A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “I know you’re frustrated and angry. Impatient to launch an agenda you passionately believe in,” Paul said, cupping his hands around the brandy snifter. He hesitated, then met Quinn’s gaze. “Have you considered taking a mistress?”

  The question was so unexpected that it blindsided him, and he laughed. “You’re suggesting a mistress as an antidote for the frustrations of a stressful campaign?”

  “Partly,” Paul replied with a smile. “Actually, you’re the only politician I know who doesn’t have a mistress.” His expression sobered. “But there’s another reason. Closer to home.”

  “Lily,” he said flatly, the amusement vanishing from his expression.

  Paul nodded. “She’s becoming a beautiful woman. As time goes by she’s regaining her spirit. She’s willful and challenging, bright and unique in many ways.” He looked Quinn in the eyes. “And there’s a strong attraction between you.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Paul. Are you suggesting that I make Lily my mistress?”

  “Not at all. Exactly the opposite, in fact. Once we finish polishing her, there are going to be moments when you forget that she is not Miriam. There may be a temptation to . . .” He lifted his shoulders and spread his hands. “And that can’t happen. If you form an attachment for her, it will only be that much harder to get rid of her.”

  Paul wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already realized. Lily was indeed becoming more beautiful by the day. Her hair had regained a healthy shine, her body was filling out. Her skin seemed smoother and paler. When he’d located her in the plaza earlier today, for one moment he’d simply seen her as a desirable woman and had wanted her.

  She possessed an innate sensuality that Miriam had lacked, and it surrounded her like an exotic perfume. It was there in the way she moved, the way she needed to touch things, the way she drew the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. As her confidence grew and as she became more comfortable with her new persona, she would draw men the way pollen drew bees.

  “You’ll see her every day. You’ll behave as if devoted to each other. You’ll sleep in the room next to hers. She’s going to be a powerful temptation, Quinn. Made worse by the fact that anyone can see she’s fascinated by you. To Lily, you’re an interesting puzzle. She doesn’t understand your ambitions or your way of thinking. You’re a man who wouldn’t have noticed her a few weeks ago, and now your future depends on her. You’re unknown to each other, yet familiar. This mix could be a strong aphrodisiac. And that worries the hell out of me. I need you focused on the campaign.”

  Was Paul’s assessment true? It was difficult to judge objectively, as Miriam kept getting in the way.

  “Lily would make a delightful mistress,” Paul continued, a frown drawing his brow. “She’s ideal for that purpose in many respects. I doubt she would bore you. She wouldn’t be as expensive to maintain as some. She wouldn’t demand marriage.”

  He had realized these things, too.

  “But forming a sexual alliance with her would be unwise in the extreme. She would be more time-consuming than a mistress housed elsewhere or a woman who presents no danger of emotional involvement. When the time comes, you need to be able to get rid of Lily as easily as you rid yourself of Miriam.”

  Quinn stared, and his voice sank to a rough timbre. “You can’t possibly believe that it was easy to dispose of Miriam.”

  “What I’m saying is a mistress would be a relaxing diversion during the campaign, and she would alleviate the stress of sleeping next door to Lily. Think about it, Quinn.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he conceded after a lengthy silence. “But I have neither the time nor the inclination to create another complication.”

  They carried their brandy into the smoking lounge and joined two senators from the New Mexico territorial legislature, where Paul set the next block in the foundation of deception that would culminate in Lily’s impersonation.

  He introduced Quinn as the man most likely to be Colorado’s first elected governor, and managed to mention they were in New Mexico to fetch Mrs. Westin home from a convalescence for consumption. There was some good-natured competitiveness about New Mexico air versus Colorado air as a curative for consumption, but no one asked uncomfortable questions.

  Quinn discovered he’d half expected one of the men to become suspicious and demand details. Which sanitarium? Can you prove your wife was actually there? It didn’t happen.

  Leaning against the mantel, he told himself the story would get easier with repetition. And reminded himself that liars could not afford the luxury of a conscience.

  When they left the club near midnight and stepped into the chilly night, he watched Paul climb into a waiting carriage, then decided he’d prefer to walk back to the rented house.

  Scanning the shadows, half-looking for trouble and half-hoping he’d find it, he walked down the middle of the dark street scowling and thinking about the campaign, his frustrations, the compromises, the lies . . . and Lily.

  This morning when she’d wrapped her hand around his arm, he had looked down into those incredible violet eyes, and he’d wanted her. Instantly, powerfully.

  Miriam had never aroused such an instantaneous response. Yet he didn’t know if he reacted to Lily or to a new and fascinating Miriam whom he had never seen before.

  “Damn it to hell!” Thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, he kicked at a horse apple and considered returning to the plaza, finding a rowdy cantina, and starting a fight.

  In the morning, he left the house early and waited for the stage at the depot instead of having breakfast where he would have to speak to Lily.

  The stage was an hour out of Santa Fe before the irony of last night’s conversation struck him. Paul had urged him to take a mistress, and had suggested he choose any woman except the woman who looked like his wife, was posing as his wife, and with whom he would be living as man and wife. His “wife” was not to be touched.

  Yet she was the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

  Chapter 5

  The week in Santa Fe stretched into ten days, and Lily spent them practicing from dawn until nearly midnight. Beginning immediately after breakfast, she and Paul simulated tea parties, luncheons, small suppers, large dinner parties, receiving lines. She reviewed the language of cards, deciphering folded edges and titles, and she pretended to call on ladies of varying social rank and receive calls from them. She practiced introductions, and the proper wording of invitations and responses. She memorized the specific duties of household servants and how to manage a staff. Clothing changes occurred several times a day until she gradually became comfortable with trains and bustles.

  She soaked up knowledge like a dry towel sponging up a spill. A hairdresser taught her to arrange her hair in flattering styles, the local chemist brought her lotions and creams, the seamstress discussed fashion and accessories.

  As she had to unlearn the habits of a lifetime, some tasks were more difficult to master than others, like table etiquette, her nemesis. So many of the rules seemed utterly ridiculous.

  Removing her elbows from the table, she gazed across a flower centerpiece at Paul and sighed. “Who would have imagined there was such a silly thing as a finger bowl? Or that I would know about it and how and when to use it.”

  “You almost received a perfect score tonight,” Paul said, smiling at her. “Truly, Lily, your progress is remarkable. That is, unless you have your knees crossed beneath the table.”

  “I don’t.” The corset pinching the waist of her dinner gown curved over the tops of her hips and dipped low enough in front that she sat too stiffly to cross her legs with any comfort.

  Without deliberately having to recall how to do it, she signaled Carlos to pull back her chair. Then Paul offered his arm to escort her to the parlor, where, by mutual agreement, she could become Lily again. The first thing she did was kick off the violet-satin heels that matched her gown and prop her feet on a low stool. Wiggling her toes with pleasure, she sprawled backward in an u
pholstered chair.

  Paul packed his pipe and lit it, puffed a satisfactory glow into the bowl, then regarded her through a curl of cherry-scented smoke. “I’ve had some books delivered to your room. From now on, I want you to read every night for at least an hour. And I want you to make it a habit to peruse the newspapers every morning.”

  “Etiquette books?” she asked with a groan.

  “Also books by Mark Twain, Thomas Hardy, Jules Verne. You’ll hear these authors discussed or referred to, and it will be expected that you’ve read them. Throughout the next months I’ll continue to provide you with reading material, some educational and some merely entertaining.”

  “I haven’t read a book in fifteen years.” Crushing her curls against the top of the chair, she frowned at the ceiling. “Am I going to be successful at this? Occasionally I get shaky inside and start thinking this is ridiculous. What the hell difference does it make if my chair is eight inches from the table or ten inches? Did Miriam believe this nonsense was important?” she asked, lowering her head enough to see him standing by the fireplace. A small fire burned in the grate, chasing the chill from the evening.

  “I doubt Miriam ever questioned her upbringing. There’s a great difference between absorbing something automatically and unlearning old behaviors and adopting new ways.”

  “Did you know Miriam well?” Lily asked curiously. She expected him to evade the question, and of course he did. “Damn it, Paul. When are we going to actually talk about Miriam?”

  “It will be easier to remember not to swear if you excise swearing completely.” He ignored her perpetual complaint. “Tomorrow, when we leave Santa Fe, I’ll begin calling you Miriam, and I’ll register you as Mrs. Westin at the hotels we stay in along the way.”

  The moment had to come, of course, but it startled her. “Miriam,” she said aloud, rolling the name on her tongue. It didn’t yet apply to her, but it would. The strangeness of answering to another person’s name gave her a peculiar feeling. She released a slow breath.

  “That’s the fourth or fifth time you’ve sighed. Are you tired? Bored?”

  “Am I being rude?” So sighing wasn’t allowed either. She now understood that whatever felt natural was certain to be considered bad manners. “Have you heard from Quinn?” she asked, wishing Paul hadn’t disposed of all the cigars in the house. She also wished that the mention of Quinn’s name didn’t bring a rush of warm color to her cheeks. The truth was, she missed the tension and underlying excitement of the friction between them.

  “I received a telegram this morning. The speech to the legislature went well. He’ll await our arrival at his ranch.”

  “Did he say anything about me?” The question was an embarrassing blunder, and she wished she could recall the words. To cover the revealing lapse, she quickly added, “Speaking of rude, Quinn didn’t even say good-bye.”

  “He didn’t say good-bye to Carlos either, or to the cook or charwoman,” Paul stated bluntly. “You’re an employee, Lily.”

  Paul had an annoying way of lulling her into believing they were becoming friends, then putting her in her place with a painful jolt.

  “Quinn has an obligation to pretend, too, doesn’t he?” she snapped, sitting up straight. The color in her cheeks deepened. “Or did he also treat Miriam like an employee? If so, no wonder she ran away.”

  She waited to see if he would confirm or deny that Miriam had run away, but his expression revealed nothing.

  “Quinn will play his role when the time comes,” Paul said mildly, offering her a liqueur before he took the chair facing her. He puffed on his pipe, studying the spots of crimson high on her cheekbones.

  “You’re walking a fine line, Lily. On the one hand you must submerge yourself in Miriam’s life so totally that you seem to become her. On the other hand, you can’t become Miriam so completely that you forget her life is not your life. Don’t ever forget. At the end of this, you walk away.”

  “I know that,” she said, unable to identify why she felt frustrated and her chest ached. “But pretending to be Quinn’s wife would be easier if he were more cordial.”

  “The situation is difficult,” Paul agreed, choosing his words slowly and fixing his dark eyes on her face. “You’re a dead ringer for Miriam. You’ll be wearing her clothing, living in her home, moving through her life. There are going to be moments when Quinn forgets you’re not his wife, and that will lend authenticity to the deception. But I don’t want you to forget it, too, or this situation will end badly.”

  Lily threw out her hands. “Now there’s a perfect example of the conflicting messages you’re sending. One minute you’re telling me to become Miriam, the next minute you’re telling me to remember that I’m not. How in the devil do I manage to do both things at once?”

  “The truth?” She identified a flicker of sympathy in his gaze. “I don’t know. You’re a clever woman, Lily. I hope you’ll figure it out.” He leaned forward, cradling his pipe in his palm. “I know you don’t always believe this, but I like you. I don’t want to see this experience hurt or damage you, but it will if you forget who you are.”

  “Is that a threat? If I don’t follow instructions exactly, you’ll send me back to prison?”

  She had promised herself she would never forget that Paul and Quinn were powerful, ruthless men using her to accomplish their own goals. But she did forget. It was difficult to regard a man as ruthless when he was benignly explaining the difference between an at-home gown and one worn to receive.

  “It’s a warning intended for your benefit.”

  Warnings were threats in a blunted form and she knew it. So did he. Paul could be direct, but he could also be subtle.

  “Sometimes you talk, talk, talk, and the words pile on top of one another like bricks hiding a dark cellar,” she said, staring at him. “If you’re not threatening me with prison, then how can impersonating Miriam harm me?”

  “At the end of your employment, you leave,” he said evenly, meeting her eyes. “There is no possibility, none whatsoever, that your impersonation of Miriam will continue beyond the date we’ve given you. Don’t become so attached to your role that you can’t walk away from it.”

  “That won’t happen,” she said with an irritated wave. “I’m counting the days until I can be with my daughter!”

  “Really? I wonder.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to trade an illegitimate child for the luxury of fine clothing, jewels, and a mansion filled with servants.”

  “You’re wrong,” she insisted, sounding defensive and swallowing a sudden sour taste of guilt. He’d spotted her hunger for the life she was moving toward. The truth was she wanted it all, her daughter and Miriam Westin’s fairy-tale life.

  “Besides, we’re beyond threats, aren’t we?” he asked, looking down at the pipe he held in his palm. “All I’m saying is take time for yourself, make time to be yourself. Privately, of course,” he added with a thin smile. “Keep Rose in front of your mind. She’s something that is uniquely yours, not Miriam’s.”

  Lily dropped her head and plucked at her gown. “Did I tell you that I considered writing to Rose? She’d be thrilled to receive an actual letter.” A sigh lifted her shoulders. “But I decided not to. Six months would seem even longer to a five-year-old than it seems to me. I’ll wait until the election is over before I tell her that I’m coming home.”

  She glanced up in time to notice something hard and cold at the back of Paul’s eyes, a sharp-edged flash, gone before she could be certain of what she’d seen.

  “That’s a wise decision,” he said smoothly. “The fewer people who know where you are, the less possibility of being unmasked. You don’t intend to instigate a correspondence with your prison friends, do you?” His tone was mild, but something in his expression told her this was an important question.

  “No,” she said slowly. “It’s understood that continuing any prison friendships might jeopardize a fresh start. If Alice or Ida or Crazy Jane walked in
the door right now, we’d pretend not to recognize each other.”

  She thought of them often and missed them. Not a day passed that she didn’t wish she had a woman friend to talk to, someone to show her new lovely clothes to. But it would never be Alice, Ida, or Crazy Jane. Those friendships had ended the instant she walked out of the prison gates. It was better that way for all of them.

  “Excellent.” Leaning to the ashtray, he tamped out his pipe. “Well. We have a long coach ride tomorrow. Are you packed?”

  When she recalled this part of the conversation later, she experienced an uneasy sense that it had been a mistake to reveal that she had not written to Aunt Edna or Rose, and wouldn’t contact anyone she knew.

  Perturbed, she thought about that for a moment, then convinced herself she was being foolish to hear a little bell of alarm. There was no reason to be concerned.

  Any residue of uneasiness sank beneath the greater nervousness of considering tomorrow when she would pass herself off as Mrs. Quinn Westin for the first time. The trail of Miriam’s reemergence began here, along the drive from Santa Fe to Denver. Little would be expected from her initially; all she had to do was answer to Miriam’s name for the benefit of a few hotel employees.

  Nevertheless, it felt as if she were taking an irrevocable step. Idly, she rubbed at the goose bumps rising on her arms and wondered where Miriam was tonight.

  * * *

  For the first few days Lily felt like an impostor when Paul addressed her as Miriam, or referred to her as Mrs. Westin when they checked into a hotel at the finish of the day. By the end of the week, however, her new name began to feel as if it belonged to her. Still, it would be peculiar and a little bizarre when Quinn called her by his missing wife’s name.

  She fought thinking about Quinn and didn’t like it when she lost the battle. Unfortunately, it seemed he popped into her mind at every idle moment. And she anticipated their reunion with a secret eagerness that she knew could only lead to disappointment.