* * *
Clarissa sat in front of her vanity, her mother’s vanity, brushing out her hair. Her mind raced as she continued to consider her conversation with Mrs. Smythe. After a long moment she closed her eyes and took deep breaths to banish the anger and anxiety that woman always provoked. When hands squeezed her shoulders, she jumped and barely stifled a shriek.
“Rissa?” Gabriel asked. “Are you all right?” He met her gaze in the mirror, his filled with worry. “You haven’t seemed like yourself all evening.” He sighed with relief when she relaxed under his touch.
She rose, flinging her arms around him. “Hold me, Gabe. Hold me, please.”
“Shh, my darling,” he murmured in her ear in his deep baritone that always sent shivers down her spine. “You never have to beg me to hold you.” When she failed to chuckle or caress him in a way that would lead to pleasurable activities, he sobered. “What’s the matter, my darling?”
“I saw Mrs. Smythe today,” she said.
He stepped away from her, gaping in disbelief. “What?”
She nodded. “She’s in town. And spewing her venom with as much accuracy as she always does.” Her shoulders stooped, as though with failure.
“You’re impervious to her. You have been for years.” Her husband stroked a hand over her head and then cupped her cheek.
“I’m not as much as I was. Maybe it was the loss of Savannah and Melly. Maybe it’s the fact I’m getting older.” She shrugged. “She affected me today.”
“What did she say?” Gabriel softly kissed her lips, earning a sigh.
“That our loss of Rory wasn’t that great a grief anymore because it happened so long ago. That I was too sentimental.” Her eyes glimmered with rage. “That you had suffered nearly twenty years as my husband and that you must have sought relief elsewhere because there was no way I could have pleased you.”
His hands had tightened on her shoulders with the barb about Rory, but, as she continued speaking, his head tilted back, and he let out a roar of laughter. “Oh, that woman. She’s so mixed-up that she has no idea what a muddleheaded fool she is.” His adoring gaze roved over her. “I know, in no possible way, could you have given credence to anything she says. You know how much I cherish you.”
Clarissa groaned and pushed herself into his arms. “I know. But I do worry. I’m not a good cook.”
He shook his head. “We’re fine. We have been for years. And you know I’ve never cared about that.” He held her close. “What she says about Rory should have upset you, but nothing about us should ever give you a moment’s worth of doubt.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never doubted your constancy, Gabe.” She closed her eyes. “I’m letting her in my head, and I hate that she can so easily manipulate me.” She gripped his shoulders. “She said she’s moved to town and that she’s looking forward to knowing more of our family. What does she mean?”
He shook his head and tugged her closer. “I have no idea. But I do know that we will have to remain vigilant, for she is not rational.”
Chapter 18
In mid-June, two weeks after her mother threw her out of the house, Eleanor smiled as a patron departed the library and moved around the small space behind the desk. Hester Bailey worked in the back office, while Eleanor enjoyed the small lull in patrons. She knew the library would become busier soon, as lulls rarely lasted long. Mothers were eager to find books for their children to read during the summer vacation from school, while others were interested in new acquisitions. “We haven’t had many of those lately,” she murmured to herself, as she tidied a stack of books to be reshelved.
“Talking to yourself again, I see,” pronounced an imperious voice from the opposite side of the desk.
Eleanor turned and attempted a valiant smile as she met her aunt Vaughan’s glower. Today Aunt Vaughan wore a chartreuse-colored gown that made her look washed out, as though she were seasick. Rather than cower or stammer out an excuse, as Eleanor would have done in the past, Eleanor stood tall and waited for her aunt to speak again.
“You spoiled girl. Do you have any idea what your actions have done to your mother?” Her aunt quivered with pent-up rage as her niece continued to look at her with veiled contempt.
“My actions?” Eleanor asked. “I believe it was my mother’s choice to throw me out of the house. I also believe she hoped I would be desperate enough to return home. To beg her to take me in.”
Placing a hand on her plump hip, her aunt shook her head in disbelief. “I find it improbable to believe anyone would willingly accept the burden of you.”
Eleanor lowered her head a moment, as though gathering her thoughts and marshaling her strength. When she raised her head, she spoke. “I am not a burden.” When her aunt continued to glower at her, Eleanor asked, “Why is it that you and my mother always have to beat someone down so they will do what you want? Why can’t you rejoice in what they do instead?”
“How dare you imply this is your mother’s fault?” Her aunt glared at her, horrified at what Eleanor said. “You are ungrateful, spiteful, and cruel. What did my poor sister ever do to deserve such a daughter?” When her niece continued to stare at her in stony silence, she said, “You are expected at your mother’s house for dinner. Tonight. Six o’clock sharp. Your mother is showing a tremendous generosity of spirit in granting you another chance.”
Tilting her head subtly to one side, Eleanor asked, “Does she still believe I will marry whomever she orders me to?”
Mrs. Vaughan sniffed with derision. “As I fail to see that you will ever marry without the aid of those who know better, I recommend you cease your melodramatic display of independence.” She spun on her heel, her wide hips bumping into a customer as she barreled out of the library.
After aiding the patron, Eleanor looked up as Hester emerged from the back. “How much did you hear?”
Hester shrugged. “Enough to give thanks that I had very little family until I married my husband.” She smiled at Eleanor. “We aren’t busy. Go visit Jeremy. If I were you, and if I were to choose to accept that invitation, then I’d want to attend that dinner with him, rather than alone.”
Eleanor rose and impulsively hugged Hester. “Thank you so much, Hester.” After collecting her purse and hat, she walked with purpose to Jeremy’s workshop.
She walked on the shaded side of the street at a slow, measured pace, as the heat of the day only intensified as the afternoon wore on. Smiling to herself, she marveled that she had forgotten that the hottest time of day in summer was always around five in the afternoon in Missoula. She paused as she waited to cross the bustling Higgins Avenue as a trolley rolled by. She skirted around wagons and an automobile to continue her progress down Main Street to Jeremy and Gabriel’s shop.
When she reached the workshop, she hesitated outside the open door and knocked timidly on the doorframe. No one answered, so she poked her head inside. “Hello?” she called out.
Gabriel looked up from measuring a piece of wood and smiled. “Hello, Eleanor. You’re looking lovely today.” He swiped at his forehead and set aside his pencil. His astute gaze studied her, and he frowned. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she gushed out. “Not at all. I’m … concerned.” She bit her lip as she cast a furtive glance around the workshop for any sign of Jeremy. She attempted a brave smile for his brother, as though attempting not to insult him that she was not satisfied with only his presence.
Chuckling as though in understanding, Gabriel nodded to the space overhead. “Jer’s upstairs. Looking over some furniture we’d made to determine how it should be stained for a customer. I know he’ll be delighted to see you.”
Eleanor mumbled her thanks, walking with careful steps to the staircase on the side of the wall. She placed her foot on the first step, worried it wouldn’t hold her weight. When it failed to creak or feel weak in any way, she lifted her skirts and walked with more confidence up the remaining stairs.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, she
paused at the sight of a room filled with finely wrought furniture. Much of it was of the simpler style from the Arts and Crafts Movement, rather than the overembellished Victorian furniture her mother preferred. Eleanor ran a hand over the smooth lines of an oak chair, with beautiful, yet practical lines and no ornate patterns or flowers. Moving farther into the room, she saw a small grouping of rocking chairs, each one finely constructed. She sat in one, sighing with pleasure as it appeared to be built just for her.
“Ellie,” Jeremy breathed.
She jumped, her startled gaze meeting his delighted one, and then giggled as she began rocking again. “Oh, Jeremy, tell me that I can have this rocking chair. I’ve never sat in anything more comfortable.”
He shook his head and pulled out a stool to sit beside her. “I can’t promise you that chair. It’s already claimed by one of our clients.” He ran a finger over her cheek as she leaned into his gentle touch. “But I can promise you that I’ll make you one that will be even more comfortable.”
Her eyes glowed with love and joy. “Thank you.” She leaned forward, her fingers scraping through his trimmed beard. After a moment’s hesitation, she arched forward, giving him a fleeting kiss. “I’ve missed you.”
His warm breath tickled her ear as he nuzzled her neck. “It’s been less than a day since I’ve seen you.” He kissed down her neck, groaning as she tilted her head to give him better access to her tender flesh. “I’ve been mad with the need to hold you.” He bit her earlobe. “To touch you.”
She opened her eyes and met his ardent gaze. “This madness isn’t all mine?”
His tender smile allayed a portion of her fears as he stared with devotion and love into her eyes. “No, my darling. It most definitely isn’t.” He gripped her hand and tugged her to stand. “Kiss me,” he whispered.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tugged his head down to her as she stood on her toes, kissing him with all the passion in her soul. She paid little attention to the fact they were slowly moving, until her legs bumped into something soft, and she tumbled backward. Breaking from the passionate kiss, she gasped, “Jeremy!”
“Shh,” he whispered. “Nothing will happen. I promise.” He tugged at her until she rested comfortably on the bed, and then he crawled over her to lie on the other side of her. He leaned on one elbow, his head resting on the palm of his hand, as his free hand ran over her head, shoulder, and arm.
Her wide eyes were filled with passion, confusion, and doubt. “I … I want to be with you.” She shivered at the glowing intensity in his green eyes. “But I’m afraid.”
Jeremy shook his head as he palmed her cheek. “I never wish to hurt you.”
Eleanor closed her eyes, and a sigh escaped. “I believe you.” She opened her eyes. “I try to ignore what my mother has said over the years. That a man will only want me until he’s had his way with me. Then he will be bored with me and will want little to do with me.” She bit her lip as his eyes glowed with anger, rather than passion. “I mean no disrespect.”
He shook his head again. “Those are her fears. Her truths. Not yours. And not mine,” he stated. “May I hold you for a few minutes before you have to leave?” He saw the doubt in her gaze and smiled. “Just hold you, my love.”
She nodded, scooting into his arms as he rested on his back. Soon her head was cushioned on his shoulder, and she had wrapped her arm around his lean waist. She relaxed as he kissed the top of her head.
“Why did you come visit me, darling?” Jeremy asked, as he continued to run a hand down her arm and then her back.
“I need a favor,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his waist. When he made a sound for her to continue, she whispered, “My aunt Vaughan visited me at the library today. Said I should be ashamed for how I treated my mother.” When she felt him tense in indignation underneath her, she kissed his chest. “And she ordered me to be present at dinner tonight.”
He made another sound of protest before kissing her head again. “You do realize that you don’t have to do anything they say?” He met her wounded gaze as she tilted her head to look at him. “That you are your own woman, with many who support you?”
She nodded, a smile spreading. “Yes, I do. But I want my mother to meet you. I need for her to understand that I am independent. And that we are to marry.” She worried her lip with her teeth. “Will you come with me?”
He rubbed at her lip, freeing it from her teeth, his finger caressing her softly. “Of course I will go with you. It’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure of sparring with any of your family members.” He sighed with contentment as she rested her head against his shoulder once more. “Let me hold you a little while longer before I must return to work.”
“Promise me,” Eleanor whispered, her fingers playing with his. “Promise me that you won’t allow anything they say to turn you against me.”
He made a soothing noise, his hold on her tightening. “I was raised by a venomous viper. Compared to my aunt Masterson, your mother and aunt are garden snakes.”
* * *
Jeremy gripped Eleanor’s hand, squeezing it as pounding footsteps were heard approaching the front door. “All will be well,” he murmured. “I promise you.” His hand tightened further as he stood with an implacable calm when the door opened. “Hello, Mrs. Bouchard.”
Mrs. Bouchard—tonight clothed in a shimmery iridescent-blue satin dress of differing hues, dependent on the light’s rays—gasped and then flushed so brightly her cheeks clashed with her clothes. “How dare you sully my doorstep with your presence.” Her sharp gaze noted his clasp of her daughter’s hand, and she glowered at Jeremy. “I’d thank you to cease manhandling my daughter. She’s certainly not fallen so low that she had to seek support from the likes of you.”
“Mother,” Eleanor whispered, her breaths emerging as faint pants, while her mother ignored her to continue to spar with Jeremy.
“Get inside at once, Eleanor, and stop this farce. You are home where you should always have been.” Her mother took a step forward, as though to bat at their joined hands, and Jeremy took a step forward to subtly shield Eleanor from her mother.
“No, ma’am. If you want the pleasure of your daughter’s company tonight, I fear you will also have to suffer through mine.” He waited as Eleanor’s mother continued to glower at him.
Mrs. Bouchard spun on her heel, marching away from them as she left the door open.
Eleanor let out a stuttering breath and released his hand. She squeezed his arm. “That is her way of saying we are to follow her,” she murmured. “When she doesn’t get her way, she acts like a child.”
Jeremy sighed. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we leave.” He kept a hand at her back as he followed her into the house. He ignored the elaborate furnishings, the blatant displays of wealth as they walked down a hallway, past the vacant parlor, and to the dining room.
The dining room had deep-burgundy wallpaper with mahogany side tables surrounding the matching dining room table. Even in summertime, the room was dark and unwelcoming. In wintertime, Jeremy thought sitting in it would ruin his appetite. A crystal chandelier lit the room, while two windows let in the early evening sunlight through lace curtains.
Eleanor’s father, a paunchy sober man with a bulbous nose, sat at the head of the table while Eleanor’s cousin Bartholomew Bouchard sat at the other end. Bartholomew’s dishwater-blond hair was styled with too much pomade, while his pale blue eyes watched Eleanor with avid curiosity. Tonight Bart had worn a tame tan suit with a cobalt-blue waistcoat, as though knowing he could not compete with his aunts’ outrageously colored attire.
Sitting beside each other, facing the doorway, were Eleanor’s mother, Mrs. Bouchard; her Aunt Vaughan; and Veronica’s brother, Vernon. On the other side of the table, one empty seat was flanked by Eleanor’s mute little sister, Victoria Bouchard, on one side and a brown-haired man on the other, his back to the door.
Jeremy stood in the shadow of the entrance to the room, listenin
g to Eleanor’s mother complain noisily about the interloper who refused to depart. Jeremy glanced at the ornately set table with fine china, damask tablecloth, and the fresh-cut flower centerpiece, noting there was no place for him to sit. Her mother and aunt appeared disinclined to set another setting, as they continued to complain to the man who sat with his back to the door. Jeremy cleared his throat, and the man turned at the sound.
In that instant Jeremy’s world stopped, and his hold on Eleanor’s waist tightened. “Don’t sit down.” He tugged her to his side. Jeremy focused on the man at the table, smiling with smug satisfaction at him. “What are you doing here, Henry?”
Mrs. Bouchard gave an unladylike snort and rolled her eyes. “His name is Mr. Samuel Sanders, Mr. McLeod. I’d think you’d know by now that you are unwanted, unneeded, and have been replaced by someone far superior to you.”
Jeremy shook his head as Samuel raised an eyebrow, as though in agreement with all that Mrs. Bouchard had said. “You are blind as well as deaf if you believe this man is superior to me in any way.” He shook his head when Eleanor’s mother approached in an attempt to coax her daughter to sit at the available seat beside Samuel Sanders, also known as Henry Masterson, Jeremy’s detested cousin from Boston. Last he’d seen Henry, he worked for the Anaconda Company in Butte. “Why are you here?”
“I was invited to partake of an enjoyable dinner with a lovely hostess and her family. I never suspected I would be subjected to the unnecessary presence or abuse of my soon-forgotten and never-missed cousin.” Henry held a hand to his heart, as though wounded, while Mrs. Vaughan and Mrs. Bouchard gasped. “Yes, isn’t it tragic that one such as I should have to suffer with a relation like him?” His glance took in Jeremy, as though he were worse than a street urchin.
Jeremy grinned. “We’re not boys any longer, Henry, and you don’t have your mother running interference anymore.” He saw his cousin’s smile falter at the mention of Jeremy’s aunt Masterson. “Don’t tell me that old bat finally died,” he taunted.
Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine Page 28
