by Bella Bowen
He grimaced, then dropped all expression. “Miss Darby McClintock.”
Jez slapped the desk again, this time with her hand. “A Scot! Are you mad?” She was back on her feet, leaning over the desk, eyes flashing.
“No. She’s not a Scot. She’s English. Just has an unfortunate last name.”
“I have an unfortunate name, and you won’t even consider—”
“Jez! No. I won’t consider it. At least this woman’s name will change the traditional way, and the sooner the better.”
“Will you just meet her at the train station with a parson?” She laughed lightly. “Her delicate sensibilities might be bruised.”
Rand bit his lip, wishing he had another alternative, but he hadn’t. Finally, he could put it off no longer.
“That’s why I’ve asked you here, Jez. I was hoping…you could do me the favor of…making arrangements for a small wedding ceremony.” He glanced up briefly and pretended not to notice her mouth hanging open. “You’ve got a talent for making things happen on short notice, and, as a friend, I hoped—”
“I’ll do it.” She stood, swept her thin shawl around her shoulders, and headed for the door. He couldn’t see her face to gage her emotion. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “When?”
He hated speaking to her back. “She should arrive Thursday morning. Thursday afternoon would be best.”
Jez’s massive coil of sable hair nodded once, then she was gone. The chill she left behind was regrettable, but it was time to move on to the next stage of his life. Unfortunately, Jez couldn’t move on with him.
Did he love her? Of course. She’d been his best friend, fought at his side, comforted him from time to time when he’d desperately needed comfort in order to continue the life he led. However, when he imagined a wife on his arm, in his bed, bearing his children, Jezebel never fit into that picture.
But this Darby woman would. In fact, she had to. Now that Miss Miller had found a woman to suit his needs, his dreams were alive again. He intended to make a surprise bid for mayor in the next election. And as soon as he cleaned out the Shanghai tunnels of Portland, he would run for governor and clean up the entire Oregon Seaboard.
Miss Darby McClintock—soon to be Beauregard—was saving lives just by answering his advertisement, just by being a well-bred woman. She just didn’t know it yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
During the long journey from Lawrence, Massachusetts to Portland, Oregon, Darby had an insatiable need for friendship. Travelling alone was frightening for any woman, especially those headed for mysterious destinations to entrust their very lives to strangers. But what made it more bearable for Darby was to lend a kind shoulder to others of her ilk.
Not only did conversation help pass the hours, but it also gave her ample opportunity to hone her new—and likely permanent—accent. Also, with practice and attention, she’d been able to reduce her bouts of temper to one or two per day, and never within earshot of her new friends.
All right. Three.
But the very fact that she could hold her tongue until she was alone, and vent her frustration in private, showed tremendous progress. So, by the time the train crossed into Oregon, she was a wee more confident than she had expected. Confident about her accent and demeanor, at least. Hopefully, there would be many a young woman with a clear memory of an elegant Englishwoman who accompanied them across the plains…and none at all who would remember a sharp-tongued Scottish lass with opinions to spare.
The worst parts of the journey had been in quiet moments when Darby had been alone with her thoughts and fears. No matter how she reminded herself of the sturdy stock she’d come from, she’d faltered from time to time. Waking nightmares plagued her of a tall handsome gentleman meeting her at the train station. Just how angry would he be if he discovered her secret? Angry enough to strike her? To put her out on the street?
And what would he do if she struck back?
The conductor walked through the car and announced they would arrive in Portland in but five minutes! The waiting was over. In six minutes’ time, she would know just how much trouble she was in.
“Please, Lord, let him be ugly as a gnawed bone.”
“What’s that, dear?” The old woman sitting beside her cupped her hand around her ear and leaned closer.
“I was thanking the Lord for seeing me safely home.”
The old woman smiled and nodded, then patted Darby’s leg.
Darby’s heart pounded harder in her chest with every mile that passed by the large windows. Farms grew closer together, then houses, then larger buildings. When the train began to slow, she prayed for it to speed up. But alas, it came to a stop and she panicked.
Surely, starting over in some other town, with the two dollars she had in her reticule would be just as easy, if not more so, than taking her chances with Mr. Beauregard. All she had to do was stay aboard a wee bit longer. Or better yet, she could disembark and pretend to be someone else entirely.
That was it! A Scottish lass looking for work. None would suspect she was the Englishwoman who had left Rand Beauregard standing empty-handed at the train station!
A heavy burden lifted from her chest and she was finally able to take a deep breath again.
“Good luck, dearie,” said the old woman as she moved to the end of the car.
A gentleman who had been watching Darby off and on since the last stop stepped in front of her and removed his hat. “Would you allow me to carry your bags, miss?”
She smiled in thanks. “If you’ll lift them down for me, that would be kind enough, sir.”
He nodded, flipped his hat back onto his head, then pulled the bags from the shelf. Unfortunately, he hung onto them. “I can’t possibly expect you to carry these heavy things yourself. I should at least assist you into the depot.”
Others passed them in the narrow walkway, listening to the conversation, watching to see how she would react.
She smiled kindly again as she stepped forward onto the toe of his boot, then pressed down on it, the movement hidden beneath the generous folds of her skirt. “Ye’re mistaken, aye? They weigh nothing a’tall. And I canna delay ye any longer than I already have.”
His practiced smile slid slowly from his face.
She held out both hands and waited for him to set the handles into her grasp, all the while pressing firmly on his toes, silently promising him a great deal more pain should he refuse her.
“I believe you’re right, ma’am.” He handed them over. After she released his toes, he slid his foot out of her reach, then backed away. “I don’t reckon you’ll have any trouble with those at all.”
But what was more important was that she wouldn’t have any more trouble with him.
She was the last one off the train. There were a few men still standing on the platform, including one man obviously waiting for someone. His Stetson was pushed back away from a puffy nose and an anxious but friendly face. When his searching eyes turned in her direction, she had a split second to decide who she was—or rather, who she intended to be for the rest of her life.
She looked away quickly and found the man who had tried to help her with her bags. No longer the center of attention, he leaned against a pole and glowered at her.
“Miss McClintock, I hope?” The friendly man stood with his hat now in his hands. A head of thick curly hair made it seem unlikely the hat had fit over it in the first place.
She could feel the other man’s eyes upon her, waiting for her answer, no doubt waiting to see if she would be leaving alone. And just like that, the decision was made.
She gave the blond man a dignified but heartfelt smile. “Yes. I am Darby McClintock.”
He held out a hand and helped her step from the train to the stool, to the platform. “Thank you, Mr. Beauregard, is it?”
He choked. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m Hardy Jacobs, the driver. I’ve come to take you to the house, so you can revive a bit. Mr. Beauregard will meet us at the church at four o’clo
ck this afternoon. He’s sorry he can’t meet you sooner, but he has a court case he has to see to.”
“A court case? He’s a lawyer?”
Jacobs squashed his hat over his curls, picked up her bags, and nodded for her to walk along. “No ma’am. Not anymore. But he still sits on the bench from time to time when they need him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
He grimaced. “My apologies, ma’am. Mr. Beauregard was a judge before he took the City Commissioner post. When the courts get backed up, he helps out. Just small matters, mostly.”
Her husband-to-be was a judge? Had Miss Miller known? If the woman had only mentioned it, Darby would have never agreed to come all this way!
Her mind reeled as she followed Jacobs to a large closed carriage. He set her bags down to help her climb inside, then set her bags on the seat opposite her. “Mr. Beauregard is a fine man and a fine judge. Can spot a bounder from a mile away.” Jacobs stepped back to close the small door, removed his hat again, and spoke through the open window. “And don’t you worry, Miss McClintock. He’s as handsome as they come.”
As the carriage rolled across the bridge over the Willamette River and through the large city, she had little attention to spare for the place. After all, she wasn’t going to be there long, so she needn’t get attached. And she was far too busy trying to guess how much time Judge Beauregard would have to spend in jail for throttling his wife, if indeed that wife proved to be a bounder…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rand stood on the rise behind his home and followed the progress of the carriage that carried Miss Darby McClintock up Burnside Street toward the west hills. He was too nervous to sit at his office, and he’d already sent word that he wouldn’t be able to meet her until that afternoon, at the church. But his curiosity was eating him alive.
If he were at least prepared for the way the woman looked, he might avoid making a fool out of himself later on. Short and stocky? Tall and lean? Pretty or homely? Plain or fancy? With no idea of the color of her hair, he hadn’t been able to imagine anything at all. But deep down, he hoped that he’d know her when he saw her, that he would recognize her as the woman he’d always pictured on his arm.
His imagination rarely failed him, but it failed him now. And so he was doomed to sit and watch from a distance with the spy glass from a dead sea captain.
Finally, the carriage arrived in front of the house. He watched closely to see her reaction to her new home. Waited for Hardy to assist her.
Feathers emerged first. A hat. Shadows. Then sunlight reflected off a generous head of hair. Red hair!
“Damn it!”
Hardy’s head turned in his direction before he hurried the woman inside the house, as if he’d seen Indians gathering on the hillside, damn him! Rand hadn’t gotten so much as a look at her nose!
But that hair!
He groaned and snapped the spy glass closed. Why did she have to have red hair? A governor’s wife should be quiet and unassuming, and he’d yet to meet a redhead that fit that description. Yes, he wanted someone lovely to wear on his arm during social events, but not a woman who would turn every head in the room.
On the other hand…
He took heart. At least there was still hope that she was homely.
~ ~ ~
The maid had a bath ready for her. After a bit of hot water added at the last, Darby insisted she could undress herself and was finally left alone in the large bathing room.
“Dinna get used to this,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare get used to this.”
The bath was glorious and she stayed in the fine claw-footed tub until she grew chilled. The dressing gown hanging on the hook was silk and enchanting. It was bright gold with small black symbols along the lapels and the hems of the sleeves. Chinese, she would guess.
“Just borrowing it for now,” she murmured, and wrapped the smooth gold around her body.
The bathing room was located in one of two pentagonal towers at the rear of the mansion. Four of the five facades were filled with large windows that looked out upon the forest surrounding the place. The drapes were pulled to one side, but there was little chance anyone could see into the room from the forest beyond. And if the maid hadn’t thought it necessary to cover the windows, Darby would trust her judgement.
As she toweled her hair dry and looked out over the mountain range to the west, there was movement to her left. But when she moved to the next window, whatever it had been was gone.
“A wild animal, no doubt.” And she determined never to go outside alone—for as long as she was allowed to stay.
~ ~ ~
Exhausted from her journey, she slipped beneath the counterpane to rest her eyes for a little while. Just in case it was Mr. Beauregard’s bed, she didn’t want to insinuate herself between the sheets, or into his life for that matter. She simply had to assume her dishonesty would be revealed in quick order, and she’d best take what little rest she could.
The pillowcase was soft and soothing, just the ticket to take her mind off her problems. And wrapped in smooth gold, as she was, it was a simple thing to imagine she was a princess in a tower with nothing pressing on her schedule but to sleep.
She woke to the sound of Margaret shaking her.
“Margaret, leave me be.”
The shaking ceased. Margaret never gave up so easily…
But Margaret was in Atlanta, and she was in…Portland.
She bolted upright and nearly bumped heads with the maid. “Forgive me,” she said, adopting her practiced accent. “I hadn’t intended to fall asleep, only to rest my eyes.”
Queen Victoria. I am Queen Victoria.
“No, mum. The fault is mine. I should have come sooner. We need to get you ready for your wedding.” The maid grinned shamelessly. “Mr. Jacobs will be coming to collect you in an hour.”
The poor girl was mightily disappointed in the dress Darby had set out for the ceremony. Unfortunately, it was the best she had. But at least her undergarments weren’t in tatters. In some things, being a seamstress served her well.
“Begging your pardon, mum, but there are dresses in your closet you might find…tempting.”
“Dresses in my closet? To whom do they belong?”
“Mr. Beauregard had a sister who used to come visit when the house was first built. She died two years ago, in childbed.” She gasped. “But that was not my place to say. Forgive me.”
Darby gave the girl’s hand a squeeze before she realized it was the last thing Victoria would do. “No harm done. Let me see these dresses.” She stood imperiously in front of the mirror and waited for the girl to bring the clothes to her. The first was a pale green that went well with her hair. The next was white with small green and pink flowers stamped onto the material. It was tempting. After all, Victoria had worn white to her own wedding…
The next was a rich cream satin that looked fit for a royal ball. The bateau neckline had been expertly stitched. The bell skirt was ruched in several places and beneath the ruching, a pink tulle petticoat that matched tiny pink bows tied along the peaks of the hem.
She smiled at the maid. “I suspect you saved the best for last, uh...”
“Jenny, mum. I think so too.”
“I hope it will fit me.”
“I’m sure it will, ma’am. You look to be about Miss Rachel’s size.”
An hour later, when Jacobs helped her into the carriage, she half expected him to warn her that the magic would disappear at midnight. Of course, she didn’t need reminding.
CHAPTER NINE
She was late. Or Jacobs was late. Either way, Rand wasn’t pleased to be left standing on the steps of the gothic church like some lovelorn fool.
A block away, a familiar carriage turned the corner.
“Forgiven,” he whispered.
He felt each step of the horses until they came to a stop beneath the porte-cochere. Jacobs jumped down but Rand waved him away and opened the door himself. He stooped to un
fold the step and when he rose, his breath was stolen by the beauty staring back at him from the shadows.
No one moved.
He boldly stared for another few seconds, wanting to press the moment into his memory like a flower pressed between pages. Would he be able to recall it again, years from now?
Still, she didn’t move. He shook off his enchantment and held out a hand to her. Was she a mouse that needed coaxing out of the corner?
She nodded once as if she’d made some decision and laid a gloved hand on his.
He knew that slipper. He knew that hem.
Finally, when the woman and gown were safely on the ground, he stepped back and stared again.
“You are beautiful, Miss McClintock. Almost too beautiful. You’ll make me forget what my sister looked like, if I’m not careful.”
She didn’t look too pleased with the compliment. “Forgive me, sir. I had nothing suitable to wear and –”
“Nonsense. The dresses were there for your use. Don’t mind me. It’s a sentimental day, so naturally, I am thinking sentimental thoughts. Did Jenny tell you Rachel also had red hair?”
She shook her head. He wished she would speak more freely so he could ascertain just how refined her speech was.
“I thought we could take a stroll around the grounds and talk a bit before we go inside. What do you think?”
From the way she swallowed, she must not have thought much of his idea, but she smiled and nodded anyway. He offered his arm and she took it. He kept his strides small and she seemed to appreciate it. For a minute or so, they walked in silence.
“My name’s Rand, by the way.”
“Darby McClintock.”
He laughed. “Yes. I know. I’ve been assured you’re not Scottish in spite of your name.”
“That is correct,” she said carefully. He wondered if she’d been insulted by his objection to Scots, but he was sure she would come to understand why, eventually. There was no sense explaining unpleasant things on their wedding day.