Martha (The Marriage Market Book 5)

by Stevie MacFarlane

  “Oh really,” Lucas said with a laugh. “If I recall, you were there last night when the well-mannered Mr. Ferguson was teaching his Elinore a lesson and there was not much doubt in my mind it occurred over his knee,” Lucas said sharply.

  “Yes, but that was Ellie. I’m much more circumspect and I don’t see a gentleman like Mr. Ferguson doing something that reprehensible to me,” she insisted with a sniff as she tilted her chin up in challenge.

  “Every man has his limits, little woman,” Lucas warned softly.

  “What do I care about some man’s limits?” she loudly declared before she drank some more of her wine.

  “I thought you came out here to find a husband?”

  “I did, but now that I’ve been here a while, I find I’m not in such a hurry to tie myself to some man who will likely order me around.”

  “No, of course not, seeing as how you’ve been supported by the generosity of the Jordons for months,” Lucas pointed out.

  “Oh, what a horrible thing to say,” Clara all but yelled.

  “It’s the truth, and it’s time you realized it. I’m fast reaching the end of my patience with you, woman,” Lucas said sternly as he placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Now, quiet down. This is supposed to be a dinner for Martha and Ethan, not some intoxicated rant by a naughty little girl who has suddenly become too big for her britches.”

  “How dare you speak to me that way,” Clara snapped, rising to her feet and swaying slightly.

  “I’m going to be your husband and I expect a small touch of courtesy when you speak to me.”

  “You can expect anything you want; that does not mean you’re going to get it. And another thing, you are not going to be my husband,” she hissed, stomping her foot and grabbing the table for balance as a hand flew to her forehead.

  Lucas rose and placed his napkin on the table.

  “Martha, Ethan, we wish you the very best,” he said, giving a slight bow. “Now, however, I believe it’s time for Clara and I to leave, before she finds herself in deeper trouble than she’s already in. Please express our thanks to your parents for a lovely dinner.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Clara said weakly.

  “Lucas,” Martha said, holding out her hand as she began to rise.

  “Hush, Älskling,” Ethan said gently as he placed his hand on her arm. “It is not our concern. Your friend has had too much to drink and is creating a scene. She needs to go home now, Martha. Good night, Lucas, Clara.”

  “Come along, little woman,” Lucas said quietly as he took Clara’s arm.

  “No,” she protested, pulling away from him.

  When a sigh, Lucas scooped her up in his arms and began to make his way from the restaurant. Clara fought him every step of the way. He nodded to snickering acquaintances.

  “Is that the little girl who wants to start a temperance movement?” one man called out with a laugh.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Lucas replied with a grin. “Unfortunately, she’s not at her best right now, but when she’s sober, she can give a hell of a speech.”

  Clara screeched in outrage and pulled his hair. Lucas promptly set her down, and bending, pulled her over his shoulder. She pinched his thigh, hard and he smacked her bottom three times.

  “Unless you’d like me to ask one of these fine gentlemen here for their chair so I can sit down and attend to you properly, I suggest you settle down, you little hellcat,” he warned.

  Instantly Clara stilled, but her mouth kept going.

  “I’m going to have you arrested,” she hissed.

  “You can try.”

  “I’ll do more than try,” she spat.

  “You do know there is a law that prohibits public intoxication,” he drawled.

  “So?”

  “So you, my little woman, are intoxicated,” he pointed out as they passed another couple coming in the door, the woman looking at him in horror.

  “I most certainly am not,” she insisted.

  “Do me a favor, take a deep breath of this clean, cool air,” he suggested as soon as they were outside.

  “Why?”

  “It will clear your head,” he promised, nearly laughing when she did as he asked. Almost immediately he heard a moan and felt her body go limp. “My point,” he stated to no one in particular. Clara had passed out. Whistling, he carried her down the boardwalk toward The Bucket of Blood.

  He thought about taking her up the back stairway, but decided against it. After all, she’d already accused him of ‘ruining’ her, gotten drunk in front of most of the town’s prominent citizens, so why bother about the proprieties.

  There were numerous hoots and hollers as he entered the saloon and carried her upstairs to his private quarters as well as several shouts of, “Need a little help with that, Texas?”

  “Nope, I’ve got this,” he replied, smiling.

  Inside his quarters, he passed through the sitting room and went directly to his bedroom where he carefully placed Clara on his massive four-poster mahogany bed. He undressed her slowly, much slower than he needed too and it shamed him a bit—not much, but a little.

  Clara was like a perfectly proportioned doll and he was sorely tempted to taste her berry colored nipples. Thankful she couldn’t see the erection tenting his trousers, he removed her corset and rolled her stockings down, sliding his hand along her silky limbs.

  Hell, this was torture he thought with a groan as he pulled back the covers and took a seat. Placing her on his lap he pulled the pins from her hair and ran his fingers through the thick tresses before he brought them to his nose. She smelled of lemon.

  Lucas rose, placed her back against the pillows wearing only her chemise and drawers and pulled the covers over her with a disappointed sigh.

  Taking the large chair by the window, he pulled back one heavy drape and let the moonlight stream into the room. Lighting a cheroot, he propped his boots on the stool and sat back to wait.

  “Did you see that?” Ellie demanded as she cut into her piece of strudel. “What a spectacle Clara made of herself. Why she’ll be the laughing stock of Seattle by morning,” she snorted.

  “Elinore,” Clayton warned, picking up his coffee. “That’s not very kind of you. I thought Clara was your friend?”

  “She is, but she doesn’t need to act like that in public. It’s embarrassing and besides, imagine her having dinner with that saloon keeper. It’s highly improper.”

  “Lucas Armstrong is a good and decent man,” Clayton offered quietly.

  “Humph, good and decent,” she sniffed. “He sells liquor for a living. It’s not as though he has a real job, a job with a future.”

  “You are completely wrong. Mr. Armstrong provides a service, just as I do.”

  “Yes, but you’re successful. He’s just a… peddler and should be shut down. It’s disgusting, and now seeing Clara intoxicated, I realize how right she was to want to put a stop to it. Of course, she won’t have much credibility now that she’s made a complete fool of herself in front of the entire town.”

  “My goodness, for someone as smart as you are, you certainly make some ridiculous comments.”

  “What do you mean? You think I’m ridiculous?” she asked, shocked and hurt.

  “I think you’re perfectly lovely, but a head for business you do not have,” he sighed. “How do you think I got started? I peddled my lumber, lumber I harvested with a handful of employees.

  “In fact, for a few years, I most likely lived in far worse conditions than you’ll find Lucas lives in. At least he has a roof over his head that doesn’t leak.”

  “You were poor?” Ellie asked in a whisper.

  “As poor as a church mouse,” Clayton replied with a laugh.

  “Hush, don’t let people hear you say that,” she pleaded.

  “Why? I’m not ashamed of it. I struggled, but with hard work and perseverance, I built a fine business.”

  “And is your business secure? Is our future assured?” she
asked, biting her lip.

  “Would it matter if it wasn’t?” he asked, pinning her with his eyes.

  Ellie blushed and looked down at her hands for a few moments. Finally, she lifted her head and returned his gaze.

  “No, Clayton. It wouldn’t matter. I love you. Even after last night I still love you, so I guess it’s real or I would have clobbered you by now,” she continued with a small grin.

  Clayton laughed. “Rest assured, my sweet, my business is growing by leaps and bounds. You have nothing to fear. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep you in the most fashionable bonnets for some time to come,” he teased.

  “Oh, Clayton,” she laughed.

  “There is, however, something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice deep and serious.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll hear no more talk about this temperance business.”

  “I thought we settled that last night,” she sighed, wiggling on her chair and looking away from him.

  “We did, but I’m not sure you appreciate how serious I feel about it.”

  “Oh, I know you were serious,” she grimaced.

  “Elinore, you must realize that the same men who buy a drink or two are the men who buy my lumber. Yes, they may be small potatoes now, but so was I at one time. The man who buys a load of lumber for a small one room house may well be the man who will buy a hundred loads someday to build a hotel or a restaurant.

  “Yes, I ship great quantities across the country into the Midwest, but this part of the territory is growing and I won’t have my wife involved in something that may hurt my business one day. Not to mention the dangers, which I believe I covered last night,” he stated grimly.

  “I have no desire to hurt you, Elinore. It does not make me happy to have to take you in hand, but you need to know I will whenever I deem it necessary.”

  “But, Clayton, I promised to help. I gave my word and even though I don’t approve of what Clara did tonight,” she said with a shiver, “I can’t let my friends down.”

  “I think the petticoat rebellion is pretty much over for now. At least according to what I’m hearing from the other men involved. Be that as it may, I want you to return to Portland with me.”

  “What? For how long?” Ellie demanded.

  “Permanently. It will keep you out of trouble and allow me to maintain an eye on you.”

  “Clayton, we aren’t even married yet. How will that look to the others?”

  “Personally, I don’t particularly care how it looks. We’ll be married soon enough, but I am willing to hire a companion to act as a chaperone for the time being.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied before taking a bite of her strudel.

  “Elinore, it was not a request,” he stated.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I said it was not a request. You will be going back to Portland with me.”

  “My goodness,” she snapped, wiping her mouth and tossing her napkin on the table. “I hope you don’t think that because I let you spank me last night you will be issuing orders from now on.”

  Clayton laughed, making her even angrier.

  “What do you find so amusing?” she demanded.

  “You are too delightful,” he sighed. Smiling, he leaned closer and took her hand, kissing it. “You did not allow me to spank you last night,” he said with a tiny grin he could not hide. “You fought like a wildcat and swore like a sailor, yet I still managed to bare you quite easily and paddle that lovely bottom,” he reminded her in a very quiet voice. “I’ll do it again, Ellie,” he warned. “Do not antagonize me, for while I did not enjoy causing you pain, I found it quite satisfying to have your undivided attention. You’re repeated promises to be a good girl were also enticing and I wouldn’t mind hearing that a little more often. Now,” he said straightening, “do we understand each other?”

  Ellie colored furiously, picked up her napkin, twisting it in her hands and setting it back down with a groan.

  “Yes, Clayton, you evil and overbearing man. We have an understanding. I’m going back to Portland with you,” she finally said.

  “Are you angry with me, Elinore?” he asked, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.

  “No, I’m not angry,” she admitted softly. “I’ve just never met anyone like you before.”

  “How so?”

  “Anyone more stubborn than me,” she said with a laugh.

  “Ah, I see. And do you find my stubbornness attractive?” he teased.

  “Actually, I do,” she replied, shaking her head in surprise. “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I think you enjoy having a man neither your height nor your rants can intimidate. Face it, we are well matched, Elinore,” he concluded with a grin.

  “Apparently so, Clayton,” she conceded. “Let us hope it will always be so.”

  Chapter 12

  Tempest entered the house the next morning in a swirl of blue velvet skirts.

  “Jane,” she called out as she took off her gloves and tossed them on the table. “Jane, ou es-tu?”

  “She’s not here,” Martha replied, coming from the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Oui,” Tempest sighed, following her. “Where is Jane?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t come home last night. Neither did Clara,” Martha offered with a worried frown, “and I can’t find Mary.”

  “Mon Dieu, has the world gone mad? Andre is gone and laisee une note telling me he has run off with one of the epouses. I have no chef,” she cried, dropping onto a chair and accepting the tea Martha held out. “He is batard ingrate,” she snapped.

  “Did the note say which bride?” Martha asked, taking a seat.

  “Here,” Tempest snapped, holding out the note she removed from her pocket.

  Martha read it quickly. Apparently Andre had long wanted to open a French restaurant in San Francisco. He thanked Tempest for bringing him from Paris but felt there was no future for him as a mere servant. He had much higher aspirations and needed a wife to help him.

  “I see,” Martha sighed.

  “Je lui ai paye trop bien!”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I pay him too much,” Tempest explained. “I am sorry. When I am angry my English is not so fine. Who do you think left with him?”

  “I imagine it was Mary. Jane would not leave here when she’s awaiting her children and Clara was with Lucas Armstrong last night.”

  “Ah, that one. He is dangerous, oui? With his fine, strong build and sourire seduisant.”

  “His what?”

  His a… smile,” Tempest complained, making a wide smile and then frowning.

  “Oh yes, I see. He is attractive.”

  “Oui. These brides will make me die,” she stammered out. “I mean they will be the death of me. Do you think they have come to harm?”

  “Not in the way you mean,” Martha replied with a slight smile.

  Tempest laughed. “No I suppose not. Where is Ellie?”

  “Still sleeping. She was out late with Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Ah, another brute,” Tempest said. “They are all the same, oui?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is a man’s world,” she stated. “Send word if there is something amiss. I will go and tell Duncan he must find me another chef or go hungry,” she stated. “Did you look in Mary’s room?”

  “No.”

  “Come, we will see.”

  Together they went upstairs only to find Mary’s things gone. She too left a note thanking the Jordons and promising to marry Andre at the first opportunity. Tempest shook her head.

  “Will he marry her?” Martha asked worriedly.

  “Oui, he is batard ingrate, but he will wed her or I will hunt him down. I must go. I did not have my chocolat chaud this morning and I feel the headache coming on.”

  “Would you like me to try and make some?”

  “Non, I will go to Amelia’s. Perhaps Effie will know how and I must tell them th
e news. Mon Dieu, it is not a good morning.”

  “Ethan and I are going to be married in a week,” Martha said hesitantly.

  “A week?” Tempest nearly shrieked. “Ma petit, that is not nearly enough time for me too…”

  “No, you don’t have to do a thing. Ethan’s mother and father want to have the wedding dinner at their restaurant. We will be married in the church.”

  “But, it is my responsibility,” Tempest insisted. “You are here only because of my son’s foolishness.”

  “No, it’s not,” Martha assured her, taking her hand. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I was not a young woman full of dreams. I think I had a touch of wanderlust and I came of my own free will, knowing it may not work out.”

  “Wander what?” Tempest asked.

  “Wanderlust,” Martha repeated with a smile. “The desire to see what awaited me in a new place. Then I met Ethan and well, I’ve put him off long enough. His parents would be terribly disappointed if we deprived them of making the arrangements. Besides, you’ve done more than enough to help and care for us; the brides I mean.”

  “Ma Cheri, it has been my pleasure,” Tempest smiled. “Never have I felt such joy and if Hugh had not placed the advertisement I would not have my precious Amelia and Effie.”

  “You will come to the wedding?” Martha asked hopefully. The last person in the world she wanted to hurt was Tempest.

  “Naturellement,” Tempest said, “and Duncan will enjoy it all the more because he does not have to pay,” she continued with a laugh. “I am very happy for you,” she said, squeezing Martha’s hand. “Now I must say Au Revoir, for I have the juicy gossip to impart to my petit filles.”

  She was gone as quickly as she arrived and never touched her tea. Martha sank onto a chair and smiled. Imagine quiet little Mary running away with Andre. And where in heaven’s name had Mr. Armstrong taken Clara last night?

  Her reputation would be ruined beyond repair and most likely that’s exactly what he intended. Lucas Armstrong made no bones about his intention to marry her, but Martha had serious doubts whether his plan would work. Clara was made of much sterner stuff than any of them had given her credit for. Martha wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she refused him still, simply as a matter of principle.