by Brenda Joyce
"She here? I want to say hello to the little lady."
"No."
"She's not here?" Rick stood, dismayed. "You didn't give her the divorce, did you?"
Slade clenched his teeth. "No, I didn't."
Rick was relieved. "Don't forget she holds the key to Miramar's future."
"I haven't forgotten. You knew all along, didn't you?-That she was a Bragg heiress, not Elizabeth Sinclair?"
Rick's eyes widened. "I did not!"
Slade decided to debate the issue, which rankled. "I don't believe you, Rick."
Rick threw up his hands. "Dammit, all right! I guessed."
"You know what?" Slade was livid. "You are a son of a bitch."
"I did it for you!"
"You did it for yourself. You did it for Miramar!"
"I also did it for me and for Miramar," Rick told him firmly. "But if she wasn't such a perfect little lady, with you hot to trot on her heels, I wouldn't have done it."
Slade stared.
"You need that gal, boy, an' we both know it! You need a proper little lady for a wife, and a few cute little kids, too. You need the whole kit an' caboodle an' you have for years."
Slade's eyes narrowed. Rick was right, so goddamn right. He needed Regina Shelton. He needed her proper manners, her good breeding, her generosity, her compassion and her smiles. He needed her passion. He needed her, period. And if she would give him a family… his heart lurched. But it was all such a big if.
Slade crossed his arms. "I find it hard to believe that you would play matchmaker."
Rick grinned. "Well, I did. So believe what you want. But if you tell me you don't like her, I'll tell you you're a liar."
Uncomfortable with the idea of his father acting with anything other than selfish motivation, Slade changed the subject. "Charles offered us a loan."
"No."
Slade was well aware that Rick would hate the idea of being beholden to Charles. Borrowing from his friend still bothered him, but not as much as the idea of taking his wife's money. "I'm going to accept, unless you can think of another way to get enough cash to pay back the banks and operate for the next five years."
"No, goddammit!" Rick was furious. "I won't take a goddamn cent from Charlie Mann." He tossed down his drink, calming. "Your little wife is an heiress."
Slade said nothing. It wasn't Rick's business that he would not take Regina's funds. Rick had bamboozled him many times, so he felt little remorse in making this deal with Charles on the sly.
"Where is she?" Rick asked.
"She's staying with her relatives, the D'Archands."
"Well, that's great! A wife is supposed to live with her husband. You have to patch things up with her soon, boy." Rick left it unsaid that he was counting on her inheritance and counting down the days before foreclosure.
Slade coiled up tight. Deep inside he wanted nothing more than to have Regina living with him. He had almost asked her if she had changed her mind about a divorce, had almost asked her to move in with him. But he hadn't. That would be the final step, completing their reconciliation. It wasn't the doubt that had prevented him from asking her to return to him-it was the fear. "Listen, old man, don't get on my back. Your interest in my marriage may or may not be one hundred percent selfish, but it is my marriage and I'll handle it my way."
"Are you handling it?" Rick asked. "I don't see how you can be handling it with the two of you living apart!"
Slade took a sip of the bourbon. He remained calm with an effort. He really didn't want this additional headache right now. Saying nothing, he summoned up Regina's lovely image. It was infinitely soothing.
Rick seemed puzzled at his failure to respond. "So why isn't she here, where she belongs? Or rather, why aren't the two of you at Miramar, where you both belong?"
Slade set his glass down. "Can you really see her living at Miramar? For any length of time?"
Rick frowned at him. "What kind of question is that? Of course I can. What the hell is going on in that head of yours now?"
Slade had the urge to tell Rick everything, to spill his guts, but that was insane. "She's not exactly a country girl."
"So what? I haven't met a soul yet that didn't fall in love with Miramar, sooner or later."
Slade said nothing. Rick was prejudiced, but then, when it came to Miramar, so was he.
"Look," Rick said, jabbing his finger at him, "don't go tilting at windmills. Bring her home an' it will all work out. She's your wife now, or do I have to remind you of that, too? You both belong at Miramar, with me, not up here working for some goddamn stranger!"
"You don't have to remind me," Slade said grimly.
"Sure as hell doesn't seem that way. Have you even talked to her since she arrived in the city?"
"I've talked to her." Slade couldn't help it, he smiled, remembering. "I've seen her." He actually volunteered information, surprising himself. "We spent the day together. I took her to the Cliff House for lunch."
Rick beamed. "That's good to hear!" He came forward. "Speaking of food, I'm starved. Let's go get a bite to eat."
"I just ate," Slade said. "But I'm going back to the office. I'll drop you wherever you want to go." He turned and strode out of the room. His back was to his father so he did not see Rick's disappointment.
Regina looked at the small boy standing in front of her, holding out a note. "From Slade?"
"Yes, missee, from Mista Slade." He beamed.
Regina could not smile back. Dismay swept through her. Slade was already late. He was supposed to have picked her up at half past ten, but it was almost eleven. She didn't have to read the note to know that he was not coming after all.
Dear Regina, an emergency has arisen, requiring my immediate attention. If I can clear things up, I will call on you tonight. However, should you have other plans, do not cancel them on my account. Yours, Slade.
She balled up the note in her hand. Her disappointment was so vast it left her trembling. She couldn't help wondering if there had really been an emergency, or if he merely preferred work to her company. Since she had come to the city she had learned just how fond of working he was.
"Missee want to send note?" the boy asked.
Regina barely heard. Crushed, she shook her head. The boy bowed and backed out the door, then turned and ran down the front steps. She barely saw him as he veered abruptly and ran through the gardens, ducking beneath the hedge onto their neighbor's property.
Yesterday had been wonderful-too wonderful, in fact. After they had left the Henessy place, Slade had taken her to the Cliff House, where the views of the Pacific were stunning. They had both been unable to stop smiling and had gazed at each other until it was unseemly. Yet they had not really conversed. Regina had been waiting for him to discuss their relationship, hoping he would bring the subject up.
But he had not asked her if she still wanted a divorce.
He had not asked her to move in with him.
He had not asked about the future-their future.
She had been afraid to broach those topics herself. It was not appropriate; it would be terribly aggressive. As the man and husband, it was up to Slade to set the parameters and make up the rules, it was up to him to demand that their estrangement end. Yet he hadn't. After the wonderful meal he had simply taken her home. He had kissed her for a long time in the carriage before leaving her at the door, and at the time she had thought that he was sincerely fond of her. Now she wondered if it had only been evidence of his passion for her.
Regina turned and sank down on the settee in the foyer. She could not decide what to do. She wasn't sure he would even call on her that night. His words might have been a smoke screen. Perhaps he would be happier with separate living arrangements. It was done all the time in London.
Abruptly she stood. She wanted a real marriage. She had wanted a real marriage from the start, when she had thought herself to be Elizabeth Sinclair. She was almost prepared to throw convention to the winds and do what she really wanted to do-move into his house, even without his permission. She could not go that far. But she was his wife, and she had certain rights. Surely he could not be too upset if she went over there to take a peek at the situation.
And the situation was shocking.
The houseboy let her in. Regina blinked. The hallway was so dark in shadow that she could barely see.
"Mista Slade no heah," the boy said.
"I know," Regina said, moving forward and snapping on a wall-mounted lamp. "That's much better."
She looked around her carefully. The house was dark and drab; looking at the floor, she saw that it was also dirty. The hallway needed brightening, but that could be done with a framed painting or two and the addition of another mounted lamp. The floor was not just smudged but tired and worn. A good waxing would fix that. She began to smile.
She poked her head into the parlor. The furnishings were new but garish and the room itself was stuffy and dark. Regina swiftly moved to the lime-colored drapes and opened them. She was glad to see the street below and not the brick wall of a neighboring residence. She opened the window, letting in the fresh air.
"I can hep?" the small boy asked eagerly.
"You most certainly can. Does Slade use this room?"
He shook his head. "Nevah."
Regina was not surprised. The dust was an inch thick on all of the furniture, except for the small table in front of the sofa, where two unfinished glasses of whiskey sat. "Someone was here recently," she remarked.
"Mista Slade and fatha'."
"Mr. Mann?"
"No, Mista Rick."
Regina was surprised. Then she briskly moved forward. She pulled all the drapes and opened the other two windows. The room underwent a remarkable transformation, brightening considerably, but she was far from through. Eventually she would have to get rid of that horrid sofa, which she would not even contemplate moving to the Henessy place, but for now a few pleasing throw pillows would distract one's eye from the too brightly patterned green-and-gold fabric. The floor here also needed polishing, and the rug needed a good beating. She was cheerful. She could not, as Slade's lawful wedded wife, ignore this situation.
She strode down the hall and paused in the doorway of Slade's study. The desk was covered with papers and half a dozen glass paperweights. Books lined the shelves on one wall although several were on the floor, open, probably because there was no room for them on his desk. The houseboy hovered behind her. He said uneasily, "Mista Slade tell me nevah touch in heah. Nevah," he emphasized.
"Hmm, thank you for the warning. What is your name, child?"
"Kim."
"And you are Mr. Delanza's houseboy?"
Kim nodded as Regina shut the door of the study firmly behind them.
"I should like to meet the staff."
"Staff?"
"Yes, the staff. Especially the maids. If they wish to remain employed, they are going to start working immediately."
Kim looked uncomfortable. "No maids."
"There are no maids?"
"I clean."
"You clean?"
He nodded.
Regina was not pleased. Houseboys did not clean. Frugality had its limitations. Slade was taking advantage of the situation. She moved down the hall and glanced into the dining room. It was dark and stuffy, but Regina quickly drew the drapes and opened all of the windows. Obviously her husband never used his dining room, either. But where did he eat?
As they walked down the hall, Kim on her heels, it occurred to her that Kim might be expected to clean, but he apparently did not do his duty. And Slade apparently did not care.
"Is the cook in the kitchen?" she asked, already suspecting the answer.
Kim trotted after her. "No cook."
Regina paused. "Are you going to tell me that you do the cooking too?" She would be very angry with Slade if that was the case.
Kim shook his head. "No can cook."
"So how does Mr. Delanza dine?"
"Mista no eat heah."
"I see." She was beginning to get the picture. She could just imagine what the kitchen must be like. She would not succumb to fear. She entered bravely.
And was relieved. There were only two dirty glasses in the sink. She soon saw why the kitchen was not a shambles. The icebox was empty. The pantry was empty. The cupboards were bare too, except for two plates, two bowls, two cups, and two saucers. She turned to Kim in amazement. "Don't you eat here?"
"Mista Slade bring me food from restaurants." He grinned. "No can cook," he reminded her.
"Might I presume that Mr. Delanza has only you in his employ?"
"What?"
"Are you the only one working for Mr. Delanza?"
He nodded eagerly.
She made a rapid mental calculation. She would hire one permanent maid and two temporaries, one butler, and, of course, a chef. But when she entered his bedroom and saw the pile of dirty clothes on the floor, she added a laundress to her list. "Who does the laundry, Kim?"
"Me," he squeaked. "But on Thu'sday. Today no Thu'sday."
Regina nodded. "I see." A smile wreathed her face. She must hire staff immediately. She had her work cut out for her!
"Missee mad?"
"No," she said, eyeing the bed now. It was much too small. She blushed slightly at her thoughts. She would definitely make improvements in this room as well. Slade would hardly be able to complain. "Tell me, Kim," she said as they returned downstairs, "how long have you worked for Mr. Delanza?"
"Four yeah," he said.
Regina froze. "How old are you?"
"Soon e'even."
She was indignant. "Why, that's sinful! Slade has robbed the cradle!" The boy was so clever she had thought him to be at least thirteen.<
br />
"No bad. Mista Slade ve'ey good."
"You like him?"
"Can do!" He nodded enthusiastically.
"But what about your family? Don't you miss your mother, your father, your brothers and sisters?"
Kim said, "Motha' die of clap. Fatha' chop-chop. Sista' no-good whore. No brotha'. Slade fami'ey."
She stared. "What is chop-chop?"
He made an imaginary gun with his hand and held it to his head. "Pow!"
She closed her eyes, moved. Kim was no ordinary houseboy; he was a homeless orphan Slade had taken in. She patted his head. "Are you happy, Kim?"
"Ve'ey!"
Slade stepped into his house and immediately wondered if he had somehow entered someone else's home.
The hall was brightly illuminated instead of lost in shadows. Two pretty floral paintings hung on the wall. The floors shone brightly, gleaming with wax. He sniffed suspiciously. There were strange odors emanating from the other end of the house. Someone was cooking beef, he thought, in his kitchen.
"What the hell?" he growled.
He prowled forward, past the parlor, then froze. He backed up a step, turning to face a vision in yellow.
Regina sat stiffly on the overstuffed sofa in a bright-yellow evening gown, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes on him.
Slade stared. For a moment he felt as if he were in a dream, a very sweet dream. After all, in reality he did not have a beautiful wife to come home to, or a decent meal, or a clean, cozy home. But he wasn't dreaming. His mouth curved in a slight, disbelieving smile. "Are you real?"
At his husky teasing tone, Regina collapsed against the pillows. "Yes."
He set down his briefcase, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. His heart was pounding. He looked around the room. The rug was brighter, the furniture free of dust; the drapes were pulled, revealing a foggy night, illuminated by the gaslights on the street below. He glanced at his wife. She was lovely, breathtakingly lovely. The sofa no longer seemed so ugly with her sitting there upon it. Then he realized she had adorned it with dozens of pillows, covering the ugly print upholstery.
