Jon contemplated Esther's remark. Sarah had indeed opened his eyes to other options. He was obsessed with wanting her in his bed. Marriage was not the answer though. She was opposed to that state as much as he. Which left mistress, though their alliance would have to be carefully guarded from the girls. But he could not reconcile himself to the fact that she was everything a mistress should not be—headstrong, independent, in no way subservient. The fact that she didn't like cooking or stitchery or the other trifles most women enjoyed was irrelevant because once she was initiated into the rites of womanhood, she would attend to another, infinitely more important duty most satisfactorily...
Dorothy offered the scrapbook. "Is this the sort of thing you want your daughter to read?"
Jon took the book and scanned the clippings, surprised at how meticulously they had been pasted. "Would you prefer she read Madame Bovary?" he asked, and looked up to find his mother's face flushed. "Don't look so surprised, Mother. Esther and I know you have the book hidden around here somewhere. We even knew when you were reading it."
Dorothy flipped her fan back and forth. "I merely perused it to learn what all the hubbub was about. But that has nothing to do with Josephine's recent behavior. Not only was she severely reprimanded by Madame Pettibeau for taking part in that disgraceful woman's assemblage—"
"It was not an assemblage. It was a gathering of women interested in buying garments," Jon corrected, then realized he was defending both Josephine and Sarah, in an offhanded way.
Dorothy slapped the fan against the folds of her gown. "That's irrelevant! The fact is, this scrapbook, which has unquestionably influenced Josephine's absurd fancies, was given to her by Miss Ashley, who is therefore responsible for your daughter's audacious conduct. And I trust you'll confront Josephine about the book and take appropriate disciplinary action."
"I scarcely see how Josephine's keeping a scrapbook warrants further disciplinary action," Jon said. "She's already been confined to her room for a week now and she still has another week to go. I can't keep her there indefinitely."
"Well, it's imperative that you do something to curb her brazen ways. I should hope you'd also confront Miss Ashley about sharing with Josephine such rubbish as in this scrapbook."
Jon closed the book and tucked it under his arm. Yes, he'd confront Sarah. Until now, she'd almost convinced him she hadn't attempted to influence Josephine with her liberal philosophy when, in fact, she had been doing exactly that, methodically and secretively. But following that confrontation, and after he and Sarah had a talk about their opposing views on what a woman should or should not do, he had something else in store for Miss Sarah Ashley from San Francisco. Ah, yes... what he had in store for her...
***
The indecent thoughts were back. Just contemplating Jon's return brought heat rushing up Sarah's face along with a vision of Jon doing all the things he'd described. She’d added her own touches too, lustful imaginings no decent woman should have, like stretching out naked on the bed while Jon looked at her. All of her. And she wouldn't cover herself. She'd just lie there staring dreamily up at him and smiling while he feasted his eyes on her bare body, or flicked the tip of his tongue over the crests of her... Oh, my goodness!
She set the scissors down and dabbed her brow and cheeks with a swatch of poplin. Picking up the scissors again, she continued cutting out the pattern...
And Jon's lips would suckle her toes and begin making their way up her calf… over her knee... along her thigh and up... And he'd look at her there...
The insistent ache started again. She blotted her damp forehead with the back of her hand and attempted to finish cutting the pattern. Her hand paused...
And then Jon’s hands would...
She shook the scissors from her fingers, loosened several buttons of her overtunic and fanned her face with the poplin. Today, Jon was supposed to get back from New Westminster, and fighting him off was the farthest thing from her mind.
A carriage rumbled to a halt out front. She dashed to the window and saw Mandi climbing out of Wellington Brown's phaeton. She looked concerned. Sarah met her on the porch. "Is something wrong?"
"There sho' is," Mandi said, breathless. "Wellington heard some men talkin' about smuggling rum, and he also heard them say your name."
Sarah stepped back to let Mandi pass. "Who were they?"
Mandi shrugged. "Wellington didn't know. He'd never seen 'em before."
"Well, there's no reason why my name should be linked with smugglers. Wellington must have heard wrong."
"No," Mandi insisted. "He was in the shed behind the store and he heard the men say your name all right, real clear. You'd best tell the guv'nor and the police."
"I'm sure I am in no danger of being accosted by smugglers," Sarah said, certain that Mandi had misconstrued what Wellington relayed to her. "But if it'll relieve your mind, I'll mention it to Jon. Meanwhile, you'd best get on back and tend the display table. Have you made any more sales or taken any orders?"
Mandi hesitated. "Ah sold two shirtwaisters earlier."
"Splendid," Sarah said. "Now get back to the store so Wellington won't have to tend the table. He's kind enough to let us use his place, but we mustn't take advantage."
Mandi started for the door then paused. "About those shirtwaisters Ah sold," she said, turning to face Sarah.
"What about them?" Sarah noted that Mandi's hands were toying with the folds of her skirt.
Mandi shrugged. "Wellington bought them for me."
"Well, you simply cannot accept them," Sarah said. "He's trying to buy your favors. If you allow him to do that you'll be nothing more than his kept woman. And you deserve much more."
"Ah'd never be his kept woman." Mandi's lips curved. "There's something Ah've been meanin' to tell you."
Sarah looked closely at Mandi. She was certain she'd seen her face flush. "Are you blushing?" she asked.
Mandi patted her cheeks and gave Sarah a wide smile. "Ah 'spect Ah am. Ah do that whenever Ah think about Wellington. And he's on my mind most of the time, now that... we's gettin' married."
"You're what?!"
"Gettin' married. It all happened so fast, what with you runnin' 'round tryin' to get your business started and me over at Wellington's tendin' the table... Well... Ah just didn't get the chance to tell you. But it's gonna happen all right. We's gettin' married in two weeks. He's a good man, and Ah know he'll do right by me. And he sez Ah don't have to work, that all Ah have to do is stay home and have his babies and take care of his house."
"That's what you want? Just to stay home and have babies and keep house?"
"Sho' that's what Ah want," Mandi replied. "You's the one who wants to do all the business things. Me, Ah just want to have Wellington's babies and keep his house."
Sarah was tempted to lecture Mandi on the foolishness in giving up her freedom as an independent woman, but seeing the glow of happiness on her face she didn’t have the heart to crush her dreams. Instead, she gave Mandi a hug and replied, "Well, if that's what you really want then I hope you and Wellington will be very happy."
"We already is." Mandi blushed again. Her eyes grew moist with happy tears. "Ah sho' do love that man," she said dreamily.
Sarah squeezed Mandi's hands. "Yes, I can see you do."
Mandi gave her a contrite smile. "And Ah'll be back whenever you want me to fix your hair or do some sewin'—that is, if Wellington don't mind."
"I'd like that," Sarah said.
"Well, Ah guess Ah'd better get on back. Ah'm helpin' him move things around the house so's Ah can get all my things in. And, Miss Sarah?"
"Yes, Mandi?"
"Will you help me with my weddin' dress? Wellington wants to have a proper weddin' and all, and Ah want to do him proud."
"We'll make a dress that will knock his socks off."
Mandi giggled and flushed. "It's not his socks Ah intend to knock off." She giggled again.
After they discussed Mandi's dress and other wedding plans,
Mandi rushed off, eager to get back to the store and Wellington. Sarah tried to adjust to the idea of Mandi as a married woman. Strangely, as she contemplated Mandi's bright face and radiant smile, she felt a twinge of envy. Not that Mandi was to be married, but that she was able to trust a man enough to take that irrevocable step. There had been no apprehension or uncertainty or doubt evident on Mandi's face. Hers had been the face of a woman who knew precisely what she wanted.
With thoughts of Mandi's new life foremost in her mind, Sarah continued cutting out the material for her first three orders—bloomer costumes of gray poplin like the one she'd worn to the waterfront, but without the crocheted lace on the cuffs. If she worked diligently, she could complete the costumes and deliver them to her customers by the first of the week, as promised. And she would not allow indecent thoughts to creep into her mind. She would not even think about Jon, or toes, or Jon's fevered kisses moving down her neck and over her—
A tapping at the kitchen window shattered the risqué fantasy that came next.
She looked up and saw Josephine peering through the glass, and met her at the back door. "What on earth are you doing here? It's almost dark and you should not be out this late."
Josephine rushed through the door. "They've taken my scrapbook," she cried, her eyes glowing with rage. "If they don't give it back, I'll positively leave home."
"Don't talk like that," Sarah said. "Who are they?"
"Papa and Grandmother," Josephine replied. "And I will leave. They had no right to take it. Can you ask Papa to give it back? He'll listen to you. And Grandmother will do what he says. Please! I simply must have my scrapbook."
"I cannot intervene between you and your father," Sarah said, a rush of hot pleasure igniting her cheeks when she realized Jon was back in town. "I fear I have caused quite enough problems between the two of you already."
Josephine's brows lowered over pleading eyes. "But can't you at least mention it?"
"I suppose I could do that," Sarah said, feeling an odd sense of relief as she said the words. With the shameless thoughts that kept wandering into her mind, she needed a good confrontation with Jon to keep him at arms length.
Josephine smiled brightly. "You're the only person in the whole world who truly understands me," she said, "and I do so wish you'd move back to our house."
"You know that's impossible."
"Why? Because of what Grandmother thinks of you?"
"No, that has nothing to do with it," Sarah said. "I cannot live in your father's house simply because you want me to. I'm not family."
"But you could be, if you married Papa."
Sarah laughed nervously. "Whatever gave you such a silly notion?" she asked, jabbing a pin through the pattern with shaking fingers.
"Papa did."
Sarah let out a sharp cry as the pin pricked her thumb. She sucked her finger a bit longer than necessary while collecting herself, then looked at Josephine and asked lightly, while her heart beat a staccato rhythm, "Your father said something to you about wanting to... marry me?"
"Well, Papa didn't say anything," Josephine admitted. "But he does. Aunt Esther says so, just that he doesn't know it yet."
Sarah gave her a tight smile. "Well, regardless of what your aunt says, marrying your father is out of the question. He has been the source of all my problems since I arrived, and I have caused him grief as well. I suspect he'd rather see me return to San Francisco."
"No, he surely doesn't want that," Josephine said. "Aunt Esther said Papa has passion in his eyes for you, at least I heard her talking with Ida about that after you wore your green gown with the front so low. So, if Papa has passion in his eyes for you, he must want to marry you."
Sarah let out a short, mortified laugh. "Just because a man feels that way about a woman does not mean he wants to marry her."
"I know that," Josephine said. "But the way I see it, if Papa has passion in his eyes for you, and he doesn't want to marry you, then you could become his mistress, just like Madame Bovary, and Papa could keep you right here in this cottage, and I could come and see you all the time."
Thoughts of suckled toes and feverish lips and masculine hands moving leisurely over her body brought heat rushing to Sarah's cheeks. She unfastened another button on her over-tunic and fanned her chest as heat crept up her face. "If I were your father’s mistress you could not come to see me at all because your grandmother would forbid it. Besides, Madame Bovary took her own life after she had the affair, so that was not such a good idea," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, surprised that Josephine had managed to get her hands on the risqué book.
Josephine pursed her lips. "But if Papa has passion in his eyes for you—"
"Josephine!" Sarah snapped, deciding she'd heard enough from this sixteen-year-old, who was bringing far too many pointed thoughts to her own feverish mind. "I'm certain your aunt misread your father's feelings. He's not that kind of man." She blushed again, knowing he was indeed the kind of man who would suckle a woman's toes and... other things. "Now, you must stop talking like this—"
Hearing the thrum of hoof beats, Sarah looked out the window and saw Jon reining to a halt and dismounting. "Here's your father now," she said, her heart beating wildly as the indecent thoughts seemed to overwhelm her. She felt thankful for Josephine's presence, which would preclude allowing to happen what Sarah knew would happen if she and Jon were alone in the cottage. "Perhaps we can talk to him together about your scrapbook."
"No!" Josephine rushed for the back door. "I mean... I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not even supposed to be out of my room. Papa won't know I was here unless you say something. You won't say anything, will you?"
"I cannot lie to your father," Sarah said, panicked at the thought of facing Jon alone.
"Please, I promise I won't leave my room again. I'll even stay an extra day to make up for this one if you won't say anything." She backed out of the door. "And I'll go directly to my room." She thrned and ran for her horse.
Moments later, Jon knocked. It was more forceful that she'd expected, and she wondered if he'd already discovered Josephine missing and suspected she was there. Drawing in a full breath and letting it out slowly, she opened the door, noting first the scowl on Jon's face, then the broad chest beneath an open-collared shirt... and the sinewy forearms exposed by rolled-back sleeves... and the large fingers… clutching the scrapbook. Managing a half-smile, she said, "You're back."
He walked in, turned and pinned her with a steely gaze. "This, I believe, is yours."
Sarah looked into eyes that, even in anger, set her heart fluttering and sent a fiery warmth coursing through her, then noted the pulse throbbing in his neck and wondered if it was because he was angry or because he was having the same reaction to her that she was having to him: a heart that felt as if it was ready to burst, a tightness in the chest that made it near impossible to breathe, a sultry yearning building inside that demanded release. An inescapable reminder that he was a man, and she was a woman, and together that release would come...
“Well?”
She blinked several times, and replied, "The book belongs to Josephine. She's been pasting clippings into it for over a year now."
Jon's jaw tightened. "Do you really expect me to believe that? Half the clippings are from New York!"
"That's because they came from Mrs. Dewig-Gertz," she said, peering into eyes that no longer smoldered with anger, but glimmered with something else, something that made her want him to do all the things he'd said he'd do... now. Her nostrils flared to ease her tight breathing, and she wiped her damp palms on her tunic. He'd caught the gesture, she knew, because the fire in his eyes burned brighter. In spite of his anger, she knew he wanted her, and he wanted her now. The ache inside intensified. Licking her dry lips, she focused on the issue of Josephine’s scrapbook and said, "Mrs. Dewig-Gertz passes her discarded clippings on to Josephine, and as you can see, Josephine has carefully pasted them in the album. You simply refuse to believe that you have
raised a daughter with a mind and will of her own, a very strong will, I might add."
When Jon said nothing, Sarah asked, "What do you intend to do with it?"
"I haven't decided," Jon said.
"Well, you should give it back," Sarah said. "I know it would be admitting you're wrong, which seems difficult for you to do, but you are wrong, Jon. The scrapbook belongs to Josephine. She worked hard to compile the clippings, she's strong in her beliefs, and she has a right to them, even if you don't agree. Don't deny her what's rightfully hers, what means so much to her."
Jon thumped the book against his palm once more. "I'll think about it." He tossed the book on the table. His eyes meandered down the full length of her then slowly and appreciatively back up again to rest on her hand, which was toying with the button at the open neck of her overtunic. His heated gaze made her face hot and her body eager and wishing for him to do the things he‘d said he’d do… And that was precisely why she must take her mind and his from those thoughts and send him away.
She drew in a labored breath, ran the tip of her tongue along her dry lips and said, "While you're thinking about what to do with the scrapbook, I have some good news. Mandi and Wellington are getting married."
"I know."
"You do?" She felt a twinge of jealousy that Jon had learned the news before she had. "How did you find out?"
"Wellington told me when I went looking for you."
"Did he tell you anything else?"
"Like what?"
"Like... about hearing some men talking about me."
"No. What did Wellington hear?"
"It may not be anything. Mandi has a way of confusing things, or twisting the truth, so I don't take seriously everything she says, especially if she's relaying something she heard from someone else, in this case, Wellington." She realized she was running on some, but Jon's pointed stare was driving her wild.
His eyes held hers, making her heart thud harder. "What, exactly, did she hear?"
Sarah gave a short, nervous laugh. "It's so farfetched it's hardly worth mentioning."
Come Be My Love Page 21
