Not Always a Saint

by Mary Jo Putney

  “I wasn’t so optimistic. So I ran as far and fast as I could.” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve never forgotten the kindness you and your sister showed me that night. I might have gone mad if not for you. If you hadn’t given me that money, I never would have made it to safety. You also reminded me that not all men are evil.”

  “Most men aren’t,” he said thoughtfully. “Even Ivo probably wasn’t, but he was a drunk, which can bring out the worst in anyone. He was responsible for his own death.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” she said wearily. But she would never forget that the husband she’d once loved passionately had died in front of her, by her hand.

  “If it’s any comfort,” he said, “your visit to the infirmary that night convinced Laurel that we must establish a refuge for women and children. That was the beginning of Zion House, and many, many people have benefited from her work.”

  “If I hadn’t been the inspiration, some other woman would have been,” she said, her voice dull. “Helping women and children is your sister’s calling. A saint, like you.”

  A trace of exasperation showing, Daniel said, “I wish you’d stop thinking I’m a saint. I’m not. Neither is Laurel, though she comes closer.”

  Jessie shrugged. They were too far apart on the moral scale for him to understand. She’d tried so hard to resist her attraction to him because she hadn’t wanted him to know who and what she was, or how they’d first met.

  Now he knew the worst of her, and even a polite saint would be affected by that knowledge. Affected and eventually repulsed. For a few brief hours, she’d manage to bury all thoughts of her past and just enjoy her new husband. Now that golden moment had been shattered, and such moments did not come again.

  Wearily, she asked, “Will you report my murder to the Bristol magistrates? I imagine there was quite a furor when Ivo died, since he was a gentleman of means.”

  “He may have had means,” Daniel said dryly, “but he was no gentleman. No, of course I won’t turn my own wife in. A painful trial with you acquitted on the grounds of self-defense would benefit no one and would cause great damage. It would haunt Beth forever, and she certainly is an innocent.”

  So protecting Beth would also mean protecting herself. Jessie realized that in some deep, irrational part of her, she believed she deserved to be punished for killing Ivo. Though God knew she’d suffered plenty of punishment while he was still alive. “So you believe me when I say it was self-defense? I have no evidence to support my word.”

  “When we negotiated our marriage, you told me you wouldn’t tell me everything, but what you did say would be the truth,” he said thoughtfully. “I imagine this is what you never wanted to reveal, isn’t it? You don’t have any more dreadful secrets?”

  She almost smiled. “Today you met my bigamous mother and found out that you married a murderer. I think that’s about it.”

  “All in all, it’s been a momentous day for all sorts of reasons.” His voice softened. “Go to sleep, Jessie. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

  She certainly hoped so. But something inside her had been broken, and she doubted it could ever be repaired.

  At least she wouldn’t be going to jail. “Thank you, Daniel,” she said softly. Then she rolled away from him and prayed that she would sleep and not dream.

  Daniel slept badly. It wasn’t easy sharing a bed with an unhappy bride even if he wasn’t at fault. Jessie lay on the edge of the mattress, her back turned to him. He suspected she wasn’t getting much sleep either, and her body language made it clear that she wanted to be left alone.

  As dawn lightened the windows, he finally rolled over and spooned her, lying along her back and tucking his arm around her waist. “A difficult night?”

  Jessie sighed. “I’d done a fairly good job of burying my time in Bristol. Not that I ever forgot, but the memories were hidden away where I didn’t have to think of them. Last night, they all flew out like the evils released from Pandora’s box. There’s no burying them again.”

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry I mentioned the knife scar. But once I recognized it, I couldn’t ignore it. I’d wondered sometimes if Jane got away from Bristol safely, and what happened to her after.”

  “As harrowing as last night proved to be, I’m not entirely sorry you recognized me,” she said slowly, surprised by the insight. “I didn’t want you to ever learn what I’d done, or recognize me from the infirmary, so I tried to keep you at a distance. Yet it was such a huge secret to keep from my husband. Given a choice, I much prefer honesty.”

  “So do I.” Cuddling the most desirable woman in England was having the predictable effect on his male parts. “Would doing something pleasurable drive away some of the demons of memory?” He accompanied his words with a gentle caress that ended with cupping her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple.

  The nipple stiffened and so did she, but not in a good way. She was still as a rabbit hoping a wolf will pass it by. As a doctor, Daniel knew a great deal about physical reactions and it was clear what hers was.

  Doing his best to sound conversational, he said, “Not in the mood?”

  Strain in her voice, she said, “You are my husband. I will not deny you.”

  In other words, she’d do her marital duty no matter how much she’d rather not. For a long, tense moment, he was tempted to take her at her word. The joyful passion of the day before was vivid in his mind and in his loins, and he had enough male arrogance to think that he might be able to put her in the mood.

  But this was a woman who had been abused by her father, nearly murdered by her first husband, and raped and ill-used by her fiancé. She did not need more evidence that men were selfish pigs. Nor did he want to put himself in the same category as the men who’d used her so badly.

  He forced himself to remove his hand from the soft delight of her breast. “Better to wait until you’re not drowning in demons.”

  Unable to conceal her relief, she said, “I’m sorry. It was like this after . . . after Ivo. Every shred of desire in my nature vanished for months.”

  Months. Suppressing a sigh, he rolled away from her onto his back, thinking he deserved a damned gold medal for restraint. A honeymoon was supposed to be full of mad, passionate exploration, enough to bind a couple together until death did them part. But he’d never done things the rational way—and Jessie was the woman he wanted. “I presume you don’t wish to be touched at all.”

  “No!” She also rolled onto her back and took his hand. “Touch for comfort would be lovely, but . . . I don’t want anything more.” Her voice turned rueful. “Which would be so unfair to you that I’m sure you’d prefer not to touch me at all.”

  Relieved, he slid an arm under her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Wrong. Touching from affection is even more vital than touch from desire.”

  She exhaled softly and the tension eased from her taut body as she rested her head on his shoulder. “This won’t last forever. I’ll return to normal in time.”

  “Was yesterday’s passion what you would consider normal?”

  She ducked her head as if blushing. “Yes.”

  “That’s worth waiting for.” Concealing his regrets, he pulled the covers over them. It hardly seemed fair to be lying naked in bed with his beautiful and charming bride, and be constrained to do nothing more than merely hold her. He wondered if he’d ever see Jessie’s amazing scarlet seduction gown again.

  Sometimes God had an extremely strange sense of humor.

  Chapter 26

  The next few days made an odd sort of honeymoon, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Jessie and her very patient new husband walked in the gardens, rode on the estate, and ate marvelous meals. And they talked. Now that she had no secrets left, conversation flowed easily. Daniel had an impressive range of knowledge.

  She also came to enjoy his wry, subtle sense of humor. The good doctor was not always as serious as she’d first thought.

  Occasionally some touch or scent or image woul
d remind her sharply of the passion they’d shared on their wedding day. She remembered clearly how joyful and satisfied they’d both been, yet the thought of lying with him now made her want to curl in a ball like a hedgehog.

  She wondered how many men would have exercised Daniel’s restraint. Very few, she suspected. If he’d insisted on claiming his marital rights, she would have cooperated in her wifely duty. But she would have felt invaded and despairing.

  Surely this would pass, and she hoped that would happen more quickly than after her marriage to Ivo ended. But for now, she was deeply grateful to Daniel, a man who had seen everything and accepted life’s strangeness with tranquility.

  He also had a quiet confidence that was immensely appealing. She’d done well when she’d chosen him. She just hoped that his tolerance would enable him to accept all the problems that came with her.

  Jessie was a splendid companion, which was some compensation for the fact that they weren’t sharing a bed. Daniel had excellent self-discipline, but he had no desire to torment himself any more than necessary, so on their second night at Milton Manor, Daniel had silently piled spare blankets in front of the fireplace to make up a pallet.

  Jessie accepted his action with equally silent gratitude. In the morning, they wordlessly folded the blankets and put them away again. Cooperation without conversation. If the servants knew that they weren’t sleeping together, Laurel and Kirkland would know very shortly thereafter, and this was a situation Daniel had no desire to discuss.

  The fifth morning dawned to a steady rain, so they retreated to the small library, where they cozily settled down to read in wing chairs set on opposite sides of the fireplace. A small coal fire drove off the autumn chill and damp.

  After a couple of hours, Daniel rose to stretch his legs. It was time to visit the adjacent music room, which he’d not seen yet. Pride of place was held by a fine piano, as would be expected in any Kirkland residence.

  He sat down and ran some scales. The instrument had a beautiful tone and it was well-tuned, so his fingers slid into a favorite piece by Bach.

  Even turned away from the connecting door, he knew when Jessie joined him. She was a warm presence at his back as he finished the piece. When he was done, Jessie clapped her hands. “Lovely! I didn’t know you were a musician.”

  He glanced up and briefly lost himself in her marvelous eyes. Clear as fine diamonds, yet with depths to drown in....

  Shaking off his momentary distraction, he said, “I’m a journeyman pianist, not a real musician like Laurel and Kirkland. I play for pleasure and well enough to accompany dancers or informal singers.” He began to play and sing the wistful, minor key old favorite, “ ‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to a lass that lives there, For once she was a true love of mine. . . .’ ”

  His hands stilled as the poignant sadness of the song struck him. Parsley, sage, and Rose, his lovely Rose, lost for all time. Jessie laid a quiet hand on his shoulder, understanding.

  Shaking off the sadness, he said, “You must be missing Beth madly. Should we leave tomorrow so we can collect her early?”

  “Madly,” Jessie agreed, but to his surprise, she continued. “But the note I got from Mariah this morning said Beth is flourishing, and I’m really enjoying this quiet time with you. Life will become very busy once we leave here.”

  Pleased, he said, “As you wish.” He played a series of ringing chords. “I play a lot of hymns, too. There’s nothing like music for rousing the spirits.”

  He blasted into a thundering rendition of “A Mighty Fortress Is My God” and sang along, his spirits lifting. “ ‘A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing. . . .’ ” Jessie joined in, her alto blending well with his baritone.

  When he finished the hymn, Jessie said admiringly, “You’re a good pianist, but your singing is outstanding. You have a wonderful deep voice.”

  “Useful for dragging a congregation into song,” he said with a smile. “I can play hymns all day long. Raised in a vicar’s house, you must know your share.”

  “Fewer than you might think. My father considered singing frivolous and too likely to lead to frolicking, and he did not approve of frolicking! So he kept the music to a minimum in his services.”

  “He still does.” The comment came from behind them, and Daniel rose and turned in one swift motion. Standing in the doorway was his old classmate, Gordon, mud spattered and travel worn.

  “Sorry,” Gordon said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. When I said I needed to speak to you, your butler sent me to the library, and from there I followed the music.”

  “You made good time,” Daniel said. “Jessie, this is Gordon, another old schoolmate of mine. He was at the wedding.”

  “Ah, the man who kept my mother from escaping.” Jessie smiled warmly. “I’m glad to meet you properly. Were you traveling nearby and decided to pay a call?”

  “Actually, I asked him to do a bit of investigation for me,” Daniel said. “Have you had any success?”

  When Gordon glanced at Jessie, Daniel said, “It’s all right to speak in front of my wife since this concerns her. Jessie, Gordon does discreet investigations, so I asked him to find your father, dead or alive.”

  As Jessie inhaled sharply, Gordon said, “It was easy enough. Mr. Braxton is still vicar of the parish church of St. George in Chillingham.”

  Jessie sank onto the piano bench, looking pale. “So my father is still among the living.”

  “He appears to be in rude good health,” Gordon replied.

  “Certainly rude, I’m sure,” she said dryly. “Has he alienated all his parishioners?”

  Gordon hesitated. “He inspires some respect, but little affection.”

  Jessie’s gaze moved to Daniel. “Why did you ask Mr. Gordon to seek him out?”

  “Because it’s better to know than not,” Daniel replied.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said without enthusiasm.

  From Jessie’s expression, she had the same thought Daniel did: that her mother was a bigamist. Luckily, the Reverend Braxton was unlikely to ever find out.

  “Is there anything remarkable about my father’s life that I should know about?” Jessie asked. “Has he acquired a mistress or adopted orphans or started to wear a color other than black?”

  “If so, he’s been very discreet about it,” Gordon said dryly. “But I believe he’s published a theological article or two.”

  “He was never a very interesting man.” She rose. “I’m not much of a hostess. Would you care for some refreshment? Or given the weather, would you like to spend the night?”

  Gordon chuckled. “I’m not such a fool as to stay with honeymooners. An hour’s ride and I’ll be home.” He bowed. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Lady Romayne.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Daniel said as a thought struck him. After they were away from the music room, he asked, “Do you have time to take on another investigation?”

  “I’ve some time.” Gordon cocked a brow. “What would you like to know?”

  What had been the date when “Jane” showed up at the infirmary? Daniel couldn’t remember exactly, but it had been early autumn. “About seven years ago at this time of year, a young man called Ivo Trevane was murdered in Bristol. He was a gentleman of some means with a house in the city and an estate in Dorset.”

  Gordon pulled a small notebook from inside his coat and jotted down the details with a short pencil. “What in particular would you like to know?”

  “Was there a furor when he died? Was his murderer ever found? Did he have family? Anything that might be interesting.”

  Gordon tucked the notebook away. “The fellow has to be more interesting than Braxton. I’ll see what I can find. Where should I send the information?”

  “After we leave here and collect Jessie’s daughter, we’ll head down to Castle Romayne in Dorset. I have no idea what we’ll find.”

  “Responsibilities,” Gordon s
aid tersely as they entered the front foyer.

  Daniel laughed. “I’m sure you’re right. Thanks for finding Mr. Braxton.” He offered his hand. Gordon gave it a firm shake and headed out into the damp day. At least it was no longer raining.

  Daniel returned to the library, where Jessie was sitting by the fire and gazing at the flames rather than reading the book in her lap. When he entered, Daniel said, “I hope you don’t mind my sending Gordon to look for your father.”

  “It’s just as well you didn’t mention it. The less I think about him, the better.” She smiled ruefully. “The big question now is whether to tell my mother.”

  “Don’t.” Daniel reclaimed the opposite chair. “She would not want to know.”

  Jessie’s brows arched. “You have no vicarly qualms about the immorality of my mother’s behavior?”

  “I was put on this earth to heal, not to judge,” he said dryly. “A good rule of thumb is to consider the benefits of revealing such a truth. In this case, no one would benefit, other than eager gossips who enjoy chewing over the misery of others. Exposing your mother’s bigamy would badly damage her family, perhaps shatter it altogether. And for what purpose? She’ll never go back to her legal husband, and it’s unlikely he’d be willing to take her back. She seems to be a loving wife, mother, and daughter-in-law. Though she’s breaking the law of the land, she may not be breaking higher law.”

  Jessie nodded slowly. “I like your rule of thumb. I, more than anyone, know why my mother behaved as she has because I also ran away from Cassius Braxton and did what I needed to survive.”

  “Would you have committed bigamy like your mother?” Daniel asked.

  She frowned, then shook her head. “No, no matter how much I wanted to be with a new man, I could never stand at the altar and live such a great lie. It would be an unforgivable crime against the man standing beside me.”

  “I find that reassuring,” he commented.

  Her rueful smile returned. “As I said, I haven’t left any abandoned husbands along the way. What I’m really wondering is whether I should visit my father.”