The Kitchen Marriage

by Gina Welborn

  Mrs. Deal touched Zoe’s arm. “If you ever feel things aren’t working out with Jakob, Mr. Deal and I have friends all over this part of the territory who would pay richly to employ a ravishing French chef. Go on, dearie.” Mrs. Deal motioned her forward. “I won’t hug you and risk messing up your beautiful gown.”

  Zoe strolled to the kitchen door.

  “I know I’m not your father,” Mr. Deal said, “but if you need one, I’m here for—” His voice choked. “You’re worth more than gold to me.” He smiled a little as he opened the kitchen door for her.

  “Zank you.” Zoe stepped into the dining hall, where fourteen men sat at the two tables awaiting dinner. All stood. They smiled, as she had come to learn, in hopes of garnering her attention. She always strove to be polite in her response. This time she ignored them in light of how delighted she felt about Isaak’s escort instead of Jakob’s. Isaak made her laugh. He enjoyed silence, although not as much as she did. Best of all, he knew how to manage Yancey and Carline and their constant chatter.

  With a friend by her side, the evening would be bearable after all.

  Isaak stood by the door, as handsome as ever in his black Sunday suit. Her ebony silk-and-lace cape lay draped over his arm, instead of over the chair where she had left it before going into the kitchen. He seemed as pleased to see her as she felt upon seeing him.

  “Your carriage awaits,” he said with a slight bow as she neared.

  She stopped in front of him. “Where is your brother?”

  “At work.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone vandalized the store. It’ll take all night for him to repair to stay on schedule. He asked me to give you his regards.”

  “I am”—partially—“sorry he will miss ze play, but I am also happy to see you.” She rested her palm against his exquisite green damask waistcoat and felt him tense, so she drew back. “Zis is nice you had something to match. Did Jakob tell you ze color of my gown?”

  “Coincidental” was all he said.

  Zoe studied Isaak’s face as he reached around her to rest her cape across her shoulders, covering her green-and-black evening gown, the last dress Papa had purchased for her before they left Paris for America. When she had resisted the purchase, he had argued she would need it someday.

  It had been worn twice, counting tonight.

  Isaak’s gaze settled on hers. At the curve of his lips, a strange, breathless, swirling feeling warmed her more than the cape about her shoulders.

  “Zank you,” she said and started to tie the cape’s ribbon.

  “Here, let me.” As he knotted the ribbon at the base of her neck, she caught a whiff of his bergamot cologne.

  It suited him. Why had she never noticed his cologne before? Perhaps this was his first time wearing it. Because of Carline? Or perhaps he favored Yancey. Both ladies were joining them for supper and the play. Those times Zoe had seen him talk to either lady, no time stood out as unusual. Or romantic.

  But in one night, everything could change.

  Not with Isaak, her heart whispered.

  Jakob was fickle; Isaak was dependable. If he was going to fall in love with Carline or Yancey, he would have already done so. He had not, because he knew he needed someone who would make him sniff flowers and admire sunsets. He needed gentleness. He needed tender strength to tell him when he was wrong.

  With one hand, he opened the door. With the other, he touched the middle of her back and nudged. “Move along,” he whispered, his minty breath warm against her cheek. “We’re already late.”

  Zoe froze. His hand flinched; the movement was small, yet she felt the tingle it caused rise up her spine.

  “Zat is because you arrived late,” she said in her defense.

  “That’s because I struggled over whether I should convince Jakob to trade places with me. I could have done his work for him.”

  “Why did you not?”

  When he failed to answer, she turned her head enough to see him. The moment their gazes met, her breath caught. Her whole being sparked to life with joy and with hope . . . and with a mind as full of clear understanding as was in her heart.

  The person he needed in his life was her.

  He needed her.

  And she needed him.

  Stunned, Zoe dashed to the Forsythe carriage, blinking away her sudden tears. She was never supposed to fall in love with Isaak Gunderson. She was supposed to love Jakob and his happy eyes.

  Not Isaak.

  Never was it supposed to be Isaak.

  He was her friend. He was only supposed to be her friend.

  Without a word, he helped her into the carriage. “The Palmer house,” he called out to the driver before climbing in.

  Zoe scooted to the far-left side of the bench. She faced forward, not turning her head to look up at him, not wishing to risk him seeing the emotions in her eyes. Isaak sat in the far corner of the backward-facing bench. Diagonally opposite.

  The carriage lurched forward.

  He turned from the window to look at her. “You seem distraught. Is something wrong?”

  “I am unsure.”

  “Do you want me to go trade places with Jakob?”

  She wanted to say yes. Her heart needed time to rest from the sudden tumult of realizing she was in love with him. But to say yes would be a lie. She abhorred lies.

  “I wish for you to stay.”

  “Zoe, I . . .”

  “Yes?” She waited for him to finish his thought. She needed to know what he was thinking and feeling because she needed him to be alive and imperfect. To be real. To be hers.

  “I’d like to stay, too.” He paused. “It’s not like tonight will last forever.”

  “It never does.”

  Isaak said nothing more, and Zoe turned her attention on the window, hoping they would reach the Palmer residence quickly. Yancey and Carline, like Jakob, could be counted on to add joviality and distraction to a gathering.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ming’s Opera House

  Zoe stopped in awe on the threshold, gasping just inside Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe’s box, where two additional chairs had been added to accommodate their group of six. Brass railing. Red leather seats. Elaborate draperies framed and hid the stage. At this level, they would have a perfect view of the sets and performers, and even of the Helena Orchestra in the pit below. Surely the spectacle of it all would atone for tonight’s pedestrian play.

  Perhaps this English version would be better than the French translation she had seen with Papa. If not, based on the warm and lush sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments, at least the music would be enjoyable.

  Isaak’s hand rested on the middle of her back, as it had at the boardinghouse. There was nothing inappropriate or possessive in his action. He was merely being polite, she knew. But upon every touch, the tingles returned to race up her spine. And then her neck and face warmed.

  Was she blushing? She hoped not.

  “Miss de Fleur, your propensity to block entrances is a problem,” he said before nudging her farther into the box.

  Zoe stepped to the left, annoyed as much by his criticism and bossiness as his exotic cologne. Mostly, she was content to wait for everyone else to choose seats first. Including him. Her plan was to sit on the other side of the box from Isaak Gunderson, so she would not be distracted by his presence.

  Isaak, to her surprise, did not seek out a chair. Instead, he moved to her side, maintaining a polite distance behind her left shoulder. “Ladies, take the front row,” he ordered their group. “The gentlemen will sit behind.”

  Carline and Yancey thanked him as they slid past. Yancey, in her exquisite violet gown, settled in the front middle chair and Carline, in a rose-pink gown, took the right one, leaving the one on the left for Zoe. They rested their fans in their laps and immediately started talking. Mr. Geddes Palmer sat behind his sister. Mr. Windsor Buchanan sat in the chair behind Carline, leaving the two far left seats for Zoe and Isaak.

&nb
sp; He motioned toward the empty front seat. “You’re next.”

  She looked to where Carline and Yancey were huddled close.

  Tonight is a night for falling in love, Yancey had proclaimed the moment the carriage had arrived at the opera house. Why had she said that? Carline, not Yancey, was the one to make rash pronouncements. For someone as outgoing and talkative as Yancey Palmer was, she was also impressively circumspect.

  Yancey could have noticed something in how Zoe had looked at Isaak in the carriage. Equally possible was that Yancey and Carline had plans they had failed to share with Zoe. To match Isaak and Carline?

  Zoe studied Carline’s flaxen hair, pinned in a simple bun. Everything about the beautiful woman was understated. Even her pink silk gown was modest and unadorned. Carline would be a benefit to Isaak and his election campaign. Having lived all her life in Helena, Carline was well-suited to be the wife of Helena’s next mayor.

  Thinking of her marrying Isaak caused an ache in Zoe’s chest.

  Mr. Gunderson the mayor needed a wife like Carline, but Isaak the man needed a wife like Zoe.

  “It’s warm in here,” grumbled Mr. Buchanan. He stood. The bladesmith removed his suitcoat, draped it over the back of his chair, rolled up his sleeves, and—

  Zoe felt her eyes widen. Goodness, the man’s forearms bulged with muscles and scars. And he wore two knives sheathed on the back of his hips. At the opera! Not that he needed anything to make him more intimidating. Or physically impressive.

  Carline should focus her flirtations on him.

  A strange noise came from Isaak.

  Zoe looked over her shoulder. “What was zat?” she whispered.

  “What was what?” he whispered back.

  “I heard you grunt.”

  “I saw you ogling Windsor.”

  “What does zis ‘ogling’ mean?”

  “Looking at him.”

  “Why would my looking at your friend cause you to grunt?”

  “You were drooling.”

  Zoe touched her lips. “Zere is no drool. Stop scowling at me.”

  “I will once you stop casting amorous glances at Windsor.”

  “Amorous?” She coughed a breath. “It is impolite to grunt when ladies can hear.” And because his eyes narrowed in response to her chastisement of his poor manners, she added, “Nor is it your business at whom I cast amorous glances.”

  “So you admit you were,” he said with the startling smoothness of a man confident of the rightness of his opinion.

  Her cheeks warmed. “Mr. Gunderson, I admit zat if I wish to admire someone, I will, but I was not admiring Mr. Buchanan. I was zinking Carline should flirt with him.”

  “Carline likes Geddes.”

  “She does?” Zoe whirled around to see that Mr. Buchanan had settled back down on his chair and was speaking to Mr. Palmer. Neither seemed happy to be there. Neither seemed romantically drawn to Carline. Although both men would make exceptional suitors for her.

  Far better than Isaak.

  A throat cleared.

  Zoe peeked over her shoulder again to see Isaak watching her with an expression of pained tolerance. “I was zinking,” she admitted.

  “I could tell.” His head cocked a little to the left, and he blinked, as if suddenly realizing something. “You think more and talk less than any woman I know.”

  She parted her lips, intent on defending her penchant for silent thinking, but as he continued to look at her as if she were an oddity, she closed her mouth and returned her gaze to the four other people in the box.

  Zoe moistened her lips. “I suppose I should sit.”

  “What an innovative idea,” Isaak whispered, his voice near her ear. His hand rested again on her lower back, and with a familiar gentle nudge—

  “It is warm in here, is it not?” Zoe blurted out. Realizing how true her words were, she untied the black ribbon at the neckline of her lace cape.

  “Let me help.” Isaak removed it from her shoulders.

  “Zank you.” Zoe turned to take her cape from him. A mistake, because he stood closer to her, almost as if she was in his embrace.

  His throat cleared. “We should sit.”

  “Sit?”

  He motioned toward the empty chairs. “Before they notice and wonder why we aren’t. Sitting,” he said abruptly. “With them.”

  “Of course.” She snatched her cape from his hold, then found solace—and comfort—on the chair next to Yancey, who immediately studied Zoe, then Isaak.

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “All right, Isaak, what mean thing did you say to Zoe this time?”

  “He said nothing,” Zoe blurted out in his defense.

  Yancey coughed a breath. “Hell hath no fury like Isaak Gunderson’s icy stares.”

  “Drop it, Yancey,” was all he said. More like grumbled.

  “Someone is in a foul mood,” Yancey quipped, and then turned around to face her brother. “Geddes, would you trade with me?”

  “You want to sit by Isaak?”

  “Of course not.” She grimaced at the brass railing. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can sit this close without—” She covered her mouth and cringed.

  Zoe turned her head enough to watch the play of emotions on Mr. Palmer’s face. Confused and annoyed, to be sure. Yet the considerate man complied with his sister’s request. Why was Geddes Palmer still a bachelor? Not that his reason was any of Zoe’s business. But he was a kind man, a good listener, and not one to demand his own way. Much like Papa had been.

  Carline likes Geddes.

  Zoe smiled in remembrance of Isaak’s words.

  Yancey sat in the chair between Isaak and Mr. Buchanan. She smoothed the lap of her dress. “Perfect. And we”—she leaned forward and touched Carline’s shoulder—“can still talk.”

  Carline shifted in her chair. “But my neck already hurts turning around to hear you.” She smiled at Mr. Buchanan, who sat directly behind her. “Windy, trade with me.”

  He stayed silent for a long moment before saying, “No.”

  “Must you always be so cantankerous?”

  “I must.”

  Carline’s loud gasp sucked the air out of the box. “I don’t know why I keep trying to be nice to you.”

  “You may stop any—”

  “Windsor,” Yancey warned. “What is with you men tonight? Can’t any of you be pleasant?”

  Zoe jerked her attention back to the stage and ignored the lecture Yancey was giving to the men about manners. The only drama Zoe wished to be enchanted by was that from the orchestra. The lead oboe seemed exceptionally skilled. Was that a piccolo? She adored piccolos. She loved the high tone, the unique sound, and the utter happiness a piccolo provided in symphonic solos. If she played an instrument, she would play a piccolo. And a flute. They were too similar for her to choose one over the other.

  “I’ll trade seats.” Isaak brushed against Zoe’s arm as he slid between her chair and Mr. Palmer’s. He leaned against the balcony railing, waiting for Carline to move.

  Curious, Zoe turned her head enough to see Carline.

  “I—uh . . .” The ever-confident Carline appeared unsure. “Of course. Thank you.” She hurried to the seat behind Zoe. She touched Zoe’s shoulder and Yancey’s knee. “Wasn’t that considerate of Isaak to afford us the closeness to talk?”

  Zoe tensed. Talk? During the performance? Talking would hinder her from being able to hear the musicians. Talking occurred at intermission and after the performance. Not during. Never during.

  Mr. Palmer, from what she could see, seemed enraptured with studying the playbill.

  Isaak muttered something too softly for Zoe to hear.

  “I agree.” Mr. Buchanan leaned forward in his back-row, right-side seat. He patted Mr. Palmer’s shoulder. “Trade seats with me.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “Which is exactly why I prefer to stay in this seat.”

  “You owe me for distracting Miss Snowe,” Mr.
Buchanan countered.

  Mr. Palmer groaned. Yet he stood. “This makes us even.”

  Zoe watched as the men switched seats, putting Mr. Buchanan directly in front of Yancey.

  Before Zoe could silently celebrate the end of the chair exchanges, Yancey groaned loudly. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, how am I supposed to see with this”—she motioned to the back of his head—“hairy mountain range in front of me?”

  Isaak turned around in his front-row, right-side seat and scowled at Yancey. “This is why I said ladies sit in front.”

  “Why are you so snippy tonight?” she retorted. “This, Isaak, is why I don’t enjoy social events with you”—she poked Mr. Buchanan’s back—“or you.”

  That was all it took for Mr. Buchanan to turn around in his seat.

  As he responded to Yancey, Zoe focused her attention on the black stage curtains. Occasionally, they would puff out, likely from someone bumping them. She noted that the gaslights on the walls matched those in the foyer and how the house attendants wore elegant coats, the same red as the leather seats and with brass buttons that matched the balcony railing. The opera house was styled after the circular plan used in European theaters and brimmed to capacity. A thousand people? Fifteen hundred?

  Perhaps Mr. Buchanan would know the exact number of seats.

  She looked to him to ask, but he was still turned around in his seat and engrossed in a glare showdown with Yancey.

  Isaak gazed at Zoe, and all she could think of was the rapid beating of her heart. Could he love her? She wanted to believe that was what she saw in his beautiful eyes. She loved him.

  If he gave her any sign—any clue—he felt the same, she would happily run away with him.

  Isaak shifted slightly in his chair. And then he looked away.

  Zoe’s chest tightened. What did his action mean? He reciprocated her feelings? Maybe it meant nothing at all. Maybe she wished for something not there. Her chest hurt. Love hurt.

  The orchestra fell silent. A hush descended.

  “Tell him to trade with me,” came in a whispered voice.

  From Yancey or Carline? Zoe was unsure and more than a bit annoyed. As much from their behaviors as from having to attend a play she had no desire to see because she disliked William Shakespeare. Mostly because she was in love with a man who seemed not to return her feelings.