“Mrs. Wheeler, it’s a delight to see you,” Lucas said when he stood next to her, his jacket sleeve brushing against her arm.
“Mr. Russell,” Parthena said, looking forward at the crowd. She edged away from him so that they were no longer touching.
“Please forgive me for having to forego the pleasure of attending your wedding.” The hum of voices from the ballroom and the lilting music of the musicians formed a pleasant backdrop. “I was devastated to miss your joyous celebration.”
“As were we,” Parthena said. “We had a very pleasant day, celebrating with family and friends.”
“I hope you will be able to attend my performance this fall at Steinert Hall,” Lucas said as he smiled at a distant acquaintance. He frowned as Parthena stiffened upon hearing her husband’s voice.
“She’ll have no need to hear you perform,” Morgan said. “She has no further need of the piano.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows at Morgan’s comment. “Well, if you have the opportunity, I’m sure Miss McLeod would enjoy attending with you.”
Parthena nodded and walked away, moving from sight as she joined the throng in the ballroom. Lucas watched her leave with a frown, before turning to study Morgan. He vibrated with tension, unlike the relaxed newlywed Lucas imagined the groom would be. Lucas frowned as he remembered Savannah after her marriage to Jonas.
“I’d appreciate it if you would cease any overtures to my wife. She has many other duties to occupy her time,” Morgan said. He and Lucas were virtually the same height, and they shared intense stares from matching brown eyes. Morgan stiffened further when Lucas refused to back down from Morgan’s silent challenge, even though he had broader shoulders and a reputation as a fierce fighter from his sparring matches at his boxing club.
“Do you understand what you are asking Mrs. Wheeler to forego?” Lucas asked, in a low, challenging voice.
“She tinkers at the piano. There are many other hobbies that will equally satisfy her artistic inclinations.”
“I believe I was told you’ve known her since infancy. If that’s true, then I’d think you’d know of her need to play the piano.” At Morgan’s determined silence, Lucas continued. “It’s not simply a passing fancy for her. Have you ever heard her play? She has a genuine talent.”
“Next you’ll tell me how she could perform,” Morgan said with a snort of disdain.
“If she practiced more and had a good tutor, rather than having to depend on her innate talent, yes, she could. I wouldn’t be surprised if she surpassed my abilities, if only given the chance.” Lucas frowned. “Let her try.”
“This is exactly why I’d prefer you to keep your distance from my wife. She doesn’t need to have her head filled with your nonsense about dreams that will never be fulfilled. She’s competent, at best, and there’s no need to give her any unwarranted delusions.” He took a sip of his champagne. “I need something stronger,” he muttered and moved toward the library, where gentlemen played cards, drank whiskey, and escaped the demands of dancing.
Lucas watched him go with a frown, recalling Parthena’s lack of exuberance. “Only two weeks,” he muttered. Two weeks since her marriage to Morgan. As the hostess approached him to perform, he pasted on a pleased smile. He allowed her to lead him into the large drawing room with chairs filled with interested partygoers. The small orchestra in the ballroom ceased playing a moment before she began to speak.
He stood next to her as she showered effusive praise on his playing and then pushed him onto the piano stool. He sat, staring at the keys for such a long duration that a few women giggled nervously, and he heard one man mutter about the validity of the reports of his lunacy. Lucas smiled and played a piece that always reminded him of Savannah. Sweet, yet filled with torment and sadness. At the last note, he sat back and raised his head, seemingly surprised to see a crowd gathered to watch him. He smiled again and rose, bowing to the crowd.
Amid cries of “Encore,” his gaze met Parthena’s as she lingered in the doorway. He held up his hand to the crowd for silence. “As much as I’m delighted that you enjoyed that small performance, I’m certain you’d enjoy something different tonight. For Mrs. Beaupre’s guests deserve the best in entertainment. I offer you a duet, with the unequaled Mrs. Wheeler.” He held out his hand to her, waving her forward, his gaze daring her to decline as the crowd clapped in approval.
He saw her pale and then flush as she was pushed forward by those standing near her. Her hazel eyes were huge as she attempted to conceal her discomfort at being in the center of attention. “Let’s play the Brahms,” he murmured to her. He nodded to his hostess who came forward with sheet music.
“Did you have this planned?” Parthena whispered.
“No, she did. She heard me play a duet years ago and bought the sheet music.” He nodded to the young man arranging two small stools in front of the piano. “She hoped I’d play the piece alone.”
“And rather than do that, you thought to humiliate me in front of Boston society?” Parthena hissed.
“You play this piece better than I do,” Lucas whispered as he smiled to the crowd. “We are just about ready.” He motioned for Parthena to sit and then sat beside her. “There’s no one here but you and me, and our love of music.”
Parthena took a deep breath, muttered the count to the music, and shared a long glance with Lucas. They began playing, in perfect synchrony, and didn’t stop for nearly twenty minutes. As the last note faded away, Lucas shared a long look with Parthena and beamed. “You did it,” he whispered. “You performed.”
The roar of the appreciative audience snapped them from their momentary reverie, and they stood to take their bows. He noted Morgan, standing toward the back of the room, frozen as a pillar as he glared at the two of them. Lucas nodded in Morgan’s direction and stepped to the side to allow Parthena to bask in her momentary glory. He waved away requests for more music and melted into the crowd as he watched Parthena become surrounded by her peers who had had no inkling of her hidden talents. He smiled as he accepted his coat and slipped out the front door to catch the trolley for home.
6
Parthena smiled vaguely to the butler who opened the door to Morgan’s home. Her home, she reminded herself. She slipped up the stairs and into the bedroom she shared with Morgan. She’d hoped to have her own room, but he’d insisted they share a room and use the adjoining room as a sitting room.
After quickly changing into a nightgown and wrap set out for her by her maid, she sat in front of her vanity, taking off her jewelry and brushing her hair. She’d sent her maid away, preferring to perform these mindless tasks herself. She closed her eyes at the click of the door, signaling Morgan’s arrival.
“It was a nice gathering,” Morgan said with a searching glance at his wife.
“Yes.” She tensed as he placed his hands on her shoulders.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself.” He met her wary gaze in the mirror. “I was surprised to see you disobey me, Parthena.”
She raised her chin in defiance. “I had every right to play. I brought no shame on your family.”
He watched her intently, his hands softly resting on her shoulders. “You performed beautifully. However, I expect this to be a one-time-only performance. My wife is not a performer. You do not need to peddle your talents to survive, unlike some.” He watched her frown at his criticism of Lucas.
“I am talented.”
“As you showed tonight. However, I want your promise there will be no repeat performances.” He met her mutinous gaze in the mirror, waiting until she nodded with reluctance.
“Good, now we can focus on the more pleasurable aspects of the evening.” He leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck, exposed by a vee in her nightgown and wrap. He kissed her again before meeting her gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “I would hope by now my touch wouldn’t fluster you so much.”
Parthena licked her lips and swallowed. She shivered as his long, lean fingers eased her wrap off her should
ers, leaving it pooled around her hips on the vanity’s bench. Her shoulders and arms were bared to his touch as her nightgown was short-sleeved and diaphanous, perfect for the summer’s warm evening. Or the ardor of a newly married husband.
“I love this gown,” Morgan murmured, his hands tracing the lace at the edge of the gown, along the vee on her chest.
“I know,” Parthena whispered.
Morgan’s eyes flashed with desire and pleasure. “It pleases me that you wore this for me,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck.
She tilted her head to the side, granting him access as he’d taught her to do. She shivered at his touch and kisses.
“There’s no need to feel embarrassed that you enjoy my touch.”
She shivered again at his words.
He reached his arms around, spinning her to the side and then lifting her into his arms. He carried her to their bed, placing her on the turned-down sheets. He shucked off his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. He frowned as he watched Parthena, holding herself stiffly as she awaited his next caress.
When he’d freed himself from his clothes, he slipped onto the bed with her and pulled the sheet over the two of them. “There, my darling. We’re in our own little world now.” He kissed her, long and passionately, provoking a mewl of frustration from her when he broke the kiss. He smiled as he moved lower, raising her nightgown and tossing it to the floor.
At her gasp as his skin touched hers, he bit back a groan. “I love that my touch brings you pleasure,” he whispered, surprised by a tear down her cheek that he brushed away as he caressed her face. “Hennie?” He leaned up to kiss her cheek, finding it wet with her tears.
She shook her head, her body suddenly rigid under his. “It’s nothing, please,” she whispered.
He held himself above her, his ardor extinguished at her evident dismay. “What’s wrong, Hennie?” Although his arms and legs bracketed her, she was able to move beneath him and she curled into herself, onto her side.
He settled behind her, tracing patterns along her hip, frowning as his touch provoked shudders and goose bumps. “Would you prefer I slept elsewhere tonight?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I believe it does. I refuse to be the cause of your torment,” he said as he rose, walking to his dressing room for a robe. He returned to their bed, pulling the covers fully over her. “We must talk in the morning.” He waited for some sort of acknowledgment from her, but, when none came, he moved to the adjoining room’s door and slipped through it.
Parthena sobbed as she heard him in the other room, her tears soaking her pillow before she succumbed to sleep.
Parthena awoke the following morning to the other side of the bed dipping under a heavy weight. She cracked open one eye and beheld Morgan, studying her. He wore his robe from the previous evening, and he appeared as exhausted as she felt. He reached out a hand to her, tracing her eyebrow.
“I know you’re awake, Hennie,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to be.”
“Because you’re still tired?” He paused, his touch falling away from her. “Or because you’d prefer not to speak with me?”
Parthena pulled the sheets under her chin but opened her eyes to face him. “Forgive me for last night. I know it wasn’t what you had planned.”
His frown turned into a glower as her gaze became guarded as she measured his reaction. “Have I ever given you any reason to fear me?” He relaxed as she shook her head no. “Why were you crying, Hennie?” He reached forward and traced a finger over her cheek.
“I don’t understand why you care.” Her eyes widened, as though she couldn’t believe she’d blurted out the truth to him.
“Of course I care. You’re my wife.”
She leaned away from his touch and sat up, the sheet clutched to her chest by one of her arms. “Those are just empty words, spoken to obtain your momentary desires.”
Morgan flushed as he watched her. “What’s overcome you?”
“You said last night, when you left, that we should speak this morning. I spent the entire night thinking.”
He nodded his encouragement for her to continue.
“In the two weeks we’ve been married, you’ve never once concerned yourself for my opinions. You’ve proclaimed what I should like. What I would do. What my hobbies will be. You’ve never once asked me what I would like.” She exhaled a long breath at his shocked expression.
“I saved you from that man,” Morgan hissed. “I saved your family.”
“And for that I’ve paid with my body and my obedience,” Parthena snapped. “Must I also pay for it by foregoing what brings me joy?”
Morgan scowled, his hand now fisted next to her hip.
“I heard you last night, talking to Mr. Russell.” She met his surprised gaze. “Yes, I listened as you advised him to keep his distance from me and to not fill my head with foolish notions about my abilities. Which were, at best, competent.”
“Parthena—”
She waved away his attempt at appeasement. “Why act as though you care about me? As though you want me to find contentment living in your home when you deny me what will help me to find such happiness?” Her face flushed with her pent-up frustration. “Will you also deny me the right to champion a woman’s right to vote? Will you insist I sit and do nothing while my friends struggle for a right all people should have?”
“Parthena, you knew who I was when you married me.”
“Yes, an overbearing, rigid man who must maintain control of his environment at all costs. I’m now just one more thing you must struggle to control.”
He paled as he listened to her. “This is how you see me? As a man, eager to subvert you to my will?”
“When have you ever shown me otherwise?” Parthena raised a brow to him.
Morgan leaned farther away from her. “I see.” He raised a hand, running it through his disheveled hair, and then scratched at his day’s growth of beard. He frowned as he studied her, naked but for a sheet in their bed. “And you never—” He shook his head before finishing his question, his posture stiffening as he became resolute. “I beg your pardon for wishing to save you from the aspects of yourself that will only lead to pain and disillusionment.”
“The parts of me that make me who I am,” she retorted. She saw disappointment mirrored in his eyes. “I warned you that we should never marry. We’ve never agreed on anything since we were children.”
Morgan nodded again. “I will leave you to enjoy your day,” he murmured. “I will endeavor to avoid marring it further with my presence.” He rose, the door to his dressing room shutting with more force than necessary.
Parthena leaned against the pillow, her thoughts whirling.
Zylphia sat with Sophronia in her back sitting room. Sophie detested the recent redecoration to her front sitting room and chose to use her private sitting room as much as possible, particularly when she had close friends call.
Zylphia frowned as she read the front page of one of the daily newspapers. “Why must they be so shortsighted?” She shook the paper in frustration.
“They’re the Catholic church, darling. It’s what they do best. You can’t expect the leaders of the church to envision another role for women when they’ve preached for centuries that a woman is to produce babies to fill the pews at their churches.” Sophie snatched the paper from Zylphia’s hands and read a few lines. “Although I’d think by now, with the number of women working outside the home, the church leaders should realize that the role for women is changing.”
“Has already changed,” Zylphia muttered. “When I go to church with my parents, the number of women who agree with me grows. But the men are the ones who vote, and they agree with the priests. I don’t know how to sway their thinking.”
“We must show we are above reproach. That women voting is respectable and will only strengthen the family.” She raised her eyebrows as she met Zylphia’s frown.
“And how are we to do that?”
/>
“Why, show them society out West hasn’t dissolved into chaos with women having the vote.”
“They’re already prejudiced against anything occurring in the West. I doubt we’ll be successful.” Zylphia sighed as she sat.
“What did the Montana legislature do after women earned the right to vote last year?” Sophie asked with a raise of one eyebrow. She picked up a letter from Clarissa and scanned it. “Your cousin informs me they enacted crucial legislation for women, including a mother’s pension law, an equal guardianship law, and an act giving married women control of their own property.”
“Many would argue that Montana was merely behind the times and that their legislators were finally catching up to the laws already passed in other states.” Zylphia reached for Clarissa’s letter and began to read it.
“The particulars aren’t as important as the fact that laws affecting women, championed by women, are being enacted. Especially so soon after garnering the vote. That is the crucial information that must be extolled to the women you speak with.” Sophie glared at Zylphia. “Don’t act in such a defeatist manner. You, almost more than anyone, must champion this cause and show that you have no doubt we shall succeed.”
Zylphia sighed and sat back in her chair. “I know, Sophie. It’s only with you—and Florence—that I express my doubts and fears. With everyone else I’m nauseatingly optimistic.”
Sophie nodded. “Good. And you must expand that optimism to your young man. It does no good imagining the worst. Save your energy and emotions for when you need them, dearest.”
Zylphia nodded her agreement before she focused on Clarissa’s letter. “Oh my!” She raised luminous eyes to Sophie. “Why didn’t you tell me about her news right away?”
Sophie grinned. “I was going to but thought uplifting news should be saved for after we finished discussing the business of the day. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Zylphia focused on the letter again. “I can’t believe she’ll be a mother again. Gabe must be ecstatic.”
Unrelenting Love: Banished Saga, Book Five Page 7
