The Firebrand

by Susan Wiggs

  “I have only one daughter,” her mother had declared. “I have only one chance to spread the news of her engagement.” She’d even published a formal announcement in The Firebrand, Lucy’s newsletter devoted to women’s suffrage. Each time someone congratulated her, Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that becoming the bride of Randolph Higgins was no special achievement but a business arrangement.

  Even so, she felt swept up by the rising excitement, too. And the terror.

  She and the others settled into the rain-battered coach. Chicago passed in a wet smear of gloomy low clouds, dripping eaves and pavement pocked with puddles. Arriving at the city hall at precisely eleven o’clock, they walked up the broad cut granite stairs to the chambers of the Honorable Judge Roth. In the outer lobby waited Mrs. Grace Higgins, Mr. Higgins and Maggie.

  “Mama!” She rushed across the room and threw her arms around Lucy. “Mama, you look so pretty in your fancy dress. Did someone put rouge on your cheeks?”

  Despite her blush, Lucy couldn’t help smiling. This was one of the blessings of having a child. Maggie thought her mama was pretty no matter what.

  “Have you been waiting long?” She held Maggie by the shoulders to look at her. She’d missed that adorable little face.

  “For ever and ever. Miss Lowell said it’s a special day and I must look my best. Is this my best, Mama?” Maggie stared dubiously down at the froth of pink satin and lace that draped her from neck to ankle. A giant pink bow adorned her profusion of short ringlets.

  “You’re always beautiful, no matter what,” Lucy said, privately vowing to have a word with Miss Lowell. It wasn’t healthy to dwell on appearances. Lucy was proof of that. Even as an adult, she was plagued by self-consciousness. “And it’s very special that you dressed up for today.”

  “It’s the best day ever.” Her face shone as she pulled Lucy across the room. With careful solemnity, she took Mr. Higgins’s hand and then Lucy’s, bringing their two hands together. “Now we’ll always be together.”

  This marriage meant the world to Maggie. To her, it was no cold business arrangement, but a lifelong commitment. For Maggie’s sake, Lucy would make this work. She tried to be discreet as she unhitched her hand from her future husband’s. He wore a bemused expression, but his fingers were chilly and slightly damp with sweat.

  Dylan and Kathleen Kennedy arrived, followed by Tom and Deborah Silver. “Look at our dear Lucy,” Deborah said, moist-eyed and beaming.

  “A bride at last,” Kathleen added.

  Lucy made hasty introductions, growing more nervous by the second. “The three of us met at finishing school—Deborah and I have known each other since we were Maggie’s age,” she explained.

  Her friends studied him as though he were on exhibit in a zoo. Kathleen was the more brazen of the two, putting her hands on her hips and strolling in a circle around him. “My, Lucy dear. For such a hasty wedding, you made out rather well, I’d say. Big shoulders and a snappy dresser besides.”

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake, Kathleen,” Deborah scolded, blushing furiously. She caught Rand’s eye. “Forgive her terrible manners. And please accept our congratulations, both on being reunited with your daughter, and on your marriage.”

  “Isn’t it too wonderful?” Maggie jumped up and down. “I shall have a mama and a papa both!”

  “You’re a lucky girl,” Dylan told her. He turned to Mr. Higgins, speaking as though he’d known him for years. “How is your golf game?”

  “Close to par, when I find the time to play,” Mr. Higgins replied.

  Lucy had no idea he played golf.

  “I prefer fishing, myself,” Tom said.

  “I can’t believe you’re discussing sports during this momentous occasion,” Kathleen burst out.

  “We’d best behave,” Dylan said. “I don’t trust my wife when she uses that fishwifey tone of voice.”

  “Shall we go?” Mr. Higgins stepped aside to let the ladies pass.

  Drawing a deep breath, Lucy followed everyone into the judge’s chambers. “It’s Judge Roth,” Kathleen exclaimed. “The very one who married us the night of the fire. Surely you remember us, Judge Roth?”

  Black-robed and white-haired, he put on his spectacles, nodding vigorously. “How could I forget?”

  “It’s a sign of luck for sure,” Kathleen whispered as the judge motioned them to a long table with a lamp, pens and inkwells and the heavy tome of the registry.

  “Who are the bride and groom?” asked Judge Roth.

  Maggie proudly pointed at Lucy and Mr. Higgins. “My mama and papa are,” she announced.

  The judge’s thick white eyebrows descended in thunderous disapproval.

  “You see, Your Honor,” Lucy began, “We—”

  “Do you really want to explain?” Mr. Higgins leaned down to whisper it in her ear, and she pulled away, startled by the warmth of his breath.

  “We’re anxious to get started, Your Honor,” she said simply, conceding his point. And anxious to finish, she thought. On stiff legs, she forced herself to walk over to the table.

  Patience cleared her throat and the judge nodded, signaling for her to begin. In her rolling tones, she said, “We are gathered here today in the sight of the Almighty to witness the marriage of Lucille Dorcas Hathaway and Randolph Birch Higgins, and to ask God to bless them.”

  Maggie bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Viola put a gloved hand on her shoulder, and she slowed down.

  “‘It is written—’” Patience continued, “‘Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.’ It is also written—’In all your ways acknowledge God, and he will make straight your paths.’ Lucille and Randolph, if either of you know of any lawful impediment why you may not be married, I charge you now, before the Lord, the Searcher of all hearts, to declare it…”

  Lucy pressed her lips together to keep from shrieking a protest. What she was doing was completely within the law, yet everything about it felt false. She sensed Mr. Higgins beside her, and his shadow felt heavy, oppressive. She must have made some sign or motion of distress, for he put a discreet hand beneath her elbow, steadying her. Even that, the slightest of touches, set off a reaction. Sensations she didn’t want to feel darted through her, compounding her confusion.

  “I will,” Mr. Higgins replied to something the judge had said.

  Delicate snuffles rose from Viola, Deborah, Kathleen and Willa Jean, and out came the handkerchiefs.

  Then the judge turned to her. “Lucille, will you take Randolph to be your husband, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”

  Love him? Comfort him? Honor him?

  She forgot how to speak. She could not force one word past her lips. Then Maggie tugged at her skirt, and in a terrible, broken voice, Lucy said, “I will.”

  “Almighty and everlasting God,” Patience prayed, “in whom we live and move, grant unto us purity of heart, so that no selfish passion may hinder us from knowing your will. Grant that what is said and done in this place may be blessed, both now and forevermore. Amen.”

  “A-men,” Maggie echoed in her strongest voice.

  The judge pronounced them man and wife. Wife. Lucille Dorcas Hathaway had ceased to be a woman of independent identity.

  Maggie looked from Lucy to Rand to the judge. “Is it over?” Her blunt, childish question rang loudly in the stillness of the judge’s chambers.

  “It’s over,” Lucy said quietly.

  Mr. Higgins surprised everyone by sweeping Maggie up in his arms. “It’s just beginning,” he declared.

  Dear God, thought Lucy, trying wildly to catch Patience’s eye. What have I done? But Patience was busy signing her name to the register. The other women dabbed at their eyes; the men checked their watches.

  Surrounded by friends and family, Lucy had never felt more alone. For once in her life, she
wanted someone to pat her on the hand and tell her everything would be fine, even if it was a lie. How she longed to be the sort of bride who set off on her journey to love with a heart full of joy. But Lucy felt only dread and uncertainty.

  “What about the wedding?” Maggie said, the corners of her mouth turning down. “There’s supposed to be music and a bouquet. You’re supposed to kiss the bride. You told me, Papa. You said there would be music and flowers and kissing.”

  For a moment, no one spoke or moved.

  “How could I forget?” asked Rand. After setting Maggie down, he held Lucy lightly by the shoulders and bent close to her.

  “No, please,” Lucy murmured, for his ears only. She’d had enough of lies and pretenses.

  Equally softly, he whispered, “Let’s give her something to remember.”

  Before she could escape, he set his lips upon hers, firmly imprinting the warmth and unfamiliar flavor of his mouth on her. It was a simple gesture, yet Lucy feared she might burst into flame. She wanted to fall into this kiss, to expand and deepen it until she was totally consumed. At the same time, she wanted to run away and hide forever.

  With casual ease, Mr. Higgins pulled back. He took the little carnation boutonniere from his lapel and held it out to Lucy, his little finger crooked with exaggerated daintiness. Maggie giggled, and Lucy, blushing furiously, had no choice but to accept the flower. Taking Maggie’s hand, he turned and walked toward the door, a distinct swagger in his step, whistling the wedding march between his teeth.

  Eighteen

  An unearthly yowl, followed by a crash, brought Lucy bucking up out of the bed. Fumbling through the dark, unfamiliar room, she went to the nearest door and yanked it open.

  A feline bolt of lightning streaked into the room. A moment later, a large, hairy beast knocked her off her feet in pursuit of the cat.

  Lucy hit the floor, the wind knocked out of her. Dazed, she watched her husband’s dog tree her cat atop the canopy of her bed.

  The door connecting her room to her husband’s opened with dramatic swiftness. Mr. Higgins stood there in a pale flood of gaslight, looking mysterious and imposing in his long robe.

  “Ivan,” he yelled. “Ivan, to heel.”

  The giant dog snapped to attention, then slunk to his master’s side.

  Lucy sat up, rubbing her elbow, which rang with numbness. She felt totally disoriented in the spacious chamber with its soaring ceilings and tall windows, its ornate furniture and sumptuous draperies and rugs. The paneled door led into the shadowy cave of her husband’s room.

  This was the first time the door had been opened.

  Mr. Higgins pointed to a rug in front of the massive hearth in his own room, a lair of heavy masculine furnishings and mysterious accoutrements. “Go lie down, you big oaf,” he ordered sharply. As the dog obeyed, her husband returned to Lucy’s room and twisted a knob on the lamp. The gaslight hissed high and bright, chasing the gloom into the corners. The casualty of the pursuit was a Meissen vase that had been displayed on a hall table outside Lucy’s room. He collected the broken pieces onto a lace doily and piled them on the table.

  Then he returned to Lucy, who sat, stunned, on the floor. The whole incident had taken place in the span of seconds, and part of her brain was still half asleep. When Mr. Higgins held out his hand, she groggily took it and pulled herself up.

  Squinting around her new room, she blinked and rubbed her eyes to clear her vision—and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Mr. Higgins’s dressing gown, hastily donned, gaped open to reveal his chest. Though he couldn’t know it, this was the first time she’d ever seen a man’s chest. It was broad and banded by muscle, with a fascinating pattern of dark hair. Slanting across the area just over his heart was a smooth, livid scar.

  He yanked the robe closed. His was the self-protective anger of a wounded beast, and she felt an unbidden surge of compassion.

  “I’ll bet,” he said, “you weren’t expecting so much excitement on your wedding night.”

  She forced herself to stop staring at him. In his dark silk robe, with his hair tousled and his feet bare, he appeared so…so decadent. Hurrying over to the bed, she said, “Silky, do come down. It’s safe now. That nasty dog won’t hurt you.” Rising on tiptoe, she reached for the canopy that arched over the bed.

  The calico cat peeked over the top, its slanted eyes flickering nervously around the room.

  “It’s all right,” Lucy coaxed. “He’s just a dumb dog, all brawn and no brains. Come, Silky.”

  The wary cat crept down into her waiting arms. Hugging the cat to her chest, Lucy turned to find Mr. Higgins watching her. The moment of compassion vanished. He looked large and threatening, painted by lamplight and shadow.

  “So this is your idea of excitement?” she asked tartly, feeling as though her entire body had caught fire. What had she been dreaming about when she’d been so rudely awakened? Whatever it was, it left her feeling warm and lethargic.

  His gaze took her in with slow-paced deliberation, from her long unbound hair to her bare feet, lingering at the places where the light shone through the thin organdy of her nightgown.

  “It’s a start,” he said. He must have sensed her fascination with him, for he studied her minutely, his clear-eyed gaze taking her in, bit by bit. The interest she couldn’t quite hide sparked an answering interest in him. In the space of moments, he seemed to transform himself into the arrogant rogue she had encountered so long ago.

  She clutched the cat closer until the poor creature let out a mew of protest. At a loss, Lucy stared at the floor, her gown brushing the rich carpet. She waited, expecting him to leave.

  When showing her around the house, Mr. Higgins had gestured offhandedly at the door between their chambers. “My room is through there,” he’d said.

  “Is it locked?” she’d asked.

  “Does it need to be?” he’d fired back.

  And that, Lucy thought, had been that.

  She’d spent the remainder of her wedding day with Maggie, who was giddy with excitement as she helped her mother and grandmother settle into the new house. Lucy had gone to bed exhausted from all the unpacking, and until now she hadn’t given the closed door another thought.

  “Who was it,” she wondered aloud, “who coined the term ‘marriage of convenience’? I am not finding this very convenient at all.”

  “Neither is my dog,” said Mr. Higgins.

  “He shall have to get used to having a cat around,” Lucy said firmly. “It wasn’t poor Silky’s idea to uproot herself and move to a strange house ruled by a great hairy beast.” Realizing she was staring at her husband’s bare feet, she shifted her gaze up to his face.

  “It’s not Ivan’s fault, either,” he said. “The old boy was perfectly content to mind his own business until his domain was invaded by a peculiar female with a nasty temper and no discernible purpose on earth.”

  “Silky has a purpose.”

  “Murdering small birds?” he asked. “Sneaking around in the dark when civilized creatures are asleep?”

  “Keeping me company. Curling up to sleep in my lap.”

  “Then she’d better learn to get along with Ivan.”

  “He had better learn to get along with her.” Curiosity got the better of Lucy. Still cradling the nervous cat, she went and opened the door a crack. Ivan lay on the hearth rug with his chin planted sullenly between his front paws and a mournful look on his heavily jowled face. The dog glowered when Lucy stepped into the room. The cat dug her claws into Lucy’s shoulder. She looked around, experiencing her first real glimpse into the inner sanctum of her husband.

  The dog growled, but fell silent when Mr. Higgins shushed him.

  Her gaze took in the massive fireplace, the tall book-shelves crowded with well-thumbed books, a large globe and skeletal brass telescope, the huge bed. The scale of everything was massive. Intimidating. Much like its inhabitant.

  The cat shifted skittishly in her arms and nearly bolted. Stroking
Silky to calm her, Lucy was drawn to the French doors, which framed a view of the lake. She knew she was trespassing but that had never stopped her before.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “I’ve never seen such a sunrise.”

  Without being asked, he opened the glass-paned doors for her. The impatient cat fled immediately, shooting from her arms, vaulting over the balustrade and then melting into the shadows of the yard below. Though knowing she, too, ought to bolt for cover, Lucy stepped out onto the balcony into the moist chill of the morning air. Clusters of lilacs hung from the tall hedge plants, heavy with dew, filling the air with the fragrance of early summer. The sky burned bright pink; the lake mirrored and intensified the glow, casting up the light so that the entire yard and quiet roadway were bathed in eerie radiance. As Lucy watched, a raft of waterfowl took wing, skimming along the surface before arrowing cleanly across the sky.

  She turned to Mr. Higgins. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “I agree,” he said. But he wasn’t looking at the sunrise. He seemed amused, although he didn’t smile. She could somehow detect a subtle humor dancing in his eyes, those mesmeric eyes that had first drawn her attention so long ago.

  An unsettling chill slithered over her, yet at the same time, she felt the fire of the sunrise, only now it burned inside her. She thought about what he’d said, about him being her last chance.

  She lifted a hand involuntarily to her throat, holding her gown closed. She wished she’d thought to put on her robe, but she hadn’t counted on being so abruptly awakened. She found her voice and said stiffly, “That’s a wonderful view of the lake, Mr. Higgins.”

  She moved toward the tall mahogany door, eager to reach the empty safety of her own room.

  He stepped in her way to block her exit. “You shouldn’t keep calling me Mr. Higgins.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too formal after a kiss like that.”