A Bargain For A Bride (Westward Hearts Book 8)

by Blythe Carver

  “We can’t possibly leave until first thing in the morning,” Oliver announced, and it was clear to Cate that he was trying to make this as easy on his wife as possible.

  It was all for naught, as she was far too upset. “I do not understand why we have to go. Just yesterday evening you suggested staying through Christmas, and now you tell me we have to go tomorrow morning. I’m so tired of always having this emergency or that emergency to tend to.”

  Oliver appeared stunned by this admission, as did Landon.

  Cate, however, was not surprised. She knew she would feel similarly where she in her mother-in-law’s place. While she did not know their situation well, she understood it clearly enough feel her frustration, her fatigue.

  It seemed Mr. Jenkins was unable to conduct his political life without his wife by his side. Or perhaps he simply did not wish to be away from her. But it was a terrible lot to ask of a woman who was reportedly in poor health.

  Cate had to wonder if that poor health had anything to do with always being on a train, or in a hotel. Perhaps she simply needed time to rest.

  It saddened her to think she could not offer her mother-in-law a place in her home. She may have stayed there with them, watching over the baby and relaxing, enjoying the fresh air she seemed to love so well.

  Yet that could not be, for in the end, it was better for everyone involved if the Jenkins left on the first train east.

  She sensed Landon’s conflicted feelings about the matter, as well. He appeared pained. His face screwed up in a grimace. She knew him well enough by now to know how it pained him to see her this way, knowing he ought to help her but being unable to do so.

  “There, there. There will be more chances for you to visit, and for Violet to visit you. You will always be her grandmother.” Cate kissed her tear-stained cheek and wished she could say something, anything to ease the woman’s pain. Her disappointment.

  “We had better go upstairs to get my things packed.” The resignation in Hermione’s voice spoke volumes. She carried Violet up the stairs, with Cate following behind.

  It appeared as though her troubles were over now.

  Why in the world was she so unhappy?

  21

  It was so difficult to be happy and relieved when his mother was so desperately disappointed.

  Oliver threw his hands into the air, turning toward the fire. “What am I supposed to do? She ought to understand by now that I cannot control when I am needed. Does she not believe I would rather live in a home like this? That I would rather have a set schedule, times of day in which I knew I would be with my family? I would love nothing more than to have what you have here.”

  He bowed his head, removing his spectacles to wipe them on his handkerchief, and Landon wished he knew what to say. His father had never been so frank with him. He’d always imagined the man enjoyed his travels, his meetings and speeches, and conferences. Never had it occurred to him that the great Oliver Jenkins would much rather live at home and enjoy a quiet life.

  The thought that he envied his son for something which was not real only deepened Landon’s sympathy.

  “Perhaps you had better speak to her.”

  Oliver snickered. “It is clear you have not been married for long.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It is for the best that she get this out of her system. Speaking with your wife will help her calm herself, as will being with the baby. Once she has had some time to herself, I will go to her. At the moment, she wants nothing to do with me, and anything I say will only make things worse. Have you not found that to be the case?”

  He poured a drink for both of them, thinking this over. “Yes, I suppose there’s something to be said for that. It is better for both parties to step away and get their thoughts in order before possibly making things worse.”

  “Precisely.” Oliver accepted his whiskey with a thoughtful expression. “Son, do you think she resents me?”

  This was not at all the sort of conversation they’d ever had before. Landon never would have guessed his father thought along these lines. “I don’t think so. She has always stood beside you. Perhaps she is tired, or it was only this disappointment speaking when she became upset.”

  “Everyone has their limits, son.” He stared down into his drink, swirling it in the glass. “I’m afraid she might have reached hers. I wish there was something I could do. We shall have to return for another visit just as soon as possible.”

  Landon suddenly felt as though his collar was too tight. He could not imagine going through this all over again, and if his parents returned to find him divorced, things would only get worse.

  What else was there to say? “Yes, whenever you can.”

  How foolish he’d been, imagining this would ever come to an end. Now that he had a child, his mother would never accept his divorce without quite a bit of pestering and questioning and, undoubtedly, more than a few tears. He supposed he could announce their separation via letter, and thus be spared the brunt of her emotions.

  He would hate himself while writing.

  “If you wish, I could go to the train station for you, perhaps secure your tickets for the morning.”

  Oliver shook his head, downing his drink before returning the glass. “I shall do it. I need fresh air. Perhaps by the time I return, your mother will be sufficiently recovered so as to talk this over as adults.”

  Landon might not have been married for long, but even he knew the folly of using such language. He hoped his father would not make his mother out to be a child when he returned, for that would only upset her more than ever. No adult wished to be treated as a child for simply feeling as any person would.

  This brought Cate to mind, and how often she’d been treated as a child. How eager she’d been to prove herself as something more. And how well she’d managed to do just that.

  Before he ascended the stairs to check on the women, Mrs. Davis left the kitchen and walked down the hall.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she whispered, wide-eyed and embarrassed for him.

  He shook his head with as much of a smile as he could muster. “I suppose you might keep supper warm in the kitchen, though I doubt either of my parents are in the mood to eat now.”

  The fact was, he hardly had an appetite himself. Not only was he too concerned for his mother, but he suddenly found himself at the end of his short-lived marriage. What a sudden turn of events.

  He understood then, as he climbed the stairs, that he had truly been looking forward to another week or two of this. Knowing her room was just beside his, where he might speak privately with her. Sharing meals with her, looking forward to her charming sense of humor and bright conversation.

  The simple pleasure of kissing her cheek before entering the bank that morning had opened his eyes to a life he’d believed himself far above. Beyond the clutches of marriage and domestic life.

  If he’d given it any thought before, he would have imagined spending the rest of his life as a bachelor, dining with friends and occasionally sporting a young woman about town.

  Now? How could he ever go back to that way of living? Even with a governess, someone to watch over Violet while he did as he pleased, it would never be the same. His heart would no longer be in it.

  Not when his heart was at home, with his daughter.

  Wishing he had someone like Cate to greet him at the end of the day.

  No, not someone like her. Cate herself. No one else would do now.

  As if she heard him thinking about her, she emerged from the back bedroom when he reached the landing. The strain on her lovely face tugged at his heart. “How is she? And, how are you?”

  The poor girl appeared to have aged in only a few minutes, lines evident on her forehead and beside her eyes. Her mouth drooped at the corners. “She is still very upset, and I have managed to pack most of her things.”

  “But, how are you?” He took her by the hand, leading her further down the hall toward th
eir rooms. They could speak more freely there, without fear of being overheard. “I would imagine this has brought you some measure of relief.”

  For some reason, unfair as it was, he almost wanted her to tell him no, this did not bring her relief. That she felt as he did. That he had brought something to her life just as she brought something to his.

  But how could that be true? He was merely a means to an end for her. The money she needed to make her dreams a reality.

  Her thoughts did not lie along the lines his did. Then again, he had never been aware of the sweetness missing in his life until she had become part of it. Was there a chance…?

  Cate nodded, the creases in her forehead deepening when she frowned. “It has, I suppose. Though I will miss her.”

  It was now or never. He could be brave, or he could be a coward. “Just her?” he whispered, hoping against hope.

  Her eyes met his, then darted away. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

  “Wish I wouldn’t what?” Something had changed, something had come between them in the time since he’d admired her in her room, when he’d been on the verge of kissing her, or at least telling her how much he longed to do so.

  He’d been so certain of her affections then, or at least of the fact that she wanted him to kiss her. He’d seen that wide-eyed look before, had heard the breathless little gasp when a woman found it difficult to breathe in front of a man she admired.

  Now, she appeared prepared to cut him down to size. “Is this what you do? Do you toy with the affections of young women? When you know you have no intention of following through?”

  His mind reeled. This was the last thing he’d expected. Even her expression hardened as she looked up at him. “I don’t understand. All this time…”

  She shook her head, her eyes harder than he had ever seen them. “You have what you want now. Your parents are of the belief that you have family. You can go on with your life. You can help me with mine. What else is there? You do not need to complicate this. Frankly, I would rather not be left by the wayside when your work takes you elsewhere.”

  As always, he felt as though she were two steps ahead of him. All he could do was scramble to keep up. “It would not be that way. Not the way it is with my parents.”

  “Yes, but you were away for a year. You are an important man, I would imagine—” She looked away, folding her arms. “This is all for naught. I don’t know why I let my imagination get away from me. Isn’t that what you’ve already accused me of?”

  “Why are you so angry? What have I done?” When she would not face him, he took her by the shoulders and turned her in place. “Look at me when I speak to you. At least do me that favor.”

  He was surprised to find tears standing in her eyes. Little wonder she had wished to avoid his gaze. His irritation melted in the face of her emotion, softening him, making him eager to soothe her. “Cate, I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s truly happening here. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you so angry, when that is the last thing I ever wish to do. Please, talk to me.”

  His hands tightened around her shoulders, and he drew her a bit closer. How he longed to hold her, to comfort her and promise that whatever she believed about him was not true.

  The door to the back bedroom opened, and his mother emerged. He released Cate quickly, as if her shoulders burned beneath his hands.

  “I know this might sound terribly strange, but would you mind moving the baby’s crib into my room tonight? I would like very much to have the chance to care for her one last time before we go.”

  Cate’s anger dissolved in an instant, her expression softening as she smiled at his mother. “Of course. Anything you wish.”

  Hermione chuckled. “I would imagine it would make things easier for you tonight, as well. You might enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

  A good night’s sleep?

  How would he ever manage that now that Cate hated him for some reason he could not begin to understand?

  22

  She knew she was merely going through the motions as she groomed herself the following morning, washing her face clean of the dried tears which had accumulated over a long, sleepless night.

  She brushed her hair after freeing it from its braid, then coiled it into a heavy bun on the back of her head and pinned it in place.

  This was the last time she need pretend to be the happy wife and mother. She knew it ought to come as a great relief, just as she had known since the night before.

  Perhaps she would be relieved if she did not feel as though she were on the verge of losing something she had never truly possessed.

  How many times had she gazed at the ring on her left hand in the glow from the fire, wishing it were truly the symbol it was meant to be?

  How many times had she cursed herself for being so cross with Landon?

  She’d been afraid, nothing more. For she did not wish to ever be that woman, the one weeping as her husband told her where to go and when to be there.

  Just a few minutes spent with Hermione, listening to her resigned sighs and sniffling, had reminded her of the perils of ever being beholden to a man for any reason.

  Yet Landon had done nothing to deserve her ire or her fear. She’d spent the night wishing for the courage to knock on his door and offer apologies. Pride would not allow it, nor would modesty.

  But it had been mostly pride, plain and simple.

  She heard Violet babbling and cooing in the hall before Hermione knocked, and she resolved to be cheerful when she opened the door to them.

  “Good morning,” she fairly sang, “and how was she last night?”

  “I believe you are correct, but then, you would be. Mothers normally are.” Hermione handed Violet over with a regretful little sigh. “The women you hired to care for Violet must not have properly helped her after feeding. How could any baby sleep soundly while suffering from an uncomfortable air bubble in their stomach?”

  “That is exactly what I had suspected.” Cate nuzzled Violet’s soft cheek, glad she’d at least understood what was wrong with the baby even if she was not her baby.

  But oh, how she wished it were so. That it had been motherly intuition rather than simple common sense.

  “How are you?” she asked, noting the dark circles beneath her mother-in-law’s eyes.

  Hermione’s smile was rather grim, but triumphant. “I believe my husband and I now understand each other. He knows I’m terribly disappointed and has promised we might return at the earliest convenience.”

  Cate’s heart clenched, though she gave as little indication of it as she could manage. What would Landon do in that case? She decided that was for him to worry about, for she had other concerns to manage. His life was not her life, and she would do well to remember that.

  “I’m sure nothing would give us more pleasure,” she lied. It was not a lie told with malice or out of any desire to mislead, but rather as a means of sparing the woman’s feelings. She was already suffering enough, and did not need to know there would be no daughter-in-law waiting for her when she returned.

  They descended the stairs together, and Cate reflected on how this would be the last morning she would spend here. What would Violet do when she was gone? For a moment, she considered asking Landon if he would allow her to bring the baby to the ranch until he found someone to care for her on a steady basis, but that would only deepen their connection and would, therefore, make it all the more difficult to let go of her when the time came.

  Once again, she reminded herself that this was not her life. She could not over-concern herself with the lives of those who would shut her out when the time came.

  Breakfast had been laid out in the morning room by the efficient Mrs. Davis, and Cate poured coffee for Hermione and herself.

  “I understand your train leaves at 10 o’clock,” she murmured as she went about the business of serving the food.

  “Yes. My husband shall be down to dine with us in a moment. I understand Landon went to
the bank to inform Mr. Witherspoon that he would be taking the morning off to spend with us.”

  “Yes, he did.” In reality, Cate had not the slightest idea what he’d done, as they had not spoken since their unfortunate encounter in the hall.

  She did wish for the chance to apologize, though she was afraid she had destroyed any chance of even friendship between them. Perhaps that was for the best. She was not certain she could never be friends with him when she wanted to be so much more. They were business partners, nothing more than that.

  Oliver entered the room, immediately going to Violet. “I hope the next time we visit, the two of us have a chance to get to know each other better,” he said as he lifted her from Cate’s arms.

  She hoped the same, for both their sakes. They deserved to get to know each other better.

  She turned away, looking out the window. It was all too much. Tears threatened to flow at any time.

  It was never truly yours. They are not yours. Violet isn’t yours, and neither is Landon.

  There was a knock at the front door, causing them all to look at each other.

  “Perhaps Landon forgot his key,” Hermione suggested, rising as if to answer.

  “Don’t worry yourself. I will attend to it.” It was an excuse to get out of the room, anyway. Cate hurried down the hall, waving Mrs. Davis away as she made a move as if to answer instead.

  It was not Landon outside, nor was it anyone Cate recognized. “Yes?” she asked, waiting.

  The young woman blinked rapidly, staring with an open mouth. “Who are you?” she demanded upon regaining control of herself.

  This was unexpected. Strangers did not typically arrive on a doorstep and make demands. Cate stammered, “I—that is, I might ask you the same question. I am Mrs. Jenkins. This is my home. Once again, I ask, who are you?”

  “Where is Landon?”

  A sinking suspicion planted its roots in Cate’s belly. It was the girl’s fair hair which made her wonder… “I assume you mean Mr. Jenkins. Might I say who is calling?”