The Inconvenient Bride Series 1-3

by Sharon Ihle

  Thinking of paying his father a visit, and not incidentally, gathering a little of his praise in the bargain, Donovan asked, "Did he ever come in today? I thought I'd stop by and say hello before I go on home."

  "No, I'm afraid he didn't make it in at all." Francis ran his hand across his high forehead. "He sent a messenger instead, to inform us that he'd been beaten and robbed last night while he was out shopping for Olivina's anniversary gift."

  "Beaten? Is he badly hurt?"

  "He's at home and, according to the message, only damaged cosmetically. There's a black eye, a swollen, bloodied nose, and some sore ribs, but nothing broken, as far as the doctor could tell."

  "Damn." Donovan kicked the edge of the desk. "What's this town coming to when a decent man like R. T. can't walk the streets without getting attacked by hoodlums? Did they catch them yet?"

  "I don't have any more details than what I told you. Maybe you ought to stop by the house tonight and at least say hello. We might have more details by then."

  Nodding thoughtfully, Donovan said, "I have a few more things to do around here, and I need to stop by my own place first. If you see R. T. before I get there, be sure to tell him that I..."—he paused, not exactly sure how to express the sentiment—"...hope he feels better real soon."

  "I will." Francis shook his hand, adding, "If I miss you tonight, I'll see you again first thing tomorrow morning, fireball."

  Although that statement coming from the brother he respected so much had gone a long way in lifting Donovan's spirits, he was still concerned and about half-mad as he strolled in through the door of his home that evening. Finding the house as dark as his mood, he called, "Libby? Where are you?"

  "In here."

  Her voice sounded flat and emotionless coming out of the darkened living room, and her tone raised the hairs at the back of his neck, but Donovan was not about to step foot into that particular room unless it was well lit. "It's too dark in there. Either light the lamps or come out here."

  He could hear her heavy sigh, but also the squeak of her chair as she rose from it, and assumed she was headed to the foyer where the lamp atop the credenza illuminated the surroundings. A moment later, almost like an apparition, Libby suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  Her sad brown eyes looking much too large for her drawn face, she said, "Your sister went to work for the cause today by sending some inquiries about Savage operations." Libby waved some papers toward him—telegrams, he thought. "I think we'd better have a little talk."

  Chapter 18

  As he settled down at the kitchen table with a cup of warmed-over coffee, Donovan chuckled over the information Libby had just given him. "And you're sure Eldorado Distilleries is owned by my father?"

  "It's owned by S and S Enterprises, which also owns Savage Publishing."

  "I wonder what Lil will think of that. We've been buying our whiskey from Eldorado for years now."

  "My guess," Libby said carefully, "is that she'll change liquor companies, but this isn't about Lucky Lil's. This is about the equal rights movement and the part your father plays in keeping the suffrage amendment off the ballot."

  "Aw, come on, Libby." Donovan sounded weary. "I thought we had all that female suffragist talk behind us. R. T. is dead set against women voting, and there isn't a damn thing either one of us can do to change his mind about it. I thought you'd decided to accept that, and just let it be." She made a point of looking him right in the eye, primarily to make sure he understood how serious she was, but also to gauge his reaction. "I've quit trying to change his mind, but now that I know he isn't just against the idea of the women's vote, but fighting it, I can never accept what he's doing."

  With one swift and completely unexpected movement, Donovan swept his cup and saucer off the table. Amid the racket of shattering china, he banged his fist down on the hardwood top and declared, "Dammit—I've had enough of this. I'm beginning to think you're trying to turn me against my family. Why? Are you so jealous of them?"

  Afraid of what she saw in his expression—a hint of R. T. Savage—Libby couldn't help but recoil a little. But she would not back down from her ideals ever again. "I'm happy you found your family, really I am, and I actually like most of them. But I can't accept your father's position when it means I have to turn my back on what I believe in—especially not now that I have a few more facts."

  Donovan muttered something she didn't understand and then said, "Other than the fact you found out we own a distillery, what's so damning about your new 'facts'?"

  "Plenty." Libby thought she saw him flinch, a gesture she likened to donning armor. Nor had she missed the way he'd referred to the Savage family as "we." The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Donovan or cast stones at the family he so obviously embraced as his own, but she could not ignore her own principles any longer.

  Trying to be as diplomatic as possible, she explained her position. "I thought your father was just being bull-headed by choosing to ignore the movement—and he might have continued to fool me into believing that for a good long while, if I hadn't found out how deeply he's involved himself against the cause. I could almost turn my back on his indifference or dislike, but I cannot walk away from the information Susan gathered today. Not when the man in question has the means to do such serious damage to the cause."

  Donovan waved impatiently. "Forget the dramatics, Libby, and get on with it. And speaking of Susan, I'm none too pleased about you dragging her into this women's rights business, or with the fact that you seem to be trying to turn your cause into some kind of family war. Just what is this damning evidence Susan turned up about R. T.?"

  Her own anger simmering, Libby had to will herself to calm down in order to offer a lucid explanation of R. T.'s activities. If she didn't, Donovan wouldn't even listen, much less believe her. "There are many and varied reasons as to why women are having difficulty gaining the vote, but highly visible among them, are the liquor and textile industries."

  "Textiles? You're out to hang harmless old dressmakers, too?"

  Hating his sarcasm, the side of him which most closely resembled his father, Libby rose to the challenge and fired a salvo of her own. "Those harmless dressmakers, as you call them, oppose passage of the suffragist act because the minute women get the vote, they'll be slapping restrictions on the horrid way the textile industry abuses child labor in this country. Am I to assume that you're for an industry that works eight-year-old children to the bone, fifteen hours a day, and doesn't even bother to feed them?"

  Donovan plowed his fingers through the thick bank of hair at his forehead, looking almost apologetic. "Of course not. I didn't mean to sound like I'm making fun of you and what you believe in, but when it comes to my family, you seem to be trying to force something down my throat, I just can't swallow."

  "I'm sorry it comes across to you that way because I'm only trying to provide you with a clear picture of what we're up against, not forcing you to believe anything. With that in mind, please accept the fact that the liquor industry, which is probably even more powerful than clothing manufacturers, fears something worse than a loss of revenues—complete closure. If the suffrage act were to pass, it's entirely possible the female vote would bring about prohibition. While I don't personally believe in the temperance movement, and I would never vote for it, I understand it's gaining quite a lot of support."

  Looking thoughtful, Donovan drummed his knuckles against the tabletop. "If that was your best argument for swaying me away from my family, it didn't work. In fact, I believe I finally see why R. T. gets so upset about all this suffragist talk. I doubt he wants his distillery closed any more than I want to see Lucky Lil's shut down. Or haven't you thought of that?"

  Overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she was facing, Libby hadn't even considered the impact the temperance movement could make on Donovan's and Lil's business. Troubled as she was by the idea, she couldn't let even that concern stop her. "No, I'm sorry to say, I didn't think of that. Even if I had, it wouldn't chan
ge what your father's doing—or what I have to do to fight him."

  "And just what is my father doing, other than trying to save his business?"

  Libby forgave him his arrogant tone and flippant reply, but only because the stakes for him were twofold—business and personal. "The way the liquor and textile industries have fought against suffragists is through lobbying our legislators and administrative officers in Washington and across the nation. The major contributor of funds used to 'persuade' these legislators into defeating pending bills regarding suffrage is S and S Enterprises, which includes Eldorado Distilleries. That's high-powered bribery, pure and simple."

  Donovan's jaw tightened as the information filtered in, and his fingers curled with frustration, but he did not look up to meet Libby's gaze. His voice quiet, dejected, he simply said, "What do you expect me to do about it?"

  If he'd just said that he understood, or that he even recognized the burden on her shoulders, it would have gone a long way in helping Libby to keep her composure. But this indifference, if that's what it was, splintered her. Anger, disappointment, and even a few tears leaked out through those cracks as she pushed away from the table and said, "I don't want you to do a damn thing, Donovan Savage. I just wanted to make sure you understood what drove me away. Thanks for your lovely hospitality." With that, she rose and started for the door.

  Libby heard the ear-splitting screech of Donovan's chair just seconds before he caught her from behind. His arms linked firmly around her waist, he held her tight against his body and muttered, "You're not going anywhere. Not like this."

  "There's no point in my staying here any longer. We'll just make each other miserable." It occurred to her then that this really was good-bye. Libby knew it without question. To stay would mean one of them had to back down. Tears falling freely, she turned in his arms and said, "I don't want to leave, but I don't know what else to do. I only know that I'm down to two choices, neither of them acceptable. One, I continue to write my editorials the way your father dictates they should be written and turn my back on his lobbying activities, or two, I refuse to bow to his vast wealth, stand up for what I believe in, and turn what I've learned about R. T. into headlines. If I do that, I'll lose the Tribune for sure, and probably have my home taken away from me, too."

  She uttered a short, bitter laugh. "Which would you choose, Donovan, if you were in my shoes? The first, the coward's way to destruction? Or the second, the harder, more painful way, which would also destroy your baby brother?"

  With what felt like near desperation to Libby, Donovan took her face between his hands. "There has to be another choice, one neither of us has thought of yet. There has to be, dammit."

  Looking more distressed than angry, he came down hard on her mouth, grinding his lips against hers more than kissing them. Branding them, she thought. In return, Libby threw her arms around Donovan's neck, hugging him tightly, wanting to never let him go, then relaxed and rested her head against his shoulder. Tears distorting her already blurred vision, she glanced around the room. Until now she'd thought of the kitchen as warm and cozy, its walls painted in soft buttery tones, the papered areas festooned with vines and trellises highlighted by little bouquets of buttercups. But not this evening. Now this room seemed cold and dreary, hostile even though the cute little enameled stove glowed with a still-smoldering fire. Tonight she and Donovan had finally run out of time.

  His face buried in her hair, Donovan whispered, "Let me think about this some more. I know there's a solution in here somewhere, but I just can't think straight enough to figure out what it is right now. Besides, you promised you'd stay through Saturday so I don't have to go to the Young Gentlemen's Ball. Remember?"

  Busy wiping her tears away, both laughing and crying, Libby could only nod against Donovan's jacket in answer.

  "Thank you, sweetheart. I'll make sure you don't regret it." Then he kissed her temple, nuzzling her there a moment before murmuring, "I want you with me tonight, too. Say you'll come with me to see R. T., and that you won't say a word about anything we've discussed here."

  The first thought to pop into Libby's mind was that, although Donovan had been unable to find a solution to their insurmountable problems, he'd definitely discovered the way to dry a girl's tears. Incredulous to the point of amused surprise, she broke out of his embrace and held him at arm's length. "I cannot believe after everything I've just explained, that you want to drag me to that man's home."

  "This has nothing to do with who's right or who's wrong, Libby. I want you to go there for me, not him." Donovan shuffled his feet, looking very uncomfortable. "I have to go see him, I promised Francis I would, and... I find this sort of thing difficult. I want you to be there with me."

  New tears, but from an entirely different kind of well, sprung into Libby's eyes. "You mean you need me."

  "I didn't exactly say that." Those clear blue eyes hid nothing of his discomfort, embarrassment, or feelings that ran deeper than he was willing to admit. "I only know that I don't want to go there alone, and that I want you to come with me. Don't try to make any more out of it than that."

  But she'd seen. She'd seen. Smiling through her tears, Libby said, "If you really need me that much, then I'll go."

  "Promise, first." Donovan looked both relieved and worried. "Promise you won't bring any of this distillery or lobbying business up, not tonight—and, especially, don't mention the part about Susan. I don't think my father is going to be up to much of anything except hello, after what he's been through."

  "What do you mean, 'what he's been through'?"

  "Didn't I mention he was injured?"

  Libby shook her head, aware already, on a subconscious level that the man was hurt, but unable to grasp the fleeting thought long enough to know the reason why.

  Sounding terribly distressed, Donovan went on. "My father was attacked last night and badly beaten. He could have been killed."

  In that same instant, of course, Libby remembered exactly what had happened to the man—and who had tried to kill him. Fighting to keep from blurting out what she knew about the incident, she managed to casually say, "How perfectly awful. Do you know what happened to him?"

  "Not the details, but I imagine we'll find out more about this once we arrive at the mansion." He was impatient now, hands in his pockets one minute, fiddling with his watch fob the next. "So, what do you say? Will you go with me, and on my terms?"

  Looking him solemnly in the eye, Libby was somehow able to keep a straight face as she said, "I wouldn't want to miss this visit for anything. I promise not to bring up the distillery or women's suffrage, and I won't even breathe your sister's name. Good enough?"

  Donovan's silvery blue eyes crackled with sudden insight, or maybe it was suspicion. In any case, Libby could see that he knew she was either giddy with excitement over something, or perhaps realized that she knew something he didn't. But as he usually did when it came to matters concerning this newfound father of his, he just shrugged off his doubts. Then, taking her hand, Donovan didn't even stop to collect topcoats for them as he led her out of the house and into the night.

  * * *

  They were kept waiting a full thirty minutes in R. T.'s expansive study on the first floor of the mansion. A beverage cart containing everything from liqueur to tea, including a cut-glass bowl filled with ice, was at their disposal. Donovan poured himself a stiff brandy, and paced the entire time he waited for his father to appear. Libby donned her glasses, then circled the room like a cat on the prowl, marveling over the excesses, and questioning the morality of one person laying claim to so much. Everywhere she looked, she found fine crystal, gilt-edged furnishings, and beveled mirrors.

  Trophies of the animals R. T. had hunted punctuated the redwood walls of the masculine study—a moose head with enormous antlers, the full mount of a bull elk down to its breastbone, a bear of some kind—grizzly she thought—and an animal from the antelope family with long twisted antlers pointed straight up at the ceiling. Glancing quickl
y around the oval-shaped room, Libby halfway expected to find a few human heads among the trophies, but only a couple of exotic-looking creatures and a fiercely snarling boar stared back at her.

  She'd made her way to the elaborately carved walnut and redwood fireplace inset with turquoise tiles, when R. T. finally came into the room. He was limping noticeably, and although he'd yet to face her full on, she could see that his aristocratic nose was swollen and that at least one of his eyes was puffed shut.

  "R. T.," said Donovan, crossing the room to greet him. "Damned if you don't look like hell. Are you feeling any better?"

  "Than what?" said the man, trying to make light of the situation. "Do I feel better than I did last night? No, but I guess I've come around a little since this morning. I was so stiff when I woke up, I could hardly get out of bed."

  The men exchanged a warm handshake, and then suddenly, R. T. whirled, as if finally aware Libby was in the room. She instinctively reached up to remove her spectacles, but then defiantly left them sitting atop her nose.

  "Oh... hello, Miss Justice. I'd forgotten that James said Donovan brought a guest with him."

  "Hello, Mr. Savage. I'm sorry to hear about your... 'accident.'"

  Did R. T. narrow his gaze just a little as she spoke, Libby wondered, or was she merely imagining that he knew she was on to him? The man was so slick she found it impossible to tell which. Whatever he thought he'd heard in her tone didn't stop him from smiling warmly and asking, "Did you two find everything you need? Can I get you something else to drink, or a bite to eat?"

  Libby shook her head, her smile twice as sweet and every bit as bogus as R. T.'s. "I'm fine, thank you. So what really happened to you?"

  "Damn, Libby," said Donovan, his tone suggesting that she might be overstepping her boundaries. "Let the man sit down and relax."

  "That's all right, Son." R. T. chuckled as he sank onto the oversized chair in front of the fireplace. "I suppose this mutilated face of mine is a bit of a curiosity. Poor dear Olivina burst into tears when she saw me, and hasn't come out of her room since." Again he laughed, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. They were cold, unflinching, and staring at Libby as if measuring her for a coffin.