delighted to hear it. Otherwise, having him here would prove most awkward for all concerned.”

  They walked on in silence.

  Suddenly Reiver stopped and turned to face Hannah, his blue eyes looking black in the moonlight. “Write to Samuel and invite him to James’s wedding. Tell him that I want to let bygones be bygones between us, and that he’s more than welcome to come back to Coldwater.”

  Hannah fought to keep her voice soft and level so it wouldn’t carry. “Why don’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?” When he raised his brows, she plunged on.

  “I have no more feelings for Samuel, but perhaps he still harbors deep feelings for me.”

  “As long as you don’t reciprocate them, there should be no problem.” He offered her his arm. “It’s getting late. Shall we go back?”

  Hannah placed her hand on his arm, and they strolled back to the house.

  Once she was alone in her bedroom, she sat up in bed and hugged her knees.

  Why was Reiver suddenly championing Samuel’s return? Hannah refused to believe that her proud husband was ready to forgive and forget.

  Vivid memories she had suppressed for years assaulted her. Samuel’s friendship during that lonely, confusing first year of her marriage, his many kindnesses to simple Abigail, that wild afternoon in his studio when he had burned away her feelings of worthlessness in a heated blaze of passion…

  To have him back in Coldwater…how would she ever endure it?

  She wrote to Samuel the following morning.

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  A few weeks later Hannah was filling in for an absent worker in the packing room when Reiver burst in, his face flushed with excitement.

  “Hannah, let someone else do that,” he said. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  She looked up from her work. “There is no one else to do this. Bridget is sick, and this shipment has got to go out today.”

  “Then let it wait.” He stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other impatiently.

  Hannah rose and followed him outside into the warm June morning, matching his long, quick stride. “Now, what is it that you have to discuss with me?”

  “Nate Fisher is selling the Bickford farm.”

  Hannah stopped and stared at Reiver, who kept on walking. When he realized that she wasn’t following, he stopped and turned.

  She asked, “Who told you this? And why is he selling? Uncle Ezra’s grandfather established that farm. It’s been in the family for over a century.”

  “Roger Jones told me when I went to have Racer shod this morning,” Reiver replied. “He heard it from Nate himself just yesterday. Apparently Nate thinks there’s no future in Coldwater, so he’s selling out, packing up and taking his family out west.”

  She caught up to Reiver. “I can see that this news interests you. May I ask why?”

  “Because I want to buy that farm.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Buy it?” Before Reiver could say a word, she added, “Of course. To expand Shaw Silks further someday.”

  “You understand.”

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  “Why are you so surprised? I doubt that you would want to make farmers out of Benjamin and Davey.”

  “Certainly not.” He looked back at the mill, his eyes shining with pride. “All this will be theirs one day.” He turned back to her. “S
o, do I have your permission to buy it?”

  “You’re actually asking my permission?”

  “You do own controlling interest in the mill.”

  Hannah gathered her skirts and walked toward the house. “You surprise me.

  I had expected demands from you, not a request.”

  He shrugged. “What good will demanding do? We’ll just start arguing, and I’m tired of fighting with you.”

  “Oh, I had thought you rather enjoyed our arguments.”

  He regarded her with a certain gravity. “You’re wrong.”

  What sort of game is he playing now? Hannah wondered, walking the rest of the way back to the house in silence. It was so unlike Reiver to request anything of her. He usually ran the mill as he saw fit, trying to get away with as much as possible, then arguing with her when she stated any objections. It was as if he were finally acknowledging her control of his mill, and that made her suspect his motives all the more.

  Once back in the house, Hannah got out the account books and did some quick calculations while Reiver waited. “If you want to buy the farm, we’ll have to get a loan,” she said.

  “You’ll agree to it?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’ll visit some Hartford banks and see about it.” He smiled ruefully.

  “All except Tuttle Senior’s, of course.”

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  “Quite prudent of you, under the circumstances.” Hannah rose. “Now I shall get back to my packing.”

  Walking past Reiver, Hannah was surprised when he placed a restraining hand on her arm. He said, “Thank you for not fighting me on this, Hannah.”

  “I want what’s best for Shaw Silks, too. If you think acquiring the Bickford farm will benefit us in the future, then go ahead.”

  “I will.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and left.

  Back in the packing room, listening to the hum and clatter of the looms and feeling the floor vibrate beneath her feet, Hannah pondered the subtle change in her husband over the last few months. First he seemed willing to allow Samuel to come home. Now he had actually consulted her first before going ahead with a project for the mill.

  That kiss on the cheek had been the biggest surprise of all since their physical relationship had died long ago.

  “We’ll see, Reiver Shaw,” she said aloud, stacking spools of thread in their boxes. “We’ll see.”

  Reiver flung his silk top hat across the kitchen, his face flushed and his stocky form taut with rage. “None of the banks will lend me any money.”

  Hannah placed a loaf of freshly baked bread next to the smoked ham in the basket she intended to bring to poor sick Bridget’s family. “That’s surprising.

  How many banks did you go to?”

  “Every one in Hartford.” He raked his hand through his hair. “And they all turned me down. They’re all cautious with this talk of a possible insurrection. If I manufactured armaments, like Colt or Smith and Wesson, they’d be happy to loan me as much money as I needed.”

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  Hannah added a jar of blueberry preserves to the basket. “Well, I guess that puts an end to our buying Nate’s farm.”

  Reiver paced the kitchen like a caged panther. “Something’s not right. Shaw Silks is a solvent company with a bright future. There’s no reason any bank should turn us down for a loan. Unless…” He rubbed his chin.

  Hannah looked up from her task. “Unless what?”

  “Unless someone told them not to.”

  A summer breeze blew through the open kitchen window, carrying the sound of Georgia’s laughter as she chased Elisabeth across the lawn.

  Hannah stared at Reiver. “You think the banks are purposely refusing to do business with you? But why?”

  A muscle twitched in his wide jaw. “Think, Hannah. Who has cause to hate me so much?”

  “Amos Tuttle. But surely you don’t think he would—”

  “Use his influence to keep my company from succeeding? I wouldn’t put anything past him.” He went to the window and stared out, hands on hips.

  “Remember Tuttle Senior wrote off my first loan because I didn’t press charges against his son for shooting me, but he didn’t promise to give me another loan, either. And who knows? Perhaps he asked all of his banking cronies not to lend me money.”

  “I didn’t think bankers allowed personal feelings to stand in the way of profit.”

  “Most of them don’t, but I wouldn’t trust Tuttle.”

  Hannah added some molasses cookies, then covered the basket with a clean linen cloth. “It’s too bad Samuel isn’t here. I’m sure he’d lend you the money from the sale of his lithographs, as he used to.”

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  Reiver gave her an odd look. “But he’s not, so we’ll have to get the money by some other means.”

  Hannah settled the heavy basket into the crook of her arm. “I’m going to bring this over to Bridget’s house. I shall be back shortly.”

  On the way to Bridget’s, Hannah thought about Amos Tuttle being the cause of Reiver not getting a loan. On the way back from Bridget’s, she came up with an idea that might make him change his mind.

  A week later Hannah stood before the unimposing façade of the National City Bank and fought down the butterflies in her stomach.

  When she had told Reiver she intended to go to New York and speak to Amos Tuttle directly, he exploded. What could she possibly hope to accomplish?

  And what would Tuttle think if Reiver Slaw sent his wife to fight his battles for him?

  Hannah remained adamant. Reiver finally agreed to let her try, but only if he accompanied her.

  So here she was, standing in front of Tuttle’s bank on a hot summer’s day, with Reiver waiting in a carriage around the corner.

  She went inside, and a clerk escorted her to Amos Tuttle’s upstairs office.

  While waiting, she forced herself to remain composed and rehearsed what she planned to say.

  “Mrs. Shaw?”

  She looked up to see Amos Tuttle standing in the doorway. Gone was the ebullient whey-faced young man Reiver delighted in disparaging. This Amos Tuttle was a gaunt, middle-aged man who looked twenty years older, with meticulously groomed thinning hair and a hard, weary face sculpted by suffering 302

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  and disillusionment. He had the look of a man who was cared for solely by servants.

  Hannah hesitated. Would he regard her as his enemy’s wife and send her packing? To her relief, a flicker of something akin to sympathy flared deep within his eyes.

  Betrayal forged an undeniable bond.

  “Mr. Tuttle…thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “Come in.” He stepped aside so she could precede him, then he shut the door to his spacious, elegantly appointed office and offered her a seat in a plush leather chair. “I must confess that I’m surprised to see you here, Mrs. Shaw, and quite curious as to why you would seek me out, under the circumstances.” He sat down behind his wide mahogany desk and leaned back in his chair.

  Hannah took a deep breath. “I have come to ask a favor for my husband.”

  Tuttle’s hard face turned so red, Hannah feared he would have an apoplectic fit. He jumped to his feet and glared down at her out of narrowed, outraged eyes.

  “Have you no pride, Mrs. Shaw? After the way your husband betrayed you, making you the laughingstock of Coldwater, you would lower yourself to come here and ask a favor of me for him?”

  Though her cheeks burned at his insult, Hannah remained calm. “Yes, I would, and you’ll understand when I explain why.”

  “This should be interesting.’ He sat back down. “Proceed.” Hannah told him what had happened when Reiver went to the Hartford banks for a loan to buy the Bickford farm, and how he
had been turned down repeatedly.

  She faced Tuttle squarely. “We think that you are behind this ostracism, and that you have asked the other Hartford bankers to refuse to deal with the Shaws.”

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  He burst out laughing, a thin, wheezing sound. “I’ve never heard anything so absurd in my life.”

  Yet Hannah detected a blatant falseness in his tone.

  “Besides,” he added, “even if it were true, you’d have a devil of a time proving it.”

  She rose. “I agree. But I’m sure you are behind this because it is exactly the sort of thing I would do if I were in your shoes.”

  “Would you, now?”

  “Without hesitation.” Hannah strolled over to a large window overlooking crowded Wall Street. “Do you know what my husband had to agree to before I would take Cecelia’s daughter?”

  “No, Mrs. Shaw, I don’t,” came his strained reply.

  “My price was a controlling interest in Shaw Silks.”

  Tuttle’s eyes bulged. “He gave it to you? Without a fight?”

  “Yes, he did, but not without a fight. For all of Reiver Shaw’s many faults, he loved Cecelia and he loves their daughter.” She looked at him. “He chose his daughter over his silk mill. Now I legally control sixty percent of the company.”

  “I don’t believe it. Shaw would never—”

  “If you need proof, I’ll give you the name of my lawyer and he will substantiate my claim. Reiver continues to run the mill, of course, and as a sop to his considerable pride, we let the rest of the world think that he still controls it.

  But he doesn’t.”

  “You do surprise me, Mrs. Shaw. When I first met you at dinner that night, I thought you were a lovely and charming woman, eager to please her husband, but not particularly strong-willed. I never suspected you of being so—so—”

  “Devious, Mr. Tuttle?”

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