The door opened and he stood, then walked over to greet Patsy as she stepped over the threshold.
The eyes that glanced up at him were red rimmed and puffy, and the shameful way she bowed her head made his stomach clench. She was the reason he was doing all this, because he’d seen the Libby she kept locked up inside her. He’d been like that once. His father hadn’t been like William, but his father had expected him to take over the farm, and he hadn’t wanted to be a farmer. Like her, he’d wanted to get out and live, see things, experience things and report his findings to others. His chance to do so had happened when the war broke out. His father went to serve, and had died overseas. His mother had then sold the farm, and the two of them had moved to Los Angeles, where he met Charles Lloyd, who had believed in him enough to print his first article.
Patsy deserved to have someone believe in her that much, too. Her writing was rough, but showed potential. She not only had an eye for detail, she could put it on paper, and that was a unique talent. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze as her father directed everyone to sit down.
Lane led her to a long sofa along one wall, but didn’t sit down beside her. Instead, he stood next to the arm of the sofa and kept one hand on her shoulder.
“Disobedience has never been allowed in this house, Patsy,” Dryer started, sounding as stern as a judge laying out a life sentence to a criminal. “Your behavior today is far from acceptable and we are faced with the need to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and she nodded. “Yes, Father.”
Lane increased the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. Her demeanor, that of a disgraced child, was nothing like the young woman he knew, and that goaded him. He also now understood why William had told him he might need another drink. His demeanor had gone back to how he’d been at the supper table. In full control. The ruler of his domain.
Straightening his stance, Lane let his disdain show. “Patsy has not done anything to be ashamed of. In fact, sir—” he paused so the significant use of the word could settle “—you and your wife should be proud of the young woman you raised. Did you know that Patsy has aspirations of becoming a writer?”
Patsy snapped her head up. Her eyes were full of surprise, and laced with what he had to admit was horror.
Her mother, from whom Patsy got her petite structure, blond hair and delicate features, gasped. Pressing a hand to her chest, she asked, “A writer? Patsy, you never mentioned that.”
Dryer’s frown overtook his entire face. He clearly didn’t appreciate that Lane had just thrown a curveball and significantly shifted control of the game. He instantly tried to get it back. “That has nothing to do with what happened today.”
Lane drew in a breath. While jumping to her defense, he’d let the cat out of the bag, and now had to make sure it didn’t escape completely. “I believe it does. It shows she is committed to the future, and someone committed to the future is not interested in making mistakes that will hamper their abilities to obtain their goal.”
Both William and his wife were frowning. So was Patsy. Lane knew he was playing with words, and was also buying time. Dryer was obviously ready to jump right into the subject of marriage, and Lane couldn’t have Patsy telling them the truth. Not until he talked to her about it.
Yet, he also knew, the subject had to be brought up. Smiling down at her, he said, “Your father has agreed to give us a week to decide if we would be compatible for an engagement.”
Her jaw dropped as she turned her gaze to her father.
“A marriage,” William said. “You have a week to prove you’ll make Lane a good wife. Which shouldn’t be hard. Your mother has taught you everything you need to know.”
* * *
Patsy’s heart was pounding so hard, it echoed in her ears. A marriage? No. No. No. That couldn’t happen. This couldn’t be happening.
“I understand that isn’t much time,” Lane said.
“If you were anyone else, you two would be getting married tonight,” Father said. “The only reason I’ve agreed to wait is because I’d already considered you as a viable option for Patsy to marry. However, this family will not host a scandal.”
She pressed a hand to her temple, at the pounding that was happening inside her head.
“There will be no scandal,” Lane said.
Patsy shook her head because this already was a scandal. They’d kissed. More than once, but she couldn’t pretend to be engaged to him. Not Lane. He still missed his wife and daughter. He couldn’t have agreed to this.
“A wedding date can be decided after the official announcement of our engagement,” Lane said.
This couldn’t be happening. It truly couldn’t be.
“No, the date can be decided here, now,” Father replied.
Patsy closed her eyes as the two men went back and forth as if bidding against one another for something on an auction block. A sense of panic built inside her as the voices grew in velocity. The enormity of the situation, of what she’d caused, grew overwhelming. “Stop!” She leaped to her feet. “Please, just stop!” Anything she said would only make matters worse, so she spun around and ran for the door, despite both her father and Lane shouting her name.
Lane caught up with her as she grabbed the banister on her way around the edge of the stairs leading to the second floor. “Come outside with me,” he said next to her ear. “I’ll explain.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can.” He placed his hand over hers. “Everything’s all right, I promise.”
Patsy let him lead her out the door because she had no idea what else to do. All she’d wanted was to get out of her father’s office, away from the arguing. But that, running away, wouldn’t solve anything. She’d created this problem and needed to figure out what to do now.
The cool evening air may have been what cleared her mind, or it may have just happened. Either way, as soon as she and Lane were outside, with the door closed behind them, she said, “I’m sorry, Lane, so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
She huffed out a breath and walked down the porch steps. “Yes, I do. For my father, for him saying you have to marry me.”
He took her elbow and led her across the front lawn, to where a cluster of three palm trees stood prominently in the front yard.
There, he cupped her cheek with one hand. “You don’t have to be sorry, or afraid on my behalf. Not ever.” He glanced at the house. “I could have said no.”
Confused, Patsy asked, “Why didn’t you?”
The corner of Lane’s mouth curled into the tiniest grin. “Because this is your chance, Patsy.”
She still didn’t understand. “My chance at what?”
“To become a reporter.”
Her heart thudded and she wasn’t sure if it was due to his smile, or to his words. “How?”
“I told your father I need a week to decide if you would make an appropriate wife for me. During that time, he’s agreed to let you attend functions with me. You’ll be able to go places, experience things and write about them.”
That all sounded wonderful, but a chill inside had her asking, “Why?”
He grimaced slightly. “For several reasons. Once people see us out together, the rumors of our engagement will stop and—”
“No, they won’t,” she interrupted. “It’ll make it worse.”
“You’d think so, but actually, that’s not the way it works. Once a rumor is confirmed, people forget about it, move on to the next. A week will also give Henry time to catch Vincent Burrows.” The pressure of his hand still on her cheek increased. “No one can know where Henry is staying. You can’t tell anyone.”
She’d never intended to tell anyone. “Of course I won’t, but what happens when the week is up?”
He shrugged. “That we aren’t compa
tible.”
Her heart leaped into her throat, and stuck there. Wouldn’t budge even when she tried coughing to dislodge it. “F-Father won’t like that.”
“By then, you’ll be a reporter. Burrows will be caught, and you’ll have helped write the headline story about his capture. Your father will like the publicity that’ll bring to your family.”
He could be right about that, but there was so much more to it than that. “I don’t know, Lane. This could be more dangerous than chasing down Vincent Burrows ever could be.” He said he didn’t want to be married and neither did she, but what if something happened? What if they kissed again? She couldn’t stop it before. Hadn’t wanted to stop it. What was she going to do?
Glancing toward the house, he said, “Well, if you’re that afraid, I can go talk to your father right now. Call it all off.”
She bit her lips together, wondering if that would be the best choice. It would be awful, but it would be awful a week from now, too.
“I know one thing,” Lane said. “Liberty Bellamy wouldn’t be afraid. She’d be excited to get this chance.”
She had to keep biting her lips together. This time it wasn’t to stay quiet. It was to keep from smiling. Libby would jump at this chance. She wouldn’t be afraid at all. He knew that. His smile said so. She released hers, and the air in her lungs. “Yes, she would. She is.”
“Good.” He grasped her hand. “We’ll have to stick together on this. Let your family believe that we’ll announce our engagement in a week. Even your sisters.”
She nodded, even though she knew that would be the hardest part, not telling her sisters the truth. They’d never kept secrets from each other.
No, that wasn’t true. She had already been keeping secrets from them. About Lane kissing her, and how Victoria Lloyd knew—She grabbed a hold of his arm. “Victoria Lloyd, Lane. She might still tell my father about me being at her party.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
That might have satisfied Patsy, but the Libby in her said, “We’ll talk to her.”
* * *
Later that night, as Patsy lay in bed, she wondered what had happened in the house while she’d been outside with Lane because when he’d walked her back inside, her father agreed that they could announce their engagement in a week.
Engagement.
The word scared the dickens out of her. So did marriage. She didn’t want to get married. Didn’t want a life like her mother had, leaving the house only to go shopping once a week. She’d never realized just how boring that life was until she’d graduated school and completed the secretarial course. Because that’s when that became her life, too.
Even a week of freedom felt like a dream.
Her stomach gurgled at that thought, too.
She had one week to become a reporter. A real reporter.
Flipping back the pink brocade bedspread and white sheet, she reached over and clicked on her lamp. There was still a copy of the article she’d written about the dance-off in her suitcase. Now that she knew how people wanted to read about real people, she decided to rewrite it. She couldn’t use Betty’s name, and didn’t know the man’s name whom Betty had danced with, so that was a dilemma. Betty wasn’t home. She and Jane had snuck out. They’d been gone when she came up to bed.
Funny, she didn’t miss going out with them tonight. Her day had been full of adventure. Trekking into the woods, meeting an FBI agent, taking shelter in the cave and then all that had happened once Lane had walked her home—how he’d given her the chance to truly be liberated for a week.
And they’d kissed, but she was trying hard to not think about that. Had to. If she let herself remember that, she wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.
She glanced back down at the pad of paper. She had to write. Had to become a reporter within the week. Lane had said Libby would be... That’s it! She could use Oliver and Libby and combine the dance-off at the Rooster’s Nest with the one at Victoria’s.
She closed her eyes, recalling how Lane had spun her around, and dipped her at the end of the dance contest. And the exact moment he had kissed her. How the pressure of his lips had awakened things inside her. How her body had tingled, and how a temptation had arisen, a need that was hard to describe, but one that had made her body come to life in a very womanly way.
Lane had kissed Libby, not Patsy. Either way, she wouldn’t put how she felt in the article, but she wouldn’t ever forget it, that was for sure, but she could write it as Libby.
Lane was right. Libby could do it. She’d prove it.
With newfound determination, she picked up the pen and started to write, and write, and write.
The article was finished and she was reading through it, making small changes, when she heard a muffled thud from the bathroom next door. She shot off the bed, ran to the door and pulled it open. Betty was already entering her bedroom and she shut her door without a backward glance.
Patsy glanced into the bathroom, where Jane shrugged.
“She’s been grumpy all day,” Jane whispered. “Going out only made it worse.”
“Because of me?” Patsy asked.
“Who knows? She was adamant that we go out tonight, even though Mother and Father were still awake. They didn’t realize we were gone, did they?” Jane asked.
“No. They never came upstairs or asked about either of you.”
Jane pulled the beaded hat off her head and shook out her long hair. “Are you okay? What happened to you today? Where were you?”
Patsy grabbed her hand and dragged her into her bedroom. “I was helping Lane on the Rex Gaynor story.”
“Hot socks!” Jane jumped onto the bed and folded her legs. “Spill the beans!”
Careful to not mention Henry, which became difficult when she told Jane about the cabin in the woods, Patsy gave a step-by-step, minus the kiss—she couldn’t tell anyone about that, not even Jane—account of the day, including the cave and ultimately the engagement.
“Engaged?” Jane eyed her closely. “Baloney!”
Patsy felt the excitement swirl in her stomach. The engagement was baloney, but at the moment, it made her happy. She wasn’t totally sure why, but nodded. “Yes. To Lane.”
“Bee’s knees!” Jane leaped off the bed and grabbed Patsy’s shoulders. “Do you know what this means? It means we do have a choice! Father won’t force us to marry only who he deems appropriate!”
Patsy froze momentarily and swallowed against the wave of guilt at not being able to tell her sister the engagement was pretend, and that Lane had actually been one of the men Father had considered as a viable option—that was what he’d said. Viable option.
“This is beyond bee’s knees!” Jane jumped up and down and muffled a giggle with both hands. “Oh, Patsy, I could kiss you! I am going to kiss you!” Clasping Patsy’s head with both hands, her sister planted a kiss on her forehead. “This is copacetic! Copacetic!” Grabbing her hand, Jane added, “We have to tell Betty!”
They hurried out of the room and down the hall. Betty’s door was locked. They knocked as loud as they dared, but Betty didn’t respond.
“She must be asleep,” Patsy whispered.
“We’ll have to tell her in the morning.” Jane clapped her hands silently and then blew a kiss at Patsy. “Night!”
“Night,” she responded quietly as Jane entered her bedroom, leaving Patsy alone in the hallway. Alone with a mixture of sentiments filling her. A week from now, when they discovered this was all a hoax, her sisters were not going to be happy.
No one was going to be happy.
Including her father.
He’d chosen Lane as a viable option for her. When? Why? Was this whole thing a setup between Lane and her father?
Patsy trudged her way back into her bedroom and crawled into bed, trembling from head to toe.
Her sleeple
ss night left her with one option.
To go talk to Lane.
She was greeted with smiling faces at the breakfast table, which made her so nervous she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat.
Taking her seat, she glanced at the empty one beside her. The one where Lane had sat last night. He certainly had agreed to all this quickly. So had Father.
The food was passed about and the meal consumed in silence, as usual, but rather than merely nodding and raising from his chair when he’d finished eating, Father set down his napkin and folded his hands together, elbows on the table.
Patsy held her breath with impending dread.
Nodding at her, Father said, “It appears that Patsy’s hobby of sending letters to the newspaper has provided a suitable match for her.”
The hair on her arms stood at the realization that he knew about her writing articles and mailing them to the newspapers. She’d been certain neither he nor Mother knew about that. Unless Lane had told him. Which made her wonder what else he’d told them, as well as what he hadn’t told her.
“Mr. Cox is a prominent member of society,” Father said. “A man with the ways and means to provide for a family, a man of wealth and status, which has been my concern when it comes to finding suitable husbands for each of you. Their wedding date will be set next week upon the announcement of Patsy’s engagement to Lane Cox and today you will all go shopping with your mother. She has a list of things that will be needed in the near future.”
As if that had been a speech to the masses, he then nodded, stood and left the room.
Patsy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to come up with something to say in the silence that was sure to remain in his wake.
To her surprise, that wasn’t the case.
“Let’s hurry,” Mother said excitedly. “We have a wedding to plan, and your father has insisted that we spare no expense. After all, Patsy will be marrying a wealthy man.”
The Flapper's Fake Fiancé Page 17
