by J. L. Jarvis
“They’re summer homes.”
“Mansions.”
“I suppose.”
“You’ve got money.”
“Not anymore,” she said bluntly. “That’s behind me.” This talk of money was making her squirm.
“Silver spoon sort of money?”
“Yes. But no title.” She looked plainly at him.
Understanding dawned on his face. “So you were going to marry Prince Charming.”
“Lord Charming.”
“It sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Doesn’t it?” Emma said, with rue.
“So what happened?”
“I was a dutiful daughter. My father went to a good deal of trouble and no small expense to make sure that I’d marry well.”
“And he succeeded.”
“Nearly. Everything was perfect. Just as it should be.”
“Except...?”
“I wasn’t happy. At first, I barely knew him. It didn’t seem real. But it’s done all the time. I’d seen other girls go through it. They seemed happy enough, so I thought it would happen to me. I’d wake up one morning and feel something. As he courted me, we would get to know each other. In a while, we would fall in love. It was a logical outcome, and I expected it fully.”
Even in Benjamin’s remote corner of the country, he had known such arrangements existed. No matter how wealthy they were, Americans employed in trade were looked down upon by upper crust society. A marriage to a financially strapped British peer was a pass into high social circles—not just for the bride, but for her family as well. The peer shared his title, the bride shared her wealth. It was a mutually beneficial contractual arrangement. The smugness the American parents could sport around those who’d once snubbed them was icing on the wedding cake. Mrs. Caroline Astor might rule the 400, but money still ruled the rest of the world. Finding love in such unions was sometimes said to happen. Finding loneliness was never discussed.
Emma said, “My father wanted this so much for me that I wanted it for him. But time passed, and I began to see that no matter who wanted this marriage for me, it was I who would be living it—and doing so alone.”
“But you must have agreed. He proposed, you accepted.”
Emma nodded. “What could I say?”
“No?”
Anger flared in her eyes. “Yes, that would have been brilliant! If only I’d thought to say no.”
Benjamin got up and took a few steps away. He turned back. “It isn’t that simple?”
She glared.
He sat down beside her again. “Help me, then. Help me understand.”
“You can’t know the demands on a young lady coming out into society. There’s such pressure. One must look lovely—”
“Which is easy for you.”
His smile so easily moved her. A modest smile came and left in an instant. “In aspect and deed, every step, every glance must be perfect. Attract the right man. Dissuade the wrong man—no matter how nice or how kind he may be. Be seen with this person, but don’t talk to that one. ‘She can’t be your friend anymore. That scandal! Remember?’ There were rules, but they changed with each person according to station. One wrong move and you’re thrown to the gossiping wolves. Wolves! Now there’s something from your world that you can understand.” She grinned, needing to lighten the mood.
“We had rules, too,” he offered in mock defense. “In the Yukon, if we used our fingers to eat, we had to lick them clean after.”
Emma couldn’t help but smile. With a proper air, she said, “Well, then you know what I mean.”
“Well, yes! And in the Klondike, our main course for dinner was usually beans. So, naturally, there were strict rules that followed soon after.” He watched her with a mischievous spark in his eyes. “One could not sit too close to the fire...”
“That’s enough! You’re disgusting!” She gave him a shove, and laughed with him.
Emma was content. She had forgotten how it felt to just laugh with abandon, and not worry what others would think. There was only one other person here, and he watched her, transfixed. She glanced away, but could feel his eyes on her.
“It’s not polite to stare,” she said as her eyes settled on his. “It’s a rule,” she whispered.
He deepened his gaze and said quietly, “You’re in my world now. And besides, I can’t help it.”
She looked away. Her heart pounded. “I can’t think when you’re staring like that.”
“I can.” He leaned closer. “And I think...that if I were at one of your parties I’d break every rule.” And to prove it, he kissed her.
Emma’s composure abandoned her.
He said, “I’d break all the rules gladly to kiss you again.”
As his lips parted against hers, she wrapped her arms about his neck and gave way to his arms. But the thrill of his kiss was too much. She was losing control, and she could allow it. She leaned her forehead to his and waited until her breathing had steadied. “If you behaved like that, we would be slain by society.”
“And it would be worth every critical glance, every glove-covered whisper.”
Emma shook her head. “Unless you’ve lived with it, you can’t understand.”
“It mattered that much?”
“It was everything.” She was earnest. “Yes.”
“But you left. And you knew people would talk.”
“Ridicule.” Emma nodded.
Benjamin began to imagine her world. “What you did, then, was brave. It took courage to leave as you did.”
“Well, I didn’t mount a bear on my wall, but, yes. In a very different way, it took courage, or a wild reckless streak. The thought of my marriage was worse than society’s scorn.”
“Was Clayfeet that bad?”
“Clayworth. Owen Everett Hadley, the Earl of Clayworth.”
“So you would have been...Lady Clayworth?”
Emma nodded. “Or, as my stepmother preferred, Countess Clayworth.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“Yes, it does.”
“And is he?”
“Impressive? He is,” Emma said frankly. “He is faultlessly mannered, pleasant looking, and kind to children and small animals. I’m not sure about bears.” She cast a quick glance at Benjamin with the hint of a smile.
“But you left him.”
“He offered me all that he had to give, which did not include love.”
She shook her head to dismiss Benjamin’s pained sympathy.
“It might have broken my heart, had I not felt the same way about him.”
Benjamin did not hide his relief. “So what happened?”
“I left.”
“Before that. Something drastic must have sent you over the edge.”
Emma’s brow was furrowing even as she smiled gently. “As our courtship went on, I found myself playing a part. I felt hollow and false. One day we were strolling along the Cliff Walk. It was a spectacular day, but I had my parasol to protect me from it.” She lifted her lashes as a crooked smile came and went. “I saw a couple down by the shore. Working class. Holding hands. Chasing the waves and each other. The girl had both hands on her little straw bonnet. The wind tossed the loose ribbons, and billowed her hair and her plain muslin frock. And I envied her. Her young man was a common worker in shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. He put his arms about her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. She clutched her bonnet, and he clutched her. And I envied her so. I was going to marry an Earl and live in a castle in England, but I would never have that.” She looked over the water.
“The next day was the party at which my father planned to announce my engagement.
“I was dressed in the Earl’s jewels. When I stood before the mirror, I looked like a Christmas tree. The transformation was complete. I was no longer myself. I stared for a long time, and realized that I would grow accustomed in time to this person. And that was when I knew what had to be done. I took off the jewels, except for the pearls. They’d b
elonged to my mother.”
“The ones in the photo?”
She nodded.
“They look beautiful on you.”
A tear clung, poised to drop from her lid. “I pawned them for room, board, and typewriter lessons.” She wiped her eyes, but her lashes were moist.
“So you just walked away from a title, a leg up in society circles, a comfortable life and the envy of others...the goal you’d been reaching for all of your life?”
“Well, now you make me sound foolish.”
“No. I don’t mean to at all.”
“My stepmother called me a little idiot for wanting—” She stopped suddenly and shook her head, dismissing the subject.
He looked intensely at her. “For wanting what?”
With a sudden sting, her eyes moistened. She avoided his gaze. “Something deeper. Purpose. Meaning.”
“Love?” It was quietly spoken, but it rang in her heart.
Her breath caught. She exhaled and continued, hoping to conceal the effect of the word, and his voice. Its vibration went to the core.
“What did you do?” The look in his eyes warmed her soul.
Emma looked up with wide eyes. For a moment, she could not recall what she’d last told him. “The musicians were playing. The first guests had arrived. I’d run out of time. I had let this go on, thinking that time—just a little more time—would sort it all out, but it slipped from my grasp. Plans were made. No one asked how I felt—what I wanted. People kept saying, ‘You must be excited!’ And it started to sound like a command. I kept wishing someone would just look in my eyes and see.”
But then he did just that. His searching gaze forced its way into her heart, to the place where she hid her true wishes and dreams. “What would they have seen?”
When she did not answer, he lifted her chin so she had to look at him. She whispered, “How unhappy I was.”
The look in his eyes made her ache, so she lowered her eyes. “But they were never going to see it, and it would always be my secret sorrow.”
“So you ran.”
“Tiptoed.” A smile flickered. “I threw some things into a bag and snuck down the servants’ stairs and out through the kitchen. They were so busy. No one bothered to notice.”
He put his hand over hers for a moment. “Your father looked deeply worried.”
“I do regret that.”
“What now?”
“Freedom.” Emma sat down beside Benjamin and watched the birds soar and swoop down to the water. “Men fight wars for it, kill for it. All in all, what I’ve done for my freedom isn’t really so bad.”
His constant gaze breached any remaining defenses. With a self-conscious glance aside, she said, “You listen too well. Let me listen to you, for a change.”
He smiled easily. They sat quietly and felt the breeze on their faces, and let the sound of the water soothe them.
“My father wanted me to be a lawyer.” He laughed. “He had to quit school at fourteen to help support his family, so he vowed to send his children to college. He worked all his life to make sure that his son would go to college. He gave up a lot. I was a real disappointment to him.”
“But you’ve done well.”
“This house? All I did was inherit it.”
Emma said, “Where I come from, that’s regarded a laudable achievement.”
A bitter smile came and went just as quickly. “I didn’t do well. I just got lucky. After I left college, I ran off to the Gold Rush. A few months later, my father had a heart attack. He was out here alone. Mrs. Dowling found him the next day.”
Emma’s heart sank as she thought of losing her father while she was away. Benjamin tightened his jaw and looked away to conceal his welling emotions.
“And your mother?” Emma asked gently.
“She left us when I was young.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was too young to remember her. It was always just Dad and me.”
Abruptly, he grasped her hand. “C’mon.”
Emma grabbed her hat. “Where?”
With no explanation except for a grin, he pulled her along toward the water. He grasped her shoulders and pretended to push her in, then he ran. She chased after and caught him. He turned and took hold of her waist, and he held her and looked at her.
“May I?” He touched her hair gently. “I’ve been wanting to do this all morning.” He pulled the pins out of her hair. The bun fell apart in loose waves to her waist. He lifted a handful of hair and breathed in its scent. The wind caught the rest of her hair and tossed it in billows and wild waving strands. Her eyes shone up at his, and he kissed her.
Chapter 5
“Fletcher.” Benjamin smiled as he entered the study. Upon hearing that there was a visitor, Emma had slipped up the back stairs to her room, followed by the observant eye of Mrs. Dowling.
Fletcher Van Elden was a friend of the sort one has in small towns, more from habit than choice. Elsewhere they might not have been close, but childhood and the years since had made them almost like family. They shook hands and sat down near the window.
Fletcher bluntly began, “Who was she?”
Benjamin’s eyes flashed in surprise. Fletcher grinned, satisfied. Benjamin glanced toward the window. Of course, Fletcher had seen them walking together.
Benjamin ignored the issue completely, and turned to Fletcher. “What brings you out here?”
“Well aren’t you the mysterious one?”
“There’s no mystery. She’s my typewriter girl.”
“Say, Ben, did I mention that I’ve got quite a bit of typing back at my place? Do you think you can spare—? Ow!”
Benjamin had Fletcher’s arm in a vice grip behind him.
“Uncle, goddammit!”
“I’ve never heard you mention an Uncle Goddammit,” Benjamin said as he released Fletcher’s arm. “Is he any relation to Aunt Shutthehellup?” He spoke with an unmistakable edge.
“Yeah,” Fletcher said, rubbing his shoulder. “Ben, I had no idea.”
“There is no idea. Just leave it alone.”
Fletcher raised his brow and regarded his friend with a smug understanding that irked Benjamin more, just as Fletcher had hoped it would.
Benjamin walked to his desk without waiting for Fletcher. Undeterred, Fletcher followed. “Look out. She could just be after your money.”
“She’s got her own,” Benjamin muttered, then cursed himself for having divulged it.
Fletcher sat in the chair opposite Benjamin’s desk. He leaned his elbows and rested his chin in his hands. “A typewriter girl with a fortune. This gets more and more intriguing.”
Benjamin gave up and met Fletcher’s eyes frankly. “I’m not talking about it. When I am, you’ll be the first.”
In a rare serious moment, Fletcher nodded. “Okay.” Then his mouth twitched at the corner. “For now.” And he leaned back and smiled, draping himself comfortably over the chair.
“So, Ben, where’s it hidden?”
Benjamin’s face brightened into relaxed amusement. “Ah, yes. Now we’re back on familiar territory.” His grin broadened as he nodded and pretended to sing an old favorite tune mentally.
Benjamin cut in before Fletcher could go on. “There’s gold stashed away in the attic...”
“I didn’t say anything about the attic. Is that where it is?”
Benjamin gasped. “You’re a genius! That’s it! I knew no one would think to look there! Sure, at first I was going to bury it in the cellar, but that seemed too predictable.”
Fletcher heaved a sigh of annoyance. “Fine. Be that way.” He slid a small stack of papers across the desk and assumed a bored tone. “Here, sign these.”
Benjamin fought back a satisfied smile as he picked up his pen and proceeded to sign on each line to which Fletcher pointed.
Between signings, Fletcher said, “Rumors spring from the truth.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.” Shadow’s ears perked.
“Fletcher.” He leveled a stare across the desk. “With what I’ve paid you in legal fees, you could start your own rumors of buried treasure.”
Fletcher smiled broadly. “It’s not easy to take care of your affairs—the business ones, that is.”
The remark drew a dark look from Benjamin.
Fletcher went ashen. “Oh, God, that was stupid. I didn’t mean—”
Benjamin cut him off and went on as if nothing had happened. “Any more papers to sign?” He raised his chin toward the briefcase.
“Yes. They’re here somewhere.” He avoided Benjamin’s eyes as he continued in a businesslike manner.
Emma walked into the study to continue her work, but stopped short as the two men turned abruptly and stared.
She was stunned, and could not leave fast enough. “I’m sorry. I thought no one was here.” She turned to leave and said softly, “Excuse me.”
As she pulled the door closed behind her, she heard Mr. Van Elden say, “Good God, Benjamin! She’s exquisite! And does she have a name?”
“Yes.”
“Introduce me.”
“No.”
Emma had stopped to gather composure, when she heard her name. She lingered to listen. At first, she wanted to make sure she had not been discovered. Before long, she wished she had left. Through the crack in the door, she heard Fletcher’s voice clearly.
“Benjamin! I’d say it’s not like you to be so blunt, but it is. Even so, it’s not nice to be selfish.”
“She’s just the typewriter girl.”
“The very pretty typewriter girl.”
“Oh?” He tried to sound casual.
“She’s striking.”
“So am I, if we don’t change the subject.”
“Imagine her in some real clothes—a fitted suit—no, a gown—something simple to set off her beauty. And something besides those shoes. They’re dreadful.”
Emma looked down at her feet. The rain had dulled them and warped the soles. He was right. They were dreadful.
“You saw all that in a two-second glimpse?”
Fletcher lifted a brow. “That and more, but I’m too much of a gentleman to elaborate.” He gave a sly smile.
“I doubt that,” Benjamin said dryly.