“Won’t help your father, even if he would help you.” The tears in Mama’s eyes spilled over onto her cheeks.
Lydia licked her lips. She wanted to say she couldn’t care less about what happened to Papa since he’d never cared for her, but Mama still cared about Papa.
“If Jacob no longer has this house, no longer has me, or you, he’ll . . . he’ll . . .”
Lydia grabbed her mother’s shaky hands and clamped them tight. Neither one of them needed to voice what might happen to him. None of the possibilities were pleasant, but Lydia was having a hard time caring. All she wanted was for her mother’s last days to be peaceful, and right now, he was responsible for that not happening.
Well, along with her leaving Sebastian, but Papa wasn’t making things any better.
“He’s your father, Lydia.”
“I don’t wish him ill.” She took a deep breath. “But I just don’t think I can help him. His debts are his own.”
“Sebastian can help us, but you have to apologize. If he’ll take you back, then I won’t have to worry about anything.”
Lydia stared at the translucent skin on Mama’s hands as she rubbed them. It seemed her mother wasn’t going to be swayed from this train of thought, and considering her rapid breathing, she needed to stop fighting her—needed to do something to calm her. “I’ll talk to him.”
Maybe she could convince Sebastian to intervene and gain them time to make a payment, get his father to give them more time to pay whatever needed to be repaid, or . . . something that might calm Mama’s fears.
Just as long as whatever that something was didn’t lead to the altar.
40
Lydia climbed the stairs to Sebastian’s second-story office, the sound of hushed male voices mumbling behind the door. At the top, she raised her hand to knock but stopped at the mention of her name. She held her breath, then heard her name again.
Looking behind her and seeing no one on the street at the bottom of the covered stairwell, she hesitated. She really shouldn’t eavesdrop twice in one day.
Hang it all, she’d know better how to approach Sebastian for assistance if she knew where she stood.
As quietly as she could, she leaned toward the door, wincing when a board beneath her creaked. The men’s conversation continued without hesitation, though, so she pressed her ear against the door and held her breath.
“ . . . don’t see why I should care.”
Sebastian replied, “If she keeps going, someone will tell her.”
“It’s not like half the men in this town don’t already know. If Lydia finds out and tells those moral-society ladies, who cares? Your ma’ll discredit her, easy. I’ve got plenty of men who’ll vouch for seeing her alone after dark with Lowe.”
“Lowe.” Sebastian’s growl sent shivers snaking up her spine. “If he didn’t have ties to Beauchamp, I’d expose them both. I can’t believe the holier-than-thou stuff Ma said she spouted off at church, considering how she’s—” Something thumped and cut off his words. “I don’t know why Beauchamp insists on taking up for him. He’s obnoxious, self-righteous—”
“Money buys people.”
“He might own half the city—and Beauchamp’s loyalty too, evidently—but half of Teaville’s men and the women—well, prostitutes anyway—answer to you.”
Lydia leaned against the door to steady herself. Had she heard correctly? Sebastian’s father was financing prostitutes? Were the Littles campaigning one thing but doing another?
“Since you dragged me into this, you’d think you could get me the one thing I wanted.” Sebastian huffed. “Well, I suppose I can get another girl, though likely not nearly as attractive.”
The door fell away, and she stumbled inside onto her hands and knees.
Mr. Little frowned down at her. “I thought I heard something.” He yanked her up by her shoulder, his tight grip digging into her muscle.
“I’m sorry.” Her quickened heartbeat and erratic breathing made her words raspy. “I just came here to talk to—”
“Cut the lies.” Mayor Little hauled her toward a brown leather chair near Sebastian’s desk. “You’ll answer for every one of them.”
“I really am here to talk to Sebastian. My mother’s upset.” She tried to pull away from the mayor, but his grip was firm, too firm. She refused to let the pain mar her face. She looked at Sebastian, who’d remained seated, his shoulders slumped.
The expression on his face wasn’t anger, like his father’s, but pity.
For some reason, that made her heart drop even lower.
The mayor shoved her into the chair. “You make it a habit to lie against a door before you knock on it?”
“No.” Her face heated, giving her away. “I mean, I did hear my name. . . .”
“This”—Mayor Little poked his cigar stub at her—“is why you don’t court a woman with more than a grade-school education. Thinks she can pull something over on you.” He stabbed his cigar in a tray, bending it like a caterpillar. “Get rid of her.”
“It’s not like I’d kill her for you.” Sebastian glowered, and she lost her breath along with the ability to sit up straight.
Kill? She crimped her eyes shut. Oh, God, help! Her fingernails dug into her armrests. “I didn’t hear anything important.”
“Saying that only means you did.” The mayor glowered at her.
She pressed her trembling lips together to keep from saying anything else—her overactive heartbeat was beating her brains into a pulp.
Sebastian only stared at her, his hands steepled against his chin.
“You won’t get elected if you let pity sway you, son. She’s heard too much and has Lowe’s ear.” He glanced at her with narrowed eyes before turning back to his son. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Sebastian’s jaw worked with indecision.
Surely he wasn’t actually considering killing her. Surely she couldn’t have been so stupid to have almost married someone who’d contemplate such a thing.
This had to be an act to intimidate her.
And by the way her heart was racing, it was working.
“She’ll marry me now.” Sebastian sat back and took a deep breath. “She has no choice.”
She found her backbone and straightened. “I certainly do have a choice.”
The mayor yanked her up by her upper arm and pulled her against him, his moist breath hot against her ear. “If I were you, I’d not argue with my son. He’s weak enough to give your lying self the chance to continue breathing.” He shoved her back into the chair.
Her head snapped against the headrest, and she grit her teeth to keep from crying out.
“I don’t even know why you want her.”
“She’s a lot of things I don’t want, but I need a morally upright woman. And what other one do we have any hold over?”
“Her respectability flies out the window the second anyone else realizes Lowe’s been bedding her.”
“What! We’re . . . I’m . . .” Flames engulfed her face. “Don’t talk about Nicholas like that. We’re not . . . not . . .”
“She’s too innocent to even say it.” Sebastian huffed. “That was all conjecture on my part anyway.”
The mayor sat down on the edge of the desk and stared at her as if he could tell whether she’d been involved in an indiscretion just by looking at her.
Since she couldn’t sit still with her heart beating fitfully, who knows what he thought he saw.
“I still want a wife.” Sebastian nervously rubbed his hands together. “And now I won’t have to simper. I can plainly tell her what’s expected and what will happen if she doesn’t comply.”
“Fine, if that’s how you want to keep her quiet.” The mayor grabbed his fancy cane and went to grab his hat off a rack. “You’ve proven you can handle others well enough, so I’ll trust you to take care of things later if it doesn’t work.”
He gave Sebastian a halfhearted wave and pointed at her with his cane. “You’d best comply unless yo
u want your mother to pay for your foolishness. And believe me, I can make her pay.” He left with a slam, his footsteps thumping down the exterior stairs.
She hugged herself, trying to keep from trembling. “I don’t understand how you think I’d be willing to marry you now that—”
“Stop.” He put up his hand. “I’m going to make this simple. Believe me, I tormented myself plenty before I realized it’s better just to go along. If you don’t marry me, my father can have your mother out on the street tomorrow, your father in a jail cell, your job taken away—”
“He can’t take my job.”
“Oh, can’t he?” He shook his head as if she were a bedraggled kitten, mewling pitifully. “All he has to do is have the commissioners rezone 142 Maple Street to shut the library down.”
“Then, Mr. Lowe could move the library. Rezoning twice would make your machinations obvious—people would see right through it.”
“It would only be obvious that I was lashing out in pain over my broken heart.” He slapped a dramatic hand to his chest.
“I’ll . . . I’ll tell people what you’re doing.”
He crossed his arms. “Come on, Lydia. I know you’re smart. Let’s say it is possible to convince my father you’re no threat, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk. Who’d believe you over him?”
She took some time to breathe evenly to settle her heart.
He sighed and shook his head. “If you utter one peep about what he’s doing, he’ll come down on you like a tornado.”
“But people would see what he was doing.”
He raised a brow, his mouth askew. “No, he’d arrange things to look like your family was getting what you deserved. You are, in fact, the child of an unfaithful, gambling man who—”
“Unfaithful?” Her voice quavered. Papa loved Mama—maybe not as deeply as a husband ought to, but he still loved her.
But then, what kind of man stole from his own daughter, was more concerned about having enough liquor to drink than whether his wife had medicine, spent nearly every night in the town’s sporting section . . .
She groaned with a wave of nausea over her naïveté.
“I could prove it with one or two witnesses, if need be, and arrange another church-sanctioned meeting to get your father stricken from the church register.”
He’d orchestrated the prayer meeting fiasco? Now she really was going to be sick. She pressed a hand against her throat until she felt she could talk. “Why trouble yourself with a church meeting? He never attends anyway.”
“Because it would bother my mother too much to have such a man on the roll.” He sighed with exaggeration, shaking his head.
Mrs. Little might be all hellfire and brimstone, but would she be that persnickety? “How can you two live with yourselves, knowing your mother fights against the very things you overlook, if not outright promote?”
He said nothing, but the hitch in his lip and the cant of his eyes seemed to—
She gasped. “She knows?”
His face didn’t change. “More than knows. She’s involved with the blackmailing as much as he is.”
The air rushed out of her lungs and she slumped against her chair’s hard back. “Is there anything about your family that isn’t manufactured to win governmental positions?”
He turned to look out the tiny window, the lace shade out of place in a man’s office. “Look, I don’t actually like doing my parents’ bidding, but—”
“Then why are you?” Surely she could talk some sense into him. “Why not expose them? I’ll help. Surely—”
“Because they’ll expose what I’ve done.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what all that might encompass. “Then why not just refuse to do whatever it is that you do for them? Or leave if you must.”
He laughed as if she’d truly said something amusing. “What would you have me do?” He ran his hands down his lanky torso and patted his slight paunch. “Muck stables? Mine coal?” He gestured toward the books lining his wall. “I spent years studying to practice law. I won’t let my father ruin that in seconds.”
“But surely menial labor is a better alternative to illegal activity.”
He shrugged and leaned against the desk. “It’s not worth it. He only requires the occasional forged contract from me anyway. Mostly I just make sure his business dealings are as favorable toward him as possible—nothing so terrible that I’d rather muck manure. Though since it would be nice to be as free as possible, that’s where you come in.”
“How’s that?”
“I need a wife willing to campaign beside me, as I’ve told you before. A wife who’ll keep my mother from finding it necessary to tag along.”
“But how can you be so sure, if they’re both blackmailing you into doing their bidding?”
He gave her the most charming smile she’d ever seen on him. “That’s the beauty of my mother not liking you very much.”
Well, from now on, she wouldn’t bother hiding that the feeling was mutual. “But if you don’t expose them, and you win your election, you’d be giving them leverage over a senator.”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I’d have veto power over the entire senate. I expect them to ask for a few favors, sure. But what senator doesn’t hand out those?”
This was getting her nowhere. “Well, you might not stand up to criminals, but I’m certainly not going to marry one.”
“Good, we’re talking marriage again.”
“We are not!”
“I’m not that bad, Lydia. Sure, I did a few stupid illegal things that gave my father power over me, but we’d do fine together. I never expected you to get involved. And I don’t have to bother you much, depending on how many children you want.”
She grabbed her throat to prevent the nausea from overwhelming her.
“But there’s no reason to keep trying to convince you,” he continued. “You’ve got no choice. We’ve got no choice. Both of our fathers have done us ill, except mine has real power.”
She rubbed her arms. She knew how it felt to be trapped by a parent’s choices, and she could certainly empathize, but—
“And you already do this sort of thing, you know.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Cover for people.”
Did he know about Sadie? Though that wasn’t covering anything up for a criminal. “You’re wrong, I’ve never once—”
“So you don’t keep your father’s misdeeds a secret?” He shook his head, his eyes alight, as if he found this amusing. “How many times have you asked the moral-society ladies to pray for your father’s soul before tramping through the red-light district on a serenade?”
Her mouth went dry. She’d never told them about her father—only the Wiselys knew why they were as poor as they were.
“According to Mother, you haven’t ever brought him up. And my father heard you’d warned your father of a scheduled serenade once so he could steer clear.”
“That’s not because he didn’t need to hear what we were preaching, but because . . .”
Because she’d not wanted anyone to know about her connection to one of the very people they rallied against. She hadn’t wanted to face the embarrassment, hadn’t wanted his sins to ruin her life any more than they already did.
“I see you’ve now realized we’re in a similar sort of predicament, you and I.” He patted his desk and then stood to walk around it. “But don’t worry, this will work. Neither one of us will face more negative consequences than we already have. In fact, you’ll be far better off with me.” He took her hand. “And Lydia, I’m not worse than death.”
“I can’t believe your father would murder me or my mother.”
“Him? No. But do you think all the people my father blackmails have scruples? Marrying me will keep you in check, because my reputation will become your reputation. And just like you haven’t slandered your father, you won’t slander us.”
“No . . .” She tugged her hand free of hi
s. Was there a way out of this? She could turn them in, but what if no one listened? Would Mr. Little actually try to crush her and her family?
Of course he would.
Oh, God, I’m actually thinking I might have to marry him.
“And Father doesn’t mind playing with people until they break.” He rubbed his fingers against his chin. “He found it quite interesting one of Madam Careless’s servants identified you as the lady who appeared on the back step of The California during business hours a while back. Seems you stole some property.”
“Property!”
“And I’d bet he’d like to know how the town would react if he told them you visit brothels.”
“He can tell anyone he wants to. No one’s going to be upset that I saved a girl from that kind of life.”
“No, of course not, but you’d have to prove it. You’d have to produce the girl. Are you willing to parade the little harlot around to save yourself?”
“But . . .” If she did that, she’d take away Sadie’s only chance for a normal life. And even if she did somehow keep Sadie out of the clutches of the madam, after being exposed to the town, would Sadie trust Lydia or anyone else ever again?
Hadn’t she recently told God she’d do anything to help Sadie have a chance at a better life? That nothing she faced could be worse than what that girl would go through if she couldn’t escape?
Was her desire to help no deeper than mere words?
41
Nicholas sat on the edge of his chair in Pastor Wisely’s office.
Seated to his right, the Teaville Journal editor, Mr. Greene, jiggled his left leg with impatience.
Stretching his fingers, Nicholas released a steady stream of air. He was pretty certain his pastor wouldn’t think less of him after this meeting, but Mr. Greene might. Asking him to attend the meeting was a risk, but his support would influence an entirely different set of men than Pastor Wisely could. “I asked for this meeting to admit that I’ve been wrong and need forgiveness.”
Pastor Wisely’s eyebrow cocked, and Greene stilled his leg and snatched his pencil from behind his ear.
“I have many reasons for coming today, but I’ll start with the ones that will most interest Mr. Greene. If it’ll be in print, I want the details to be right.”
A Heart Most Certain Page 28
