Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance)

by Lisa Andersen

  She eyed at his chest, and for a moment, grew red.

  “No,” she corrected herself. “I’m sorry,” she reached for his shirt. “I have to do this.”

  Cora managed to sit Joshua up enough to pull the shirt off, undoing his suspenders. She blushed when her hands felt the ripples of his bare body, and she quickly laid him back down, bringing a cool rag to continue to pat him down.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she murmured. He seemed to still be unconscious as she continued to tend to him.

  For the next several hours, Cora continued to monitor him, washing him and doing what she could to whet down the fever.

  He finally became conscious toward the late afternoon, waking up in a daze, swinging his feet over the chair, but not to get up before Cora came in and scolded him.

  “You’re not fine,” she said, grabbing his arms and guiding him back down. He was still in a daze and consented.

  “Just rest,” she said.

  By evening, he was conscious, and while still afflicted, could manage a bit on his own. She offered him some chicken soup for dinner and he sat up groggily to spoon the soup from the bowl toward his lips.

  “You can cook?” he muttered.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” she teased. “I may not be very ladylike, but I can cook like a lady.”

  “Where did you get the chicken?” he asked.

  Cora pursed her lips.

  “About that…well, I hope you don’t mind being down one less chicken…”

  Joshua laughed, but soon began a coughing fit, and so Cora hushed him back to rest and cleaned up after them.

  “You know, I was actually nervous.”

  Joshua spoke low and softly, the fire flickering in the distance, glittering in his blue eyes. Cora stretched in her spot from leaning into the large armchair, and was taken aback by his tone.

  “Nervous?” she asked.

  “When I was waiting the other morning…I was actually nervous. I know I said that it was all purely business, and that I was doing it for the inheritance—” he pursed his lips. “But that morning, I was actually nervous. I was so scared that I was going to be a disappointment. I was afraid that this woman—whoever it was—was going to absolutely hate me.”

  Cora leaned her cheek into the palm of her hand and laughed.

  “I don’t hate you,” she smiled. “Not absolutely.”

  Joshua chuckled.

  “My grandfather always thought I spent too much time being serious. He always said I didn’t know the important things in life. I guess…this was his way to make sure I didn’t stay that way. From the grave.”

  The two of them sat on in silence.

  Cora cleared her throat.

  “I never knew any of my family,” she said. “You’re really blessed to have had that. The idea of having my own family…of one day being able to call another person mine. That was my only dream growing up.”

  Joshua could hear the longing in her voice. “What happened?”

  “I grew up,” Cora sighed. “I learned that fairytales are meant for books. And families are meant for other lucky girls.”

  Joshua watched as Cora leaned her face toward the window, the moonlight and fire, both swirling in her big brown eyes, mixing together in a wonderful medley.

  Perhaps it’s just the fever, he thought, but in that moment, the two seemed to have finally been knit, and as he gazed at her, her tousled dress, her sad eyes, and the untamed hairs that strayed from her braid, she looked the most beautiful thing he had seen in a lifetime.

  The days after seemed to move like the clouds across the midwest: quick and dissipating into the blue sky. Adjusting to each other’s presence was a chore for both Joshua and Cora, as headstrong as both were. Teaching Cora to be a lady was not as difficult as Joshua had intended.

  “I read a lot of books,” she reasoned. “I can put on any face you like.”

  So in a little over a month’s time, when Joshua finally introduced Cora to his family at a night gathering at the Stanton, everyone seemed utterly delighted to have met her.

  “She’s marvelous,” his mother cooed across the table, the glasses sparkling underneath the light. “Why ever had we not been able to meet her until now?”

  The other guests around the table laughed.

  Joshua shifted in his seat, and Cora smiled, though sending a darting glance with her eyes. “We’re very private people,” he answered. “We thought it was best to keep our courtship…out of the public view.”

  “New York City, eh?” A voice bellowed across the table toward Cora, an older male relative of Joshua’s. “What a grand city!”

  “Yes’sir,” Cora smiled. “The grandest.”

  The dinner continued joyously, with close family and friends present. Joshua and Cora appeared, to everyone, a wonderful match.

  “Ahem,” a glass tinkered in the room, and it hushed as Walter Howell stood up.

  “To my dear nephew,” he raised a glass, in toast.

  Cora leaned toward Joshua. “And why did he have to be hear?”

  Joshua sighed under his breath.

  “He’s family, Cora. Can’t change that,” he said. “Not even if I wanted to.”

  Walter continued in his accolade.

  “Congratulations on the start of a new chapter in life. With all of this merriment, we still have yet to hear the story of how the two of you came to know on another…”

  Joshua and Cora exchanged a wary glance.

  “Oh, it’s not really exciting,” Joshua cleared his throat.

  “But Joshy, we’re all dying to know,” Walter’s eyes glinted, the crows feet around them crinkling with glee. “Or perhaps your lovely bride can share with us.”

  Joshua’s mother clapped her hands together happily.

  “Please, Cora, you must tell. I bet it’s a fabulous story…”

  “Like Joshua said,” Cora smiled, her heart beating. Where was Walter going with this? “It’s not terribly interesting…”

  Walter’s laugh bellowed. “Dear Cora, please enlighten us. How could it not be interesting. Tell me just this one thing—what went through your mind when you first saw an ad in the local paper for a mail-order bride?”

  Confused murmurs hushed through the room. Cora’s eyes grew wide and Joshua stood up.

  “Mail-order what? Joshua, what is Walter talking about?”

  “Enough of this,” Joshua said firmly.

  Walter’s brow furrowed as he peered at Cora.

  “It must have been quite the opportunity for a poor, orphan hosiery girl,”

  “Stop this at once!” Joshua’s fist pounded at the table, and gasps of surprise rippled throughout the room.

  Cora’s eyes began swelling, and her chest tightened up, as if she were unable to breath.

  I didn’t want any of this, Cora thought.

  She looked up at Joshua who was shouting at Walter to get out, to leave her alone, to leave his family alone.

  Cora didn’t want to cause so much trouble.

  “The board of trustees will hear about this,” Walter said on his way out. “Say goodbye to your precious orchard, Joshua. A mill is what’s going to bring business. A mill to get rid of all that darned wasted-space and pointless cherry trees of yours. Your father was a sap, and so was your grandfather. But I—”

  Joshua walked toward Walter, and a few other guests stepped in front to hold Joshua back as Walter slunk out.

  His heart was pounding. His mother, confused, kept demanding questions from him, and all he could think to do was protect Cora. It was over. All of it. He lost everything.

  Joshua turned around toward his table, only to stop in his tracks. He looked amongst the room, which was now in chaos of people muttering, not knowi
ng what to make of the scene.

  “Cora?” he called. She was gone.

  The Lil’ Miss was making her way back east, and stopping once again for Cora. This time, though, she seemed less a fantastical vision of adventure and freedom, and more like the old hunk of metal that she was.

  “Just one ticket,” Cora received the stub through the window at the station.

  Mr. Stanfield’s brow furrowed upon seeing the face at the booth, his gray eyes glinting underneath his spectacles.

  “Miss Cora…”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stanfield,” Cora’s eyes glistened, but she held back tears. “It didn’t work out…”

  Mr. Stanfield sighed.

  “I’m awfully sad to hear that, Miss Cora. I thought for sure that you were the one.”

  “The one?” Cora perked up curiously.

  “Oh, yes’m,” Mr. Stanfield said. “I’ve known Joshua Dansby for a long time, since he was a wiry young boy. Knew his grandfather very well, God rest his soul.”

  He sighed and came out from the door of the station house to meet face to face with Cora.

  “Joshua was always driven. Probably the sense of responsibility he took when his father passed, and he was left to tend to everything. But you know, as good lookin’ as he was, there was never a gal that could love him.”

  Cora laughed amidst the emotions swelling.

  “He’s really difficult.”

  Mr. Stanfield let out a chuckle.

  “He is. But I think it’s more than that. Part of it is, I think, he never knew how to love himself. He always had a higher expectation for himself that he never placed on anyone else…and it drove him to loneliness.”

  He sighed and looked at his feet.

  “I saw how he looked at you that first day, when he realized you were the one he was supposed to meet…”

  “With disappointment?” Cora pursed her lips.

  “With hope.”

  “I just made things more complicated,” she looked away.

  The train’s engine began to whir.

  Mr. Stanfield tipped his hat.

  “It’s time.”

  Cora nodded, and gestured to the side of the platform.

  “Make sure that Kan gets back to Joshua. And—and tell him—”She pursed her lips. “Tell him I said goodbye.”

  Mr. Stanfield nodded and turned toward the train, shouting “All aboard the Lil’ Miss, leaving the station in five minutes!”

  Cora let out a deep breath as she turned around, once again facing the great, steam locomotive. The black body glinted in the sun, though an Autumn chill rippled through. Sounds of people boarding and clicking their feet, pulling their luggage across the wooden boardwalk rang in her ears.

  “Isn’t this where I began?” Cora said to herself.

  “But it doesn’t have to end like this.”

  Cora turned at the voice.“Joshua!”

  He breathed heavily, and removed his hat, his dark hair tousled, some strands lifting in the breeze. His blue eyes were deep and hallowed, and Cora’s chest swelled with emotion.

  She didn’t need this. Not at her getaway.

  “You’ve lost everything,” she said. “Walter Howell’s exposed our secret, your family knows I’m a penniless orphan girl, and you have absolutely nothing left.”

  Joshua brought his hand to Cora’s cheek, and she closed her eyes, her heart feeling as if it needed to burst, feeling the warmth of him near her.

  “I still have one thing left…” he brought his forehead to rest on hers.

  “Please, don’t…” Cora muttered through tears. “You’re making it more difficult than it has to be.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice with a difficult woman,” he laughed.

  Joshua brought his hand to the chin of the brown-eyed woman in front of him, leaning her face to look at his. He nearly missed her. He was out of breathe. He was out of words. And yet, in this moment, all he could think about was how much he wanted her.

  “You are impossible, stubborn, obnoxious, and in fact one of the most annoying women I have ever met,” Joshua laughed. “But,” he wiped his thumb across her cheek, swiping away a tear. “You’re imaginative, and resourceful, you’re smarter than you think you are, and braver than anyone I know. And my goodness,” he cupped her face with both of his strong hands. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

  He brought her into an embrace, enveloping himself around her small frame, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair, feeling her heartbeat against his.

  “I don’t care about the land, or the inheritance. I don’t care what people think, Cora.” He squeezed her tight. “I want you. I want you and all of you—even the annoying, impossible parts. I love you, Cora Sutton. I love you.”

  Cora’s heart swelled with emotion. She felt weak, as if she could just fall to the ground right then and there, but around her, Joshua Dansby held on. And he held on tight, his strong arms wrapped around her, as if she could forever be safe. And it wasn’t a fairytale. It was her life.

  “I love you, too” she spoke into his broad chest. “But,” she pushed away and looked up at him, his blue eyes glistening. “I’m not Cora Sutton,” she said. “I’m Cora Dansby.”

  He smiled, and leading her chin close to his, their lips met, and in a moment, both were suspended in time, as if nothing moved around them. When it ended, for a brief moment, his heart danced at the way the loose strands of her hair flitted in the breeze. He brushed his hand against her cheek once more, and smiled.

  “Mrs. Cora Dansby,” he said. “Be my wife.”

  And she was.

  An Italian in the West (by Mary Miller)

  Cosa faròora?

  Angelica’s mind was whirling. Her thoughts were dark and heavy as she repeated the Italian phrase over and over in her mind. Cosa faròora? Cosa faròora? What do I do now?

  Her father’s death had caused a complete upheaval in her life. He was all she had in this world, especially in this foreign land that she wasn’t used to and didn’t understand all of the time. She was only now learning to speak the language.

  How could this tragic event have occurred so soon after their arrival in America? And now what would she do? She buried her face in her hands, soaking her gloves with her tears. They arrived originally in New York but had only stayed there for a short time. Her father had not like the climate there, so they migrated south to the rolling hills of Virginia. It had only been a few months since then. She had just started learning English these last few weeks and had been training almost daily with Lilly, her only friend in this small town. Lilly was a fiery, red-headed girl from Ireland with a quick wit and a sharp brain. She’d had no trouble learning to speak like Americans do and seemed to fit right in. Lilly had taken a quick liking to Angelica, and they were always together as a result.

  Angelica wasn’t having an easy time of it, though. Her Italian accent was strong, and she moved from speaking English to Italian in the same sentence, disrupting her speech pattern and only allowing half of her sentence to be understood.

  To make matters worse, Lilly had never stopped informing Angelica of her outstanding beauty. She never failed to mention when a young man was eyeing Angelica, not realizing that her friend didn’t want the attention. Lilly was jealous that Angelica got the kind of attention she did, but she refrained from being rude about it. She was playful when she mentioned the looks her Italian friend always got.

  “I wish I was as beautiful as you are, Angel.” Lilly was fond of saying. “I would already be happily married with children.”

  “You are abambina, too young for such,” Angelica replied.

  “You’re never too young for the attention of men. And I wouldn’t say that twenty is too young. In fact, far from it.” Lilly would sigh and pa
t her wavy red hair, fluttering her eyelashes at the same time. Her green eyes always flashed with energy and she had a ready smile on her face. Angelica thought she was the beautiful one and would tell her so. Lilly just laughed at that.

  “Truly, you are bellissimo, Lilly, amicamia.” She would say.

  “English,” Lilly would respond. “You need to speak in English!” Then she would laugh and retrain Angelica how to say “my friend” instead of amicamia. Lilly didn’t really mind that Angelica mixed her words up. She was relieved to be able to use some of the knowledge her grandmother’s husband had bestowed on her, bless his soul. She crossed herself in remembrance of him every time she thought of him, a habit she’d picked up from her Irish-Catholic mother.

  When Angelica felt small hands wrap around her shoulders, she knew it was Lilly. She instinctively pushed herself against her friend, her tears nonstop. “Cosa faròora? Mio padre è morto. Sonosola. Sonosola…”

  “Ssshhh.” Lilly consoled her hugging her tightly. “You aren’t alone. I’m here. I will help you. We will figure out what to do. I’m so sorry, Angelica.I’m so sorry.Shh.”

  Angelica moaned loudly, lowering herself further, her head nearly on the back of the pew in front of her. Lilly put her hand on her friend’s head and pulled her over so that she was holding her against her chest. She began to rock forward and back, gripping her friend as warmly as she could.

  Angelica was comforted when Lilly began to sing softly to her a sweet tune she had never heard before but sounded like the brush of angel’s wings on her hurting soul.

  “Now come is my departing time,

  And here I may no longer stay,

  There is no kind comrade of mine

  But will desire I were away.

  But if that time will me permit,

  Which from your Company doth call,

  And meinforceth for to flit,

  Good Night, and God be with you all.”(Neighbours farewell to his friends)

  Later that night, Angelica was sleeping fitfully in Lilly’s bed, and she watched her friend tossing and turning with worried eyes. Angelica was right to be concerned. She really did not have anyone other than her father, and they had not owned any property. Mr. DiAntonio had just been getting his business started, dealing with the businessmen in town, discussing whatever their business was. He had no trouble integrating himself into society. He had learned English before he migrated to the country. He hadn’t expected to bring Angelica along, which was why she was so lost with the language. He had essentially been forced to bring her after the death of both his wife and his other three daughters in a fire that destroyed their home and much of their property.