‘‘My dear, are you quite all right?’’ her father asked.
Jasmine fanned herself with a lace handkerchief. ‘‘I’m sure I am. However, I am quite surprised by this turn of events. I must say, I never thought the journey north to be such adventure.’’
Bradley gave a deep, emotionless laugh at this, his beady gray-eyed gaze making her most uncomfortable. ‘‘You may find the North full of surprises and adventure, MissWainwright. And I will personally be honored to reveal them all to you in due time.’’
Stifling a shudder, Jasmine could only smile and look demurely to her shaking hands. Clenching the hanky between her fingers, Jasmine tried to imagine what the future might hold in the company of Bradley Houston. Somehow, the thoughts were not all that comforting—nor desirous. There was something about this man that made her uneasy—not at all like his brother, Nolan. Perhaps it was his more serious nature—his lack of genuine warmth and joy. Perhaps it was the fact that Bradley Houston seemed to be a man very much used to getting his own way. And this time, that might very well include taking Jasmine for his wife.
CHAPTER • 7
SUMMER LINGERED in the air, even as a decided chill announced the coming of autumn. The days had not been as pleasant for Jasmine as she had imagined them when she and her grandmother had planned for her extended visit in Lowell. Bradley Houston had made a positive nuisance of himself, and today was no exception.
Jasmine stiffened as Bradley pulled his chair closer and cupped her cheek in his palm. It seemed he was always touching her— something that would never have been tolerated at The Willows. Why, Samuel alone would have called out the first man to lay a finger to his beloved sister. But Samuel wasn’t here to stand guard. Neither was McKinley or David or her father.
‘‘Tell me, my dear, what is it that has been keeping you so busy of late? It seems that every time I send word I’d like to call upon you, your grandmother returns a message that you’ve already made plans or you’re not available.’’
Grandmother padded into the room with the stillness of a soft breeze and placed a vase of flowers on the table beside him. ‘‘I prefer having her close at hand when I’m ailing, Bradley. It gives me comfort to have her read aloud or visit with me when I must take to my bed. Having Jasmine here to aid me during my times of illness is, after all, why my son had her remain in Lowell.’’
‘‘Yes, I understand Mr. Wainwright’s reasoning,’’ Bradley replied cautiously. ‘‘But I’ve noticed her in town with Violet Cheever on several occasions and—’’
‘‘Taking care of some shopping for me,’’ Jasmine’s grandmother interrupted. ‘‘But I’m certain you find Matthew Cheever’s daughter acceptable company for my granddaughter.’’
‘‘Why, of course,’’ Bradley said defensively. ‘‘I’ve merely been concerned.’’
‘‘There’s no need for worry, Mr. Houston. In the event there’s a problem, rest assured I will immediately send word. However, it is heartening to know of your concern,’’ the old woman decorously replied.
Bradley turned toward Alice Wainwright and placed his folded hands in his lap. He looked like a schoolboy preparing to recite his daily lessons. ‘‘I had hoped to escort Jasmine on a picnic after church tomorrow afternoon. With your permission, of course.’’
‘‘I think a picnic would be very nice. In fact, the fresh air would likely do me good. Will you escort us to church also?’’ Jasmine’s grandmother asked while fussing with the floral arrangement.
Jasmine held her breath, wondering what his reply might be.
Bradley didn’t seem the type overly concerned with spiritual matters. Then again, her own parents had been rather remiss in church attendance these past few years. It was, of course, due to Mama’s affliction, but they were always faithful to at least read the Scriptures on Sunday morning.
Bradley hesitated only for a moment. ‘‘Yes, of course. I would be pleased to escort you to church.’’
‘‘Why don’t I have Martha pack our dinner? After church we can return to the house and pick up the basket. Oh, and I have a delightful idea. Why don’t we invite the Cheever family to join us? Jasmine and I are going to visit with them later this afternoon, and I’ll see if they’re available. I know how much you enjoy Matthew’s company. Yes! I think we’ll have a grand time, don’t you, Jasmine?’’
Jasmine flashed a grateful smile at her grandmother. ‘‘Yes, and
I’m certain Violet will be pleased to join us. She told me only the other day she had been longing to go on a picnic.’’
Bradley stood and looked down at Jasmine. ‘‘Well, then, I suppose the picnic is arranged. Not exactly what I had planned.
Nonetheless, I look forward to our time together. I hope you will make time for a walk with me. There are several things I would enjoy discussing with you.’’
Jasmine heard the determination in his voice and it took all of her resolve to keep from cringing. ‘‘Perhaps,’’ she whispered, hoping it would be enough of an answer to satisfy him.
After Bradley made his departure, Jasmine sighed and leaned against the front door for a moment. ‘‘Thank you, Grandmother,’’ she said as she walked back into the parlor. ‘‘I know Mr. Houston is likely a fine man, but his overbearing character disturbs me.
Besides, I’ve written Papa that he is much too old for me. I’d prefer a gentleman caller who is more to my liking—and closer to my own age,’’ she added.
‘‘Don’t discount the role your father has played in Mr. Houston’s behavior. He gave Bradley exclusive permission to call upon you. There may be little you can do except begin looking for Bradley’s finer qualities.’’
Jasmine plopped down on the settee beside her grandmother.
‘‘What do you mean? Surely you don’t think Papa is arranging a marriage between Bradley Houston and me? Why, that’s preposterous.’’ She turned and looked deep into her grandmother’s steely hazel eyes. ‘‘Isn’t it?’’ Up until now, the entire matter of courting Bradley Houston had seemed simply a game, a sort of cat-and-mouse venture where Jasmine would find ways to escape being snatched up by Mr. Houston’s sharp claws.
‘‘No, Jasmine. In fact, the idea is quite believable. You seem to forget that you’ve reached a suitable age for marriage.’’
Jasmine detected the sad resignation in her grandmother’s voice. What was she saying? Was she keeping something from Jasmine? ‘‘You truly believe Papa has chosen Bradley Houston as a possible husband for me?’’ She gasped the words, as though Mammy had just cinched her corset too tight. ‘‘I don’t want to marry a man I don’t love. I’d rather remain a spinster.’’
Alice chuckled and tucked a stray curl behind Jasmine’s ear.
‘‘Sometimes we must accept the fact that we aren’t the ones who make the choices affecting our lives. If your father chooses Bradley, you must accept him as your husband and work toward creating a happy home. This may come as a surprise to you, but I didn’t love your grandfather when I married him. Our marriage was arranged.
I thought I would never survive leaving Boston to live on a cotton plantation. Those first years at The Willows were very difficult.
However, in time I learned to love your grandfather, I had my children, and we were very happy.’’
Jasmine grimaced and shook her head back and forth. ‘‘I could never learn to love Bradley Houston. We have nothing in common.
Unlike Grandfather and Father, he’s interested only in textile and cotton production. I don’t believe he is educated enough to discuss anything intellectual or cultural.’’
‘‘I, too, have noticed he expresses little interest in cultural topics, although I know he is well educated. Perhaps it will take some of your Southern charm to draw out his latent qualities. Even your father is difficult to dissuade from talk of business from time to time. However, once Bradley realizes a variety of conversational topics will serve him well both in private and in the business world, I’m certain he will make every effort
to expand his realm of dialogue.’’
‘‘Whether he does so or not will be of little consequence—I have no intention of changing my feelings toward Bradley Houston.’’
‘‘I fear your mother’s insistence upon sheltering you at home all these years has left you naïve concerning matters of marriage, my dear.’’
‘‘You may be correct. However, I’ve always been able to somewhat influence Papa’s decisions regarding my future. After all, he didn’t force my introduction to society with a coming-out ball.’’
Alice gave her granddaughter a sidelong glance. ‘‘I believe your mother’s fear of hosting such an event may have played a larger part in your father’s decision than any argument you posed.’’
Jasmine moved to the marble-topped mahogany side table and idly rearranged the colorful zinnias her grandmother had placed in a vase only a short time ago. Unbidden, she looked into the gilded mirror across the room and met her grandmother’s troubled gaze.
Would her father force her to marry someone she didn’t love?
Could he do such a thing to her? Surely not.
That night Jasmine’s sleep was restless, her dreams fraught with worrisome visions of her future. She saw herself as a bride, walking down the aisle to a masked man. She knew the man was Bradley Houston, but he refused to allow her to see his face. Once the ceremony was over and she was pronounced to be his wife, he lifted the mask, much as a bride would lift her veil. Beneath his coverings, Bradley’s face contorted and turned monstrous.
Jasmine awoke screaming softly into her pillow. She sat up with a start, her heart pounding relentlessly.
What was it Grandmother had said earlier? ‘‘I fear your mother’s insistence upon sheltering you at home all these years has left you naïve concerning matters of marriage.’’ What did she mean? Was it something more than merely the thought that her father might marry her off to a man Jasmine didn’t and couldn’t love?
‘‘Oh, I’m so frightened,’’ she whispered to the darkened room.
Jasmine thought momentarily of praying, but she had never been very good at such things. She always pictured God as a distant king upon His throne, a solemn-faced judge who tried each case with stoic indifference. Grandmother had other ideas, however. She spoke of God’s tender compassion—His mercies.
‘‘I pray you take mercy on me, dear God,’’ Jasmine murmured, pulling her covers tight against her neck. ‘‘I pray you intercede on my behalf and remove this notion of marriage between me and Bradley Houston from my father’s mind.’’
Bradley rested his back against a large elm and watched the unfolding scene. His plan for a quiet picnic with Jasmine had turned into an afternoon of frivolity attended by a myriad of people—some of whom he didn’t even know. Bradley wasn’t certain who had given Violet Cheever free rein to invite guests, but he suspected Jasmine may have had a hand in the situation.
She’d been avoiding him since their arrival, and now that his brother had arrived with Henry and Fanny Longfellow, she was involved in an animated discussion about some literary nonsense.
He motioned her to join him and grew increasingly irritated when she chose to ignore him. Unwilling to tolerate her behavior any longer, he stood and walked to her side.
He leaned down until his lips nearly touched her ear. ‘‘Please join me,’’ he whispered forcefully.
His words were a command, not a request, yet she smiled demurely and said, ‘‘I prefer to remain here, thank you.’’
He grasped her elbow and squeezed more tightly than he’d intended. ‘‘I expect you to join me—now,’’ he hissed.
‘‘Please release my arm. You’re hurting me,’’ she said when they were a short distance away from the crowd.
‘‘Perhaps you should have come when I motioned to you,’’ he replied. ‘‘I invited you because I want the privilege of enjoying your company.’’
Jasmine sat down beside him. ‘‘You could come and join the rest of us. Perhaps I would take more pleasure in being with you if you would discuss something other than the textile mills.’’
‘‘Ah, so you find me rather boring and would prefer to delve into the works of Shakespeare or Keats—perhaps Scott? You may be surprised to learn that I far outranked my brother while studying the classics in college. Merely because I do not stand around professing literary knowledge does not mean I have none. However, some of us have moved beyond such puffery, realizing what is truly important in life. And just look at Henry in his flowered waistcoat and yellow kid gloves. Wherever does he find those clothes?’’
‘‘There is more to life than work, and it appears there are many who find Mr. Longfellow—and his attire—quite interesting.’’
‘‘I’m surprised Fanny isn’t embarrassed to be seen with him in public. After all, her people are of some quality in Boston.’’
‘‘She appears quite devoted to him,’’ Jasmine replied, glancing toward the couple sitting side by side on a patchwork quilt. ‘‘I believe them to be very much in love—something I very much value.’’
‘‘Well, I think he enjoys making a spectacle of himself. It’s much easier than working for a living.’’
‘‘You judge him rather harshly, Mr. Houston.’’
‘‘When Longfellow married Fanny Appleton, Nathan gifted him with over one hundred thousand dollars worth of stock in the mills. Nathan’s generosity has permitted Henry to enjoy the life of a wealthy man while he earns nothing more than a professor’s salary at Harvard. For all intents and purposes, he lives off of his father-in-law rather than working to support himself.’’
‘‘His writing is his work,’’ she protested.
‘‘It will never come to anything,’’ Bradley asserted dryly. ‘‘He’ll no doubt disappear into oblivion when his father-in-law’s fortune and good intentions are gone.’’
‘‘I think not,’’ Jasmine declared. ‘‘Obviously Mr. Appleton can appreciate the fact that something other than textile production is of value to the world.’’
Bradley stroked his fingers down her arm softly. ‘‘There are one or two things I value more than textile production also.’’
Jasmine recoiled from his touch. ‘‘You forget yourself, sir,’’ she said, her drawl quite pronounced.
Bradley shook his head. ‘‘I’m well aware of what I’m suggesting. I just wonder if you understand it as well.’’
CHAPTER • 8
ALICE TAPPED her fingers on the table beside her chair and contemplated the wisdom of her decision. If Malcolm should find out, he would be upset. No—he would be furious. She had given her consent to Jasmine in haste, and now she couldn’t go back on her word. ‘‘And what of Bradley?’’ she muttered.
‘‘Excuse me, ma’am?’’ Martha drew closer. ‘‘I didn’t hear your question.’’ The tall, stern-faced woman watched her employer with some interest.
‘‘Oh, Martha, I didn’t know you had come into the room. I’m talking to myself. I fear I’ve made a muddle of things,’’ she confided.
Martha began arranging an armful of flowers from the garden.
‘‘I’ve never known you to possess anything but the soundest of judgments. How could you have possibly muddled any matter?’’
‘‘When Jasmine and I were at the library yesterday, we happened to see Lilly Cheever. She reminded me of the antislavery meeting that’s taking place on Wednesday. Of course, Jasmine heard the conversation and immediately asked if she could attend.’’
Martha put her hand to her neck in surprise. ‘‘Oh, Mrs.Wainwright! You didn’t agree?’’
‘‘Yes, I’m afraid I did.’’
‘‘Whatever will her father think?’’
Alice appreciated her housekeeper’s frankness. They had always shared more of a friendship than a relationship of employee and employer. ‘‘That’s my concern. I know Malcolm will be angry and likely never permit Jasmine to visit again. My only hope is that he won’t find out. After all, it’s only one meeting, and if I tell J
asmine never to discuss her attendance with anyone, perhaps Malcolm will remain unaware. Quite frankly, I’m more concerned with the possibility of someone mentioning her attendance to Bradley Houston. Should he find out, there is little doubt he’d tell Malcolm.’’
Martha trimmed the stems on several crimson roses before placing them in the vase. ‘‘I thought Mr. Houston was active in the antislavery movement.’’
‘‘Nolan Houston is active, but I’ve never seen Bradley at any of the meetings or heard him profess his beliefs one way or the other. However, with his involvement in the textile mills, I think he would frown upon any active participation in the antislavery movement. And now that he’s professed a romantic interest in Jasmine, I’m certain he won’t want her exposed to the ever-growing antislavery sentiments.’’
‘‘Have you considered telling the child you’ve reconsidered and believe your decision was ill-advised?’’
‘‘I could, but a part of me believes Jasmine needs to hear the truth about slavery. She’s never given any thought to the fact that the Wainwrights actually own human beings.’’
Martha gave her mistress a shrewd grin while pushing a scarlet-red rose deep into the vase. ‘‘Well, if you change your mind, you could always be forced to remain at home due to a stomach ailment— or perhaps a headache.’’
Alice returned the smile. ‘‘I’ll keep your suggestion in mind, but I’m thinking that if the need arises, I can always tell Malcolm and Bradley the truth: that hearing both sides of any issue is important to sound decision-making. Although I’m certain Bradley thinks a woman should embrace the same beliefs as her husband, I certainly don’t adhere to such a viewpoint.’’
Martha nodded. ‘‘Whatever you think is best.’’
Bradley donned his black silk hat and checked his pocket watch one last time. Tardiness, he had decided many years ago, was a habit of ill-bred individuals who would never succeed in life.
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 8
