The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set

by Sydney Jane Baily

  In truth, she would love to be able to accept his proposal—if only she were certain she could win his whole heart and not just captivate his desires. As if reading her changing emotions, Reed took her hand and pulled her down next to him onto the sofa once more.

  "Of course, I have trouble thinking of you as a stranger." His voice was even again, and it seemed he, too, had regained his good humor. The feeling of his thigh pressed against her own ignited the quick passion that seemed never far from the surface when they were together.

  He leaned toward her, and she closed her eyes. A moment later, his lips were on hers, tenderly at first then more insistently. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him closely.

  "Marry me, Charlotte," he whispered against her mouth.

  She shook her head, and he pulled away. He stared at her, his eyes searching her face from her earnest eyes to her kissable lips. Then Reed sighed.

  "Coffee?" he offered half-heartedly.

  She nearly laughed, so surprised by the trivial question. "No," she said, feeling drained by the mountains and valleys of their conversation. "I should return to the library, before someone disturbs my research materials."

  "Tell me what time you'll be finished, and I'll give you a ride in my carriage." He stopped her when she started to protest. "I know, you said last night that the evening is promised to Alicia, but I can at least see you safely home. Why don't you just use the telephone to reach me at my office when you're ready."

  Her expression told it all.

  "I didn't think you'd remembered," he said, unable to keep from smiling as she held her flushed cheeks. "I'm sure the library has a telephone, and of course, we've had one at my office for a few years. Next time you are behind schedule, lady writer, you might try it."

  Of all the stupidity, she muttered to herself, letting him help her into his carriage a few minutes later. But reconsidering, Charlotte was glad she had not thought about using the telephone; she might have cancelled their lunch outright if she hadn't seen Reed in person.

  She might have missed out on an extraordinary afternoon with the man she was falling so deeply in love with, the man who had asked her to marry him, the man with whom she could not assume anything. And, of course, there was still the mysterious Celia.

  * * *

  Back at her table in the library, she tried to outline her article as she scanned her notes. Criminal reform, mental health institutions...

  Her talent was in gathering what was usually right in front of people's noses and synthesizing the facts so they clearly and comprehensively explained the overall story from beginning to end.

  Charlotte found, however, that it was now impossible for her to concentrate on anything except Reed's oddly pragmatic proposal. She carefully made a list of her sources and then left the library. She needed solitude, but she had one more place to go before her work was done for the day.

  Despite a swift ride down Pleasant Street and across the Port Point Channel into South Boston, it was nearly four o'clock when she arrived at the Lunatic Hospital, Boston's only institution for the insane within the city limits.

  Taking in the size of the building, Charlotte decided that the best she could do, given the late hour, was set up an appointment with the head doctor and perhaps get an idea of which, if any, criminals they housed there.

  However, after she gave her name and her reason for visiting, she was met not by a doctor but by the institution's superintendent, George Mason.

  Squat of stature and thick of neck, the man with hard black eyes neither invited her into his office nor even offered her a chair. He simply started walking her down the long tiled hallway that smelled strongly of lye. Charlotte put her gloved hand to her nose and hurried after the superintendent.

  "I'm afraid it's impossible for you to come in here and talk to anyone," he said, his voice as grating as an unoiled wagon wheel. She practically had to run to keep up with him, as his heels clicked at a fast pace along the cheerless corridor.

  "I don't understand, Mr. Mason."

  He seemed to sneer as she tried her best to maintain professional neutrality.

  "What is unclear to you, Miss Sanborn?"

  "This hospital has a reputation as the hub of reform and experimental cures. Furthermore, it is a public institution, run by the state. The courts commit people here to be cured of their insanity and return to their regular lives in the midst of all of Boston's citizens. I don't see how you can say it is off limits to journalists."

  "I am in charge here," he said. "I can answer any questions you have about the inmates. But not today. You'll have to return another time. In any case, you don't need to see the head doctor; he's a busy man." They reached the large double doors at the side of the building. Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to be put off.

  "Is that what you call them, Mr. Mason?"

  "What?" he looked bored and distracted.

  "Inmates. I'd assumed they'd be considered patients."

  He shrugged. That nearly destroyed the last of Charlotte's professionalism. She felt her cheeks turn red. "Is there a problem with my finding out the answers to a few questions?"

  "Such as?" Mason's impatient look was changing to one of annoyance.

  Charlotte pulled out her notebook and quickly scanned her list of questions. "I'll need to know about the types of patients, the general length of their stay, and how many are consigned here by the courts for violent crimes, as opposed to, say, intemperance. And if there are any voluntary admissions or placements by concerned family members."

  The superintendent seemed to think the idea of voluntary institutionalization rather humorous and showed his yellowed teeth in his version of a smile. It made Charlotte cringe to think of being under this man's control for any length of stay.

  "Now, why would a pretty lady like yourself want to know all about such downright depressing things? Some of them are here for unspeakable, vile reasons." He showed his teeth again at her shocked face. "Why, I bet there are plenty of other subjects you could be writing about, such as—"

  "Mr. Mason," she interrupted, unwilling to listen to him roll off his version of suitable topics. "I'm going to have to insist on an appointment with the head doctor. If you think it would be useful for me to ask you a few questions, then I'd be pleased to speak with you in a separate interview." She glanced at her pocket watch as if assessing its accuracy.

  "In any case, I'll be back at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. And I assure you, if you turn me away, I'll return the following day and the day after and the day after that, as well. The good people of Boston will hear about it if you persist in putting me off."

  His yellow sneer became more of a grimace. "There's no need to get in a pucker, Miss Sanborn. I didn't realize how important this was to you. You simply caught me by surprise. But not tomorrow," he repeated, looking thoughtful.

  "The inmates are exercised and given all manner of treatment on Wednesday. There wouldn't be any time for you to speak with the doctor. But the next day." He stroked his chin. "Yes, Thursday will be fine." He turned on his heel and headed back along the hallway without even a good day.

  Charlotte stood still and watched him go. What an oaf! Then she let her shoulders droop. It had been quite a day. She could take the cabriolet straight home and send word to Reed, or she could stop at the library and use the telephone as promised. She smiled to herself. As if there was any choice when she could spend a few more minutes with Reed.

  The driver returned her to the library where she was surprised but relieved to spot Reed's black clarence out front. She was more than ready to have a quiet ride home. She paused beside the carriage, but Reed was nowhere to be seen and his driver, Forbes, was dozing on top. Perhaps she would climb inside to wait and surprise him.

  Charlotte opened the door and then stepped back in astonishment. For lounging inside was none other than Helen Belgrave.

  Chapter 23

  "You!" came a petulant tone from the depths of the clare
nce, and then Helen Belgrave exited the carriage, dressed in a form-fitting pink and white striped dress. Her parasol matched the outfit, as did her hat. To Charlotte, she looked like a peppermint sweet.

  "What do you mean by throwing open the door to Reed's carriage? Don't you know that personal, private activities go on inside?"

  Charlotte didn't bother to respond to that. Instead, she asked, "Where's Reed?"

  "Not even the pretense of 'Mr. Malloy'?" Helen said, adjusting her hat with one hand. "Really, you're going to give it all away, my dear Charlotte, and one day, it will be in front of the wrong person." She ended with a small pout on her lips and a shrug.

  Thinly veiled threats again, Charlotte thought. "Helen, this is becoming tiresome. Did you ride over with Reed, or not?"

  Helen merely smiled. She was obviously not going to give away anything. Charlotte turned on her heel.

  "Fine. Tell Reed that I have made other arrangements to get home." She walked off. Now, why did she bother to say that to Helen? She knew the woman wasn't going to pass on any message from her, not even to save her own life.

  Charlotte started off at a brisk pace but soon slowed as she realized her feet were aching. It had been a long day, and to top it off by encountering Helen in Reed's carriage! It was just enough to make her savage as a meat ax. Yet, she had to believe what he'd told her earlier. There was an explanation as to why Helen was there in his carriage, but it was irksome in any case.

  By the time she caught sight of Jason's carriage dogging her steps, she would have welcomed a ride from the devil himself.

  "You are out walking late, dear Charlotte," Jason called out to her, before making his driver halt the horses. She turned a weary smile toward him.

  "Yes, and I've had a fairly full day." She gratefully took hold of his hand and stepped up into the plum-colored coach. "Heaven must have sent you to rescue my feet."

  She didn't care if it was proper as she rested her balmoral-clad feet on the seat opposite while Jason's driver secured the door. Jason sat down, casting an eye on her shoes beside him before bestowing a friendly glance on Charlotte.

  "Heaven, apparently, has put you in my path," he agreed. "Unfortunately, other rescuers were also sent."

  She raised her eyebrows, uncomprehendingly. He sighed, looking older than she had seen before.

  "I believe I just spotted the ever-professional Mr. Malloy, scoping from his vehicle probably for your very person. Were you expecting a ride from him?"

  "I was, yes," Charlotte admitted, sitting up straighter in her seat. Reed had seen her get into Jason's carriage. That would annoy him. Then she thought of Helen reclining on Reed's black leather seat like a candy waiting to be tasted, and she added, "But his carriage was a little too full."

  She couldn't help the venom in her voice. Helen Belgrave was as bothersome as a wasp in summer. If Reed was annoyed, so be it.

  Jason made no comment. He simply cocked his head to one side and tapped the carriage's ceiling with his walking stick.

  As they began to roll, he smiled. "Nevertheless, we were seen, so I suppose I have to take you home after all."

  "Well, of course," Charlotte said, though something about Jason seemed odd. "Where else would you take me?"

  She started to remove her feet from the seat, but he put a restraining hand over her skirts and she was forced to leave her legs where they were.

  He smiled. "Yes, where indeed?"

  * * *

  She was beyond happy to get home. Charlotte meant it when she told Alicia there was no place she'd prefer to be than in their parlor, her feet up on an overstuffed tuffet, and drinking a cup of very strong tea.

  "How about a glass of wine instead?" Alicia asked.

  Charlotte smiled. "Even better." Everything was perfect. She could hear the children playing in the garden, and momentarily, they would all go in to dinner. Yes, it was perfect—except for the specter of Reed in her head asking her to marry him. And for every reason except the one she longed to hear. Seriously! Marry him without a declaration of love? The man needed a good shaking.

  "What is it, my girl? You seem preoccupied."

  "It was an eventful day, Aunt. But I don't want to think about it. I'm trying hard not to, in fact." She paused, looking at her aunt's face; there was something so familiar in it. "Tell me about my mother," she said at last.

  "Tell you what, dear?"

  "Anything, something distracting. Some story of when you were young girls together, something I don't know."

  And they passed a pleasant evening. When she climbed into bed that night, she kept an eye on her balcony door, half expecting Reed to show up. After all, whatever else was between them—or in the case of love, perhaps not between them—there was one thing they did flawlessly and without misunderstanding, without even needing to speak. Eventually, she fell asleep.

  Unable to return to the Lunatic Hospital the next day, Charlotte was at a loose end. She brushed Lily's hair and let Lacey teach her how to braid it; she taught Thomas to play cat's cradle, and even showed Bridget how to perform a western jig, which turned out to be similar to the maid's own folk dancing.

  After lunch, she had to get outside. She took a walk up one side of the Common and down the other, unintentionally ending up near the business district. She hesitated on the corner of Scollay Square. Part of her wanted to go to Reed's office, maybe just to see him for a moment, maybe to have a heart-to-heart talk. Part of her wanted to run and hide.

  She exhaled slowly. Her overwhelming feeling was confusion. How could he be so intelligent and yet so dimwitted at the same time? Did he truly want her—Charlotte Sanborn, from Spring City—as his bride? Or was he just fond of the idea that she was not from Boston and, therefore, not the same as the other women he professed to know?

  Unable to contain a big sigh, Charlotte returned the smile of an older lady who passed by, and then realized she must look a veritable simpleton, standing still and staring into the distance.

  "I am a ninny," she said to herself, turning around and heading past Boston's oldest burial ground where the rich and famous enjoyed their eternal slumber. With her head down, feeling as though she wanted to turn off her brain for just a little while, she had barely gone five steps when she bumped into the very man himself.

  "One thing I should tell you about living in the city," Reed said, crossing his arms as he stopped to look at a flustered Charlotte, "is that you have to look where you're going."

  She thought of his proposal. She thought of Helen. She thought of the unknown Celia. She touched her bonnet to make sure it was still in place, giving her a moment to stay the words that wanted to start bubbling out of her mouth like water from a fountain. Don't babble, she warned herself.

  "I apologize for treading on your foot, Reed."

  He didn't smile. "I've sustained no injury. But I'm surprised to see you walking. You have a penchant for a certain ridiculous violet-colored vehicle, don't you?"

  So he had seen her get into Jason's carriage. And it had irritated him as she'd suspected it would. Charlotte blushed, wishing she could stop the guilty-looking color from rising to her cheeks.

  "I needed a ride. Mr. Farnsworth was kind enough to give me one."

  "I offered you a ride. Surely, you don't think your aunt would find it any less improper for you to be driving around unchaperoned with Farnsworth than she would with me."

  "I guess that depends on the chaperone. And I didn't particularly care for the one you'd chosen."

  Reed narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  "The ever-present Mrs. Belgrave." She wished she didn't sound so peevish whenever she mentioned the woman.

  He shrugged. "You are talking in riddles. It is always back to Helen, no matter how many times I tell you that she means nothing to me. I have not had the same assurance from you regarding Farnsworth. I know he has kissed you."

  She blanched.

  "Yes, that's the exact look that told me so. Was he familiar with you yesterda
y in his carriage?"

  Her mind went immediately to Jason's hand across her ankles. Her eyes widened.

  "Damnation, Charlotte," Reed swore. "I am not a man to give up, but I am being sorely tested."

  He walked past her, not looking at her again. Not even saying goodbye. She watched his tall figure moving rigidly away, and she felt physically sick. Disregarding the other people strolling the path, she called out to him.

  "Reed Malloy, don't you walk away from me." Please.

  He stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around. Perhaps he was weighing his options, she thought. Was it worth it to turn and face her? Was she worth the trouble?

  He had offered her his hand in marriage, Charlotte reminded herself. She could certainly take the first step. She took one, then another.

  "Reed," she said again, more steadily.

  He turned, but his face was still forbidding. She walked closer until she was only an arm's length away. She looked up earnestly into his blue gaze.

  "Jason did not kiss me in his carriage yesterday. He took me by surprise one evening, perhaps he was a bit in his cups." She hesitated, remembering the feeling of repulsion. "I didn't like it, and I would never let him do that again."

  "Does he know that?" Reed asked, his voice quiet, his tone flat.

  "I... I think so," Charlotte returned. What exactly had she said to Jason?

  "You think so! Yet you are exceedingly clear when telling me you cannot accept my proposal of marriage."

  "Reed—"

  "You are playing with a grown man."

  She thought he meant himself, but then he added, "If you get into Farnsworth's carriage, you are signaling to him—"

  "Yours was otherwise occupied," she stated, but then added, "I'm starting to think you didn't know that."

  His blank face confirmed her suspicions.

  "Helen was in your carriage at the library."

  It looked like dawn breaking over a rough ocean as he comprehended the situation.

  "She was not in it by my invitation, Charlotte." He took her hand in his. "I swear it."

  "I believe you." Truly, she had known this all along.