The Dressmaker's Dowry

by Meredith Jaeger

  Hot tears pressed behind Hanna’s eyelids. But how many times had she felt the lash of his belt against her flesh and his hot whiskey breath on her face? Father was the monster of Hans’s and Katja’s nightmares, a man who drank himself blind so that his family hadn’t enough food to survive.

  “Do you know that man?” Lucas asked, giving Hanna a worried glance. He hadn’t understood Father’s plea in German.

  Hanna swallowed. Perhaps Father would die in the streets, homeless and alone. A kinder person would offer him forgiveness. But she was not that kind. And she would never suffer at his hands again. Lucas did not need to know the truth.

  “No,” Hanna said. “He’s merely a drunkard.”

  Hanna peered down at the cobbled street from the fourth floor of the Palace Hotel. Horse-drawn carriages waited out front beneath the stately gas lamps. Women in silk with large bustles took evening strolls with their beaux. Laughing, shopgirls walked arm in arm at the end of their workday. Hanna pressed her eyes shut.

  When she opened them, the girls were gone. A knock sounded at the door.

  “Who is there?” she asked, spinning around.

  “It is I,” Lucas responded, his voice muffled. Hanna walked toward the door, wearing nothing but a sumptuous velvet bathrobe over her chemise and bloomers. A maid had taken Georgina’s dress to clean, though Hanna had tried to insist on washing it herself. “Yes?” she said softly, leaning against the door.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Please pardon my intrusion. I wanted to see that you are well. I fear I might fret for your safety more than I ought to. Yet I cannot help myself.” He paused. “I’ve begun to care for you a great deal.”

  “I am well,” Hanna answered, placing her hand against the wood, imagining Lucas’s fingers on the other side, mirroring hers. “Thank you.”

  In the silence, Hanna heard only his breathing. Closing her eyes, she slid her hand to the door handle. It would be a sin for Lucas to see her in such a state of undress. And yet her heart implored her to do so as it never had before.

  “Forgive me,” Lucas said. “I shall return later.”

  “Wait!” Hanna called, clasping the brass. She pushed open the door, looking upon Lucas. He stood in the hall, hat held in his hands, his youthful golden curls slick with pomade. When his eyes alighted on Hanna’s, his mouth parted.

  “Please,” Hanna whispered. “Come inside. I do not wish to be alone.”

  Color rose in Lucas’s cheeks as he stepped over the threshold. “Your hair,” he said quietly. “I am utterly enchanted.”

  Hanna’s hair hung long and loose over her shoulders. She felt freer this way, without the cumbersome weight of it piled atop her head. “Thank you. Mrs. Cunningham once told me I could not wear it long, for it looked like a mongrel dog’s tail.”

  Lucas set down his hat. “She is a fool. It’s beautiful.”

  Shutting the door behind her, Hanna trembled. From what she had believed until now, romantic love was merely an illusion. But in the time she had known Lucas, a yearning had built inside her, so great it was nearly painful. She gestured toward the walnut settee. “Will you take a seat?”

  Without breaking Hanna’s gaze, Lucas lowered himself onto the cushion. He reached out, guiding her toward the empty space beside him.

  As they sat side by side, their knees almost touching, her body hummed like a lightning rod. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to ask the question that had plagued her conscience for days. Hanna wet her lips. “Why do you trouble yourself for me? You are not like the others of your station. I should be invisible to you.”

  Lucas nodded, sadness in his eyes. “It is unfortunate, but you speak the truth. For it was only when I got to know you that I saw the true beauty of your soul.”

  In spite of Lucas’s kindness all this time, she had feared Lucas was no more than a gal-sneaker, a man devoted to seduction. But his blue eyes glistened, and Hanna knew then that he spoke from his heart.

  Lucas stroked her cheek. “But you could never be invisible to me now. Your sparkle lights up a room.”

  Hanna shook her head. “I know my position, Lucas. You would not see me in this light if some person did not change you first.”

  Lucas gave her a sad smile. “Remember when I told you that I too had lost someone?”

  She did remember. “It is the reason you help me in my search for Margaret, is it not?”

  Lucas sighed. “Yes. When I was a very young boy, I had a nanny named Berta who came from the Russian Empire. I can still recall the sound of her voice. Every night she sang me a lullaby.”

  “She cared for you?”

  “More so than my own mother. I have no memories of Mother holding me or comforting me after I had taken a fall. But Berta, she would gather me into her arms and sing to me until I was soothed. She had the most beautiful voice, like an angel.”

  Hanna pictured small Lucas, his chubby hands and rosy cheeks. “How long did Berta live with you?”

  “Until I was a boy of six. Then one day I came home and she was gone.” His voice cracked. “She loved me as if I were her son. And I loved her back.”

  Hanna squeezed his hand, taken aback by the show of emotion on Lucas’s normally stoic face. “What happened?”

  “I believe my questions unsettled my parents. Like many young children, I wanted to know why Berta did not dine with us at supper, and why she was not permitted to use my mother’s parasol.”

  “Do you think they sent her away?” Hanna asked.

  Lucas took a deep breath. “Yes, now I do. But as a child, I thought she had vanished, for she had promised never to leave me. When I asked my parents where Berta had gone, they refused to answer, pretending as though she had never existed.”

  “How horrible,” Hanna murmured, shaking her head.

  Lucas smiled. “Berta lived in a room off the kitchen no bigger than a closet. It’s a pantry now. But the size of her chamber made no difference to me, for it was my favorite room in the house. Berta kept lavender in a jar by the window.”

  “How lovely. My mother, she always picked lavender too. Whenever I smell it, I am positively filled with happiness. It reminds me of her.”

  Lucas gripped Hanna’s hand more tightly. “The rules of society did not matter to me then, nor should they matter now. Why can we not reclaim the purity of heart we had as children?” His eyes burned with intensity. “I do not wish to judge my fellow man by his wealth or station, but by the strength of his character.”

  Hanna drew in her breath, taken aback by Lucas’s passion. Something stirred low in her belly, a desire to feel his skin warm beneath her fingertips.

  “Lucas,” she whispered as his face drew closer to hers. “If you have any regard for me at all, you will leave me in peace.”

  “I cannot do that,” Lucas answered, his breath warming her face, “until I know whether my love for you is reciprocated.”

  Hanna scarcely dared to breathe, her stomach fluttering.

  “Hanna,” Lucas said. “I feel that I must reveal to you my feelings and my hopes. Trusting that my attentions have, in a measure, prepared you for what I’m going to ask, please do not be frightened.”

  Without letting go of her hand, Lucas lowered himself onto the floor, kneeling before her. Hanna’s heart began to pound, faster than when she’d been frightened by the men in the Billy Goat. She had neither the manners nor the breeding to become part of Lucas’s family. He knew that. Yet never before had she seen Lucas so nervous.

  He cleared his throat. “If I know my own heart, it has an unalterable affection for you. And that is why I must ask for your hand in marriage.”

  Hanna blinked back tears. “Please, do not tease me.”

  “I am entirely serious, Hanna. Must I repeat the question?”

  Hanna could not speak. Mr. and Mrs. Havensworth would find her nothing more than an unsuitable social climber, after their family name and their estate. “Your father,” Hanna whispered. “He will never allow it.”

  Lu
cas frowned. “I am prepared for that. And I am sorry that my father is such an old stick. We must work on him together, you and I. Perhaps he will see how fond I am of you and his resistance will melt. Your character is so much purer than that of the frivolous upstarts he’d have me marry. But even if he cannot accept it, my affections for you will not change. Please, tell me yes, or my heart will be irreparably broken.”

  Hanna smiled through her tears. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

  Lucas rose and pulled her into his arms, then pressed his lips against hers. Heat pooled in Hanna’s center. For this man she would compromise her morals. Her lips parted and they kissed in a way that was reserved for a man and his wife. A longing like she had never experienced filled her, so strong was the want.

  Lucas pulled back, bringing his hand to his mouth. “I am a fool! In my haste to propose, I have forgotten to give you your ring.”

  Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, Lucas removed a black velvet box. His fingers pried open the lid. A square-cut emerald, green as a lake beneath a canopy of trees, glittered in the light, wreathed by twelve diamonds.

  Hanna’s voice deserted her as Lucas slipped the large jewel onto her finger. Never in her life had she seen a thing of such beauty or value. The rose gold ring was fit for a queen, and no doubt cost a fortune. “Lucas, this is much too—”

  “Shhh,” Lucas whispered, brushing Hanna’s hair aside. “You are my betrothed, and I am not ashamed of you. This is your ring now.”

  Hanna closed her eyes as Lucas moved his hand from her cheek to the curve of her waist. Planting tiny kisses along her neck, Lucas sent shivers down to her toes. Then he stopped. “Hanna, you’re trembling. Are you cold?”

  “No,” Hanna said hoarsely. “Merely frightened of what I am feeling.”

  Lucas continued to kiss her, brushing the side of her face, her neck, and her collarbone with his lips, sending heat to Hanna’s insides in a powerful wave.

  “There is nothing to be frightened of,” Lucas whispered. “We are to be man and wife.” He lowered his hands, gently caressing her hips.

  Kissing him deeply, Hanna lost herself in his scent of sweet cigar smoke and pine needles. He smelled like the forest in Bavaria—like home.

  When Lucas pulled back, her body ached. She almost cried out so that he would not halt his attentions. Her breath shuddered against his cheek.

  “Hanna,” Lucas said throatily. “I can stop now. This is enough.” The desire in his eyes was unmistakable, but he managed to regain his composure.

  “Do not stop,” Hanna whispered. “I want to feel you.”

  With a groan, Lucas removed his waistcoat. Slowly he unraveled his ascot. Hanna shivered as he undid the silver cuff links on his shirt, throwing them hastily on the floor. Her entire body flushed, acutely aware of his arousal. After Lucas had stripped away his clothes, he stood before her, a perfect statue of a man.

  Gently Hanna traced Lucas’s skin with her fingertips, delighting in the soft curls of his chest hair. Breathing deeply, she moved her hands lower, touching every ridge of his hardened muscles. Lucas slipped her bathrobe from her shoulders, letting it fall in a crumpled heap on the floor. Then he peeled away the thin layers of fabric from her body, leaving a trail of sensations over every area he touched.

  His mouth and his fingers sloped over the curve of her bare breasts and the tautness of her belly, her toes curling at his touch. Grabbing her hips, Lucas pulled her to the edge of the settee so that her legs splayed before him.

  Hanna gasped when Lucas’s mouth met the mound of hair between her legs, and her eyes rolled back in her head when his tongue parted her. Never in her life had she felt such exquisite pleasure. She bucked her hips to meet him, pulling him deeper as he tasted her. Lucas came up for air, breathless.

  Undoing the buttons on his cotton drawers, Lucas paused. “Hanna, are you sure?”

  She felt the wind prickle her bare skin as she stood on the edge of a precipice, about to dive into a pool as deep as the emerald on her finger.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am sure.”

  “I love you, Hanna,” Lucas whispered, laying her down against the settee cushions.

  “And I love you,” she breathed, clutching his strong back.

  Lucas straddled her and pushed his girth inside. Hanna cried out as she felt a sharp pinch. But Lucas’s words were the only assurance she needed, and soon the pain faded and the building pressure flooded her with unbearable ecstasy.

  As she rose to meet him, Hanna’s muscles tightened around the man who was to be her husband. She groaned in pleasure, her legs quivering. Whoever had taught women to lie back and “endure” this act had been sorely misguided. The settee creaked beneath them as she pulled Lucas closer, their bodies rocking and melding into one. Giving herself to Lucas fully, with a final shudder, Hanna moaned in joyous release.

  Chapter 19

  Sarah, Present Day

  Hey, are you okay?” the bus driver called to me between the open doors. My emotions felt raw. I sat shaking on the concrete sidewalk underneath the bus stop awning. That article. The accident. It had all come back to me.

  “Yeah,” I said, rising to my feet and brushing off my jeans. Robotically, I boarded the bus and pressed my clipper card against the plastic panel, listening to the beep.

  I averted my gaze from the prying eyes of other riders. Gripping the overhead rail, I watched as houses and trees blurred together. My hands continued to shake, but I managed to keep my balance.

  I thought of the email from Anonymous: Unless you want people to see this, stop what you’re doing now. A chill worked its way down my spine. Hunter could never see that article, not before I had the chance to explain. I bit my lip, hating myself for not coming clean three years ago. Now I had to live with the lie. Who had found the article? And how had they found it?

  My blood ran cold. Could it be James? He’d likely overheard me when I’d told Jen to report him, which would put his job on the line. What if he was holding all the cards in his hand, ready to expose my criminal record if I decided to help my friend? I thought of his manipulative smile and his calculating eyes.

  I couldn’t imagine what would happen if Hunter learned about my darkest secret. A fight, or worse . . .

  I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I’d paid my lawyer to remove that horrible article from the Internet. Not that it would have helped. Every local paper in the entire Vilas County metro area had covered the accident. It had taken me ten years to expunge the crime from my record. But that night I spent in jail was a memory I’d never forget.

  I covered my mouth as a lightbulb went off in my head. Of course! Opening my eyes, I yanked on the chain to announce my bus stop. We were passing by the Civic Center library, and I wanted to pinch myself for not thinking to do this earlier.

  Maybe someone had paid to remove the article that solved the mystery of what had become of Hannelore and Margaret from the online newspaper archives. But the library would possibly have records of the original newspaper.

  Research was the only thing that could distract me from the pain in my chest and my racing, anxious thoughts. How dare James threaten to send an email about my car accident to people! I’d struggled for fourteen years to move past it. Half of my life spent thinking every day about Connor, his lifeless body, and his grief-stricken mother.

  I’d sent her a letter of apology soon after the accident, pouring my sixteen-year-old heart out, telling her how absolutely horrible I felt, and how I knew nothing I said or did could make it any better or bring her son back. Then my lawyer had told me to take the plea deal, making it look like I didn’t think I deserved jail time. Seeing photos of Connor in court, his rosy-cheeked, gleeful face—he was the reason I could never have a child of my own. Connor’s father had wanted me never to drive again. Instead, I’d given myself a much harsher punishment.

  My throat tightened. Would Jen ever look at me the same way if I told her the truth? Would Nick? I couldn’t imagine losing both of my
best friends in one fell swoop.

  The bus door opened onto Market Street, the wind whipping my face. Pressing my lips together, I pushed the thought of Connor away. Hannelore and Margaret were leading me down a rabbit hole, and in the process, I was losing control of my own life. What was it that I wasn’t meant to find?

  “The devil sold my soul to an alien!” a homeless man covered in tattoos screamed at the sky, shaking his fist. He spat on the ground.

  I stuck my hands in my coat pockets and walked faster. Despite the city’s attempts to clean up Mid-Market, trash and used needles littered the street. The copper dome of City Hall gleamed in the distance, a bright spot in the gray landscape. The library stood to my right, a modern building with tall glass windows. Walking through the automatic doors, I strode over to the front desk.

  My eyes pricked with tears, remembering Connor’s limp body, but I pushed down the lump in my throat. I looked at the woman behind the desk. “Can I speak with a reference librarian, please?”

  She nodded, clicking her pen. “Someone will assist you in a moment.”

  An older woman with a long braid appeared, her bracelets jingling as she moved. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for a newspaper article from January 1876 in the publication the Daily Alta California. Do you have any of the originals?”

  “No, unfortunately we don’t. But you can use the computers to check the archives online.”

  My hands hung at my sides. “Thanks. But I really need an original.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Try the California Historical Society over on Mission Street. Their collection is much more extensive than ours. They’ve got newspapers, periodicals, and photographs—you name it. Admission is five dollars, but they don’t charge for the use of their research library.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said.

  “Good luck!” she called as I turned on my heel, jogging out of the building.

  Flagging a cab, I climbed in and rode the short distance over to Mission and Third. Rain had started falling in fat droplets, and I didn’t have an umbrella with me. Paying the driver, I pulled my sweatshirt hood over my head and darted toward the doors of the California Historical Society.