by Holly Bush
“You had the best marks of any of us at Ramsey, especially in mathematics,” Jolene said and looked at Zeb. “My sister is exceptionally bright lest you forget that.”
Jennifer’s face colored with the praise, even more so as he continued to stare at her admiringly. “I don’t intend to forget.”
Max chuckled. “How did it occur to you that Rothchild was dipping his fingers into company funds?”
The room was silent then, all eyes on Jennifer’s ashen face. It took Max a moment to realize she was not answering and that his wife was staring daggers at him.
“Why don’t we spend tomorrow afternoon shopping, Jennifer? Perhaps Bella would like to join us,” Jolene said hurriedly. “I need at least three new hats and shoes to match some dresses that have recently arrived.”
Zeb watched Jennifer. She was doing her best to remain calm, and even looked up at Max with a tentative smile. He did not believe she’d said Rothchild’s name since the night of the Hospital Soiree. She looked at him, and he watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. He hoped it was possible to will another person encouragement because that was what he was trying to do with his look to her.
“Mr. Rothchild,” she said and paused. “Adjusted the percentages the bank charged on a loan, on a particular piece of collateral, and then hid the difference in the credit and debit columns. His assistant, Mr. Jefferson, did cash tallies and pocketed the overage.”
“How did you ever discover it?” Jolene asked.
“It was a mystery to me and O’Brien but we found patterns in multiple accounts and were able to follow the amounts.”
“And you are back to work now?” Max asked.
“I am. I was not convinced I would ever be able to return but I have, and my father has turned over some significant projects to me. It has been very challenging but also very rewarding.”
“Why am I not surprised that you, the quietest of the three of us, are leading the way at the bank? You will be the president when Father retires. And I for one couldn’t be happier that you will be leading our family business into the next century. Perhaps Melinda would like to spend some time with you there after she is through her education. I think a toast is in order,” Jolene said, and raised her wineglass.
“Hear, hear,” Max said with a broad smile. “To Jennifer Crawford.”
It suddenly occurred to Zeb that Jennifer would not be leaving Boston anytime soon. His plan to ask her to marry him was now in question. How would he honor his commitment to Max and be in the same state as his intended bride? Then he looked at her, at her shy, proud smile, accepting the good wishes of her sister and brother-in-law. It would not matter where they lived, he supposed. He was in love with her and would find useful work wherever she was and Max would have to find a new chief of staff.
“To my extraordinary younger sister. I wish you all the happiness that I have found,” Jolene said.
“To the smartest, bravest, most beautiful banker Boston has ever seen,” Zeb said and met her eyes.
* * *
“Where shall we go today?” Zeb asked her as moved his carriage out into the traffic of the street. “A park? A museum? Shopping? I am at your service.”
Jennifer looked at him, at his strong profile, and watched his hands work the reins. He was the dearest of men, and she was feeling better about herself than she had in ages. It was easier to smile and laugh, and all the horrifying images she’d harbored, including the sight of Jeffrey Rothchild’s face as he gurgled his last breath, had faded to some degree in her consciousness. Not that she could not conjure them up if she tried, but why try? Why not reach for happiness and normalcy? And there were things that needed to be said between them. Things she did not remember or know that only he could supply and other things she’d never shared with him. It was time. Time for one less burden.
“I’d like to go to your house again, Zeb,” she said.
He turned the carriage onto his street and handed off the reins to the all-about boy. Zeb showed her in to his study and ordered coffee and cookies.
“Are you missing work today?” she asked.
“Not really,” Zeb said as he sat down in the chair beside her. “Somedays I work eighteen hours a day and do so seven days a week. It is relatively quiet now as the Senate is not in session, but Max has always told me to take whatever time I can. So I am.”
Jennifer sat quietly, thinking about what to say, what questions to ask, when Zeb took her hand in his, and rubbed slow circles on her palm. She relaxed and leaned her head back against the cushion, thinking about all the unanswered questions for them both.
“I thought about exposing Mother’s duplicity with Jeffrey. I ached to shout it out, that my mother was a horrible person, willing to sacrifice her daughter for her own selfishness. In the end, I could not do it.”
“I have wondered what happened between you and your mother and father. I hoped for your sake that you would be able to come to terms with whatever it was.”
“My mother has recovered from her surgery but her mental state is in a decline. She sometimes calls me Julia or Jolene or Mildred, her maid that father dismissed. She rarely comes out of her rooms and we have hired a nurse to be with her during the day. Her new maid spends the evenings with her and sleeps in her dressing room. I usually spell her for an hour or two in the evening and read aloud,” she said and looked at him. “When it was all said and done, I could not hate her.”
“I am sorry to say I am not so forgiving.”
“You should have seen my father’s face when it was all finally revealed to him,” Jennifer said and squeezed his hand. “He marched to Mother’s bedroom and slammed the door behind him after he had dismissed her maid. I could hear his shouting from my bedroom. I could not stop crying. I felt like I had torn my family apart.”
“You have held your family together.”
“I have in some ways. Father and I are on good terms and dine together every evening. He is very protective of me now. It is a stark dichotomy to his absentmindedness that I have lived with all of my life. He has lost all regard for Mother. He is a dutiful caretaker, making sure the staff manages her respectfully and kindly; however, he never visits her now.”
“She put you in danger. She is your mother and always will be, but I cannot have your forbearance. I can’t pretend to feel any way other than how I do.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she said. “What happened when you arrived in Boston? I have only been able to piece together what I have heard when Father or Jolene or O’Brien did not know I was awake.”
“What a horrible day,” he said softly and told her about the delayed train and Hadley giving him directions with O’Brien’s help. “There was a woman on that street who heard you shouting. She said you looked directly at her. Do you remember?”
Jennifer nodded, feeling far away from Zeb’s comfortable chair in Washington. “She was standing on her stoop. I screamed for her to help me but Rothchild covered my mouth, and when I bit his hand, he slapped me. I was dazed and terrified.”
“I would gladly kill him again for hitting you.”
Filmy images from that night played in front of her eyes. She squeezed Zeb’s hand, her link to the current world, and took in a long, slow breath as she saw herself desperately grabbing for a weapon, cutting her thumb on the blade when she found it. Then Zeb was there. Flying through the wooden door to her rescue, and she feeling as though she could no longer stand on her two legs. “And you shot him. I had not killed him?”
“He followed you into the hallway and his arm was raised above you, holding a bloody knife. I shot him just as he meant to stab you with it,” Zeb said and turned in his seat to face her. “I have no regrets.”
“Nor I. Did the police come?”
He nodded. “I spent several days at the station answering questions. Hadley and O’Brien followed me to Jefferson’s house that night and knew I’d gone to the station house. I was able to get word to Jolene through them of my whereab
“Why did the police hold you? Surely they knew about my injuries.”
“Most likely because I wouldn’t say a word to them. They didn’t know if I was the perpetrator or the defender.”
Jennifer shook her head. “But why? Why not just tell them everything?”
“It wasn’t my story to tell. You were concerned about the bank, about your family. I was not going to say anything that might cause you distress. Eventually they spoke to the woman who heard you shouting, and then your father came.”
“Father?”
“He told them everything. I asked him if he was concerned about the bank’s reputation and he said very clearly, ‘The bank be damned.’”
“I had no idea. I was too terrified to leave my bed for days. When there was a loud noise from the street or the kitchens, I hid in my dressing room, and then someone would get O’Brien and she would coax me into bed and sit with me until I slept.”
“She has been a good friend.”
“She has. It’s strange, how one’s emotions can overtake reason. I knew he was dead. I watched him die but every time someone knocked on my bedroom door, I thought it was him. My mind played tricks on me.”
“But you are healing. I can see that.”
“I am. I am much better for seeing and talking to you. You are far too kind.”
“No. There is no such thing as too kind,” he said and sat forward, elbows on his knees, staring out the window. “And I’m in love with you. Do not feel any obligation to reciprocate. My love is freely given to you without expectation,” he said with a quick glance over his shoulder.
“But I denied your advice, wise advice, and put you and others in danger. I did not listen to my sister or even my own good sense. I worry I am not worthy of any regard. This mess was of my own making.”
“I forgive you,” he said with a smile as he stood and offered her his hand. “Come. Let us go to a park or a shop or somewhere we are not concentrating on grim times. We are alive and well. Our troubles are behind us, and we have both learned something about ourselves.”
Jennifer laid her hand in his and looked up at him. “I have learned something. Something momentous.” His image shimmered before her and she smiled. “I have learned to listen to my own heart and follow my own sense. I hear it speaking to me now.”
“What is it saying to you?” he whispered and pulled her to her feet.
“It is saying that you are the man of my dreams. The one who will keep me safe in the harbor of your arms and love me even at my worst and my weakest. It is saying you are the most honorable man of my acquaintance. The type of man who I would want to build a life with. It is saying I love you.”
Zeb pulled her close, flush against him, with one arm around her waist and one on the nape of her neck. Holding her still and tight with a fierceness she’d never seen from him. He stared at her lips and then claimed them, roughly impatient and tender in the same stroke. He growled and ran his hand down her back and pulled her bottom tight against him. He broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers.
“Put me out of my lovesick misery and marry me. Please.”
“Yes,” she said, and nodded. “Yes. I will marry you.”
* * *
Jennifer was not certain if she would ever become accustomed to watching her husband wander around their bedroom without a stitch of clothing on. Not that she did not love looking at him; she did. He was broad shouldered and all long, lean, corded arms attached to a chest with a line of horizontal shadow for each rippling muscle. Long legs, now walking toward her. He had said a resounding, clear, and loud “no” when she’d suggested early after their wedding that many married couples had separate bedrooms and dressing rooms.
“What are you thinking about, darling?”
“That you have not a drip of shame in your veins,” she said, and undid the bow of her robe, pulling it off and hanging it over the bedpost.
“And why should I,” he said as he jumped on the mattress, pulling her down beside him and capturing her legs with his and snuggling her ear. “We are in the privacy of our own room. We are married adults.”
She watched as his eyes hooded and he followed his finger as it made a slow descent down her neck and to her breast, stopping just shy of its peak. He looked at her then in the way he did that made her breath come in gasps and her body ache to be covered with his. She was a wanton in his arms, she admitted, and there was nothing in her history or experience to compare to how she felt when she was with Zebidiah in their bed. There was a carnal need that she’d never felt before, and while she was glad that their wedding night had been in a room with only candlelight as they’d touched each other with trembling hands, she was equally glad to know that their mutual sexuality brought her comfort with no fear or shame, and that the more she experienced with her husband, and he with her, the more ravenous and knowing they were with each other.
Jennifer reached up and pushed his hair from his face. “You are so very handsome.”
“I know you’re beautiful, but there are some parts you’re hiding with this silky nightie. Let me help you take it off,” he said as she sat upright beside him.
Zeb pulled the silk nightgown over her head, leaving her bare. She resisted the urge to cover herself with the sheets as he stared at her and hissed between his teeth. He lifted her breast in his hand, kneading her and touching her nipple with his thumb. She steadied herself on her arms behind her and watched him make slow circles, not touching her anywhere but where his palm held the weight of her breast.
She touched her lip with her tongue, and watched his sex harden. She leaned down and kissed him then, there, on the tip of his cock, running her tongue around the ridge. He dropped back on the mattress with a shudder and groaned. What power she had! She licked the length of him and watched his chest rise and fall, finally taking him in her mouth slowly.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Please.”
She climbed atop him, already warm and pulsing between her legs. She sat up on her knees, her hands on his shoulders, as he rubbed the head of his sex against her until she was moaning and wet and gyrating against him.
“Please,” she said.
Zeb entered her with one, long, smooth motion, bringing a cry from them both. He worked in her, holding her hips still, as their eyes met, half-lidded and far gone in sexual passion. Jennifer dropped onto his chest, her breasts against his hot, wet skin. She felt the spasm of his last thrust and heard a grating cry from his chest. He shook a final tremor, and she stretched out on him languidly, unable to summon her limbs to move.
He rolled her onto her back, looming over her and touching her face softly with his fingertips. “I love you, Jenny. I always will.”
“I love you, Zebidiah. With every bit of myself, until we are old and infirm. Until the only thing left is love.”
Epilogue
Boston 1894
“How sad father looks,” Julia said. “He has barely eaten all day.”
Jolene lifted Andrew onto her lap and kissed his forehead. “He is sad. Not matter what she had done, no matter how angry or disappointed he was with her, he still loved her. Desperately.”
“It has been a long, unpleasant time for the last few months until she passed on,” Jennifer said.
“It is still very difficult for me to feel any sympathy for her, even in her suffering,” Julia said and dabbed at her eyes. “But I still feel terribly guilty that I did not visit her before she died.”
Jolene, Julia, and Jennifer, the Crawford sisters, sat together at a table in the vast ballroom of Willow Tree set up for hundreds of mourners to dine on the day of Jane Crawford’s funeral. Guests were still trickling in the door, although their father had said he would continue to greet late arrivals and that they should spend their time together.
“Guilt is not productive, I’ve found,” Jolene said, and handed Andrew off to his nanny. “Don’t indulge yourself, Julia, past a few days of moping. Our mother was never a happy woman, devious in her prime and dangerous as she was slowly swallowed up by her mental incapacities. But our past does not define our future.”
“True. Look at us,” Julia said and squeezed Jolene’s hand. “We have all been tested by some degree of fire and come out the victor, but more importantly we have found love.”
Jennifer turned her head to gaze in the direction that her sisters looked. Their husbands stood together as a group, Jake with Mary Lou on his shoulders and Jillian and Jacob by his side, and Max taking little Andrew from the nanny’s arms and tossing him in the air. She could hear his baby giggles from where she sat. Zeb smiled and watched Andrew, up and down, up and down, his arm around Melinda’s shoulders.
“What do you think Father will do, Jennifer, now that Mother is gone? Will he stay here and rattle around this massive house alone? Are you and Zeb going to live with him?” Julia asked.
“We discussed that but neither of us wants to live here, in this grand of a house. We have recently spoken to Father about moving somewhere smaller or with us when Zeb and I find a home,” she replied.
“Maximillian gives Zebidiah unheralded credit for living under the same roof as Mother,” Jolene said. “I told him he did it for you.”
“He did. He didn’t like the idea at all and on the rare occasion he needed to find me when I was helping Mother eat or reading to her, he would be angry at the sight of her. She called him Jeffrey once.”
Julia covered her mouth with her hand and Jolene’s eyes widened.
“You may laugh if you wish. I did when he met me in our bedroom later.”
“I would never laugh,” Julia said and touched her hand. “Knowing how evil and horrible that man was. How you barely escaped and how grateful I am and was. I prayed every night for you after I got Jolene’s letters.”
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