My Reed. Charlotte thought she was going to be sick. She squashed the image of Reed and Helen Belgrave in some expensive restaurant in Boston, having a romantic dinner, before going together to his home to . . .
“Helen,” Reed said, his voice sounding more like a warning than a lover’s address, “what are you doing here?”
Charlotte barely listened to her answer; she was pondering why he had dallied with her in the first place. Had he been so intent on getting her to accept the children that he would trifle with her? She just didn’t know. How could she? After all, she’d only known him a few weeks. How stupid she’d been to think she knew him at all.
Helen Belgrave was still talking, and John looked about as uncomfortable as Charlotte felt. As for Reed, she couldn’t even look him in the eye at this moment, so she boldly addressed his law partner.
“Mr. Trelaine,” you must be thirsty after your long trip. “Would you care for some refreshment?” She took his arm and led him away almost before he’d replied with an enthusiastic affirmative. Turning, she nearly tripped over the children who had all stayed to listen and to watch.
“Come along, Lily, Thomas. Mr. Malloy needs some time alone with his,” she almost choked, “fiancée.”
The children ran off with the other three and disappeared into the crowd, probably to tell everything they’d heard.
“The word sort of sticks in your throat, doesn’t it?”
She looked up at John Trelaine, blushing furiously. Did he know?
“Sticks in mine, anyway,” he told her, not waiting for a reply. “And I’ve had a lot longer to get used to the idea. That woman jabbered at me across eight states, and I can’t say when I’ve been happier that it was the brevity of train travel versus a journey by coach. Still, two and a half days escorting Mrs. Belgrave goes beyond my duty as Reed’s partner and good friend.”
“It’s understandable that she should be worried about Mr. Malloy,” Charlotte offered, trying to sound gracious when she felt like spitting nails. “She must love him very much to come all this way.”
They stopped at the punch table and John Trelaine handed her a cup before taking one for himself, adding a little something extra from a silver flask he kept in his coat pocket.
“Would you care for some sustenance?” He gestured to the flask.
“Oh, I would,” Charlotte allowed, letting him pour a generous portion of the clear liquid into her cup. “Thank you.” They both turned to look at the handsome couple they’d left on the edge of the dance floor.
“Oh don’t let this dramatic little trip out west fool you.” He paused and looked at her directly. Charlotte confirmed her first impression—he did have kind eyes, but there was a hint of annoyance now in his gaze.
“If I may be so frank, Miss Sanborn, there is only one thing Mrs. Belgrave loves and that is Mrs. Belgrave.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to respond to this, so she sipped her punch and coughed only once as the doctored liquid went down. She looked over to where Reed still conversed with the raven-haired beauty.
It did, certainly, look like anything but a lover’s tête-a-tête; Reed was somber, his mouth in a straight, hard line whenever his fiancée spoke.
Helen, in turn, appeared stone-faced, speaking in short clipped words; her breeding and manners dictated that she remain cool and her face emotionless. When someone passed closely, she immediately flashed a dazzling smile that died just as quickly when she looked at Reed. Eventually, her eyes met Charlotte’s across the room, and the mask slipped to reveal unadulterated wrath.
Charlotte shivered and turned to John Trelaine. “She is a widow?”
“Yes, for about four years. Her husband was a Boston blue blood, as they say. About as old as Methuselah,” he added, taking another swallow of punch.
“Well, sometimes love makes its appearance in unexpected forms,” Charlotte surmised.
John Trelaine’s eyes were sharp as he looked at her. “You are an intelligent woman, Miss Sanborn. I have read your work. I think you’re forward-thinking, too, on social issues. Am I right?” She nodded, though she couldn’t imagine to what he was referring.
“So it may come as no surprise to you that I believe theirs is a loveless union, but perhaps I could shock you by telling you that they have been a couple of convenience for going on three years. And still, no marriage banns have been read out in the church, no announcements in the paper, and no ring on her finger. I believe the convenience is all on Reed’s side.”
Charlotte’s puzzled brow made him smile. “He keeps her close to keep others away. No woman in Boston would dare cross the path of Helen Belgrave. But you—”
“Me?” Charlotte was startled into interrupting him. Undeniably, this lawyer was as perceptive as his partner. She took another large sip of her punch.
“Mrs. Belgrave is no fool, Miss Sanborn. She knows as well as I that Reed could have sent one of our junior associates to carry out this task. He didn’t. Instead, he came more than two thousand miles to meet you, having first read all of your work he could get his hands on.”
She blushed, unable to help herself from looking over at Reed again, this time with a more thoughtful gaze. Perhaps he didn’t love the striking woman beside him, but how could Charlotte ever think he’d be interested in her, in that way? Still, he had come, if John were right, just to meet her, and not solely because of the children.
“Ah, I see he didn’t tell you that he is an admirer.”
“Well, Mr. Malloy did mention that my cousin had introduced him to my work. But I just assumed that he had to come himself, to carry out the duties of executor.”
John Trelaine was silent a moment. Then he said pointedly, “But Mrs. Belgrave knows otherwise. And she didn’t like that—even less now that she’s found out you are a woman, and that Reed knew all along of your fairer sex.”
Charlotte mulled it over a moment. So Reed had had an interest in her as a writer, and out of curiosity he’d handled her cousin’s wishes himself. But was there any more to what had occurred between them? It made her head ache to think about it, about him in her house, about their brief flirtation, about the way she’d felt in his arms dancing.
She looked up at John Trelaine, with his intelligent eyes and gentle expression, and she flashed him her own most dazzling smile before looking toward the dance floor. Those who were not still standing around gossiping and staring at the newcomers were dancing up a storm.
He took the hint and relieved her of her empty cup. “What say we drop discussion of the tribulations of my law partner and the indomitable Mrs. Belgrave, and take up the more pleasurable task of dancing?”
“I would love that, Mr. Trelaine, if you are not too worn out from your trip.”
“Your company is refreshing my constitution every minute,” he murmured, escorting her to the center of the room.
Despite everything, Charlotte was having a pleasant time, even if the magic of the first few dances with Reed was gone forever. The warmth of imbibing John Trelaine’s whiskey combined with an attentive dance partner served to alleviate the initial upset Charlotte had suffered. She danced with him for the rest of the evening and avoided meeting Reed’s glance.
Charlotte couldn’t help but notice that Reed did not dance with Mrs. Belgrave, whether by his fiancée’s choice or his own, she couldn’t tell. Neither seemed to be having a good time, and that made Charlotte’s evening more bearable. She and John Trelaine ate supper together on the long low wooden tables that had been placed around the perimeter.
She heard him sigh. “Such a grist of food has crossed our plates and disappeared, I don’t think I can stand up,” he said good-humoredly, but it didn’t stop him from perusing the desserts. Later in the evening, Charlotte stifled a yawn as they sat on a bale of hay, eating Brown Betty in companionable silence.
“I think I have room for one more helping of something,” John Trelaine observed, getting up to see what was left. Charlotte groaned at the thought.
&nb
sp; At that moment, Eliza Prentice strolled over, planting herself squarely in front of her.
“It looks as though your Mr. Malloy goes through women about as quickly as his friend goes through desserts.”
“He is not my Mr. Malloy,” Charlotte said, hoping she sounded suitably disinterested as she looked anywhere but up at Eliza.
“No, of course not. He’s made that evident tonight, despite all your high-falutin’ slicking yourself up. On the other hand, word has it that he has been staying with you, in your house.”
Charlotte said nothing in reply, still not looking at the petite blond.
“Just the two of you, alone,” Eliza prodded once more, and Charlotte could tell the woman was dying to pile on the agony.
“On the contrary,” Charlotte said at last, standing up, “the children are there with us. And where’s your young doctor this evening? Away studying? Unable to accompany you, as usual?” Charlotte asked, sounding as catty as she felt. Eliza had far too much time on her hands and spent it concerning herself with other people’s business.
“It seems to me you’d best be worrying about your own man and how many young ladies he might be meeting at that school in San Francisco.”
Charlotte pushed past her and hurried out of the barn’s side door, not wanting to hear any more of Eliza’s petty comments. There was no doubt that if there was an eligible bachelor in town, Eliza would have only to beckon her finger, what with her shining blond curls and periwinkle blue eyes. What on earth was the woman trying to prove?
All Charlotte had ever tried to do was stay out of everyone’s way. The world had come knocking at her door, not the other way around. And even for that, she was paying a price.
She came to a halt by the large oak tree that overshadowed the barn and the town livery. No one knew how old it was but everyone in Spring City had, at one time or another, climbed its branches as a child or sat in its shade as an adult. Charlotte now rested against it, closing her eyes and feeling comforted by its solidity at her back.
And then suddenly Reed was there. She sensed it even before she opened her eyes and saw him approaching, already only yards away. No doubt he’d followed her. She sighed.
Everything had changed. Everything. And she could not in good conscience meet him here alone by this tree while his fiancée was close by. Charlotte tried to walk past, but he was too quick, gripping hold of her arm and backing her up against the tree.
“Let me go. For goodness sake, Mrs. Belgrave is on the other side of that wall.”
He didn’t release her and she tried again, “For the sake of my reputation.”
Reed dropped her arm immediately. “You are keeping close company with John,” he muttered into the silence.
“Blazes!” she swore with exasperation. “Do not try to tell me that you’re feeling jealous over my dancing with your associate while you’re spending the evening with your fiancée!” She moved past him. “This whole thing is preposterous.” Charlotte realized her primary feeling was one of betrayal.
“Will you listen a moment?” His hand touched her shoulder again.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she told him. She was as angry as a cornered badger and felt like a fool, to boot. The last thing she wanted to do was chat with him. But as she moved, he reached for her again, pulling her toward him.
She struggled for a few seconds, hating her treacherous body that still clamored for him and seemed to burn where his hands held her upper arms. She pressed her hands against his shoulders and pushed.
“If you don’t stay still and listen, Charlotte, I’ll kiss you.”
It was the oddest threat she’d ever heard, but it bespoke how well he already knew her, or at least knew her reactions to him. For it stilled her. She could only stare up at him, wanting even then the fiery heat of his mouth, knowing how her nerve endings would jangle in response and that she would feel as if she was flying. It was humiliating.
Her salvation came from an unlikely source. Helen Belgrave appeared at the door. Reed saw the look on Charlotte’s face as she caught sight of the woman over his shoulder. He turned to see his fiancée’s face contorted with rage, but when his gaze returned to Charlotte, his face was impassive.
“You will hear me out later,” he vowed before dropping his hold on her and allowing her to step away from the tree.
Charlotte took this opportunity to flee. She ignored Mrs. Belgrave’s frosty glare and slipped around behind the building to reach her wagon. She had already hitched Alfred when John Trelaine came upon her.
“Excuse my rudeness, Mr. Trelaine, but I am done for the evening.” She had seen Reed leave without a backward glance, his hand on Helen Belgrave’s elbow, no doubt escorting her to the hotel.
“May I see you home?” John asked. She returned a grateful smile to his pleasant but weary face. He had been an impeccable escort all evening despite his lengthy journey.
“I assure you that I am perfectly able to get myself and the children home.”
After extracting a promise that she would drive at a steady pace straight home, he’d bid her good night and headed to the hotel. By the time she had corralled the children into the wagon, Thomas was yawning broadly, already closing his eyes, and Lily, curled up next to him, was about to join in him slumber.
Holding on to the side rail, Charlotte lifted her skirts and placed one satin-clad foot on the running board when, abruptly, strong hands at her waist lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather. For a second, she thought John had returned, but then she knew, even before she took her seat and turned to face him.
Reed looked up at her.
“Ready to go?”
She stared down at him, mouth open slightly. Then she closed it with a snap. He just looked at her, waiting for her to move over or to speak. She chose the latter.
“Have you taken leave of your senses? Or are you just completely insensitive?” Her own voice sounded loud and shrill in the gathering darkness, but she was at the end of her rope.
“Neither. I brought you here and I’m taking you home. And may I remind you that the children are sleeping.”
She lowered her voice slightly. “I have been driving myself from home to town and home again for over a decade. I believe I can manage without your assistance. I urge you to go to the hotel and to your fiancée, Mr. Malloy.”
After all, she thought, that’s what this is all about. It didn’t matter that John Trelaine had told her Reed purposefully came all the way to Spring City just to meet her. He had misled her in more than one instance.
“Mrs. Belgrave is safely ensconced in Fuller’s finest accommodations, Miss Sanborn, and now I intend to see you safely home, as well.”
“Besides,” he added, “all of my things are at your house.”
Charlotte was tempted to say, “Hard luck,” and drive off, but she didn’t. She would never know why she moved over to let him onto the seat beside her, but she did. He swung himself up, and Charlotte scooted sideways even farther when his warm thigh pressed hers. There wasn’t much room to move, but she intended to keep as much distance as possible between her and the man who had too easily touched her heart.
“I thought perhaps I’d be too late, that John would have seen you home,” he said evenly, as they started out of town.
“He offered,” Charlotte returned, her voice equally steady, while sitting ramrod straight. “But I declined. He was extremely tired after escorting your worried fiancée halfway across the world to find you.”
That closed the conversation for the ride home. Eight minutes of pure, hellacious silence, if she had her way. Charlotte couldn’t help but glance up at the windows of the hotel as they passed, and wondered if Reed had given Mrs. Belgrave a good night kiss when he’d taken her to her room.
Still, she thought with some small satisfaction, he could have stayed with his fiancée, if he’d wanted. No one in Boston would ever have known of that breach of propriety out here in the untamed west.
If he’d w
anted, she repeated to herself and felt better despite the strained stillness between them that she enforced by turning her face away from him.
Now, she just wanted to get home and remove the ridiculous party dress and silk stockings that had not even put her in Helen Belgrave’s league, and then, with the covers pulled up over her head, try to forget the entire evening.
Chapter Twelve
Reed was not going to let her slip quietly away to her room. After they’d tucked the children in bed, he half asked, half dragged Charlotte out onto the front porch, into the cool night air. He sat on the swing and pulled her down beside him, her dress billowing about both their legs before settling.
“I’m sorry this happened,” he blurted out, and it was the first time Charlotte had ever seen Reed less than composed, except at the mines.
“You’re sorry for what exactly?” she asked, her voice low with weariness. In truth, she was not up to the anger that she felt; she was as tired as the children, though for different reasons.
“Perhaps you’re sorry your fiancée arrived before you finished what you came here to do. Or are you just sorry you didn’t tell me that you had a fiancée before she arrived?”
“I’m deeply sorry that you are hurt. I never meant to mislead you, Charlotte.”
She laughed then, leaning her head against the swing and looking up at the stars.
“No, I mean it, Charlotte. I was going to tell you about my situation with Mrs. Belgrave the other night,” he paused, “and, of course, we were going to talk tomorrow, but we just ran out of time.”
His situation with Mrs. Belgrave. What an odd way to describe an engagement—though according to John Trelaine, it wasn’t a traditional engagement at all.
Charlotte closed her eyes against the winking stars, remembering Reed saying there was something he wanted to tell her, just before he fell asleep on the sofa the night before. But he should have told her before the very first kiss out on the grass.
An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) Page 13