A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Now it was the couturier’s turn to be surprised. “You certainly kept it to yourself well enough.”

  “As did you.”

  His hand squeezed her shoulder fondly. “Don’t you think it’s about time Jake had a father? I’ve never stopped loving you, you know.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head aslant as she gazed up at him with a gentle smile. “Are you asking me to marry you, Mr. Ives.”

  “Aye, Mrs. Dalton. As soon as you’re of a mind, whether it be this hour, this week, or this month, but I pray that I may not have to wait until next year.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Farrell faced her squarely and, pressing her palms together, covered them with his own larger hands. “I would have asked you long ago if I would have had some inkling that you’d consider my proposal, but I was thoroughly convinced you’d turn me down.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes caressed his handsome face. Had they been alone, she might have reached up and lovingly stroked his cheek. “Foolish, foolish man.”

  WHEN THE LAST OF THE SEAMSTRESSES, THE NEW EMPLOYEES, and the errand boy had made their departure for the day, Farrell Ives hung the Closed sign on the front door of his establishment and, with a sigh of relief, turned the key in the lock. It had been an unusually busy day, and Farrell had definitely had enough of mollycoddling spoiled, insipid little misses and haughty dowagers who thought they could control him by merely jangling their weighty purses in front of his nose. After a day such as this, he was wont to reminisce upon his good fortune during his boxing days, but of course, that pastime was better suited for younger men, not one who had passed a score, ten and three years of age and who, merely for pleasure now, only sparred with his friends.

  Throughout most of the day, Raelynn had worked at her desk, out of the way of the normal flow of customers. Though she hadn’t actually conversed with any of the clientele, she had nevertheless recognized several who had attended the ball at Oakley and several other social events to which Jeff had escorted her in recent months, but the women seemed too embarrassed to make their way to her desk. From the brief snatches of whispered conversation that drifted to her ears, she had become mindful that word of her presence in the shop was already making its way about town. More than a fair sampling of ladies had apparently come to the shop for no other purpose than to settle in their own minds the question of whether such outrageous claims were actually true, for after espying her, they had left the shop in an excited dither, no doubt anxious to pass on the news. In view of the fact that she was married to the most handsome and exceedingly wealthy Jeffrey Birmingham, Raelynn could imagine that, for them, her presence might have been tantamount to the heroine of that quaint children’s tale, Little Cinder, deciding she preferred the hearth near the ashes rather than a life of ease in the palace of Prince Charming. As for herself, nothing could have been further from the truth.

  Grateful though she was that Farrell had allowed her to remain detached from the busy bustle of the place throughout the day, Raelynn knew her isolation couldn’t continue. She was also of a mind to wonder how her presence might affect the couturier’s business, especially once her figure began rounding out. When, at the end of the workday, her employer escorted Elizabeth to her desk and began leafing through her sketches again, Raelynn broached her concerns, yet the man put her at ease immediately.

  “Don’t worry about the clientele, Raelynn,” Farrell replied. “We’ll deal with them as the opportunity presents itself. As for these . . .” he indicated the drawings with a broad sweep of his hand, “I’ve never seen any quite like them. Your lines are exceptional.” He held up one that he especially favored. “For instance, this gown would easily complement a woman of excellent figure, yet I believe it would also be kind to one less favored by nature.”

  “I hadn’t really considered that aspect of it,” Raelynn admitted, pleased by the man’s enthusiasm. “I just thought the gown would flow better that way.”

  “Your illustrations come vividly alive, even on parchment.” Farrell indicated another sketch wherein the figure, garbed in a ball gown, was caught as if in the midst of a waltz with the skirt swirling around the slender form and a meager glimpse of an ankle showing above an undulating hem. “This one doesn’t just look like it’s being worn; it gives one the feeling that it’s actually being enjoyed.”

  Raelynn was aware that her drawings were different than other fashion sketches. Indeed, she had made a point of making them unique. Other artistic designers simply presented the front and back views of the garments they created without bothering to draw a figure of a woman, but she hadn’t really cared for that bland way of drafting fashions and had sought instead to illustrate beautiful ladies in partial scenes and to incorporate a feeling of life within those sketches. “I simply thought it would be more interesting to illustrate gowns the way they might look actually being worn.”

  Farrell laid down the parchment and met Raelynn’s gaze directly. “I like your idea of figures in various settings rather than the usual nondescript views. The drawings seem to bestir a wealth of stories right along with their great designs, as if the subjects have been caught in a particular situation, such as at a ball with a suitor nigh at hand. Kindly do more of the same. In fact, I may adopt this technique for use with all our designs.”

  He turned a smile upon Elizabeth who was peering past his arm to peruse the sketches. “Does that meet with your approval, my dear?”

  His casual endearment brought a flush of color to Elizabeth’s cheeks even as her lips bowed upward at the corners. For too long she had envied other young ladies who had become the recipient of his attention, and she couldn’t help but luxuriate now in a moment of secret pleasure beneath the warmth of his gaze. “I’m willing to predict that in the months or years to come such fashion plates will become the standard. They do seem to stimulate one’s imagination about what wonderful things might be happening to the ladies in the sketches.”

  “You have an incredibly keen insight into such things, Elizabeth, which is only one of the many reasons I’ve come to admire you over the years.”

  The dark eyes searched his in smiling amazement. “I think you’ve been very secretive about a lot of things, Mr. Ives.”

  “Aye,” Farrell acknowledged with a slanted grin, “but then, until recently you kept me virtually in a fog as to where I stood with you.”

  Raelynn’s gaze flicked between the two. The magnetism between the couturier and his assistant was so strong she couldn’t help but be inundated with memories of the breathless excitement that Jeff had always stirred within her. Just as quickly, a poignant regret over her loss pierced her heart, infusing within it a sadness so intense it seemed to constrict her chest. It was all she could do to stand there with a faint smile pasted on her lips and think of her drawings. It was as if the glow that had once lit her whole being with joy had darkened to a morose awareness of what she had previously possessed, but now had lost.

  ELIZABETH’S RESIDENCE WAS A MODEST, TWO-STORY, pale yellow house that sat off the street behind a white, wrought-iron fence and a well-maintained flower garden partially shaded by a huge live oak. All the trim, shutters and spindled railing adorning the front porch had been painted white, lending the place a fresh appearance. The interior was just as charming.

  “It’s absolutely enchanting, Elizabeth,” Raelynn declared enthusiastically. What she saw was enough to convince her that the woman’s talents were indeed vast and varied.

  The brunette glanced around as if trying to see her home through another’s eyes. “It wasn’t much when I bought it, but I’ve been working for almost four years now, doing this and that in an attempt to improve it. Now I think it’s pretty much the way I had first envisioned it.”

  “You did all the work yourself?” Raelynn asked in amazement.

  Elizabeth laughed at such a notion. “I’m afraid if I had tried, I wouldn’t have gotten very far. Farrell did the heavier refurbishing in exchange for some home-cooked meals, a routine cleani
ng of his apartment, and an ongoing agreement that I would make his shirts, all of which he now pays me for above my regular salary. As for papering the walls and the easier repairs, I did those myself.”

  A young boy about four years old ran through the kitchen on his way toward the back door, but with a laugh, Elizabeth caught his arm and brought him near for a hug, which she playfully administered with an exaggerated grunt.

  “This is my son, Jake,” she announced, settling her hands upon his shoulders as he turned about to face their guest. “He’s four years old and can already count to twenty.”

  “Ya wanna hear me?” he asked, peering up at Raelynn with a sheepish smile.

  “I do indeed,” Raelynn replied, kneeling down to his level.

  Proudly Jake recited the numbers and, at her praise, grinned with the same bashful timidity. He lifted large blue eyes to his mother to see her reaction and was rewarded by an affectionate smile.

  “You’re saying your numbers so well now, Jake, I think it’s about time I started teaching you some more,” Elizabeth stated, with gentle affection running her slender fingers through his sandy hair. “In fact, the way you’re progressing, it won’t take you any time at all before you’re counting to a hundred.”

  The boy beamed with delight and hugged his mother’s leg through her skirts before he scurried off to play. As Raelynn watched the youngster race toward the back fence, which at the moment another young boy was climbing over, she found herself thinking how nice it would be to have a son as fine as Jake and for that son to also have a father.

  “Have you found it difficult being Jake’s only parent?” she queried, struggling against the depression that never failed to sweep over her whenever she recalled her recent estrangement from her husband.

  “At times, yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I’ve also been fortunate having Farrell living so near. I can’t account for all the times he has shared his time with the boy. He has truly been a good friend to us. On weekends, when I’ve been busy cooking or doing other things, he has taken Jake out fishing, riding or on some other kind of adventure men and boys seem to enjoy. Without him, Jake would have no fatherly influence at all in his life. In that respect, it hasn’t been easy for the boy. Jake really wants a father and has often wondered why he doesn’t have one when all his friends do. Once he even asked me if Farrell was really his father.”

  Raelynn looked at Elizabeth in surprise, realizing the boy had the same coloring as her employer. She dared not say as much, for she had no desire to pry into such matters.

  Elizabeth lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “The idea was initially presented by an older couple during one of Jake’s outings with Farrell. The people had paused to ask for directions, and before they went on their way, they told Farrell he had a nice-looking son. I’m not sure what Farrell’s reasons were, but he didn’t bother correcting the people. Perhaps it was nothing more than a brief exchange, but it had a lasting effect on Jake. He was terribly elated over the incident when he came home. Later that night he asked me if what the people had said was really true. As much as he wanted Farrell to be his father, I had to tell him that it just wasn’t so.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Jake is quite properly the offspring of my late husband. The boy takes after his late grandmother, Margaret Dalton, a dear sweet woman whose death left me grieving. She was someone I dearly loved and, even at her death, was still a handsome woman, although by that time her sandy hair had paled to white and her blue eyes had dulled, but they were just as kindly as always.” Elizabeth cast her gaze downward in chagrin. “As for her son, I’m afraid I don’t have many fond memories of him. Emory used to gamble quite a bit, and when he’d lose, which was quite often, he’d get mad and take his frustration out on me.

  “Once, after witnessing such an event, Farrell threatened to kill Emory if he ever hit me again. Emory ignored his warnings, but I didn’t dare let Farrell know for fear of what he’d do. He was so angry with Emory after witnessing his heavy-handed ways, he just might have carried through with his threat or, at the very least, given Emory a severe thrashing. Not many men can best Farrell in a sparring match even now.” She laughed softly. “I’ve heard his friends complain about that often enough to be aware of that fact. Although that’s all done pretty much in fun nowadays, Farrell was once a very proficient boxer.” Elizabeth turned aside to hide a blush as she confessed, “The same night that Farrell issued his threat, I caught myself wishing Emory would die. There were moments when I actually thought I hated my husband for the pain he caused me. My wish came true a few nights later. I was so filled with remorse I couldn’t bring myself to accept Farrell’s assistance even when my labor started and my water broke. I fully expected to die in childbirth for daring to hope for Emory’s death.” Facing Raelynn again, Elizabeth forced a smile, but it was weak and tremulous as she met the other’s sympathetic gaze. “As you can probably guess, I’m not very proud of that part of my life.”

  “I shan’t tell anyone,” Raelynn murmured reassuringly, dropping a hand upon the woman’s arm.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth patted the comforting hand and then heaved a sigh. “So now you know my dark, ugly secret, the only one who knows, I might add, but you seemed so distressed by your own circumstances, Raelynn, I thought it would help if you knew what I’ve been trying to hide these past few years.”

  “You’re not the only woman who has wished for a man’s death,” Raelynn informed her. “When I thought Olney had killed Jeff, I wasn’t in a very forgiving mood. I found myself wishing the same end for both Gustav and Olney. So you see, Elizabeth, I’m capable of having revengeful thoughts, too.”

  “It’s not very heartening for a woman to realize she can feel so much hatred for a man that she can actually wish his death.” Elizabeth managed a wavering smile. “At least you don’t hate your husband.”

  Raelynn tried to laugh, but it came out sounding strained. “No, on the contrary, if Jeffrey were to banish me out of his life forever, I think my heart would probably shrivel up and die.”

  “Jeffrey seems immensely taken with you, Raelynn,” Elizabeth ventured. “I can’t believe he’d ever distance himself from you.”

  Raelynn could not bring herself to explain that he had done that very thing but in a smaller measure during the first two weeks of their marriage. “Only time will tell,” she murmured dejectedly, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the short time I’ve been married to Jeffrey, then it’s his utter lack of hesitancy to do the unexpected if the situation calls for drastic measures. He will set me aside in a divorce if we can’t reconcile our problems.”

  Mentally casting off her gloom for her own sake as well as for her boarder’s, Elizabeth assumed a brighter countenance. “Let’s go upstairs, shall we? I’d like to show you the bedroom you’ll be using while you’re here.”

  IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, AFTER MUCH TOSSING AND turning in a pitch-black room, Raelynn finally gave up the battle she had been waging in her lonely bed and allowed her mind to drift back through her memories of Jeffrey. In whatever circumstance or mood, whether serious, sensual, angry or playful, he had never failed to demonstrate a gentle, chivalrous regard for her. He had likely saved her life in the swamp, and even in Red Pete’s cabin, when he had known of her suspicions and, for a time, been angry with her, he had nevertheless nurtured her as a husband deeply concerned for her welfare.

  One afternoon about a week after they had wed came to mind. They had been at a wedding reception for an old acquaintance of Jeff’s. Male friends had drawn him away from her side to teasingly harass him for marrying without obtaining their permission. His ready quips had elicited boisterous laughter, prompting the wives of his companions to follow in growing curiosity, but by then, Raelynn had begun to sense that Jeffrey was keeping his distance, at least as much as circumstances allowed, and she hadn’t felt the freedom to join the ever-expanding group, but had stood alone, self-consciously sipping her punch. Almost without pause, the vultures had de
scended upon her in the form of several former hopefuls who had crowded around her to ask snide questions, the most pointed being, “How in the world did you ever manage to entrap Jeffrey Birmingham in marriage?”

  Perhaps her face had registered her deepening dismay, for it wasn’t long before Jeff had left his friends to come to her rescue. With a debonair grin that had vividly defined the taut depressions in his cheeks, he had made a show of claiming her for the benefit of her antagonists, settling a hand possessively upon her waist as he bent near her ear and whispered much too softly for the other women to hear, “Would you like me to save you from these malevolent witches, my dear?” to which she had eagerly nodded and smiled.

  His gallantry had extended itself in the form of kissing her hand before he had tucked it safely within the crook of his arm and turned to the other women to make their excuses. Had he been a knight in shining armor, he could not have looked more wonderful to her at that moment. Barely an hour later, when they had been about to climb into the landau, she had found herself once again the recipient of the inquisitive stares of the spiteful three. After handing her in, Jeff had taken a place beside her on the seat and had dropped the leather panels over the windows, ignoring the liberally accommodating gap that had been left between the frame and the shade. While the women had craned their necks to peer inside, Jeff had pulled her close and, to her utter amazement, kissed her in an overtly sensual fashion. In one way Raelynn had been entirely grateful for his favor and yet, in another, regretful, for the fires he had lit had been difficult to quench even after she had retired to her virginal bed later that night. But that task had hardly been as arduous as calming the tumultuous cravings now tormenting her. After tasting passion’s appeasement to the fullest extent, she was now fully conscious of what she was yearning for, no less than her husband’s amorous attentions.

  Could a man who had been so caring and tender with her during that difficult period of abstinence turn so completely about face and callously murder a young mother with a baby at her side? The question flared without warning in her mind, as if to accuse her for her irrational condemnation of her husband. If indeed Jeff was capable of such a monstrous crime and some dark demon truly lurked behind that gallant facade, then wouldn’t he be a man tormented by the wickedness lurking deep within him? Wouldn’t she have glimpsed some evidence of those malevolent characteristics in him in some brief, carelessly unguarded moment? Was he such an accomplished actor that he could hide a vile nature so adeptly beneath a façade of gentlemanly refinement? Although he had ranted at Nell and expressed his desire to throttle the girl, was he more evil than other men who might have done the same thing in a moment of irritation without meaning a word of it?