From their silver settings, the emeralds winked at her as though they shared her secret. She wrapped her fingers around the precious piece of jewelry, the gems cool against her skin. What would her life have been like if her mother had lived? Perhaps a woman’s tutelage and direction would have prevented her mistake with Gaylen Carlisle. And if she had still made that mistake, perhaps her mother could have stopped her father from banishing their only daughter—their only child—from their home.
She would never know. She fastened the bracelet to her wrist. She had only two things that rightfully belonged to her: William and the bracelet. She might as well enjoy the jewelry before it too became a part of her past.
Nicholas waited for her in the cathedral-ceilinged foyer. His formal black evening wear and pristine white shirt emphasized his devastating handsomeness.
His unreadable tobacco-dark gaze scanned her hair and clothing, settling on her face. “Ready?” he asked.
“What about your mother?”
“She’s dining with friends this evening. Didn’t she mention it?”
The two of them were going out together? Alone? For a brief moment, Sarah allowed the thought of him kissing her to steal her breath and start her heart pounding, but she took her errant thoughts captive and banished them to a back corner of her mind.
“No,” she replied. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
“Does it make a difference if she’s not going with us?”
It had been months seen she’d been to the theater, since she’d been anywhere, and she planned to enjoy herself. Nicholas Halliday and his tests and his kisses be hanged. She gathered her skirts and stepped past him. “Not in the least.”
The production was one she’d seen done with more skill, but that didn’t lessen her pleasure over being there.
Edward Coughlin’s second wife, Elizabeth, was only a few years older than Sarah, a petite, vivacious brunette with a melodious laugh and her banker husband wrapped around her little finger. When their escorts disappeared during the intermission, Elizabeth seated herself beside Sarah and carried on an entertaining, if one-sided, conversation. The Coughlins had two young children, and Elizabeth was involved in a variety of women’s organizations.
“I’m having a charity luncheon for the Ladies’ Aid next week, Claire. You must come.”
“Thank you,” Sarah replied. Nicholas must have arranged this so she’d become involved. Or to gauge her reaction to society functions. “I’d love to.”
The men returned, the scent of imported cigars clinging to their clothing, and the theater darkened once again.
A few minutes into the act, Sarah glanced over and noticed Elizabeth cuddled against her husband, his hand lovingly holding hers. The intimate sight gave her a start. Not because she was shocked—she had already seen how much the couple cared for each other in spite of the difference in their ages—but rather because she recognized the grim jolt as longing. As loneliness. Their happiness made her feel all the more alone.
She had planned to have a loving husband one day. Her dreams had included an adoring man in her life, children to raise together.
What would happen to her and William once they left the security of the Halliday residence and name?
She would have to pretend to be a widow, otherwise they would be scorned wherever they settled. More lies. But she couldn’t provide a decent environment and education for her son if she lived the truth. No one would rent to them or hire her to work.
William would be her only family. And she was responsible to do the very best for him.
Staring blankly at the performers on stage, Sarah became aware of Nicholas’s gaze from beside her. She glanced over to find him watching her, and quickly banished her self-pitying thoughts.
“I should have realized this would be a painful reminder of Stephen,” he said softly, and to her astonishment, he took her cold hand and warmed it between his palms.
The sensation raised gooseflesh up her arm and across her shoulders, and she wanted to fold her entire body into his inviting warmth. Oh, but she was a pathetically desperate creature if she drew any measure of comfort from this hard-hearted man. Was she so love-starved that she’d accept attention from just anyone?
Let him think she’d been pining for Stephen. The ruse gave her an advantage she sorely needed.
Halfway through the next act, when he still hadn’t released her hand, a surprising question ran across her mind: Or was he drawing comfort from her?
Sarah chanced a surreptitious glance at his profile. No. Surely not the great Nicholas Halliday, man of steel. Then again, she’d witnessed his tender moments with his mother, so she knew there had to be more to the man than he’d ever revealed to her.
She drew her gaze from his face and her hand from his. No. Everything he did, each action and word and plan had a motive. She was under his scrutiny and at his mercy at all times. Do exactly what Claire would do, she reminded herself with strict caution.
That task would be so much easier if she only knew who Claire was.
They had reservations for dinner, and after the play ended Gruver drove them the short distance to the elegantly furnished restaurant the Coughlins had chosen. Sarah declined the wine, and sipped at a flute of white grape juice. Her full breasts decidedly uncomfortable, she wished she could excuse herself and leave without causing a scene.
Elizabeth entertained them with stories of their trip to Europe a few months before. She looked up with delight as several performers from the play passed their table. “Oh, I so enjoyed your performances this evening!” she said, gesturing to the party.
A willowy redhead came close and replied with a smile. “Thank you.” She wasn’t nearly as striking offstage with her makeup removed and wearing a camel-colored organdy suit.
The redhead, Patrice Beaumont, introduced the troupe and Elizabeth introduced their small group.
“Halliday?” a well-endowed brunette named Judith Marcelino questioned, moving to the front of the group. ”Are you related to Stephen Halliday?”
Nicholas appeared decidedly uncomfortable with the association. “Yes,” he replied, standing and hesitantly taking the hand she proffered. “I’m his brother.”
“I performed in one of Stephen’s plays in New York last winter,” she said. “We were all devastated to hear of his death. Please accept my sympathies.”
The others added their condolences.
“And Claire, of course,” she said, stepping closer and leaning down to press her powdered cheek against Sarah’s. “Sweet Claire. You must be lost without our dear, dear Stephen. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I—I—” Sarah stammered, hating the limelight, and wanting to bolt from the restaurant. “Nothing. Stephen’s brother is taking care of us.”
“Us?”
“Claire has a baby,” Elizabeth offered.
Judith’s pale green eyes inspected Sarah’s face and hair, then took stock of her dress. She reached for Sarah’s hand, and her thumb encountered the emerald bracelet. “What a lovely piece of jewelry,” she commented, and her assessing gaze slid to Nicholas.
Sarah pulled her hand away, experiencing sudden nausea. “Thank you.”
“Where are you from?” Judith asked, her narrow brows raised.
Sarah’s cheeks burned. She’d tried to lose her Boston accent, but the speech undoubtedly gave her away from time to time. “New York, mostly,” she replied.
“Ah, I do love New York. You meet the most interesting people there.”
“Thanks for coming to the production,” Patrice said with a wave, and the group departed.
Sarah didn’t look up again until certain they were gone. When she did, she met Nicholas’s flint-hard stare. “Did Stephen give you that bracelet?” he asked, low enough so the others couldn’t hear.
She shook her head and swallowed hard, fighting the nerves in her stomach. “It was my mother’s.”
His brows rose in surprise, and Sarah bit her tongue. S
he shouldn’t have said that. “Extravagant gift for a mill worker to give his wife,” he commented. “Or for a seamstress to buy herself.”
“It—it was in her family for years,” she replied quickly.
He lifted one dark brow as though he still didn’t believe her.
“Where do you think I got it?” she asked. “Do you think I stole it?”
“I don’t think you need to steal anything,” he replied, his tone lowered to a smoothly modulated accusation. “Who you were with before Stephen is your business, isn’t it?”
Slow anger whipped her senses to a barely restrained froth. “I don’t particularly care what you think. The bracelet was my mother’s. It’s all I have left of her, and it gives me pleasure to wear it.”
“You speak like your mother is dead,” Nicholas whispered.
His penetrating stare pinned her to her chair like a trapped moth. If Claire had a mother, he must wonder why she hadn’t contacted her! Heat careened though her body. Her stomach lurched. “I need to leave now,” she said abruptly. “I don’t feel too well.”
“But our food has just arrived.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not hungry. Just send me to the house and Gruver can come back for you.”
“Claire, that would be rude. The Coughlins invited us as their guests.”
She turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, I’m sure you’ll understand if I need to leave right away. I’m not used to being away from William for so long.”
“I certainly do understand, darling,” Elizabeth said. “Having two babies of my own, I remember all too well. Don’t give it a second thought. We’ll do it again, and I’ll see you Thursday of next week.”
Relieved, Sarah gave her hand a grateful squeeze, gathered her crutches and hurried from the restaurant.
Chapter Seven
She studied the street, dimly lit by gas lamps, and took off at a fast clip. Nicholas came up beside her, and surprised her by merely escorting her until they came to his carriage.
Gruver promptly left the two other drivers he’d been playing cards with and hurried over.
“Mrs. Halliday’s in a bit of a rush,” Nicholas said.
“I’m sorry you have to come back for Mr. Halliday,” she apologized.
“No, you won’t,” Nicholas said to his driver, then turned to her. “It’s far too long a drive for him to return at this hour. I’ve said my good-nights to the Coughlins.”
He stowed her crutches and lifted her into the coach, then climbed in to sit across from her. Gruver placed the step inside. The carriage rocked as he climbed onto the driver’s seat, and in minutes they were well on their way.
“I’m sorry to spoil your evening,” she said.
He sighed and leaned wearily against the rich upholstery. “You haven’t spoiled my evening. I only went to please you, and to acquaint you with Edward’s wife.”
His low-spoken words took her by surprise. He’d raised the leather shade, and moonlight caressed his rigidly cut features as he studied the passing countryside.
Yes, he was as hard and unyielding as the steel from his mill. He was insufferably cautious and suspicious of her.
And he had every right to be.
She was deceiving him and his gracious mother. She was playing a game for her own gain, and he was her pawn as well as her opponent. The absurdity of her getting angry with him struck her with maddening clarity.
“Thank you, Nicholas,” she said softly, honestly. “I enjoyed the theater very much. And I’m ever so grateful to meet Elizabeth. I will enjoy knowing a woman my own age.”
His head turned, and she sensed his gaze in the semidarkness. He hadn’t bothered to light an interior lamp. After what seemed a lengthy time, he commented, “Stephen’s plays were better than that one, weren’t they?”
“You’ve seen Stephen’s plays?” she asked incredulously, having believed all along that he’d ignored his brother’s chosen profession.
“A couple of them.”
“Did he know?”
A sadness seemed to come over him and squeeze even more starch from his spine. He shook his head and turned to gaze out the window once again.
He had as many regrets as she. They were both playing a part. But Sarah admitted her role to herself. She knew her audience. Nicholas, on the other hand, worked hard at fooling himself. She remembered Milos’s words and knew how deeply Nicholas had loved his brother. Therefore she understood how deep his anguish went.
“I know you didn’t approve of Stephen’s choices,” she said softly. “But I also know you loved him very much.”
He turned toward her, and she could only see half his face in the darkness. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen your pain. And I need to remember that your mistrust and defensiveness comes from wanting to protect your family.”
He said nothing.
“No matter what went on between you and Stephen you meant well. You wanted the best for him.”
He seemed to consider those words. “Meaning well isn’t necessarily enough, though, is it?”
“Now you sound as though you may be blaming yourself for some of the problems.”
“Lady, you don’t know the first thing about me or my relationship with my brother.”
“I’m beginning to think I do.”
He turned away, and Sarah knew the conversation had ended. He never liked it when the tables were turned.
This was all going to end miserably unless she found some way for her time here to make a difference. Perhaps there was something she could do that would show Nicholas she was more than just a taker. She’d been given two hands—one to receive with and the other to give with. What could she possibly give the Hallidays that they didn’t already have?
The question gave her thought during the long night that followed.
Milos had been withdrawn for the past few days. Nicholas had known him enough years to know there was something sticking in his craw. He looked up from the stack of mail he’d been shuffling through and studied Milos at his desk across the room. With his usual precision, his assistant tallied a line of figures and rechecked each one.
“Is there a problem with the numbers?” Nicholas asked.
Milos shook his head.
“We met our production quota?”
“A few thousand pounds over actually.”
Nicholas tapped the desktop with the tip of his mother-of-pearl-handled letter opener. “You may as well say what’s on your mind, then.”
The man ran a hand through his sandy hair, leaned back in his chair with a creak of leather and springs and contemplated Nicholas. “All right. It’s Claire.”
Nicholas threw down the letter opener in disgust. “I knew it. What? What has the woman done now?”
Milos studied him over the top of his steepled fingers. “She’s done nothing that I know of, except marry your brother and then fall into some unfortunate circumstances. That’s why I don’t understand your attitude toward her or your suspicions of her.”
“What nonsense did she fill your head with?” Nicholas asked with a scowl.
“Did you have her background investigated?”
There was no reason for him to feel guilty about protecting his family’s interests. “Of course. I’d have been a fool not to.”
“And did your findings influence your feelings toward her in any way?”
“Of course. Her father was a factory worker in New York. He died when she was very young, and her mother took in alterations. The mother’s income was somewhat questionable, however.”
“And Claire?”
“Claire went to work in a clothing factory when she was thirteen, but she left that job to sew costumes for productions at the theater houses. She had intimate liaisons with at least three men before Stephen, all theater people.”
“Don’t you think Stephen was an adequate judge of character? Would he have married a woman who was only using him to get to his money? That is what you’re thinking, isn’
t it?”
“Of course it’s what I’m thinking. What I’m having trouble seeing here is why you can’t see through her. She lived in a Slay Street tenement before she moved out on her own!”
Milos closed the ledger on the now-dry ink and stood. He stepped away from his desk and studied Nicholas. “I thought I knew you, but I don’t Where a person comes from does not make them a good person or a bad person.”
A crisp edge that Nicholas had seldom heard had crept into Milos’s voice. What in the world had Claire said or done to get Milos on her side? “Of course not, but it defines their character.”
“How so?
“She hasn’t contacted her mother one time since she’s been here. Now if she was a woman of high character, wouldn’t she see that her mother was taken care of? She left that city without a backward glance. And I’m not the mathematician you are, my friend, but even I can calculate that she was not married to my brother when William was conceived.”
“And you would discredit her for loving your brother?”
“Not if William is really my brother’s child.”
Milos worked his jaw and stood with his weight on one leg. He sliced the air with the edge of a palm, punctuating his next sentence. “Do you have reason to believe he’s not William’s child?”
“I have reason to question it,” Nicholas replied sharply. “She was poor. Stephen was rich. By marrying him, she became rich, too. She’d had relationships with other men before Stephen.”
“None of that is damning evidence by itself.”
“Which is why she’s here,” he said, slamming his fist on the desktop. “I can’t prove it.”
Milos pierced him with an unyielding gray gaze. “I thought she was here because she’s your brother’s wife.”
Nicholas swallowed the anger that had risen to a dangerous level. Why was his friend defending the woman! Why had Stephen married her? Damn him! Damn them both.
Cheryl St. John Page 9
