“Well, we Garretts—except for Isabel—are a sorry lot.”
Now Hannah raised her head to stare at her husband. “I won’t listen to you talk like that. You’re not a sorry lot.”
Calm, a level expression on his face, he shook his head. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Hannah. I’m being truthful. I’ve been lying here thinking of the one reason you should stay and all the reasons you need to go. And the truth is—you need to go.”
“I do?” Her voice was no more than a whisper of emotion.
He nodded. “Yes, you do. I keep seeing myself threatening you, grabbing at you and handling you in a rough manner, and practically locking you away in my two homes.” He looked to a far-off point and shook his head. “I even tried to use you as a pawn in my own twisted notion of revenge. I’m a sick bastard.”
Hannah blinked back tears. “Don’t say that, Slade. You’re not.”
He finally looked at her, self-honesty blazing in his black eyes. “Yes I am. You know what my revenge was to be, Hannah? Marry you, seduce you into loving me, and then discard you, thereby destroying you. Like my mother was by my father. Admirable family trait.” He shook his head. “We Garrett men are hell on our women. I talked to Isabel after you left—no, after I made you leave here—for my brownstone. She told me the same thing that she’d told you about my father … and your mother.”
He firmed his mouth to a straight line. “You’re better off leaving. And, after thinking about it, I’m … glad there’s really no child. Because I don’t know what kind of father I’d be. My own wasn’t much of one, so God knows what I’m capable of. But along those lines—your leaving, that is—I’ve spoken with my attorneys this past week.”
Hannah stared at him for the longest time, feeling her guts churn and her heart break. He refused to meet her eyes, so she scooted across him to lay her head down over his tom-tomming heartbeat. “Do you want a divorce?”
Under her ear, Hannah felt his heart lurch into a skipping beat. “God, no. And I don’t want to hear any protests, either, but I’ve settled property, stock, and a sum of money on you, the exact sum Ardis left your mother. You may not be able to inherit because we produced no heir, but my money I can do with as I please. I know you didn’t come here for money, and you keep saying you don’t want it, but you have to take it, Hannah. For your sisters, if not for yourself.”
Hannah forced her breath out slowly through her nostrils. She—a lying, mistrustful woman—did not deserve this kind of unselfish love. And yet a part of her wanted him to convince her to stay. “Tell me your reason why I should stay.”
He shifted about, dislodging her to his side again as he stretched his long, muscular legs and hugged her to him for the briefest of seconds. “It doesn’t matter now. Besides, it’s not enough of a reason. Apparently.”
“It’s not apparent to me.” Hannah raised her head again to look at him.
He flicked his gaze to her face and then looked away. Wrapping her long hair around his hand, he smoothed the silky mitt up and down her back. He finally looked down at her and smiled. “Well, it is to me. Otherwise, your trunks wouldn’t be packed, and you wouldn’t have a train ticket home. So it doesn’t matter what my reason is, Hannah. Besides, you’re right—you need to get home to your sisters.”
Agreeing with him but certain she’d lost everything that would ever be important to her, Hannah frowned and laid her head down again on his shoulder.
“Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“What was it you started to say to me? You said there was something I should know.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. “Nothing. It was nothing.” She remained quiet for several minutes. As did Slade. Not a sound stirred in all of Woodbridge Pond to distract her from her sad thoughts of leaving. Then, feeling the inevitable closing in around her, feeling the darkness of the room invading her heart, Hannah pulled herself up and over him. She smoothed a hand across his cheek. “Slade, will you love me again?”
His chest heaved and jerked mightily, as his stomach muscles rippled. Alarmed, Hannah gripped him tightly as he tugged her head down to rest against his neck and shoulder. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was crying.
“Again and always, Hannah,” came his choked reply.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Do you have everything?”
“Yes, Isabel, I do. I’ve checked. You’ve checked. Olivia’s checked. Rowena and Serafina have checked. I haven’t left anything.” Except my heart.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
Hannah hugged her grandmother-in-law to her, holding her for the longest time. Tears squeezed out from under her tightly closed eyelids. “I love you,” she whispered.
Isabel held Hannah in her embrace as her ample bosom shook, but then she abruptly pulled back and dabbed at her reddened eyes with a balled-up hanky. All business now, she spun Hannah around to the wide central steps that would take her downstairs, past all the combined Garrett household domestics, through the front door, and out of their lives.
“Go on with you. You don’t want to miss your train. The infernal contraptions wait for no one—even if we do own them.”
Hannah nodded and tried to smile. But her lips wouldn’t stop quivering long enough to hold an expression. “I’ll miss you, Isabel. I love you.”
Isabel burst into tears, burying her lined and puckered, highly rouged little face in her hanky. She made a gesture for Hannah to leave as she spoke through her hanky’s folds. “Go now, or I’ll never let you leave. Go. I love you.”
Hannah stood still, staring at her. Towering emotion threatened to send her to her knees. She locked them, determined to get through the next few moments with a modicum of dignity. Just then, Esmerelda drooped out of Hannah’s bedroom. The mastiff’s ears and tail almost dragged the ground. She nosed under Hannah’s hand and then plodded to the top of the stairs, turning back to peer solemnly at Hannah.
With fat tears rolling down her cheeks, Hannah clutched at her handbag, and took the first steps that would lead her away from everyone she loved at Woodbridge Pond. “Come on, then. Let’s do this,” she told Essie softly.
With that, the unlikely pair proceeded down the polished-wood stairway, their footfalls and pawfalls echoing hollowly with each step. Hannah wished with all her might that she could look away from the sight at the bottom of the stairs, but there was nowhere else to look. Wasn’t it bad enough that they were all there, every last one of the domestics, all with their heads turned up to her, all with their sad gazes and their snifflings meant for her?
But even worse were Dudley and Constance by the open front doors. Hannah’s gaze flicked to Slade, behind them. So, he’d come after all. He stood with his hand on the knob, holding the door open, waiting for her to leave. Making it easy for her to leave.
Then, so be it. After the night of the ball, he’d stayed away, at his brownstone. Until this moment, she hadn’t even been sure he’d be here this morning. Looking him up and down, she noted he looked like hell. He needed to shave. His hair was unkempt. His clothes weren’t even the immaculate style she was used to from him. But it was his eyes. They were bloodshot and red-rimmed, as if he’d been sleepless. Or on a heavy drinking spree. But right now, no matter the cause, those eyes bored into her soul.
Hannah looked away from him as she stopped in front of Rowena and Serafina. The ancient twins each clutched the hand Hannah offered them. The old maids stared at her, their individual double chins quivering. But they said nothing. Neither did Hannah. She then moved down the line to each elderly chambermaid, each ancient kitchenmaid, stopping, saying her good-byes, squeezing hands, having hers squeezed. Mrs. Edgars, the hefty, gregarious cook, held her white apron up to her face and cried loudly. Hannah smiled and patted her shoulder. Mrs. Edgars wailed anew and aloud.
Then Hannah and Esmerelda came to Hammonds. All stiff starch and spit and polish, he bowed formally. Hannah’s stomach muscles clenched as she b
it down hard on the inside of her cheek. Hammonds straightened up, keeping his gaze at a point just beyond her. “Madam, it has been my distinct pleasure to serve you. I wish you the best of—” He choked off his words, raised his chin, and went on. “I wish you the best of everything.”
“Thank you, Hammonds. You’ve been wonderful.” No one else but Hammonds could have heard her, so low did she speak. She moved to Pemberton. And her heart melted into a sloppy pool of emotionalism. The sweet, white-wispy-haired and bent-over little man took her hand in both of his knobby-knuckled ones. His rheumy, watered-blue eyes blinked up at her. “One thinks one will miss you most fiercely, Mrs. Garrett.”
Hannah nodded. “One thinks one will miss you, too, Pemberton. You keep Miss Isabel corralled, you hear?”
He pulled her toward him the slightest bit. “Could one perhaps leave a length of rope toward that end?”
Hannah chuckled and pulled him to her for a hug. “I love you,” she whispered. And thought he whispered it back to her. Then, she stepped over to face Mrs. Stanley and her sons, Jacko and Edgar. The two little boys, about eight and ten years old, stood solemnly to either side of their mother. When the housekeeper curtsied to Hannah, they bowed. “Mrs. Garrett, ma’am. You’ve been a joy.”
“As have you, Mrs. Stanley.” Hannah smiled at her and ruffled the boys’ heads, telling them, “You be good boys and help your mother.” They mumbled out their opinions of that, but nodded nevertheless.
Then, Hannah faced Olivia. Just behind her, with his hand possessively on her shoulder, was Rigby. In Olivia’s arms was Colette, the only happy, chortling one in the crowd. Olivia bobbed a curtsy and blinked back a wealth of tears. “I wish I was going with you, miss. We all do.”
Hannah nodded and held out a finger for the baby to grab. Colette clutched at it and promptly tried to stick it in her mouth. Hannah chuckled with Rigby and then spoke with Olivia. “I wish you could, too. But it’s best you stay here with Rigby. Where I’m going is no place for a baby.”
What about your own? Hannah swallowed the lump in her throat. She then turned to Rigby, pulling her finger from Colette’s grasp to shake his hand warmly when he stuck his out to her. “Rigby, I couldn’t be happier for you and Olivia. Take good care of them. They mean an awful lot to me.”
“Yes, ma’am. They mean an awful lot to me, too.” Rigby squeezed Olivia’s shoulder as she turned her smiling face up to him. The loving sight was almost more than Hannah could stand. These two had a bright future together. Unlike her and Slade.
Hannah stepped over to Constance and threw herself into the blond girl’s open arms. They cried and sniffed and moaned until Dudley’s heavy hand tugged on Hannah’s arm. She looked up at the big man. Unabashed by the tears that stood in his eyes, he pulled her gruffly to his chest and patted the life out of her. “We love you, Hannah—more than you’ll ever know. You’ve changed everyone here for the better. But especially me. Godspeed.”
Hannah drew back, holding both his hands. “Thank you, Dudley. But I didn’t change you.” She pulled a hand loose and patted the center of his chest. “You always had it—right here, future Senator Ames.”
Dudley pulled himself up to his considerable height and beamed as Constance clutched at his elbow and laid her curls against his huge arm. Hannah smiled at them through her pain. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t turn … not to him. But she didn’t have to, not right away. Because Esmerelda nosed her hand again. Hannah knelt down and gathered the dog’s massive head to her and hugged her tightly. Finally, she stood up. “Esmerelda, you’re a caution. And I love you.”
Esmerelda sadly waggled her drooping tail, looked Hannah right in the eye, and then turned, padding up the stairs to take her place beside Isabel, who stood with a hand on the railing and her other to her heart. Hannah faced them all, raised her hand in a half wave, half salute, and turned to Slade. She had no idea what to expect from this man—her husband.
Into the silence marred only by vagrant sniffles and quiet sobs, Slade straightened up to his full, heart-wrenching magnificence. His black eyes were unblinking. His sensuous mouth was unsmiling. He could have been carved from granite.
Hannah glanced past him and saw the waiting carriage outside. Sedgewick proudly sat on the driver’s box, looking her way. Behind the brougham was the young stablehand, Jonathan, at the reins of the carryall, which was loaded with her belongings. She looked back to Slade.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “We’d better go. You don’t want to miss your train.”
* * *
Perched on a tufted, overstuffed seat, set in an alcove of the plush, private railcar, Hannah sat alone, silently staring out at the Boston skyline. The city was wreathed in November’s late-autumn tones. Trees stood denuded of foliage. The sky threatened a leaden gray. Even the people at the station seemed downcast, seemed to walk with heads bent down against the wind. Hannah took a deep, shuddering breath against the wind.
When was this darned train going to leave? They should have pulled out long ago. Hannah felt sure this was a test, someone was giving her a last chance to change her mind. But she couldn’t. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t. All she could think of, all she dared think of, were Jacey and Glory and Biddy. She’d promised them to come home. They were in danger, and they didn’t even know. They needed her.
And Slade doesn’t? What about your baby? What about you? What do you need? “Stop it,” Hannah gritted out.
The train lurched. Hannah grasped at the seat’s edges. The whistle blew. Steam rolled back in vaporish clouds. People hugged, kissed, and hurried to embark. Finally. She was leaving Boston, just as she’d arrived—alone. No, not alone. Hannah’s hand went to her womb. I love you, little baby.
Not able to face Boston passing swiftly by her window, Hannah turned to look at her stunning accommodations, at the rich woods and elegant furniture. She finally rested her gaze on the upholstered and empty seat across from her. Slade had insisted she ride in style. She was after all a Garrett and now part owner of the rail line, he’d said.
She shook her head. What did it matter? Private car. First class. Coach. In with the luggage. It didn’t matter. She was too numb to enjoy the luxury. Would’ve been too numb to notice the crowded public cars, the jostling, the loud talking, the smells. Too numb.
The train lurched again and then rolled smoothly on its tracks. Slowly and smoothly. Almost involuntarily, Hannah looked out the window. Not one familiar face to see her off. Not one. Slade had merely taken her hand to help her out of the carriage, had allowed her a moment to say her good-byes to Sedgewick and Johnny, and then had scooted her here to this very car. He’d stood there in the doorway a moment and—
She looked now to the doorway at the end of the car, hoping against hope that he’d—No. The door remained closed, impassive.
Well, he’d stood there, filling the doorway, had stared long and hard at her, shook his head, said, “You’re even more stubborn and prideful than I am,” and turned and walked away. Just turned and walked away. What the devil did he mean by more stubborn and prideful than him? In what way? A drop of moisture splatted onto Hannah’s hand. She looked down at it, saw her folded hands through a blur. And realized she was crying.
“Oh, stop it, you big baby,” she admonished herself aloud as she dug through her handbag, pushed aside her peashooter, and finally found her hanky. She pulled it out and wiped her tears. It was the same hanky, without the burned letter in it, that had put her on a train less than two months ago. She balled it up in her hands, seeing again Slade wordlessly handing it to her in the carriage on the way to the depot.
Hannah looked again out the window, saw the city pass by, saw the pasturelands and the countryside begin. “Good-bye,” she whispered.
The door to her car slid open. Hannah jerked toward the sound and peered hopefully around the alcove’s wall. And slumped. Her own private, nice attendant stood in the doorway. He was smiling, albeit somewhat hesitantly. A middle-aged, ruddy-faced Irishman
who’d introduced himself earlier as O’Malley, he now ducked his head respectfully. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mrs. Garrett. But I’m afraid there’s a wee bit of a problem with your ticket.”
Hannah frowned. “My ticket? I didn’t think I needed one. Didn’t my … husband take care of everything?”
He nodded vigorously. “Of a certainty, he did just that, yer ladyship. Of a certainty. But I’m afraid we’re a mite more crowded than first expected. I’m needin’ ta ask you if you’d mind sharin’ yer ride—just to the next stop this afternoon—with a few good people?”
Hannah frowned. The last thing she wanted, in her present mood, was company. Then she thought again. Perhaps the one thing she needed was company. And it was only for a few hours. She focused on O’Malley’s cheerful face. And smiled. “Certainly. Show them in.”
He ducked his head and grinned, showing big, slightly yellowed teeth. “I’ll certainly go and get them and then do just that, yer ladyship. And it’s right nice of you to allow these folks yer car.”
Hannah sighed at the man’s gushings. “Well, you’re nice to say so, O’Malley.”
He smiled again and stepped back outside, closing the door behind him. He had to go get them? He’d acted as if the people were right behind him. Hannah shrugged and turned to look out the window again. She sincerely hoped these people were friendly sorts. And not loud, obnoxious talkers who’d make her want to shoot them before their ride was up.
The private car’s door slid open. Hannah turned at the sound and leaned over to see around the alcove. Well, there was O’Malley. And—No. Hannah gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. She suddenly realized she was standing. “Esmerelda! What in the world—?”
Esmerelda bayed and bounded to Hannah, jumping up to put her feet on Hannah’s shoulders, the better to knock her back onto the upholstered seat and slurp her face. Hannah closed her eyes in self-defense, and laughed and screeched as she batted at the dog. “Stop it! How did you get here, you big goose?”
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