A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “How could I not? You’ve said the same thing over and over in a dozen different ways.”

  “And I’ll continue to say it. I watched you dancing with Quinn at the New Year’s ball. You were wearing your heart on your sleeve.” Leaning forward, he touched her wrist. “You’re making it very hard on yourself. Quinn has a wife, Lily. He’ll never marry you, and you can’t remain in Denver a minute longer than necessary. The risk is too great.”

  In a gesture that had become habit in moments like these, Lily twisted Miriam’s rings around her finger. “I know all that,” she said defensively. “I’m not looking for marriage, I never have. I know what I agreed to, and I’ll honor my word.”

  Then she humiliated herself by bursting into tears.

  * * *

  Lily promised herself that she would call on Helene after Quinn’s next speech. Then she decided to wait for a clear dry day. When she ran out of excuses, she pinned on her hat with a grim expression and instructed Morely to drive her to the Van Heusen residence, hoping she could trust him. Of course she could.

  But there were disturbing hints that Quinn occasionally spoke to Morely regarding her journeys. Once or twice he had inquired about her visit to someone before she mentioned she had called on that particular lady. The reminder that dark undercurrents flowed between them hurt because she loved him.

  It was no longer possible to deceive herself, she thought, brooding as the hansom drove her to Stout Street. Right or wrong, wise or foolish, she loved Quinn deeply and completely.

  She loved his strong craggy face and hard-muscled body. She loved the sound of his deep gravelly voice and the rumble of his laughter. She loved the way his eyes softened when he looked at her over the pages of his morning paper, and the sound of his boots on the marble floors when he returned in the evening.

  She no longer scorned his ambition; she admired his dedication to worthy goals. Now she had listened to his speeches, had heard political arguments at her own table, and she wholeheartedly applauded the aims he hoped to achieve. If the party would permit him to do so.

  She loved the way he made her feel, as if she were an enchanting, desirable woman, as if her past did not matter. He made her believe that her perspective on his world interested and delighted him. And there were moments that he looked at her with sorrow deep in his eyes and she believed it would be as painful for him to say good-bye as it would be for her.

  She loved him despite the secrets between them, the areas of his thoughts and life that she was forbidden to enter.

  When the carriage rocked to a stop before Helene Van Heusen’s stately home, Lily peered out the window, then straightened her shoulders and bolstered her resolve.

  She had secrets, too.

  Chapter 16

  Helene Van Heusen received Lily in a room as lavishly appointed as Helene herself. Small ornamental tables crowded with bibelots nearly obscured a richly patterned Turkey rug. Billowy French silk concealed walls and ceiling, creating an illusion that one sipped tea inside an Arabian tent. Enormous velvet pillows and overstuffed furnishings completed an impression of opulent oriental indolence.

  Helene gripped Lily’s hands and led her to a settee covered in peacock green brocade, sinking down beside her in a rustle of elaborately draped skirts. “Oh my dear, forgive my tears of joy.” If a drop of moisture clouded Helene’s eyes, Lily couldn’t spot it. “When the plant was returned, I feared our estrangement was complete. I’ve been distraught, simply distraught. First you vanished, and I thought you were dead, then I found you again, and then it appeared you were lost to me once more. In my heart, I know this is Quinn’s doing, but one torments oneself. Could I—I?—possibly have offended?”

  “Helene—”

  “Your expression tells me everything.” Her black eyes snapped beneath a fringe of white bangs. “It’s him. Once again he’s trying to keep us apart. I don’t wonder that you fear and despise him. He’s an overbearing brute.”

  Lily’s eyebrows lifted. What on earth had Miriam told this woman? Or . . . could it have occurred the other way around? Was Helene placing ideas and images into Miriam’s mind?

  “I wouldn’t say that Quinn—”

  “It’s outrageous. He all but keeps you locked away like a prisoner, deciding whom you may see and whom you may not. He neglects you shamefully. He’s never considered your wishes. And now I hear he’s forcing you to attend those boring political rallies. He’s willing to sacrifice even you to the flames of his ambition. I’m so furious on your behalf, darling. But you’ve always known his priorities.” Helene made a tsking sound, conveying sympathy and anger.

  Lily observed the performance with fascination. She had met women like Helene in prison. Manipulative women with a talent for convincing others what they should think and feel. Women who seized upon small bits of information and interpreted that information to suit their own ends.

  “I suppose he intends to exploit you to promote the lie that he’s a family man. Will he continue to force you to appear at his speeches?”

  Yes, she could glimpse how Helene had extracted information from Miriam under the guise of concern. “I really don’t know,” Lily replied warily.

  “You poor dear, putting yourself on public display must be agony for you. May I hope for your sake that Quinn hasn’t browbeaten you into sharing the dais during the debate at Turner Hall?”

  “He isn’t forcing me.” Lily lowered her gaze and smoothed her hand across the brocade seat of the settee as she imagined Miriam might have done. “I’m learning to take an interest in politics.”

  “You?” Helene laughed. “My dear, I know you better than that. You’ve never supported Quinn’s overweening ambition. And certainly you needn’t play the loyal wife with me.”

  Lily was beginning to grasp Helene’s value to her husband. Helene was attempting to shape Miriam’s attitude in a direction damaging to Quinn and damaging to their marriage.

  Lily would have wagered the diamond earrings she’d received from Quinn for Christmas that the Van Heusens’ candidate would have his wife present when he and Quinn debated next week. If Helene couldn’t prevent Miriam from being at Quinn’s side, she would at least make certain that Miriam felt forced, resentful, and deeply uncomfortable.

  “Well, my dear, if you are indeed taking an interest, perhaps you can settle a rumor that suggests Quinn wishes to impose restrictions on the mining industry.” Not one to overlook an opportunity, Helene seized the moment to extract what she could. “I should think such a position would create dissension within his party.” Raising a questioning eyebrow, she waited.

  Lily arranged Miriam’s sweet sad smile on her lips. “It’s an interesting issue. Does your husband’s candidate support mining regulation?”

  “Not publicly, of course. But he—” Helene drew back and her gaze sharpened. At once she realized she had been about to offer a tidbit whereas Lily had revealed nothing. “How very odd,” she commented thoughtfully. “You’ve changed remarkably, Miriam. You hardly seem the same person.”

  Careful, Lily warned herself. “I hope I’ve changed,” she said in a small voice. “I had much time to think while I was in the sanitarium. I need to improve myself, to become stronger and less shy. I’m trying to do that.” And now she took the first step toward resolving what Paul would have referred to as the Helene problem. Lifting her head, she met Helene’s intent gaze. “I’ve thought long and hard, and I’ve decided to do all I can to make my marriage succeed.”

  Helene was held rigid by her corset, but even so she appeared to visibly stiffen. “I’m utterly astonished. You cannot possibly forgive all the wrongs Quinn has done you!” She waved a hand. “Need I remind you that he manipulated your father and forced you into a marriage you didn’t want? After which he has proceeded to neglect you and treat you with insulting indifference. And Miriam”—her eyes narrowed into an intent angry stare—“he has made you suffer. How many tears have you shed? How many pillows have you drowned?”

 
“I fear I may have overstated my situation in the past. Or perhaps I was feeling sorry for myself. We do love each other. Quinn has many fine qualities. He—”

  “Fine qualities?” Disbelief snapped in Helene’s black eyes. “The only thing Quinn Westin cares about is himself and placing himself in the governor’s seat. I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again. He doesn’t care about you, Miriam. He never has, and he never will. If you die tomorrow, your husband will rejoice.” She took Lily’s hands. “Now don’t cry,” she said, although Lily’s eyes were shocked but dry. “I beg you, think about Marshall, your solace and comfort. Marshall adores you. He worships the ground you walk. If you only knew how frantic he’s been since Quinn disposed of you and sent you away.”

  M had a name now. Marshall. “Quinn didn’t dispose of me,” Lily said, trying to suppress the sharpness in her tone. She found it difficult to disguise her dislike and her resentment of the ugly ideas Helene was attempting to inject into Miriam’s perceptions. “I was desperately ill. And distraught after the fire and . . . and Susan’s death.”

  “And with good reason, dear. And so was Marshall. I’m sure it won’t surprise you to learn that he visits poor little Susan’s grave each time he comes to Denver.”

  An alarming picture began to emerge. Helene knew a great deal about Miriam’s history, and she had preyed on Miriam’s loneliness, planting ideas and opinions detrimental to Quinn and to Miriam herself. She was the conduit to Marshall, a relationship she clearly championed. Most startling, Helene had just made a disturbing implication.

  The question was, did Helene really know something, or was she speculating, fishing for confirmation of suspicions?

  Giving herself a moment to think, Lily fumbled with her purse. She withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “How unexpected and touching.” She paused. “How sweet of Marshall to be so supportive of a friend.” She made a sniffing sound into her handkerchief, wishing she could see Helene’s expression. “His loyalty only makes it harder to do what I must. But . . . when you next see Marshall, you must tell him that I cannot meet him again. Please explain that I’ve settled my differences with Quinn, and we’re very happy. I hope Marshall will be glad for me.”

  Helene’s mouth dropped open. “Miriam! You can’t mean that!”

  Darting a glance toward Helene, she saw astonishment, then anger, before Helene hastily regained her composure.

  “If my marriage is to succeed, I cannot continue meeting Marshall privately. I know Quinn would not approve.”

  “Darling, I’m very confused. Why on earth would you wish to preserve a marriage that you didn’t want and which has only brought you suffering? And abandon a man who has adored you for years?”

  For years? Lily blinked. Had the meetings with Marshall gone on for years?

  “Don’t do this to yourself. Surely you deserve a little happiness. Is that too much to ask? After all you’ve been through?”

  Oh Miriam, Lily thought angrily. Were you that lonely and sad, that filled with self-pity, that easily led? Why did you let her speak to you like this?

  And Helene was definitely attempting to manipulate, her goal predictable to one with eyes to see. When the moment was ripe, the Van Heusens would expose Miriam’s foolishness, and the resultant scandal would defeat Quinn at the polls.

  “Helene,” Lily said, choosing her words carefully, “my friendship with Marshall could so easily be misconstrued and twisted into something ugly. I’ve made a very dangerous mistake by agreeing to see him privately. I can only thank God that nothing grievous resulted.”

  “Nothing grievous?” Helene repeated, almost sputtering. “Miriam, you astonish me. Marshall and I have feared for your life! And there’s Susan, and—” She waved a hand, conveying the impression that she could go on and on.

  “You’ve been a dear friend, and I regret involving you in my small adventure. I trust you’ll support my decision to repair my marriage.” Lily arranged a thin smile on her lips. She was determined to win the battle of who would tell whom what to think. “Quinn has been wonderful. It’s like a second honeymoon.” She couldn’t manage a blush, but she tried to look modestly blissful. “Perhaps you heard that he filled our sleigh with roses. It was such a lovely and romantic gesture.”

  “I’m speechless. I hardly know what to say.” Agitated, Helene rubbed her hands together. “I must think about this.”

  Lily took Helene’s cold hands and gave her the best fluttery Miriam smile she could manage. “When I was in the sanitarium, I realized I love my husband, and he loves me. I’m as much to blame as he for our previous difficulties, but we’ve put that behind us. We’re deliriously happy.” She hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

  “Happy?” Helene stared at her. “He’s forgiven you?” She hesitated, then added bluntly, “For having an illicit affair and bearing another man’s child?”

  The hesitation gave her away, telling Lily that Helene was guessing. She didn’t know quite as much as she thought she did. But the question gave Lily the opportunity she had been seeking.

  Jumping to her feet, she stared down at the settee with cold eyes. “How dare you! I open my heart, and in return you offer an unforgivable insult. I’m shocked and deeply offended that you would place such a scurrilous connotation on my friendship with Marshall. To suggest that Marshall was the father of . . . that we . . .” Closing her eyes, she swayed. “I truly believed you were my friend.”

  Helene looked astounded. She also came to her feet and attempted to grasp Lily’s hands, but Lily jerked away. “My dear. Forgive me if . . . wait! Miriam, please.” Color blazed on her throat. “You must admit you’ve said things that suggested . . . and Marshall has also hinted, so naturally I assumed . . . Miriam!”

  “This insult to me, to Quinn, and to Marshall is inexcusable. I shall never forgive you!” Whirling, Lily rushed out of the silk-draped room and hurried down the walk to the waiting carriage. She instructed Morely to take her home.

  Falling backward on the seat, she closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths. She doubted Helene would trouble her again, but her mind was reeling with what she had learned today.

  * * *

  Every detail concerning the Turner Hall debate had been examined, discussed and dissected at least a dozen times. With the election three months away, interest was heating and focusing tightly on the candidates. A mistake at this juncture would be costly.

  Lily sat in on the nightly strategy sessions, remaining quietly in the background, listening as she served refreshments to Paul and the party leaders who had taken over the library.

  To her surprise, her statement to Helene had been correct. Because politics were important to Quinn, politics had become important to her. She understood the issues now, and shared his frustration when the party leaders did not agree with his passionately held opinions, or insisted that Quinn avoid controversial topics. Paul and other party leaders had drafted ambiguous responses for Quinn to deliver if journalists or voters raised questions that would prompt unpopular answers if Quinn answered directly and truthfully.

  She began to understand that Quinn was a man mired in deceit. When they were alone together, she saw glimpses of the real man, as he saw glimpses of the real Lily, but she never saw the complete man stripped of the murky deceptions that permeated all areas of his life.

  Minutes before he had taken her arm and led her up the steps to the dais, his frown had steadied on the podium and his fists clenched. “They won’t see or hear me,” he had murmured angrily. “Hell, even I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  Now Lily sat with a row of dignitaries, looking out at 170 faces, but her mind drifted from the opening speech delivered by Quinn’s opponent.

  No one saw or heard her either. And she no longer knew who she was.

  Miriam’s gestures and mannerisms were habitual now. She had conquered her initial reaction to the mansion, and although the size of the house still felt oppressive, sometimes she found herself taking a
n undeserved pride in the beauty of the rooms. She answered easily to Miriam’s name, was living Miriam’s life, doing the things Miriam had done. She uneasily protected Miriam’s secrets as if they were her own.

  The person who had been Lily Dale emerged less and less frequently. No one saw her. On occasion Quinn and Paul thought they glimpsed the old Lily, but they didn’t because that Lily no longer existed. They saw the hybrid creature she had become. Or they saw Miriam as Miriam might have been.

  Disturbed, she watched Quinn replace his opponent at the podium and begin the speech she had listened to him practice. Tall and heartachingly handsome, he addressed his audience with characteristic confidence and no hint of the fatigue she knew he felt.

  Today he wore denim trousers, a leather jacket, and boots. Unlike his opponent, who had chosen a morning coat, waistcoat, and stock, Quinn had dressed like the majority of the men in the audience. Paul’s strategy was to sell Quinn to the voters as the people’s choice, and that identification would be achieved through subtle as well as blatant means.

  The deception wasn’t total. This was how Quinn dressed on weekends when he wasn’t going in to his law firm. But it wasn’t a true picture either. Little of that which the voters saw or heard today was genuine. Quinn was not giving the speech he wanted to give, not addressing the issues he cared passionately about. The woman who had been introduced as his wife was not his wife. It was all a web of lies and compromise.

  Bending her head, Lily touched gloved fingertips to her forehead. She loved him, and she wanted him to win the election. After all he had gone through, he deserved to snatch the prize at the end. He deserved an opportunity to find himself again. Once he was free of the party’s hold, once she was gone, he would have a chance to cast off the layers of deceit that disturbed him so greatly.