by Iris Kelly
“Well, you still can. If you have the aptitude for piano, then you have all the abilities you would need.”
“Can you show me how to get started?”
Sebastian had been greatly bothered at the thought that Abigail was developing any kind of attachment to Zachary Scott in order to soothe herself for the unrequited feelings for himself. A man like Scott could so easily take advantage of a heartbroken woman. If life provided other comforts and distractions for her, perhaps it would make her less vulnerable to Zachary’s unwholesome influence.
“It would be my pleasure. If you were of a mind to apply yourself, you would surpass me in a matter of weeks.”
Sebastian got the guitar and settled close to Abigail on the sofa. He placed it in her lap and gently positioned her arms.
“You must hold it like so. Good. Your left hand does all the difficult work. I must warn you. You will develop calluses on those fingertips.”
“My goodness. You mean like—plowing in the field calluses?”
“Close enough. Here, let me show you. If you don’t get the fundamentals correct, it will be difficult to progress efficiently.”
Trying to demonstrate to Abigail with both of his arms in front of her was too cumbersome. He slipped his right arm around her to show her the hand positions on the lower guitar. This brought the two of them into extremely close proximity, and Abigail was unsettled to feel the heat of his body against her back. He felt her stiffen and draw in a sharp intake of air.
How could he have been so thoughtless? Of course she was likely to interpret this act of friendly kindness as a desire for intimacy. Her own wishes would lead her to that misinterpretation. How vulnerable she was. All the more reason for her to avoid getting close to that scoundrel, Zachary Scott. Abigail was here in Cheyenne because of his own agenda. He had an obligation to make sure that she was not hurt in the bargain, not by Zachary and not by himself.
Abigail felt Sebastian become slow and tentative behind her. What a torturous situation for him—to have his arms encircled around a woman who could never return his warm feelings. It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable of feelings. She certainly had developed strong attachments to her friends, Molly and Beatrice. She was not made of stone. But her peculiarly strong need for independence made marriage impossible. It had nothing to do with Mr. Knight’s worthiness. She needed him to know that.
“Mr. Knight, I . . . I was wondering what your friends must think of our curious plans. They must be somewhat taken aback at our cavalier plans of marriage for profit, followed closely by divorce.”
“You are right, Miss Norris. It is a plot that only you and I see the merit in. Lewis, Avery, Deputy Harper . . . they are sentimental to the extreme on the subject of marriage. They are like gold prospectors who stumbled across a fortune in their first week of digging, and they have no sympathy for the pitiable drudge who has toiled for a decade with nothing to show for it but a bad back.”
“Are you the drudge in that scenario, Mr. Knight?”
“Why, no. I am . . . the farmer. Someone who never had faith in the vain pursuit of glittery gold.”
“That would be marriage?”
“Precisely. No, a farmer pursues something solid, real, practical. He does not allow himself to be distracted from his life’s pursuit by . . . dazzling distractions.”
Was she the dazzling distraction? Mr. Knight appeared to making a valiant effort to struggle against his feelings, and she must give him every assistance.
“I have always maintained that marriage is the most flawed of institutions. I think you see the world clearly enough to see how poorly women tend to fare in such arrangements. In so many instances, they are expected to forego the right to think for themselves. To form their own opinions. To act freely and not to have their actions submitted to another for approval as if they were a child.”
“Miss Norris, you are quite right. I am grateful to hear you so speak candidly on the matter. The constrictions and liabilities on both sides are so great that I am astonished at how few people are able to see it.”
“They are blinded by love—by the expectations of society.”
“It is those very expectations that conspire to convince people that they are motivated by love. It is a collectively shared delusion, a mirage.”
“Exactly. I have no need to share that delusion.’
“You hold fast to your convictions then. I am glad to hear it,” Sebastian said.
“I do. And it has nothing to do with the particulars of the people involved. A gentleman could be the most intelligent, thoughtful, attractive, admirable representative of his sex, and I would not be tempted. It would not be a reflection on his character or how . . . appealing I found him, but a general rejection of an insufferable institution.”
“Hmm. If the whole world were like you and me, there would be some difficulties in assuring its repopulation,” Sebastian noted.
“Ah, yes, practical considerations. Well, I think society will easily be able to maintain its vigor without our assistance.”
“I do feel most fortunate, Miss Norris. It was a stroke of luck for me to find someone so similarly enlightened.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
What a relief that Sebastian had been able to make it perfectly clear that he was standing fast by his resolution and that this rational and stalwart woman was accepting the situation in the most admirable fashion.
Thereafter, the music lesson was able to resume, and the strong resolutions and intellectual stances were again undermined by the heated proximity of two warm, undeniably attractive bodies, each failing to find satisfaction in what should have provided comforting reassurance—that the other’s feelings of love were dissipating and being replaced with cold, practical resolve. Was there something, after all, about being loved that was even more satisfying than being right? As it turned out, nothing was perfectly clear to either one of them.
CHAPTER NINE
The lobby of The Grand Hotel was a return to luxury that Abigail thought she would never again lay eyes on. Her married days had been densely populated with such sights, but her pariah divorcee status, as well as her lack of a bank account, had meant an end to such opulent surroundings. Who would have predicted Zachary Scott to arrange a rendezvous in such an impressive setting?
He was already waiting for her. His thoughtful punctuality was another nice surprise.
“My word, ain’t you a picture.”
Zachary was in his Sunday best, and Abigail had to admit that he made a striking impression.
“I don’t think they’ll turn either one of us away,” she said by way of returning the compliment.
Zachary was greatly encouraged by such a friendly reception. He led Abigail to the ritzy dining room, and they were immediately descended on by Cheyenne’s most attentive waiters.
“We’ll have some champagne and dinner menus,” Zachary said.
“Champagne! Are we celebrating something?”
Zachary shrugged mysteriously. “Maybe yes, maybe no. You know, you asked me a whole lot of questions the other day. Tonight, I’ve got a few for you.”
“Oh, go right ahead. It’s been anything but dull, that’s for sure. I may not even have to embellish.”
“Oh, the first question is real, real simple. Ever been married?”
Abigail hesitated a moment. It would probably be easier to keep this portion of her story straight if she stuck somewhat closely to the truth.
“Once. Long, long time ago.”
“What ended it?”
“I’m a lady who needs her freedom. And he was a man who wanted a puppet instead of a wife. Divorce ended it—one of the most useful and liberating of all of society’s inventions.”
“Hmmph. Sounds like he was just the wrong fella, plain and simple. You should have looked for a man who’d let you do anything, say anything, go where you please, wear what you please, and never have to explain yourself to a soul.”
“I don’t t
hink such a man exists.”
“You’re lookin’ right at him.”
Abigail was dumbstruck, which Zachary had anticipated.
“Hear me out. I heard from your own lips that you’re ready to settle down a bit. Tired of getting’ in trouble. Havin’ to keep movin’ around. I know the feelin’. Comes a time when we all need a bit of security and respectability. We can get there together. I got my business. You got your talents. Folks tend to have a much higher regard for you once you’ve stepped inside matrimony. And you and I, we’re birds of a feather. You’ll never come across a man with more appreciation for ya.”
“I think I can honestly say that nothing has ever surprised me more, Mr. Scott.”
“Zachary.”
“Zachary. I’m terribly flattered. I truly am.”
“Don’t try to come up with an answer right now. You give it a good, long think. But you remember what I said. This wouldn’t be nothin’ like your first marriage. I don’t want you to change a single thing. I’m a man who values freedom, and that’s what we can have—together.”
“I will give it very serious thought. That I can promise you.”
The champagne arrived. “Then we do have somethin’ to celebrate. To the best partnership I ever had.”
Abigail accepted the toast, all the while confounded at how in Boston, she had been considered unmarriageable and ostracized by anyone who cared for their good reputation. Here in Cheyenne, she had already had one man lose his heart to her, and another was anxious to unite with her for life. Of course, the second man thought her to be someone she was not. Sebastian, on the other hand, had come to know her rather well—the important parts of her. And he had still become smitten. Oh, dear, how would he respond to this astonishing development? Probably not well.
*****
Ever the profiteers, Sebastian and Abigail had scheduled their dinner quite early in the evening in order to resume their duties at The Double Whiskey. Abigail had to confess that it felt like coming home.
“How’s it goin’, Miss Norris?”
“It’s going exceptionally well, Hank. How about yourself?”
“Well, I ain’t doin’ as well as you. Gee, you look swell tonight.”
“She sure do.”
“It’s nice to have somethin’ beautiful look at while you’re losin’ your money.”
“Where you sittin’ tonight, Miss Norris?”
It was quite the low brow environment in contrast to the glamor and lavish service at The Grand Hotel or the ritzy ballroom dances back home. How strange that she should feel so much happier and more comfortable here.
The evening proceeded with its usual boisterous energy. There was one notable difference—Mr. Bottomless Pit was absent. This was very unusual for him. Zachary was irritated at the thought that their most profitable customer might be patronizing another establishment.
Abigail thought it more likely that he had simply run out of money to gamble with. No one had unlimited resources. Or perhaps he had simply wised up. She liked that possibility best of all, unlikely as it was. It was all well and good to profit from the man, but she felt sorry for him every time. Clearly, it had become money he couldn’t really afford to lose.
The following day, Abigail stopped by the jeweler’s for a bit of window-shopping. She really did feel that Flamin’ Annie was the kind of woman who indulged herself quite often in such finery. Abigail might be well-advised to make a conspicuous purchase from time to time, just for appearance’s sake.
She certainly could afford it. Although she had the occasional losing night at the card table (conveniently subsidized by Zachary), her winning days outnumbered them three to one. She had, in fact, amassed the amount of one thousand dollars in savings in a period of just under a month. That was four times the annual salary of a ranch hand—in one month! Her old salary at the sewing factory had only amounted to thirty-six dollars a month. Never would she have dreamed about being able to earn this kind of income for herself. It made the concept of a husband even less of a necessity than she had already regarded it.
Of course, this income was contingent on living the life of a cardsharp. But as outrageous an idea as that would have struck her just several weeks earlier, now it loomed large as a tantalizing possibility. Why couldn’t she be a cardsharp? Above and beyond the clandestine investigation she was conducting with Sebastian. A small number of women in the country had chosen that path. Why couldn’t she? Security. Freedom. And an upside-down social order, where her position in life was actually accorded a bit of respect and admiration. Miss Norris, welcome to the table.
*****
Sebastian paced the border of Miss Mabel’s parlor as if he could walk away his agitation.
“He dares ask you to marry him!”
Her first impulse was to calm and reassure Sebastian. But in a split second, Abigail thought that this was the best opportunity to help Sebastian get over his rose-colored vision of her.
“It was a rather honorable proposal, all things considered. I imagine most women get disreputable propositions from him. But not Annie. Flamin’ Annie, he respects. And he has some surprisingly progressive ideas about marriage. I have to confess that I couldn’t help but be a little impressed.”
“Impressed? With Zachary Scott!”
“He doesn’t like the prison-like aspects of marriage any more than I do. He’s not looking for someone to boss around or control. I just . . . found that a bit refreshing.”
“Well, you must know that he is not the only man who . . . sees marriage in that light.”
“Who ya marryin’? Mr. Knight, here, or that Zachary Scott?”
Neither Abigail nor Sebastian had noticed Miss Mabel standing at the parlor entrance.
Abigail laughed. “Mr. Knight is first up on my dance card. That is our arrangement. Our marriage will be of short duration, also per our arrangement. Afterward, well, I am done predicting the future. It seems to change in a different direction almost daily.”
“I hope you can rule out any serious involvement with Mr. Scott,” Sebastian said earnestly.
“You’d never starve, that’s for sure,” Miss Mabel said. “And he ain’t a bad lookin’ fella, I’ll give him that. But I didn’t think the brothel was gonna sit well with you.”
“It doesn’t. But I am trying to see things with Western eyes. It certainly seems well accepted here. It’s never going away. Even if Zachary Scott were to sell his business and buy a ranch, the brothel would still be there under new management. Maybe all that can be done for those poor girls—maybe the only thing I could do for them—is to put myself in a position to keep an eye on them, see that they’re never mistreated. That, I would surely devote myself to if I were ever to—”
“Do not say it. Do not even think about it. I should never have involved you with this man,” Sebastian fumed.
“Mr. Knight. You and I have a mission that we must see to its conclusion. What better way for me to learn if anything illicit is happening in that saloon than for me to deepen my acquaintance with Mr. Scott? Get close to him. Become his confidante.”
“He’ll tell ya plenty if you marry him. You cain’t get a husband to shut up,” Miss Mabel offered helpfully. “Would you really do it?”
“Well, loveless marriages do seem to be becoming my specialty.”
She and Sebastian exchanged a look. Their impending marriage, by agreement, was designed to be loveless and short. But that was all a means to an end. Contemplating a future with Zachary Scott! The very thought made Sebastian’s blood boil.
*****
Sebastian rarely called on the Martins when Avery was not at home. But on this particular occasion, it was Beatrice that he needed to meet with.
“Have you spoken with Miss Norris recently?” he asked.
“Not in a few days. You must tell me how your investigation is going.”
“Zachary Scott has asked her to marry him.”
This news caused Beatrice to spring up from her seat in amaze
ment. “What a ghastly thought. She is one of the highest quality of people in my acquaintance, and he is certainly among the lowest. How disturbing that must have been for her.”
Sebastian grimaced. “Not as disturbing as one would have hoped. I’m afraid she does not fully see Scott as you and I do. He represents something that she views as . . . liberating.”
“Ah. That I was definitely starting to see. You may not know much about Boston. Let me tell you, it is a world of stifling rules and protocol and a harsh pecking order. Once you fall out of the graces of good society, as she did, you see it a great deal more clearly. She does love the freedom out here. She is utterly relieved by it. And it’s not the same degree of freedom that your typical woman would enjoy—there are plenty of restrictions and expectations on the ladies of Cheyenne.
“But not on Flamin’ Annie. She gets to live outside the rules and will never be punished for doing so. She gets to make up her own rules. She doesn’t have to walk on eggshells. She can do and say as she pleases. Who wouldn’t want to live in such a circumstance? As for Zachary Scott . . .”
“Yes? What do you know of their relationship?”
Beatrice could see this was a prime opportunity to promote the love scheme. “Feeling about you as she does, she may comfort herself with his attentions, bracing herself against your unavoidable rejection of her. Please don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Knight. You’ve done nothing wrong and have no reason to reproach yourself. You made your position perfectly clear. It is not your fault if you do not find her attractive—if you cannot care for her or admire her.”
“It is not that simple a matter. She must be admired, mustn’t she, by everyone who knows her. And of course, any man who is not blind can see how lovely she is. Of course I care for her wellbeing . . . and her feelings . . . and her friendship, for I hope I can say that we have a friendship that is of mutual value to us both.”