by Joanna Shupe
“Unfortunately, he has not. He was furious she ran away but it is about more than just acquiring a young wife. Van Peet has a railroad deal pending in Cheltenham and he needs the earl’s help in getting it passed through parliament. The earl is to collect a fortune in exchange.”
Damn, that was terrible news. At the very least, Oliver had assumed Van Peet would bow out, thereby buying them some time to arrive at a solution. However, if she was kept under lock and key he might not see her again, not until after she had married. God, the idea of her wedded to Van Peet turned his stomach. “Van Peet brought a doctor to examine her,” he signed. “Intimately.”
Patricia’s hand flew to her throat, her brows rising. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You must marry her, Mr. Hawkes. There is no other solution to be had, not unless you are willing to turn her over to Van Peet.”
Oliver grimaced. It was an impossible situation. He did not want to marry anyone, but could he condemn his friend to a life of misery and heartache, especially when he had the power to stop it?
Every reason he loathed society and the idea of marriage returned to haunt him. The pity and the sneers in the clubs. Laughter and strange, blank expressions at the parties. He no longer cared to participate in that world, one of such limited scope and judgment. For three years he had tried to fit in, to go where he pleased and fight for his rightful place in society. It had not worked. He had been treated like a joke, an oddity. Money and conformity were all those people cared about, and even his fortune hadn’t been enough to shield him from cruelty.
This is not about you. Had Patricia not said that just moments ago?
She was right. This was about Christina, a kind, intelligent woman who had not shunned him or laughed in his face. No, she had treated him with respect and dignity. God knew she deserved better than those manipulative charlatans for parents and Van Peet for a husband. But must Oliver be offered as a replacement? “Surely there is another man, some potential suitor who has shown interest?” he signed.
“No, there is not. She . . .” Patricia paused and looked down, preventing Oliver from reading what she had been saying. Gill must have reminded her about Oliver reading lips because she quickly lifted her head and apologized. “She does not enjoy the society events. I found her hiding more often than not, off in a corner, miserable.”
Something they had in common, then. “We hardly know one another,” he signed. “How are you so certain I am not worse than Van Peet?”
Patricia’s face registered her incredulity. “No one is worse than Van Peet. His last wife died under very suspicious circumstances, you know.” Before Oliver could react to that, Patricia continued. “Also, I trust Christina. If you were an awful person she would not have returned here each day.” She cocked her head and studied him. “Are you attempting to claim there are no tender feelings between the two of you? Because I shall not believe it.”
He resisted the urge to drop his gaze, like a child who’d been caught in a lie. “You could help her escape,” he signed as a last-ditch suggestion.
“No, I cannot, not easily. My mother and the countess are second cousins. I cannot disobey my family without risking my own future with Mr. Felton. Besides, I saw you and Christina in the other room, the way you looked at one another. You care for her, I would bet my life on it.”
“It hardly matters,” he signed. “I do not want to marry anyone.”
“That may be so. But if you do not do the right thing, then who will?”
He was afraid he knew the answer to that question. “I shall make a terrible husband,” he signed.
“I do not doubt it.”
His jaw clenched. “Because I am deaf?” he signed and braced himself for the impact of her ignorance.
“No.” Surprise must have shown on Oliver’s face because Patricia pointed at the closed doors that led to the dining room. “No one deserves that sweet and trusting young woman standing in there. However, I am starting to suspect you just may have a chance.”
Chapter Six
Christina nibbled on her thumbnail and watched as her parents huddled together across the room, whispering. She could not hear them but understood they were agitated. Likely because they had assumed Oliver would roll over and agree to marry her. She had known better.
Oliver was strong and self-assured. He would never allow himself to be guilted or bullied into a marriage he did not want.
If only she were as strong.
You are a woman. He is a man. The world is built for men to have all the choices and for women to have none.
That reminder hardly reassured her. She glanced at the closed doors at the far end of the dining room. What was Patricia discussing with him? No matter their conversation it would not change anything. In the end, Oliver would refuse the marriage and Christina’s parents would wed her off to Van Peet. She pressed a hand into her stomach and tried to control her breathing.
The urge to flee flared to life in her chest, burning brightly until it could no longer be ignored. She did not wish to sit here meekly and await Oliver’s refusal. The disappointment in witnessing said refusal firsthand would be a hundred times worse than merely learning of it later. She shot to her feet. “Mother, Father, let us return home.”
“No, not yet. He is close to agreeing,” her mother said in a low but stern voice. “We shall not depart until we have an answer.”
“He will not agree, nor should he. Nothing untoward has happened between us and he does not deserve to have his life ruined.”
“Ruined?” Her mother’s brows rose. “He is a deaf imbecile and a young girl of marriageable age has dropped into his lap. How on earth is his life ruined?”
“He is not an imbecile,” Christina said.
The countess shrugged as if the description was of no consequence. “What I know is that he is rich, Christina. As wealthy as Van Peet, from what I understand—and your recluse does not require any politicking in parliament.”
The earl shuddered, mustache twitching on his face. “Cannot stand the long days in Lords. Would rather not sit through one dashed session, if it can be avoided.”
Christina’s heart sank. No wonder her parents had painted Oliver the cad and her the ruined debutante. A marriage to Oliver gained them everything they wanted, with nothing in exchange.
Well, nothing except Christina.
“You have done well, Christina, finding this desperate man and seducing him—”
“I have done no such thing!”
Before the argument could continue, the doors to the sitting room cracked and Patricia sailed through the opening. She wore a smug expression and Christina sent her a helpless look, one that silently begged for information.
Do not worry, Patricia mouthed and moved to the far side of the room.
Oliver entered, followed by Gill, and Christina could not read either of their faces. Oliver walked to her side but said nothing to her. Instead, he turned and signed to Gill. “I shall marry your daughter on two conditions.”
The countess smiled broadly while the earl tried to appear serious, though his eyes were dancing with satisfaction. “And those are?” her father asked.
“One,” Oliver signed. “After receiving your money, the two of you return to England. Immediately. And you are not welcome to visit unless expressly invited by your daughter.”
“Fine,” her father agreed, and Christina tried not to allow her feelings to be hurt. You always knew the money was more important to them than you.
“Two,” Gill continued translating. “We marry tonight.”
“Tonight?” her mother screeched. “But that is too soon. We must plan this event. She needs a dress and flowers, and there are guests—”
“Madam,” Oliver signed. “This wedding shall be a private affair, taking place tonight, or it will not take place at all.”
“But I wanted—”
The earl grabbed the countess’s arm and said, “We agree to your terms, Hawkes.”
Oliver inclined his hea
d once and Christina stood there, shocked. So it was done, then? They were to be married? Tonight?
She glanced at him, this man who was to become her husband, but he was not looking her way. Instead, he was signing to Gill. The butler gave a brief nod. “I shall summon a judge, sir.”
They were married that evening.
Standing in the drawing room, Oliver and Christina were bound together in matrimony by his father’s old friend—who happened to be a judge. Gill had served as an interpreter throughout the ordeal, Patricia and Christina’s parents acting as witnesses.
Oliver had no idea if they were doing the right thing. A hysterical Christina had arrived on his doorstep with a tale too horrifying to contemplate, and the same instinct he kept experiencing with her rose once more. It was a bone-deep desire to protect and care for her, an elemental knowledge that he and this woman were tied together somehow.
Patricia had been right: he did care for Christina. More than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He was unable to turn his back on her, not when the alternative was Van Peet.
Still, he’d tried to say no. He would not make a good husband. He remained at home, alone, for good reason. If Christina thought to change that, she would fail. She must accustom herself to the rules of the household and respect them if she thought to be happy here.
His agreement to marry her had not brought a smile to her face. On the contrary, Christina had frowned. Hard to blame her, he supposed. What young woman in her right mind would care to tether herself to a deaf recluse?
In that moment, upon seeing her reaction, he had arrived at a decision. The marriage was to end after one year. This way, no one felt trapped. He would return to his solitary life, focusing on his inventions, and Christina would be rich and independent, free to go wherever she wanted. The two of them would remain friends. It was the perfect solution to such an unconventional beginning.
It was best for everyone. She was young, an entire life ahead of her with adventures and heartache waiting. He had his inventions and his life here in New York, already settled into his future like a pair of comfortable slippers. He would never change, would never be a normal man, moving about society without attracting negative attention. Nor would he expect her to tailor her needs to his.
A year, then.
He turned his attention back to the room, where the judge was speaking with Christina, instructing her on signing the marriage record. Gill tapped Oliver’s arm and signed. “They need you to sign as well, sir.”
When it was over, Oliver shook the judge’s hand and thanked him. The judge tilted his chin and studied Oliver. “You have turned into a fine man, Oliver. Your father would be proud.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” After Gill translated, the judge smiled.
“Happy to help. You come see me anytime. It has been entirely too long.” He patted his pocket where the marriage record had been secured. “I will get this filed with the Department of Health for you. Good evening.”
The judge shook the earl’s hand, nodded to Patricia and the countess, then turned to Christina. “A real English lady,” the judge said. “He is lucky to have you, Mrs. Hawkes.”
A becoming flush stole over her cheeks. Her mouth moved rapidly and Oliver could not catch every word, so he merely watched her. She really was quite lovely. He could hardly believe they were married.
The deed was done. She was Christina Hawkes.
He had a wife.
No, not really. She is your wife, but for only a year. How quickly he’d forgotten. This was not a true marriage and they were not a true husband and wife. There would be no wedding night. No consummation. No children.
No attachment of any kind.
Merely two people sharing the same space for fifty-two weeks.
At which point he would settle a large sum of money on her and send her on her way. She could then find a normal man who traveled, who left his home. One who was able to give her everything she’d ever wanted. Oliver would continue his research and his projects, where he did not have to deal with anyone other than Sarah and the servants.
The judge departed and Oliver told Gill, “Give her a few moments to bid good-bye to her family. Then I want them out of my house. The earl may expect to hear from Mr. Tripp, my lawyer, first thing tomorrow morning.”
Gill related the instructions and Oliver watched as Christina first hugged her cousin. He could not see Christina’s face but Patricia’s mouth repeated, “It will be all right,” several times while patting his wife’s back.
He dragged a hand over the nape of his neck, not liking Christina’s continued unhappiness. Perhaps one year was too long. He’d thought to give her enough time to acclimate to America and her independence. As far as he was concerned, however, they could start divorce proceedings when her parents sailed for England.
A fist-sized lump settled near his heart but he ignored it. Ending the marriage quickly was the right decision, he was certain.
The countess gave Christina an awkward embrace and the earl merely patted his daughter on the shoulder. Then the three members of Christina’s family left and Oliver excused Gill.
He wanted a few moments alone with Christina to discuss what was to happen next.
When the door finally closed, leaving them alone, she met his gaze and bit her lip, her hands folded at her waist. He smiled at her, trying to put her at ease. “Hello.”
She grinned, relaxing, her shoulders releasing their tension and muscles softening. Hello, she signed. Thank you—
He held up his hand to stop her then removed his ledger and pencil. No need to thank me any longer, he wrote. We are in this together.
“Oh, you are the . . .” She dropped her head to stare at the floor as she spoke, which meant he had no idea what she’d said.
He closed the distance between them and put a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Again,” he signed.
“I said you are the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
No, he wasn’t. He was selfish and stubborn. Intolerant of fools, and utterly inflexible when he made up his mind on something. Unfortunately, she would learn as much in time. “Thank you,” he signed.
The hour had grown late, according to the mantel clock. Perhaps we should retire and then discuss how this arrangement will work in the morning.
“Are you certain?”
Bluish circles ringed her eyes, hinting at her exhaustion. She had experienced quite a bit in one day. There was no reason for Oliver to keep her from her bed, not when they both needed a good night’s sleep. He might as well take her upstairs to her new chambers. With a nod, he signed, “Follow me.”
Chapter Seven
Married. She and Oliver were married.
The very notion seemed ludicrous. Surreal. Christina wanted to laugh with the absurdity of it as her new maid, Shannon, brushed her hair. New maid, new bedroom, new home . . . Everything had changed and she was now forever tied to Oliver.
Nerves fluttered behind her ribs as she struggled to take it all in. At least she would no longer be forced to marry Van Peet. Heavens, she owed Oliver a debt she’d never be able to repay for preventing that.
You forgot about your wedding night. Your repayment shall come soon.
Though the idea of lying with a man caused her palms to dampen in terror, she knew her duty. A wife’s job was to submit to her husband’s wishes, especially in the bedroom. She was a vessel for his lust, the mother of his children, and the keeper of his home. Nothing else mattered.
Would Oliver remain kind and patient during the deed? It would hurt, of course, but she would bear the pain gladly, happily, because he had saved her. Besides, Oliver was easily more handsome than any other man she’d encountered in New York, with his broad shoulders and a strong jaw. He wore no pomade or puffed-up whiskers. Oliver was real and unpolished, comfortable in his own skin. At home, he dressed in shirtsleeves and no coat, so unlike the strait-laced swells who strolled about town with thei
r noses in the air.
So despite her trepidation, tonight’s duty would be endured willingly. As her mother had said, such was a wife’s role and Christina was now a wife. She would request to keep the light switched off and for her nightclothes to remain on. He could lift the hem and do . . . whatever it was he needed to see the business done . . . all while under the covers, of course.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to slow her racing heart. You shall survive. Oliver will not hurt you.
“Would you like me to leave your hair down, ma’am, or plait it for you?” Shannon asked.
Christina paused. Normally she braided her hair for bed but she was married now. Which way would Oliver prefer? She glanced up at the maid. “What do you think?”
“Why not leave it down tonight? It looks shiny and soft, like a cloud.” Shannon continued brushing the long brown strands for a moment. “The staff here, we are all so happy you have married Mr. Oliver.”
They were? Christina straightened, eager to learn more about Oliver. “Why?”
“Mr. Hawkes is too young to be living alone. Miss Sarah does not come home often and he never looks happy. You know what I mean?”
She did. Perfectly. “Miss Sarah?”
“Mr. Hawkes’s sister, ma’am.”
Ah, yes. Oliver had mentioned a sister away at boarding school. “How long have you worked here?”
“A little more than five years. Right after Mr. Hawkes started staying home and refusing to go out.”
Oliver used to go out? She knew nothing of his youth, actually. His family and background were mostly a mystery. “I see.”
“From what I understand, however,” Shannon said, “Mr. Hawkes was quite the man about town after he left school.”
Man about town? That surprised Christina. She could not picture him at the tedious parties, standing around dripping ice sculptures and signing his name on dance cards. He must have been bored to tears. Was that why he stopped and shut himself inside his house?