by Renee Ryan
Chapter Nine
Jonathon’s pulse roared in his ears. He told himself to remain coolheaded, as he would in the middle of any business transaction. Except this wasn’t a business transaction. He’d just asked Fanny to marry him and she had yet to respond.
She simply stared at him in utter stillness, her hands balled into fists atop her lap.
The endless moment stretched into two. He ticked off the seconds in his head, willed her to give him an answer. Any response would do: yes, no, could you repeat the question?
She said nothing. She did, however, lower her head. The gesture caused a loose strand of hair to fall across her cheek. Absently, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear.
From his position on the floor, Jonathon had only a partial view of her face. He dipped his head for a better angle, immediately regretted the move. Her lovely features projected a loneliness and vulnerability he recognized. At the moment, the same emotions waged a war within his own soul.
In the halting silence that stretched from one minute into two, he thought about the feel of her in his arms, not only when they’d been out on the dance floor but again on the terrace. He thought about their kiss, and the way she’d fitted perfectly in his arms, about what his life might be like with her as his wife.
Jonathon wasn’t much of a dreamer. But right now, he let himself consider the impossible. Things he’d stopped believing in when he was still a boy. Things such as stability, a house of his own, someone to come home to every night. He could have all of that with Fanny, but only if she agreed to marry him.
“Fanny.” He rested his palms on her knees, compelled her to look at him. “Will you marry me?” he asked again.
She lifted her head and considered him in the gray light of dawn. He worked at not reacting under her careful scrutiny.
Looking incredibly sad—an ominous sign of things to come—she scooted to her left and patted the chair beside her, a wordless invitation for him to join her.
He remained on bended knee, continued staring into her troubled eyes, waiting, watching, longing for a dream he’d relinquished years ago.
Her eyelashes fluttered and finally, finally, she spoke. “We both know you don’t really want to marry me.”
The words were wrapped inside a rough whisper. The tortured sound reminded him of sandpaper rubbing against splinters.
“Of course I want to marry you,” he said, praying he sounded as sincere as he felt. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
Sorrow filled her face. And then—Dear Lord, please, no—tears gathered in her eyes. He climbed to his feet, drew her into his arms. “Don’t cry. Fanny, please don’t cry.”
She stood stiffly in his embrace, her entire body taut with tension. He pressed her head gently to his shoulder and simply held her to him for several heartbeats.
Setting her away from him a moment later, he touched her cheek, wiped away the dampness with the pad of his thumb. “We can make a go of this, I know we can. I like you, and I believe you like me. We’ve conquered half the battle already.”
She snuffled, swiped at her eyes, spoke again in that stark, hollow tone. “Marriage requires more than two people liking one another.”
Considering her family dynamics, she would know better than he. After all, her parents had been happily married for over thirty years.
He switched tactics. “Let me protect you from ruin. Let me give you my name and shut down the gossip concerning your character.”
“Oh, Jonathon.” The sadness dug deeper in her gaze, sounded heavier in her voice. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s very noble of you to make me an offer of marriage. But you know as well as I that we will never work as a couple, not in the long run. We want different things.”
Helpless in the face of her logic, he felt everything in him ache. He actually hurt from the inside out. “We may be able to come to a compromise that will satisfy us both.”
She seemed to consider his suggestion. “What sort of marriage do you see us having? Be honest.”
His first instinct was to tell her what she wanted to hear. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. “We would have a marriage built on friendship, mutual admiration, loyalty and, of course, trust.”
“You mean a marriage in name only.”
“That’s right.”
He gave her a moment to process the meaning behind his words. Apparently, she needed more than one.
She simply gaped at him in stone cold silence.
“A marriage in name only.” Utter disappointment threaded through her voice. “That is what you are proposing?”
He nodded, the muscles in his neck tensing. He knew what she was thinking. Yet she was forgetting an important factor. Him. Who his father was, the corrupted blood they shared. “I will not risk fathering a child.”
She held his gaze for three endless seconds. Then slowly, carefully, she raised her chin a fraction higher. “Will you tell me why?”
“The men who share my blood have a history of hurting women. My father is especially guilty of this.”
“That’s not to say you will follow in his footsteps.”
He shook his head at her innocence. “My half brother already has.”
“You’re not like either man. You are you, Jonathon.”
“Precisely.” She’d just made his argument for him. “I’m a prime example that mistakes happen.”
Color drained from her face. “You are not a mistake,” she all but growled at him. “You are a precious child of God. The Lord knew you before you were born. He knit you together in your mother’s womb. Never believe otherwise, never.”
He started to respond, but she wasn’t finished making her point.
“Don’t take my word for it, search Scripture yourself. Start at Psalm 139 and then move on to the first chapter of Jeremiah.”
Jonathon blinked, not sure what to say to the fierce woman standing before him. Normally, he appreciated her keeping her opinions about God to herself. But for reasons Jonathon couldn’t explain, her unshakable belief that he was something more than what he himself saw, spread warmth to the darkest places of his heart.
Cradling her face in his hands, he pressed their foreheads together and simply held on.
“You are a good man, Jonathon Hawkins.” Her words grabbed something inside his chest and squeezed. “Don’t ever let anyone make you believe otherwise, especially not that horrid man who fathered you.”
Her words made Jonathon feel strong, keen on conquering the world and slaying her dragons with his bare hands.
Shrugging away the fanciful thought, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled back on his heels. “We’re not going to talk about me. You are my primary focus. I don’t want to see you hurt, Fanny. Not when I have the power to prevent you from enduring another scandal.”
“I’m afraid it’s already done.” She still sounded sad, as if she wanted something that could never be fully realized.
He knew the feeling.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to try to make a marriage between them a success. “You haven’t answered my question. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her eyes filled with tears once again.
He brushed them aside with his fingertips. The gesture seemed to make her even sadder.
“I cannot accept the type of union you are offering.” She rose onto her toes and planted a tender kiss to his cheek. “No, Jonathon, I will not marry you.”
Although he wasn’t surprised by her answer, his heart took a hit. A part of him actually wanted her to say yes. Not for propriety’s sake, not to silence gossip, but simply because he wanted her in his life, wanted to face the future with her by his side.
This isn’t about you, he reminded himself. If Fanny wouldn’t accept his marriage proposal, then he would give her another option. “Then I’d like you to run my San Francisco hotel.”
“You want me to…you wish to send me away?”
“No,
I am offering you a job, a chance to start over in a new city, where no one knows you or has knowledge of your past.”
She gathered in a sharp breath of air. “The San Francisco Hotel Dupree is still under construction.”
“You would oversee the final building phase, and then take over operations once the hotel is up and running.” He waited for his words to sink in, for her to understand what he was suggesting. “You would be the first female manager in the company.”
“I’m flattered.” She didn’t sound flattered. She sounded insulted.
Somehow, he’d insulted her. That hadn’t been his goal.
“It’s a very generous offer. But one I can’t accept.”
“Why not?”
“If I run away again, I may never stop running. I must stand and face the consequences of my actions. Besides—” she gave a shrug “—a little gossip never killed anyone.”
“Fanny, it’s not a little gossip. Your very reputation is in question. Because of me, because of what I—”
“No, Jonathon. No more assigning blame, on either of our parts.”
“If you will not go to San Francisco, then only one solution remains. Marry me, Fanny. It’s the only way.”
“I can’t. Please don’t ask me again.” Choking on a gasp, she spun around and bolted from the room.
He called after her.
She didn’t pause, didn’t glance over her shoulder, didn’t acknowledge him in any way.
With clipped strides, he set out after her, then stopped when she picked up her pace and disappeared around the corner.
Perhaps he should leave her alone with her thoughts for a while. She needed time to think, to process the situation before he proposed again. And, yes, despite her request, he would propose again, as many times as it took to convince her marrying him was the only way to save her reputation.
Still blinking after her, he caught the sound of masculine footsteps approaching from behind.
Instinct had his hands closing into fists. Forcing his fingers to relax, Jonathon exhaled slowly, turned and saw Hunter Mitchell.
Standing in the shadows of the empty ballroom, Fanny’s brother looked as formidable as Jonathon had ever seen him. A very large, very lethal outlaw.
Jonathon remained unmoved. “I’m not in the mood for another lecture from one of Fanny’s brothers.”
“Good to know, since that’s not why I’m here.” Hunter shifted his stance. “I have a few things I’d like to say to you without my brothers or my father interrupting.”
“All right.”
“Not here, not where we can be overheard. Let’s go outside.” He cocked his head toward the hotel’s exit.
Jonathon eyed the other man, considered, then decided what could it hurt to hear him out? “Follow me.”
They left through the terrace doors and fell into step with one another. Neither spoke as they worked their way through the shadows of the back alley.
The air was cool at this early hour, the streets all but empty of activity when they strode onto the main street beside the hotel.
Hunter broke his silence halfway down the block. “I can’t understand why Fanny refused your marriage proposal.”
Frustration washed over Jonathon. “How much of our conversation did you overhear?”
“Enough to know that Fanny turned you down.”
Jonathon stopped walking, waited for Hunter to do the same. “I can’t tolerate the thought of your sister weathering this scandal on her own.”
“Nor can I.” Hunter ran a hand over his face, the scratch of stubble rough against his palm. “The gossips will be harder on her than they will be on you. I don’t think she understands what awaits her if she chooses to stay in town without the protection of your name.”
“We live in an unfair world.”
Hunter’s mouth thinned to a line sharp as a blade. “My sister will be ostracized, denied access to most of the businesses in town. She’ll be alone in this world but for our family.”
“She’ll also have me,” Jonathon said. “I will not abandon her, I promise you that.”
The other man acknowledged this with a solemn nod. “I know what it feels like to be shunned in this town.”
So did Jonathon.
Throat tight, he glanced at the millinery shop on his left, one of the establishments that Fanny would be prevented from entering if she didn’t accept his proposal. “I don’t want her to suffer the humiliation of exclusion and unjust banishment.”
“Nor do I.”
“The only answer is marriage.”
Hunter nodded. “We are full in agreement.”
“Any ideas how I can convince Fanny to accept my proposal?”
“Just one.” Hunter flashed a grin, his teeth a white slash against his tan face. “Woo her.”
*
Fanny tossed and turned, and eventually gave up any thought of sleeping after an hour of trying. She had work to do, anyway. There were countless tasks that needed her attention. She welcomed the distraction from her thoughts, from the fact that Jonathon had asked her to marry him, and she’d said no.
Of course she’d said no.
The seemingly obvious solution to their problem—marriage—was no solution at all. She and Jonathon didn’t want the same things out of life.
Regardless of his proposal, he didn’t want to be married.
Fanny did.
He didn’t want children.
She did.
The biggest tragedy was that she knew—she knew!—she would be good for him, and he for her. But without a true marriage, they would never build a lasting connection, one that would help them navigate the ups and downs of life.
Such a shame, really.
Frowning, she flopped onto her back, then kicked off the covers with a jerk of her foot.
Tears of misery formed in her eyes. She refused to give in to them. She must remember that Jonathon had made no declarations. He’d given no promises. He wanted to marry her only to protect her from scandal.
Did he not see how good he was, at the core? If only he would allow himself to let down his guard, he could be a loving husband. A wonderful father. A—
This line of thinking was getting her nowhere. She rolled out of bed and dressed for the day. Her movements were slow, her eyes gritty, her heart heavy. Streaks of morning sunlight filtered through the seams in the shut curtains. Considering her gray mood, Fanny kept them closed. She preferred the semidarkness.
She’d made quite a mess of her life. She would have to decide what to do next. Her mother would have wisdom to impart, but Fanny didn’t want to risk upsetting her. No, she must come up with a solution on her own. Whenever she found herself indecisive, she turned to her Bible.
Proverbs especially had a way of putting matters into perspective, but nothing caught her eye this morning. She replaced her Bible on the nightstand and went to work.
She made her way directly to her office, avoiding the main hallways and staffing areas.
Stepping inside the tiny room where she spent most of her time, she shut the door, and found she wasn’t alone.
“Mrs. Singletary?”
The widow looked up from her position behind Fanny’s desk. “Ah, Miss Mitchell, I knew I could count on you to show up to work despite the events of last evening.”
Fanny blinked in confusion. Mrs. Singletary was a partial owner of the hotel, but she’d never come to Fanny’s office before today. She had to be making some point by sitting at Fanny’s desk. Or perhaps the bold move was Mrs. Singletary being, well, Mrs. Singletary.
What was the widow up to now? “Did we have an appointment this morning?”
“No, dear, I merely stopped by to see how you were faring before I head upstairs to visit with your mother.”
Fanny smoothed a hand over her hair. “I am well, thank you for asking.”
Eyebrows raised, Mrs. Singletary stood and then began a slow perusal of Fanny’s office. She moved through the room with a relaxed gait, id
ly touching random books on the shelving to her left, the stack of ledgers on her right. “Have you no news to share with me, Miss Mitchell?”
Affecting a bland expression, Fanny concentrated on the task of setting the ledgers on her desk in neat, organized rows. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”
Mrs. Singletary paused in her inspection of an ink blotter, her eyes sparkling with a shrewd light. “Don’t you, dear?”
“I’m afraid not.” Fanny went to work on the pencils next, setting them side by side, their tips in a nice straight line.
“I see I’m going to have to be blunt.” The widow sounded quite pleased with the prospect. “Did Mr. Hawkins propose to you after I left the ballroom last night?”
A sound of surprise slipped past Fanny’s lips. She nearly said her relationship with Jonathon was none of Mrs. Singletary’s business, but she didn’t want to be rude. Besides, she rather liked the widow, when she wasn’t being intrusive. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did propose, and I told him—”
“Oh, excellent, this is most excellent news indeed.” The woman clapped her hands together in a show of absolute pleasure. “Congratulations, Miss Mitchell. You must be over the moon with happiness.”
“You don’t understand, Mrs. Singletary. He asked, but I—”
The widow spoke right over her. “I’m assuming you will want a short engagement. There will be very little time to plan your wedding. Let me be the first to offer you my assistance.”
Speaking so fast Fanny couldn’t keep up with half of what she said, the widow continued making plans without her.
“Of course, I will throw you and Mr. Hawkins an engagement party at my home next week, seeing as how I played such an important role in your romance.” She winked. “We will invite everyone who is anyone in town, give them a good show.”
The widow was like a runaway train. She had to be stopped. Fanny raised her voice. “Mrs. Singletary, I need you to listen to me before you say another word.”
“Oh, well.” She blinked, surprise evident in her wide-eyed gaze. “Yes, all right.”
“An engagement party won’t be necessary.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because there is no engagement. I told Jonathon no.”
