She folded up the letter and returned it to her bag. Charlotte's first emotion had been anger that her aunt would listen to rumors, especially when she realized the only possible source had to be Helen Belgrave. No one else with eastern connections, except possibly John Trelaine, knew where Reed had stayed during his visit to Spring City, and no one else would particularly care.
She alone had had to grapple with the worry after her uninhibited night with Reed—until two weeks after his departure when she'd received her monthly flow and knew that the only serious repercussion of their union was the melancholy of her heart.
As she watched the children finish their ice creams, Charlotte knew that going east to face her aunt was the right decision. Ann Connors had thought her cousin's life suitable for her own children, but perhaps Ann thought a writer lived a more interesting existence, more in touch with the centers of advancement and learning, in a real city even—not a small, dried up town that had outlived its usefulness as a miner's haven.
Perhaps Alicia Randall could give the children a better start in life—or perhaps Charlotte could do that herself in Boston, if she could prove to her aunt that she was fit to raise them.
However, when she ran into Reed Malloy, as she surely would, it was going to be far harder to maintain a semblance of propriety where he was concerned. And what if she liked it there? Then, Charlotte supposed, she'd put down roots and stay.
As she settled in her seat, she hoped she wasn't fooling herself, using Alicia Randall's threat as an excuse to follow Reed Malloy. After all, he had warned her that her aunt might contest the will and that, in all likelihood, the older woman would lose. Charlotte knew she really should have nothing to worry about. But had Reed taken into account the possibility of their brief impropriety reaching Alicia's ears, not to mention a judge's?
* * *
Charlotte went over and over the questions in her head, for three long days. They took the Topeka & Santa Fe railroad to St. Louis, seeing Dodge City, the capital of the cattle industry, and Kansas City along the way.
At St. Louis, Charlotte might have rested a day, but all she could think about was Helen Belgrave having stopped in that town to see her sister; and now the woman was spreading malicious tales, albeit true, possibly all over Boston.
She and the children kept moving, taking the Baltimore & Ohio railroad to the east coast. They chugged through Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York.
By the time they reached Boston's Providence Railroad depot, Charlotte felt ready to take on Reed Malloy, Helen Belgrave, and Aunt Alicia. Unfortunately, none of the three appeared to meet them at the station.
She chided herself for not getting confirmation of her telegram. What if no one knew they were here? She'd be forced to make her way with the children and their trunks all the way across town to Beacon Hill. She didn't even know how to secure a brougham or how much it would cost.
Just as her fears were mounting, she spotted the familiar figure of John Trelaine coming toward them through the bustling crowd like an answer to her prayers.
"Thank goodness I didn't miss you, Miss Sanborn," he said, taking the carpet bag she was carrying. "I was held up in traffic. I have my coach waiting."
"That is most kind of you," Charlotte said. "I was not expecting you to meet us." Since she did not want to say whom she was expecting, she closed her mouth.
"How was your journey?" he asked politely.
"Long and tiring. We couldn't get a hotel car on such short notice but we did secure a sleeper. It was an adventure, to say the least." She looked down at her charges. They resembled how they looked the day Reed first showed up on her doorstep—weary and slightly dusty, yet without that desperately lost look. Instead, they were bolstered by enthusiasm.
"I assume you've got baggage?" John's voice broke into her thoughts.
"Yes, a fair amount, I'm afraid." The children giggled at this. They had insisted on bringing much of what had been sent out to Spring City only a few weeks earlier, not wanting to be without many of their belongings again.
"I'll speak with the porter, and we'll get it all sent to your aunt's. That is where you intend to stay, is it not?"
She assured him that he was correct, and in a flash, he had sorted everything out with the porter. Another vehicle was procured to take their trunks straight to Alicia's residence on Chestnut Street.
"Mrs. Randall contacted my office and apologized for not coming herself, but she is not up to all the commotion."
"Oh, that's all right, Mr. Trelaine," she smiled at him, "We'll be under her scrutiny soon enough."
He offered her a sympathetic glance. They were traveling at a slow pace through the city, passing parks and long avenues. The streets were all cobblestone. Not a dirt road in sight, thought Charlotte. And the sidewalks were solid granite! From the train window, she felt she'd seen enough wonders to last a lifetime, but now, the whole city was a new and exciting adventure for her to explore at her leisure. That reminded her of the man who had offered to show her his home town.
"I half expected Mr. Malloy to meet us, given his interest in the children," she mentioned, hoping not to sound too disappointed.
John looked uncomfortable for a moment, appearing to be exceptionally interested in their route. He pointed out the dome of the State House as they approached Beacon Hill.
"Only recently covered in gold leaf," he added, as the sun struck it, momentarily dazzling them. Charlotte was already so overwhelmed by the height of the buildings—many of them over five stories—that she merely put her hand up to shield her eyes. Then he cleared his throat.
"The truth is Miss Sanborn, Reed never received your telegram. He had already left town when it arrived."
"In that case, I appreciate your intercepting it and coming to the station." Boston had lost a little of its appeal now that she knew Reed was away.
"Miss Sanborn—" he began.
"Please, call me Charlotte."
"Only if you will call me John."
The children, sitting quietly on the seat opposite laughed at this exchange, and Reed's partner flushed. He started again.
"Charlotte, there is more. Reed was on his way to Spring City."
"Whatever for?" she asked, the absurd image of their trains passing each other on the open prairie popped into her head. And her heart started to beat a little faster. Anything to do with business, Reed would have handled by telegraph or correspondence.
"I'm afraid there is nothing more I can tell you. Reed will explain when he returns, I'm sure."
Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but was startled by a harsh voice in her ear: "Scissors to grind!" Her head snapped to her right to see a small man with gnarled hands and a portable grinder on the pavement, very close to the carriage, plying his trade of blade sharpening. She took a deep breath, but John didn't let her speak.
"Please don't ask me any questions, Charlotte. I must insist. I know it would not sit well with Reed were I to say anything more. Not that I know anything more." He was silent again as his driver maneuvered their carriage through the traffic.
"I have endeavored to reach Reed by leaving messages at stations along the route, and he is probably already on his way back." The coach made another swift turn onto a small street that sloped gently upward.
"Grandma's," Lily burst out, recognizing her surroundings as the horses pulled them steadily up Chestnut Street, and there wasn't time for any more questions.
Charlotte looked along the discreetly elegant street with all the homes pressed closely together. It had brick sidewalks and gaslights at every corner.
About halfway up the incline, their carriage halted, and she gazed at the narrow but imposing four-story brick structure that Lily pointed out as Alicia Randall's. At a second-story window, Charlotte was certain she saw the heavy rose-colored curtains move aside and then close once more.
Knowing that her family had never been welcome there after her mother married her father, Charlotte wondered what her reception woul
d be now. Alicia was her mother's older sister by twelve years, but she was also a stranger. Still, they'd come all this way; it was hardly the time to hesitate.
Moments later, she climbed the six steps to the arched front door, which opened before they had time to knock. They were ushered in to the pink marble entry hall by a stooped and grizzled man with enormous white eyebrows.
To him, Charlotte said a quiet "Good day."
Beyond the butler, coming down the stairs was Alicia Randall, short in stature, slightly broad around her waist and hips, and dressed in black crepe out of respect for the loss of her daughter. She looked nearly exactly as Charlotte had expected—except for her gray-streaked hair styled high upon her head, with ringlets and curls that were clearly not her own, spiraling down the sides. The impression was at odds with the conservative Bostonian Charlotte had envisioned from her aunt's letters.
As she got closer, it was Alicia's eyes that captured Charlotte's attention, flashing in the same vivid green as her own and as her mother's.
"Charlotte, dear," her aunt said, extending a hand.
Charlotte grasped it in both her own as her aunt leaned forward to kiss the air between them.
"You do have the look of my sister, poor sweet girl that she was. I have never forgiven your father for taking Regina away to that barbaric Colorado territory."
It didn't seem to be an auspicious opening, and Charlotte braced herself and replied, "It was her choice to marry my father, and her choice to go." She tried not to sound disrespectful, but she wanted to make it firm, from the start, that she would not tolerate hearing her father abused. She knew he had tried his best and had loved her mother dearly.
"He always spoke highly of you, Aunt Alicia," she added, stretching the truth like warm caramel.
"Yes, I'm sure. He knew a good woman when he saw one," her aunt said, mollified. "Let me see these children." They moved shyly forward and stood in front of her, lined up as apparently they had been taught to do.
"Hm. Lillian, I think you have grown."
Charlotte almost laughed. The older lady's tone bordered on disapproval as if the girl had done so without permission.
"Thomas, you are the spitting image of your father." That was sweet Charlotte thought, until Alicia added, "I don't know how I shall bear it."
"Now, are you all famished? I've held up the midday meal for you, so everyone, upstairs to wash up." Alicia clapped her hands together as she discharged her orders. "We'll be eating in the dining room in fifteen minutes. Gerald, show my niece and my grandchildren to their rooms," she added, turning to the old man.
Charlotte let herself be ordered around for the moment, only wishing that John had stayed for the meal instead of begging off with pressing business. She walked behind the shuffling Gerald, up the gently curving staircase at the end of the foyer and along a hallway, lined on one side by paintings and on the other was the stairs to the next level.
She insisted on seeing the children's rooms first, and they climbed up to the third floor. Reed had been correct about her aunt's lack of understanding for childlike frivolity.
If the rooms in Spring City had been basic at best, Alicia Randall's idea of a child's room was downright grim. The dark furniture with heavy bed hangings, even heavier curtains, and dark-patterned wallpaper did nothing to inspire youthful warmth and welcome. As soon as they unpacked their trunks after lunch, their own things would brighten up the staid rooms, Charlotte assured herself.
Gerald was standing at the bottom of the stairs when she descended. He led her along the hallway, opening the door to her room and gesturing her inside with his gloved hand.
"Miss," he said, with a slight bow.
She stepped inside and turned to thank him, but the door was already clicking closed. She surveyed her surroundings and whistled, sounding as Reed had done when seeing her in her emerald green dress.
To say it was grand would be an understatement. Unlike Thomas who had hurled himself into the middle of his large canopied bed, Charlotte was afraid to sit on the silk cover that had nary a wrinkle.
Placing her best bonnet and her mantlet across the heart-shaped chair by one window, she went out onto the private balcony that led off her bedroom through paned doors.
She was glad to see she was at the rear of the house overlooking the small garden and the brick stables and carriage house. What a peaceful place it looked, though right now, there was no time to linger.
She went inside and looked at herself in the mirror above the mahogany dresser. On it was an ivory-handled comb, which she used to tidy stray wisps of hair that had come down from her inelegant topknot.
There was cool water in the chamber set's pretty flowered pitcher, and she poured some into the large bowl residing on its own mahogany stand. After washing her face and hands, she patted her hair once more, this time with damp hands, and then went downstairs.
Directed by Bridget, her aunt's personal maid, Charlotte headed to the dining room; she could hear that the children were already there, regaling their grandmother with tales of the west. As she entered the room, with its enormous fireplace and huge crystal chandelier, she cringed to hear them talking about Reed and her dancing.
"How interesting," Alicia said, her eyes fixed on Charlotte who sat down next to Thomas at the highly polished table.
Charlotte returned her gaze without flickering. If this was to be a test of wills, she would not bow, not even to her imperious aunt who was seated so regally at the head of the table. Lily sat opposite Charlotte on her grandmother's left, and a young woman about sixteen years old was busy serving the food.
"I've invited a new acquaintance of mine to tea tomorrow afternoon," Alicia said.
Charlotte smiled politely, wiping gravy off Thomas's chin, while a serving girl filled her coffee cup. "Thank you, ah..."
"Lacey, ma'am," the girl responded, her thick Irish brogue sounding exotic to Charlotte's ears.
"Yes, I believe you've met her," Alicia continued.
It was the way she said her that gained all of Charlotte's attention and clued her in as to whom the guest might be. Inwardly she groaned, but outwardly, she continued to fuss with Thomas, letting nothing show.
Alicia looked peeved that she didn't ask, but that didn't stop her from saying in a triumphant voice, "Yes, a Mrs. Helen Belgrave, a congenial woman who recently came calling. I believe she is a friend of my late daughter's lawyer."
"Yes, I believe so," was all Charlotte said. So, the inquisition would start almost immediately, and Alicia was bringing in the star witness.
Despite a sinking feeling, she managed to drink her coffee, eat a small piece of roast beef, and push a mincemeat tart around her plate; the children chattered incessantly about Spring City, the train ride, and every thought that popped into their heads.
"The children should probably have a rest and then we can unpack," Charlotte said, pushing out her chair.
"Tomorrow, they're going to show me their city. Isn't that right, Lily?"
The little girl agreed, though her grandmother looked as if she would make some protest. Charlotte leveled her gaze on her. After all, she was their legal guardian, at least for the time being. However she could be kind about it.
"Would you care to accompany us?"
"Oh no, dear. Nothing out there I haven't seen before. We'll find something else we can do together, perhaps a carriage ride or the opera. I do want to spend time with you, dear," Alicia added, "and really get to know you."
And dig into my personal life as much as possible, Charlotte silently concluded, standing up and taking Thomas's hand.
"As for tomorrow's sightseeing," Alicia continued, "I must insist that you postpone it, at least for a day, my dear. We have much to do. First, we need to outfit you with a whole new set of clothing, appropriate for the city, posthaste by the look of it," she added with a glance over Charlotte from head to foot.
"And you'll need all sorts of accoutrements. At the end of the week, we're going to a little part
y at the Tremont House and—"
"A little party?" Charlotte repeated. The thought of being thrust so soon into Boston's society drove out of her head any question about what accoutrements she could possibly need.
"I confess, it's more of a ball. You do dance, don't you? Of course you do," Alicia added pointedly, no doubt reminded that her niece had been dancing in a barn. Then more wistfully, she added, "My sister was an excellent dancer." They exchanged a small smile.
"It is a special occasion, having Regina's oldest child finally come home after all these years," her aunt continued. "My friends are dying to meet you, and this is a splendid opportunity."
Charlotte had thought her aunt's welcome would be only lukewarm, yet she seemed to be rolling out a royal red carpet. And Charlotte could just see herself falling flat on that carpet—in front of all of Boston.
"Aunt Alicia, I don't think this is such a good idea. At least, not so soon."
"Balderdash," the older lady clucked, then her green eyes narrowed, "unless you have some good reason for not wanting to go out in genteel society?"
"Of course not," Charlotte said through gritted teeth. "However, the new clothes. I can hardly afford such an expense."
"Nonsense. It is my gift to you for all the missed years. You won't begrudge me the pleasure of doing this for my only sister's child."
Charlotte could hardly fight her on that. Besides, Alicia was batting her eyelids beseechingly. She sighed. "I suppose a new gown—"
"Good," Alicia cut in. "Now get going, you three. Bridget will get you settled. Take your naps. Lacey, you may clear." Having completed her orders, Alicia dismissed them all with a clap of her hands.
With a child on either side of her, Charlotte climbed the stairs. From mistress of my own house to jumping at Alicia's orders. And she was to be shown off at a party as though she was the latest spectacle from the mysterious Orient.
Lily yawned, and Charlotte squeezed her hand encouragingly as they started up the second set of stairs behind Bridget. Regardless of what Alicia put her through, Charlotte was certain in her heart that keeping the children was the right thing to do—whatever it took.
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 24