by Jane Porter
A lump filled her throat and her fingers curled into her palms.
She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She’d cried herself sick after her father disowned her last May and she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry again. There was no point in crying. She’d brought this on herself. She had no one to blame.
“Who was he?” Sinclair’s deep voice shattered the silence. “Why did you love him?”
“I didn’t,” she whispered, caught off guard.
“Then why the scandal if he wasn’t your lover?”
“I couldn’t control the gossip,” she said faintly, sick at heart, and sick to her stomach.
“Newspaper headlines don’t help.”
“I shouldn’t have trusted him—” She broke off, shook her head. “No, I can’t blame him. I can only blame myself, because I thought I could manage him. I thought I could manage the situation.”
“Just as you managed me.”
“No.” She saw Sinclair’s mouth compress, his expression scornful. “I didn’t manage you. It wasn’t like that… I never meant to lead you on—”
“But you did. And you thought you could lead him, too.”
“No.”
“You thought he would fall at your heel and be obedient.”
She exhaled hard, nauseated. “You are twisting everything. You are taking what we had—”
“Miss Frasier, we had nothing.” His deep voice was brutally hard. “But you and Mr. Clark, you had something. Maybe it wasn’t an affair of the heart, but from all reports, he most definitely had you.”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Douglas.”
“Is that your very best set down? Should I roll over now and give up? I think not. Tell me about your Jeremy Bernard Clark. Why was he the one?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew Bernard’s name, but it still was a shock to hear his name on Sinclair’s lips. “He wasn’t the one. He most definitely wasn’t the one. He just…”
“What?”
“Was smart enough to identify my weaknesses, and then exploit them.” She felt Sinclair’s quick narrowed glance. Her shoulders shifted. “I’m proud. I’m stubborn. I crave freedom and independence.”
Sinclair said nothing and she quietly added, “I was never compromised the way you think, but I ignored propriety, I ignored common sense, going places with him that I shouldn’t have gone, being seen late at night without a chaperone. It was scandalous behavior and, in my heart, I knew it.”
“And you didn’t care?”
“I don’t know. I can barely remember that girl, but in hindsight, I should have cared more.” She rubbed the fringe of her sweater between her fingers. “I should have listened to those who tried to save me before it was too late.”
“People did speak to you?”
She nodded once.
“Were they people you trusted?”
“Yes. No. I thought they were very stuffy and old-fashioned. I thought because I was educated and modern that I could do things differently, and Sinclair, it was exciting. For a few weeks there I felt… free.”
“Where did Mr. Clark take you?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere. It was like a game. Sneaking out late at night, going to bawdy theatres, exploring Central Park.”
He shot her a swift look, his expression disapproving. “And that was worth ruining yourself for?”
For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to answer, and yet she couldn’t lie to him. She didn’t want to lie to him. “I didn’t think it would ruin me.”
“Being seen with an improper man late at night?
This time she didn’t answer.
“McKenna.”
She looked at him.
“Tell me.”
“I thought I was above the rules.”
“What? How?”
She shrugged and laughed, because it was either that or shrivel with shame. “Oh, Sinclair, you know me. I am McKenna Frasier. I thought the rules didn’t pertain to me.”
He muttered something rough beneath his breath. “If he had been a gentleman he would have protected you, as I have tried to protect you.”
“I know,” she said.
“And you liked this? That he wasn’t a gentleman? You liked that he took advantage of you?”
“I wasn’t thinking. Not in the beginning. He was handsome and charming and I enjoyed his company immensely.”
“What did you enjoy?”
“He wasn’t so stiff, and he wasn’t dull. He made me laugh. He told jokes and went out his way to entertain me.”
“And he made love to you.”
She winced at his tone, feeling increasingly defensive. “He made me feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.”
It wasn’t a compliment the way he said it. It was more like a slap. She flushed, fingers tangling in the yarn. “But desirable… like there was no one else like me.”
“Because there was no one else like you, McKenna.”
McKenna bit into her lower lip, digging into the softness to keep from making a sound. He’d said was.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. What was done was done and she couldn’t go back. There was no point trying to defend herself, either, because she had known her behavior was bordering on scandalous, and she’d known deep down that if she was discovered, it wouldn’t be good, that her father would be angry. And yet she’d thought she could manage Father. She’d tease him, reminding him that she was like him—strong willed and stubborn and incorrigible. And that might have been okay, if Bernard had been a different man, with different intentions.
“Am I supposed to be sympathetic?” he asked, his voice rough and hard.
“No.”
“And you really didn’t think there would be consequences?”
“It was all… silly. Frivolous. I had no idea Mr. Clark had an agenda. Now I realize I should have known. I should have realized he wasn’t with me because he liked me, but rather I was the means to an end.”
“What did he want?”
“Money. Power. A piece of my father’s company.” She hesitated. “He compromised me, certain my father would reward him with some kind of settlement, or dowry. I refused to marry him and Father was outraged, not just because I wouldn’t marry Mr. Clark, but because Mr. Clark dared threaten my father, revealing all to the scandal sheets.”
“And he did.”
“Oh, yes, he did.”
“Your father is so rich he could have easily bought Mr. Clark’s silence.”
“Easily, but you know my father. You don’t dictate to Patrick Frasier, and God help the man that blackmails him. Livid, Father ran him out of town, and Mr. Clark went straight to the press.”
“Where is Mr. Clark today?”
“I don’t know. California? Alaska? The Continent? I’m sure he has a new plan, and is doing his best to marry another heiress, or swindle another millionaire.”
“I can’t imagine your father being happy to see you married to a swindler.”
“He would have hated it. I am certain he would have disowned me either way. Father cannot abide the man who wants wealth without having to work for it, or respect without earning it.”
Sinclair shook his head, disgusted. “It’s late. I have to go.”
Chapter Six
McKenna held her breath for a long minute after Sinclair left, and then she forced herself to action.
It’s better this way. She locked the door behind him. He knows the truth. He knows the whole story.
And it was better for him to know, she insisted when her eyes burned, hot and gritty. It was better for him to know who she was, and just how silly, and shallow, and vain, she’d become.
But doing the right thing didn’t mean she was comfortable with what she’d told him because, in her heart, she was more than silly and shallow and frivolous. What she hadn’t told him was that she’d disagreed with all the rules imposed by society. She’d found them narrow and confining and hypocritic
al, as well. Men could travel where they pleased, and how they pleased, without anyone thinking anything of it. But if a young woman went out without the right companion, she was loose. Immoral.
Even if she was a virgin and was careful with her virtue.
The facts didn’t matter.
It was enough that slander could ruin a woman, because her purity was the most important thing about her.
And McKenna didn’t even know how to defend herself when the attacks began, because, yes, Mr. Clark had kissed her, and touched her inappropriately. But he hadn’t disrobed her, nor had she lain with him, even though he’d tried. He’d become quite nasty, too, when she refused him. She hadn’t ever meant for things to get that far, but he seemed to be an expert at seduction and she apparently was too easily seduced.
That was why she didn’t know how to protest her innocence. She wasn’t entirely innocent. She’d played a part in her disgrace, having slipped out of her home at an hour when single ladies didn’t travel about town to attend a risqué show at an equally risqué theatre. She’d had two more glasses of champagne than she should have, and permitted him to touch her in public.
No, of course she shouldn’t have allowed his wandering hand to touch her back, her shoulder, her waist. But her head had been fuzzy from the bubbles and fizz, and as he leaned close to kiss her, his lips lingering on hers, she’d felt daring and alive. Half of the fun had been feeling as if she was doing something wicked and forbidden. Burlesque—also known as extravaganzas in her circle—wasn’t for ladies. Good women didn’t attend raunchy shows where barely clothed female performers danced and sang, placing them just one step above prostitutes.
It was a good thing she’d enjoyed the shows and the champagne because attending the extravaganzas with a man of questionable reputation ruined hers.
In the end, it didn’t matter that she was still a virgin. What mattered to those who paid attention to scandal sheets and gossip rags—never mind society dragons—was that McKenna Frasier had proven herself to be a most unfortunate woman, a woman of lax morals and questionable virtue. Society washed their hands of her, forcing her out of New York.
It was almost comical how fast she fell from grace.
McKenna was still wrestling with the consequences of her shame when she crossed the frosty field to the school house the next morning, her teeth chattering from the cold. After lighting the fire in the stoves, she went to the big blackboard at the front of the classroom and began to write out the morning’s lesson, and as the chalk squeaked across the board, she suddenly pictured a different classroom in a different school.
Her school in Butte had been large, and there were dozens of students in her classes, and yet the only two she remembered was Sinclair and Johanna.
McKenna left the chalkboard and went to her desk and took out her lesson plan book and yet she couldn’t focus on the work in front of her. All she could see was Butte and suddenly she was there, remembering how Johanna suddenly left school abruptly, just like Sinclair did.
“I’m leaving school,” Johanna announced.
McKenna followed Johanna from the classroom to the hall. “What? Why? There are only six weeks left until the year ends. Don’t leave now!”
“I’ve been hired at Blum’s as a shop girl. I’ll be helping ladies with their purchases in the women’s department, and they need me to start immediately,” Johanna answered.
“There will be other jobs—”
“Says who? And will they be at Blum’s? I love fashion and I know the dresses are ready-made, but it’s a chance to do what I enjoy. And I don’t enjoy studying. I hate school.”
“But you’re smart, Johanna, and you could do so much more with a high school education.”
“I don’t think so. Not for someone like me. And Sinclair agrees with me. Why shouldn’t I help with expenses? It’s not fair that he has to support all of us.”
“Does your brother know that you’re brilliant at math?”
“He does. That’s why he thinks I should take the position. If I worked hard I could eventually get promoted, maybe even run the women’s department.” She smiled at McKenna. “You know, not everyone loves reading and writing essays as much as you do.”
“I don’t love reading and writing essays.” She wrinkled her nose “I mean, I do love reading but I’d rather read more novels and a lot less history.”
“Well, you must not mind if you want to go to college back east. But I’m ready to do something else, and I’d far rather help women select dresses and everything else. I know you’d never wear ready-made dresses, but maybe you need a pair of stockings or gloves?”
“Maybe,” McKenna answered unconvincingly.
“You are such a snob!”
“I’m not.”
“You are, or you’d happily come to Blum’s so I could wait on you.”
“Do you get a commission?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But if I do, you’ll have to order a dozen stockings?”
“Do I have to wear them?”
“You are such a little princess!”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
“Only if you say yes to supper on Sunday. Sinclair and I will walk to collect you, or if you think it’s too far, he can rent a buggy.”
“My mother hosts these music afternoons on Sunday, but I hate them and I want to come to dinner. I’ll figure it out.”
“Oh, and he wouldn’t want me saying anything, but it’s Sinclair’s birthday.”
Nothing would keep McKenna from going now.
The Douglas’ lived in a small wood-framed house on Anaconda Road in Dublin Gulch where the roofs of each residence nearly touched. But once inside the modest home, it was clear from the best dishes on the linen covered table that Mrs. Douglas had gone to great lengths to impress McKenna.
McKenna had brought gifts with her—potted African violets for Mrs. Douglas, chocolates for the family, and a burlap bag of mixed nuts for Sinclair. They ate supper almost immediately, sitting down to baked ham, mashed potatoes, and roast cauliflower and root vegetables.
Johanna and McKenna carried the conversation with Mrs. Douglas interjecting only now and then with a soft question or comment. Sinclair, for his part, just listened, his expression revealing little, and yet more than once, McKenna glanced at him only to find him watching her intently.
It was dizzying to be subjected to such scrutiny. The year had changed him. Twelve months of laboring in the mines had added muscle to his frame and maturity to his face. His hair was still a thick, dark blond, but there was a burning intensity in his blue eyes that hadn’t been there before. He looked at McKenna as if he memorizing her, aware that it was unlikely he’d ever seen her again.
“You can’t make me sad today,” she whispered, heart thumping. “Not on your birthday.”
“I think this must be my favorite birthday.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak, hot emotion filling her. “Your mother was very kind to include me today.”
“She was quite anxious to not offend you in any way.”
“She couldn’t possibly offend me. Everything was lovely. She’s an excellent cook.”
“I shall tell her you said so. That will please her greatly.”
For a moment there was just silence and then McKenna blurted, “I hate that you work in the mine. It is quite dangerous. Every day the newspapers are filled with tragic stories—”
“Don’t read them.”
“Is it really so unsafe?”
His broad shoulders shifted. “I’m told that they’re no worse here than the mines in England or Ireland.”
“Is it true that my father’s mine is more dangerous than the others?”
“He’s implementing new technology. The goal is to improve the working conditions.”
“But it hasn’t yet, has it?”
Sinclair hesitated. “Technology fails, and there will always be human error.”
“And there is no way to eliminate human error?”
“With the right procedures and protocols it can be reduced, but eliminated? No.”
Uneasy, she held her breath, trying to slow her jagged pulse. She couldn’t imagine the world without him. She couldn’t imagine her world without him. “Is there no other work you can do?”
“A man doesn’t walk away from honest work and a regular paycheck.”
“You could learn another trade—”
“Not here. I’d have to leave and I won’t do that to my mother. She’s buried a husband and five children. My sister and I are all she has left.”
“She’s lost five children?”
“Still births and the influenza.” He leaned forward abruptly, and reached across the table as if to touch her but he drew back at the last second. “But this is distressing you, and I do not want to do that. This has been a very good birthday. You’ve made me happy today. Thank you for coming.”
The earnestness in his deep voice made her eyes burn. “You will make me cry.”
“Never.”
“I’m about to cry now.”
“You can’t do that. My mother will be absolutely distraught if she brings in the cake and finds you weeping at her table.” He smiled crookedly, but there was something besides laughter in his blue eyes, an emotion deeper and stronger, and it made her heart ache.
“I know I’m not supposed to pay you compliments since I’m not free to court you, but you look beautiful today,” he added, and then he did extend his fingers, the tips grazing hers.
A shiver coursed through her.
She shouldn’t touch him, shouldn’t want to touch him and yet her fingers flexed, and she let her hand brush across his. His palm was thickly calloused and yet his skin was so warm and, when his fingers closed around hers, she felt a surge of energy all the way through her.
It went against all propriety, but this was how a man’s hand should feel. Strong. Capable. Like Sinclair himself.
She loved him. It wasn’t a question, or a game. He was her soul mate, her other half. There was no doubt in her mind. They would be together. It was just a matter of finishing school and then convincing her father that Sinclair was the right match.
After the birthday dinner, they didn’t see each other often, but somehow, every few weeks, they did find a way to meet, if not at Blum’s, where they’d walk and talk their way from one end of the department store to the other, then downtown riding the street car, and then they wouldn’t talk, they’d just hold hands in secret, a coat or shopping bags hiding that they were touching.