Cheryl St. John

by The Mistaken Widow

  She remembered the flowers heaped upon Stephen’s grave, and the answer came to her. Where had the old brittle one come from, then? The portrait over the fireplace in his office came to mind. His father’s funeral? The sentimentality of the idea seemed incongruous with the stern, untrusting man she knew.

  Perhaps a woman had given them to him. She replaced the flower.

  A garnet ring in a heavy gold setting, several diamond stickpins, a pocket watch and some gold coins were all she found in the other compartments.

  The stand near the bed came next, followed by the drawers in the tables beside the chairs.

  A soft gong sounded, and Sarah jumped and glanced around. A clock on the armoire ticked a vigilant accusation. She took her hand from her thumping heart.

  This was hopeless. If he wanted to hide a key it could be behind a painting or in any of the hundreds of pockets in his clothing. More and more she leaned toward the theory that it was on his person.

  It would be inconvenient for him to come up here to use this desk. And he obviously didn’t keep any kind of business papers in his sleeping area. If he had, they would have been with Stephen’s letters. She would never have access to the key if he carried it with him.

  Sarah propped the crutches beneath her arms and prepared to leave. The unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway struck terror into her heart.

  As quickly as she could, she hobbled in the opposite direction, in a quandary over where to hide. She passed into the unused room just as one of the huge walnut doors flew open behind her, followed by the sound of Nicholas’s angry cursing.

  Chapter Five

  Reaching the privacy of his room, Nicholas swore to his heart’s content. He jerked out of his blood-spattered jacket and tossed it over the valet, his shirt following.

  The safety of his workers was of supreme importance to him. He’d been working in his office at the foundry when he had heard the emergency bell and run to see what had happened.

  Thomas Crane, one of the metal workers, had been injured when a pulley broke loose and struck him. He’d fallen several feet but had been conscious. Nicholas had immediately taken control of the situation, sending for a wagon and stanching the flow of blood from the man’s arm with his own hand while the foreman fashioned a tourniquet.

  He’d accompanied Thomas to the physician in town, and waited while the wounds were stitched and dressed and his ribs were wrapped.

  Gruver entered with the copper tub. “Is Thomas going to be all right?” he asked.

  “Dr. Barnes said he’d lost a lot of blood and at least one rib was broken, but he thought Thomas would have adequate care at home. He’ll need a couple weeks of rest to get him back on his feet.”

  The Cranes had several small children. Nicholas had seen Thomas’s family at Halliday Iron’s picnic each summer. Even a week’s wages would be sorely missed. He would instruct Milos to see that food was provided over the next few weeks.

  Gruver placed the tub on the stone hearth. Two of the maids followed with pails of water, shying away, apparently having heard Nicholas’s angry entrance.

  “I’m not going to bite, Mrs. Pratt. You needn’t look like I’ve lost my good sense.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”

  “Don’t bother with more water. This will do. I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I haven’t time. Lay out my gray serge with the vest, please, before you go.”

  He always took care of his own dress, but he was in a rush just now. She hurriedly did as asked and left.

  “Can I help you?” Gruver asked.

  “Thank you, Gruver. I would appreciate a hand this once.” He stripped off his trousers and stepped into the half-full tub. “Find a shirt and accessories, if you will.”

  Sarah heard each terse word from her hiding place just inside the next room. Her heart pounded erratically. A quick glimpse revealed a door she prayed led to the hallway. But her clumsy tread with the crutches on the bare floor would surely echo in this empty room.

  Water splashed.

  Did she dare attempt to transverse the room? How much time did she have, and whom would she run into in the hall?

  The keyhole just below the brass doorknob drew her attention, and awkwardly she bent forward at the waist. The afternoon sun lit the room she peered into, and the gleaming copper tub sat directly in her line of vision. And standing in that tub…

  Mercy!

  Sarah had never seen a man in all of nature’s glory before.

  Nicholas stood facing away from her, scrubbing at his arms and hands, soaping his chest.

  The sinewy muscles in his broad back, flexing with each movement, tapered to a narrow waist and the most arresting sight she could ever remember seeing: firm muscled buttocks, strong thighs, proportioned in an incomparable manner that stole her breath.

  Mercy, mercy! Her heart hammered so loudly she feared it would give away her hiding place.

  He leaned to the side, picked up a pail of water and poured it over his head, the water sluicing down his broad back and strong limbs. Rivulets streamed from his elbows, creating shiny puddles on the stone hearth.

  Sarah straightened quickly, heat suffusing her face and neck. She couldn’t stay a second longer. She’d escape now while he was bathing, and pray that Gruver was still occupied with selecting clothing. William might be awake by now, and Mrs. Trent might come looking for her.

  Painstakingly, she made her way across the bare wood floor, careful to keep her crutches from tapping. Perspiration broke out on her forehead and down her spine. Any minute he could throw open that door and…and…

  And, oh Lord, he’d be naked.

  And wet.

  She reached the door and tested the knob, hand trembling. It opened. She inched her way into the hall and stealthily closed the door, her frantic gaze darting up and down the corridor.

  She was blessedly alone.

  For the time being.

  Grateful for the carpet that muffled her erratic steps, she made her way away from the wing as quickly as possible.

  Mrs. Trent was awake, but working on her needlepoint when Sarah entered her room.

  “He’s just begun to stir,” Mrs. Trent said, and if she thought it odd that Sarah had been gone, she said nothing. For all she knew, Sarah was the young mistress of the house. She had every right to her freedom and to come and go as she pleased.

  Sarah patted the letters in her pocket. She would read them when she was alone that evening.

  She’d had a baby, but she’d never seen a naked man before. Sarah couldn’t look at Nicholas over dinner without picturing his muscled backside and well-molded torso and shoulders. The memory inspired a darting little flame that quivered in her stomach, then spread up through her chest and filtered the heat of embarrassment to her cheeks.

  No matter how hard she concentrated on the roast lamb and the conversation about the accident at the foundry, she couldn’t shake the image of all that glistening flesh and muscle. How wondrously a man was created…and all that hidden beneath his clothing. Sarah studied his charcoal-gray serge suit and bright white shirt with new respect. Mercy!

  Sarah remembered the unfathomable way he looked at her from time to time, and wondered if he had the same thoughts about her! Surely not! He thought she was his sister-in-law!

  “Claire?”

  At the sound of his low-pitched voice, she glanced up.

  “Will you come to my study after dinner?” he requested.

  Her throat grew tight. What did he want? Had he discovered she’d been in his room? Had he found the letters missing? “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you feeling all right, dear?” Leda asked. “You’re quiet this evening, and you’re flushed.”

  “I feel fine,” Sarah hastened to assure her.

  “You’ll learn to live with the loneliness,” the older woman said. “You will find other things to occupy your days and your thoughts as time passes. And there is quite a let-down feeling after the birth of
a baby that has nothing to do with losing Stephen.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement and kept her eyes lowered. It was almost unfair how many excuses she had for her moods, her silence, her very presence here. As Claire she had an excuse for everything.

  As Sarah Thornton she was responsible for all the lies and deception. Life as Claire was a lot easier.

  Mrs. Pratt took away her untouched dessert.

  “Are you ready to join me?” Nicholas asked.

  Sarah’s heart jumped, and she nodded.

  “Mother? Care to join us?”

  “No, thank you, darling. Gruver is taking me to the Austins’ for a cribbage game.”

  “See that he stays and waits for you.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and escorted Sarah through the house to his study.

  “Will the smoke bother you?”

  She looked up to see the narrow cigar between his thumb and forefinger. A gentleman always asked a lady’s permission, and Nicholas was above all a gentleman. “No. My father smokes a pipe.”

  “Smokes? It was my understanding that your father was dead.”

  She wanted to bite her tongue. “He is. I meant to say he smoked a pipe.” And before he could grill her any further or torture her with waiting to know what he’d asked her here for, she asked, “What was it you wanted to discuss with me?”

  Kneeling casually before the fire, he lit his cigar with a piece of kindling. The rich aromatic smell of fine tobacco filled the room. He stood and faced the flames.

  Sarah’s distracted mind carried her back to the shocking vision of him through the keyhole. She would never be able to look at this man the same way again. Once again warmth flooded her chest, but this time it sank to her abdomen and created an unsettling, restless feeling.

  He turned to face her. “I want to discuss the responsibilities I touched on last time we spoke.”

  ”All right.” She seated herself in the wing chair farthest from the fire. She was warm enough already.

  “As Stephen’s wife and William’s mother, you have obligations to the family.”

  Sarah waited for him to continue, knowing intuitively he had another test planned.

  “Stephen didn’t always live up to his responsibilities,” he said.

  Why did he always find it necessary to tell her of Stephen’s shortcomings? “Perhaps it was your expectations he didn’t live up to.”

  “Stephen owned just as much of Halliday Iron as I do,” he bit out. “He shirked that responsibility.”

  The full impact of his words and his resentment resounded like cannon fire, and she felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. She hadn’t grasped the entire reason why Nicholas didn’t trust her. “Exactly how much of Halliday Iron did Stephen own?”

  “A third. Mother and I own the other two thirds. Upon her death, her third was to be divided between Stephen and I.”

  The money. This was all about the money Claire and her child would have inherited. “And now that Stephen is dead? What about his third?”

  “As if you didn’t know.”

  “How could I know? I haven’t spoken with anyone but you and Leda, and neither one of you have told me.”

  “And Stephen didn’t tell you?”

  “Stephen didn’t plan to die!” She heard the disgust in her voice, and knew he’d heard it, too. “His married life had just begun.”

  His dark-eyed gaze traveled her hair and face before he abruptly turned and flicked an ash into the fireplace. “William inherited Stephen’s third. When Mother dies he will inherit half of her third as well. Half of Halliday Iron will be his.”

  Of course. Stephen planned well for the welfare of his wife and child. One thing she was certain of: Stephen and Claire had loved each other deeply. Why wouldn’t Stephen have wanted to make certain Claire and their baby were secure if anything should happen to him? “He wasn’t so irresponsible, after all, was he?” she said, unable to prevent the smug little smile that surged to her lips. “He saw to it that his son would be taken care of.”

  His deep brown eyes shot sparks.

  “And—” she stopped herself from saying ‘Claire’ “—me?” she asked. “Where do I figure in?”

  Nicholas gave her a look that could have lacerated even the thickest skin. “You have accounts set up in your name. They’re paid into annually from company profits.” He blew smoke into the air. “Are you going to tell me you weren’t aware of this?”

  Anger welled in Sarah’s chest on Claire’s behalf. How dare this man accuse the kindhearted woman she’d known briefly of the underhanded manipulation he was suggesting! “Would you like to come out and accuse me of staging a train wreck to get at Stephen’s money?”

  His expression denoted he’d been taken aback by her vehemence.

  “Do you think I wanted Stephen dead?” she asked, her voice louder and more shrill than she’d intended. She took a deliberate calming breath.

  He tossed the cigar into the flames and moved from the fire.

  Sarah’s pulse pounded in her veins. She had no business arguing with this man. She had no place angering him, or opposing him, or even challenging his right to his doubts and anger. She was nothing to him. But Stephen and Claire’s kindness and generosity had meant everything to her. They had meant her life.

  “No, I don’t believe you wanted Stephen dead,” he said finally, his voice calm, his tone under control. “But I’m not convinced of the reasons you married him.”

  Sarah kept silent. She didn’t say that it didn’t matter what he thought Claire’s reasons were. Stephen had married her. The deed was done and obviously the legal ramifications of his financial planning were binding. The way she saw it, if Claire were still alive and here right now, Nicholas’s responsibility would have been to carry out his brother’s wishes regarding his wife and child.

  Sarah believed he knew that, too. “And what of the responsibilities you spoke of?”

  “I will honor my brother’s will,” he said without answering her question.

  “What about his marriage? His wife? Will you honor them?” She cringed as soon as the words were out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to argue with you. Just tell me what you expect of me.”

  He moved to stand a few feet from her. “I expect, Claire, that you will honor the Halliday name. That you will behave in a manner suiting a Halliday. And that you will start to assume the duties my mother has performed all these years on her own. It wasn’t always easy for her. The early days, while the foundry was getting started, were hard. She deserves some rest now.”

  Sarah had no doubt that was true. Besides, she would feel better if she were earning her keep. She owed more than that to Stephen.

  “I have no wife,” he continued. “If and when I choose to marry, my wife will share the tasks.”

  “What exactly is it you want me to do?”

  “See to the entertaining, the running of the household. Supervise the servants, shop, plan the menus. Mother will help you learn.”

  She would be expected to play the part of Claire in front of guests. The idea brought a cold dread to her limbs. “How often do you entertain?”

  He met her gaze, and his expression was unreadable. He was probably thinking the idea terrified her, but for different reasons. “Whenever business associates are in town. Once or twice a month. Perhaps more often. Maybe less.”

  Assuming Leda’s responsibilities disturbed her more than anything. What would happen once Sarah left? With any luck, she would only have to entertain a few times. But then she’d be on her way and Leda would be left with all the work again.

  This was only getting her in deeper.

  If Claire had been here, she’d have gone along with Nicholas’s wishes, though, would she not? What else could she have done? She would have owed it to her baby to learn her position and see to his future.

  That was the way Sarah would have to play it. Anything else would seem too suspicious. “All right. Will you speak with your mother
about this?”

  “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

  She recognized the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he held his head. “I’ll do my best.”

  His look was one of uncertainty mixed with a dash of surprise. “See that you do.”

  It wasn’t a threat. Not really. But Sarah escaped to her room, feeling as though there would be dire results if she failed this test.

  What did she care? She had only a few more weeks at the most to remain and bear the brunt of Nicholas’s resentment. After that she’d take William and find a place far from Mahoning Valley. A place where she could start over and build a new life.

  A place where no one knew her or expected anything from her.

  She would get by until then. She had no choice now.

  Chapter Six

  Of course. William’s christening had to be the first event on the schedule. And a reception to follow. Stephen had been buried and mourned; now the Halliday heir must be welcomed.

  Sarah cringed at the thought of bringing her imposter heir into the presence of God and asking His blessing. What adverse fate awaited her after this latest in her long line of transgressions?

  Somehow, while organ music filled the Youngstown church and the scents of candle wax and expensive perfumes wafted through the air, she made it through the ceremony. Sarah didn’t allow herself to think about her child being christened with a false name. And as each time something this monumental had shaken her to her very soul, she thought of her father, silently cursing Morris Thornton for his role in this charade.

  She longed for her old home, for the safety and security she’d once foolishly believed were hers. Her misjudgment had changed all that, and she’d been swift to learn that her father had only loved her as long as she’d been an asset to him, as long as she’d never been a burden or an embarrassment.

  William would never learn a cruel lesson like that, she vowed. She would love him no matter what he did. She would be a compassionate and forgiving parent. Sarah made her silent oath before leaving the church and hurrying to the house to oversee the last-minute preparations.