A British Bride by Agreement

by Stenzel, Therese

  “Decorating isn’t that easy especially when I’m required to employ the decorator that the Stellers always use.”

  Did she despise his family as well as him? “What’s wrong with Franz?”

  “Just because the Stellers like his weird tastes, doesn’t mean I have to.”

  Hot white disappointment crushed him. She never really wanted to marry him. She must have done it because she had no other choice. “He decorated the home I grew up in.”

  “Exactly, in early Bavarian.” Emma straightened her posture. “And I don’t happen to like deer antlers and furniture that looks like lederhosen.”

  “Don’t insult my family’s choices.” Jonathan rose and snatched his briefcase from the end of the table. “I’ve got to go into the office today—”

  “But it’s Saturday.”

  Regret weighed heavily on him. How could he explain, he had to succeed at this charity, otherwise he’d be stuck there forever. “Just for a few hours. I’ll see you at the Lindberg dinner tonight.”

  She scowled. “If you’re lucky.”

  ***

  Emma paced the covered deck off the family room and shivered in the early fall air. She couldn’t believe how horrible she’d acted this morning, but she couldn’t tell him what she’d done with the decorating money—he’d already been swindled by con artists. If she told him the whole story about why she sent the funds, he’d never care for her. At least in his anger, he’d forgotten to ask her what she wanted to tell him.

  If she only had some money of her own, then she could buy all the furnishing for their wing and Jonathan wouldn’t need to know what she had done. Should she pray about this? Maybe ask God what to do? Was this apple of His eye all her imagination?

  She fingered the gold chain Jonathan had bought for her in Munich. Gold. How much would it be worth? No, she wouldn’t bother God with this. Next week she’d find a jewelry broker’s shop to see if she could drudge herself out of this muddle. If she sold the necklace quietly, discreetly, surely everything would turn out fine.

  ***

  Wednesday morning, Jonathan frowned at the envelope from the private detective firm he hired before he asked Emma to marry him. What would they be sending him now? He’d gotten all the information he’d needed. As he scanned the new documents, a tight ball formed in the pit of his stomach.

  Montgomery and Lilith Waterhouse were confidence men. British for con artists.

  Montgomery was a proverbial bad egg. Line after line of accusations, improper handling of investments, dubious business practices, and connections with other businessmen of questionable reputation filled the papers.

  Montgomery Waterhouse has long enjoyed being a controversial figure in British society. Most notably having been involved in a cash for questions scandal having offered money to two conservative MPs who later left government under a haze of disgrace.

  Jonathan rubbed his eyes. No wonder Emma didn’t want any contact with her parents. He shook his head. What must it have been like to grow up with swindlers for parents?

  Swindlers.

  Shock rippled through his gut. No. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t. His mind couldn’t stop racing. It took a moment for him to allow his brain to consider such an awful possibility. Emma a con artist? Was that what she did with the money?

  He stood and paced his office. She’d been very distant lately. While his feelings for her were intensifying, she’d grown more remote. Could it be?

  No. No. No. His mind protested. He cared too deeply for her. He’d grown to love the idea of growing old with her. But now this? He had to confront her about this situation today. But even the thought of it made his stomach wrench. If the worse was true, his insides would snap. The media would get a hold of it. He would embarrass his family. Bring shame to the Steller name. He held his head in his hands. Please no.

  Once again, God had let him down.

  ***

  The next afternoon, Jonathan pulled his car into the drive behind the high wrought iron gates of the Steller estate and caught a glimpse of Emma walking from the garage, wearing a pair of very large sunglasses. He caught up to her and rolled down the window in his new car. “Need a ride?”

  Emma startled. “Jonathan. Why are you—I mean—lovely car.”

  “It was your idea.” His voice sounded guarded. He took a deep breath. Slow down, bud. He reached back and pulled a blanket off of a box full of deli food. “Lunch date? Want to join me for a picnic?”

  She paused.

  A ripple of fear snaked up his spine. She’s leaving you. She’s taken your money and going to run, whispered in his mind.

  “A picnic seems like a good scheme.” She hopped in the passenger seat and stared out her side window.

  “Great.” He cringed at her use of the word scheme. And despite the cool air, a gleam of perspiration covered her forehead. What was she hiding? He was convinced something was wrong. His hands gripped the steering wheel as his thoughts jumbled. A part of him wanted to pretend everything was fine. Go on a picnic, get to know this beautiful woman, fall in love, but 300,000 dollars was a lot of cash. He wouldn’t be swindled again.

  ***

  Emma tugged the wool blanket into place as Jonathan set the food and drink on the other end. The view over the valley was stark, with naked branches already losing their leaves. The beautiful green of the summer was almost gone, leaving a cold and desolate view. Despite having raised a little over 200,000 dollars at the sale of both her necklaces, there was no comfort in what she had done.

  Conviction weighed heavily upon her. Instead of praying about this situation or waiting on the Lord, she’d tried to solve it on her own and ended up deceiving Jonathan further. She risked a glance at him. He’d grown oddly quiet on the ride over to the far corner of the Steller property. Was his mind on work? Her palms felt clammy. She had to tell him something. But if he ever learned the whole truth, any hope of him caring for her would be over. Tears threatened. She’d grown to cherish him, admire him as a successful businessman, someone whose faith was obviously important to him, a man she cared deeply for. Adored.

  “What were you doing this morning?” He took a sip of orange soda and sat down on the blanket. He didn’t look at her, but kept busy taking the food out of the basket.

  Blinking back tears, she became equally obsessed with setting out napkins and laying plastic cutlery in precise rows. “I…went shopping, of sorts.”

  “Why did you send money to England?”

  Her heart stopped. She looked up at him through a haze of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  He gathered her into his arms.

  She pressed her cheek to his. “Forgive me. I wanted to tell you that my parents needed money, I just didn’t know how to explain it.”

  He gently rubbed tender circles on her back with his palms. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” He pulled her back from him. “You could have confided in me. Your family is now my family.”

  The look of intense relief on his face surprised her. But she could never tell him the entire story. That her brother’s life was at stake. His tender gaze would turn as hard as it did when he told her about losing the charity money. Fresh sobs welled in her throat. He could never know her completely. Only the parts that fit in with being a Steller wife. Pull it together, Duckie. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “My parents had a real estate deal go bad and they lost quite a bit of money. They needed funds to pull through. They’ll pay it back.”

  Even as the words pay it back hung between them she knew they never would. She held her breath. Would he ask for more information?

  He eyed her quietly for the briefest of seconds.

  Her heart thumped with each second that passed. And it may be a scam was poised on her lips when he crushed her to him again.

  “You had me so worried. I thought you might—well never mind. I’ll replenish the account and we’ll worry about your parents later.” His hands slipped up to cradle her face. “Don’t keep things from m
e.”

  She leaned into his palm. If he only knew…but the truth would kill their marriage.

  He kissed her lips. “You taste like honey.” He groaned.

  Melting into his arms, she was too overwhelmed to speak. She could taste the orange soda on his lips and smell the new woodsy cologne she’d bought him. The smell was intoxicating.

  Slowly he lowered her onto the blanket, kissing her neck and throat. His face felt smooth, as if he’d just shaved. She didn’t want it to end. Here in his arms she was his perfect wife. Everything he wanted her to be.

  “Are you happy?” His voice grew ragged.

  She kissed him back with an intensity she’d never known. “Yes.”

  “Are you glad to be Mrs. Steller?” He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow

  She stared into his blue eyes, wanting more than anything to unburden her heart. “Extremely.”

  “Is it lovely?” He tucked her hair behind her ear, the touch sending a chill down her spine.

  “Better than a cup of tea.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again.

  A sigh escaped her lips.

  She loved him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Emma hummed a song as she hung three more pictures in the breakfast room. Satisfied with the painted mountain landscapes, she took one more sip of her tea. It tasted funny, but she didn’t care. She loved Jonathan. The realization hit her in dizzy waves throughout the early morning. A part of her was scared to be in love, the other part longed to tell him, but she would wait for the perfect time.

  After organizing a row of toile plates on the wall, she set baskets of greenery on the windowsills. Pleased by the effect, she wondered if Jonathan had gotten the prints she’d ordered for his office. This decorating was becoming, in her own way, a means to show how much she loved him.

  At least now the family and the breakfast room were done. Which was good, because she was tired. Of course, that only left the den, the dining room, library, living room, game room, media room, two guest rooms that Babsy asked them to keep for visiting family from Germany, the master room, Jonathan’s home office, the exercise room and a mud room. She frowned. Where could she make a music room? The one she wanted to use to teach children to play piano. She tapped her lips.

  “Mrs. Steller.” Adele stuck her head around the open door.

  Emma spun around. “Yes.”

  “Your father is on the phone.”

  Her lungs emptied of air. She felt sick to her stomach. She slowly approached the phone, as if it were a snake. Why would he be calling her so early? He smelled money and he wanted more. Should she ask Adele to take a message? She pressed her eyes shut as she put the receiver to her ear, dreading what would come next. “Hello.”

  “Duckie. You’ve really come up in the world.”

  She leaned against the kitchen island. “And?”

  “How much does your lovely new husband know about your dear ol’ mum and dad?”

  She gripped the phone. “He knows nothing about your deplorable activities and I plan on keeping it that way.”

  “That’ll cost you.”

  Shock impaled her. “I’ve helped you for the last time.” She threw words at him like stones. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “We’re family, luv. Family helps each other.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a family anymore. Maybe I’ve made a new family. A family who does things the right way.”

  “Duckie, all I ask is for a million pounds. And then mum and dad go quietly away.”

  Fury almost choked her. She felt like she was going to throw up. “No.”

  “The St. Louis Post Dispatch will love hearing about my business pursuits and they’ll pay handsomely for it. I find that American newspapers love scandal even more than the English tabloids.”

  Panic welled in her throat. He wouldn’t. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. But then she remembered all the times he’d gloated over articles written about his unscrupulous activities in the press. Gritting her teeth, she forced the words from her lips. “I never want to hear from you again.”

  “One million pounds deposited into a Bahamian bank account, or I’ll talk to the papers.”

  Emma shook so hard, it took her three tries to get the phone back in the cradle. She slid to the floor. her eyes unable to focus. One million pounds to buy his silence.

  Her breathing came in gasps as panic welled up inside of her. Sweat slicked her back, her heart raced as she fought to maintain control. “Help me, Lord.” She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t face this on my own. Please help me.”

  She crawled over to the coffee table, needing the comfort of her Bible. Flipping it open to her favorite verse, she scanned through the pages. Her brow furrowed when she couldn’t find it until her eyes rested on, Guard me as the apple of your eye. She read further. Hide me in the shadow of your wings. Of course, this was just another way she was relying on her own strength. She had no idea how to handle this, but God did. “Oh, Lord, hide me—”

  “Emma? Are you home?”

  Emma stilled. Babsy? She quickly scurried behind the couch. How awful she must look. She wiped away her tears with her sleeve and smoothed back her hair. PJs? She grimaced. She was still wearing them.

  “Emma, are you dressed?” Babsy tapped on her bedroom door.

  Panicked, Emma’s gaze darted around, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for being behind the couch. Her eye caught the glimmer from her large hoop earring sitting on the side table. She reached up and grabbed it. Standing up she held it high. “Found it.”

  Her mother in law hugged her. “Oh, you’re all sweaty. Are you all right?”

  Emma tried threading the earring through her earlobe, but her hands shook too hard. “Just fine. Can I get you something?”

  Babsy eyed her with suspicion. “Are you sick in the mornings?”

  Emma shook her head yes. “Oh, it’s not—not what you’re thinking—”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell with the first one.”

  “A cup of tea?” Anything to change the subject.

  Babsy kept her gaze fixed on Emma until she clapped her hand across her mouth. “I almost forgot why I came so early. Next week, ten days from now, on a Friday it would be appropriate for you to host your first dinner at your home.” She reached in her purse. “I’ve made a short list of names, thirty-two to be exact who I think should be invited.”

  Emma wilted onto the upholstered chair. Her legs trembled. Could things get any worse? “Next week?”

  “Our family is expected to maintain a certain reputation for entertaining. I was thinking the night before the annual concert would be perfect. You honeymooners have been on your own enough. It’s time to be a Steller.” She glanced around the room. “Oh dear, is you furniture coming in this week? Has Franz been helping you?”

  Emma mouth opened, but no words came out. Yes, things could get worse.

  ***

  Jonathan flew out of his leather office chair and jabbed his finger in the air. “You’re right. I’d never hire you again.” He slammed down the phone and paced his dull gray carpet to calm his anger.

  Geraldine ran into the room. “What happened?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “The caterer I arranged two months ago for the Steller Benefit Concert just canceled.”

  Her eyes widened. Without saying a word, she laid a note on his desk and backed out of the room.

  He snatched up the paper. The orchestra he’d booked for the event cancelled due to a chance to play at a Cardinal baseball players gathering. Wading up the piece of paper, he tossed it across the room. What was he going to do? The concert was in a week and a half. This charity event was his mother’s pet project that raised a large portion of their funds and had been going on for twenty years. He couldn’t let her down.

  Geraldine buzzed him. “Mrs. Peterson—”

  Jonathan snatched up the phone. “I am not talking to that woman—”

&
nbsp; In his office doorway, dressed in a tweedy suit and a flattened hat, stood Mrs. Peterson.

  He slowly hung up the phone and straightened his tie. “Won’t you please have a seat?”

  Her forbidding frown didn’t bode well for him.

  “How can I help you?” He picked up a pen and held it between his hands.

  “I have been trying to tell you this concert won’t be a walk in the parking lot.”

  He started to correct her incorrect saying, but at her glaring stare thought better of it.

  She clutched her purse like a shield. “You have paid no heed to my warnings, so I rinse my hands from you.”

  He wasn’t in the mood for her confusion. “I think the saying actually goes—”

  “You’ve made your bed now you’ll have to lie with it.”

  He sighed. There was no point in arguing with her. “I’ll just have to make cake while the sun shines.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded as if that was the first sensible thing he’d said. “I’ve heard what’s going on. No caterer and no music. This event is in a graveyard of danger of not living up to your mother’s expectations.”

  He swallowed. His whole life was living up to expectations. “Well, take a number Mrs. Peterson. I’m getting very good at letting people down.”

  She stood and stared at him over her spectacles. “This will not only be letting your mother down, but all the aid organizations you support, all the needy people who depend on your charity’s generosity, and your family’s good reputation in St. Louis.”

  Jonathan snapped the pen in half. Ink dripped on the papers on his desk.

  After Mrs. Peterson left, he couldn’t concentrate on the letters he was supposed to be writing. The idea of not living up to his family’s expectations gnawed at him. His failures flashed in his mind one after the other. Why wasn’t this position getting any easier? It seemed the harder he tried the harder he failed in every area of his life.

  “Excuse me.” A janitor stood in his doorway. “Got these framed prints you ordered ready to be hung. But I can come back when you’re on your lunch hour.”