Cinderfella
Page 20
“But, why are you here?”
Howard laid a hand against her face. “You poor dear,” he said again. “What has he done to you? You’re not even thinking clearly. The telegram,” he reminded her. “We came as soon as we could.”
“But . . . didn’t you get the second telegram I sent?” she asked breathlessly.
Howard shook his head, and Jeanette looked puzzled.
“I’m afraid you’ve wasted a trip. Everything’s fine here.”
Ash stepped into the room, still buttoning his dry shirt. His hair was wet and was dripping water onto his shoulders, and his feet were bare. “What’s going on?”
Howard stiffened and lifted his chin defiantly. “I suppose this man is Ash Coleman.”
“Yes. My . . . husband.”
Howard reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a crumpled telegram. “We’re here because of this plea for assistance.”
Charmaine tried to snatch the telegram from Howard’s hand, but Ash was quicker, and Charmaine watched in horror as the slip of paper flew past her shoulder.
“Married to Ash Coleman,” he read aloud. “Please save me.” His voice faded away until she could barely hear it.
“I sent another telegram, just a few days later,” she said quickly, disengaging her hands from Howard’s and turning to face Ash. Goodness, he was furious, every bit as angry as he’d been on the day of the wedding. “I told them to ignore the first telegram.”
He wouldn’t look her in the eye. With great care, he folded the telegram and returned it to Howard. “Well, here she is. Save her.”
He walked past without so much as looking at her, onto the porch where he stepped into his boots, and back out into the rain.
“I should have known it was too good to be true,” Ash muttered. “Hell, deep down I did know, I just ignored it. I’m such an imbecile I have to see it in writing, right before my very eyes.”
Betsy’s mind was elsewhere, but Lady was paying attention. He stroked the mare’s nose.
“ ‘Married to Ash Coleman. Please save me.’ ” He repeated the words he could still see. “I don’t know why I was so surprised that it felt like a kick in the gut. She doesn’t belong here and she never did. Everything that happened, everything good, was no more real than that damned masked ball.”
What the hell was taking them so long? Charmaine had had time to pack her things and jump into the carriage with her sister and her brother-in-law, but the carriage sat deserted in front of the house. Maybe they were waiting for the rain to let up.
At least they knew there was no baby. All those nights in their bed, that fast and furious coming together on the kitchen table, the afternoon in the tack room, the evening in front of the fire. . . . It was good that he knew, otherwise he would have wondered, always. . . .
The front door slammed. He could hear it through the rain and the open barn door, but he didn’t turn around. He had no desire to watch Charmaine load her belongings into that fine carriage and ride away.
But when the carriage began to move he went to the doorway. Slanted rain splattered his face and his once dry clothes, but he didn’t move. Howard Stillwell, that jackass, had donned his slicker and was driving the carriage himself. And inside . . . inside a small white hand reached up and pulled the shade down so he could see nothing.
He told himself that it was for the best. All they had was Charmaine’s scientific and reasonably explained magnetic attraction. Something that made him want her to the exclusion of all else, something that made a single touch ignite the passions of a lifetime. Science. Not love.
When the front door of the house opened, and Charmaine stood framed in the doorway, his heart stopped. Science, hell. Why was she still here?
She stepped onto the porch and waved him in with an uncertain flutter of her hand, and a moment later he was running through the rain.
“You didn’t let me explain,” she said as he stepped onto the porch and she backed into the house. She’d built a fire, and the warmth that emanated from the house was inviting. Still, he hesitated.
“What’s to explain? I’d say the telegram was quite clear.”
He stood in the doorway and stared at his wife. Charmaine Haley Coleman, contrite, embarrassed . . . pale as she’d been on their wedding day.
“Come in the house and close the door,” she said softly. “You’re letting out the heat.”
He could close the door and return to the barn and force himself to be perfectly happy. He should do just that, back away. Run away. “Why are you still here? Jeanette and Howard came to your rescue, and yet you’re still here. What happened?”
“I told them I didn’t want to go,” she admitted in a voice so low he had to strain to hear her.
He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. “Took a while to convince them, didn’t it?”
“Yes, it did.”
Charmaine was afraid. He could see it in her wide eyes and hear it in her normally strong voice that now quavered. Yes, he was angry, but she had no reason to be afraid of him. She should know him well enough to be certain of that fact.
“And Howard had some news, I’m afraid,” she whispered.
Ash stepped closer to the fire. He wasn’t soaked this time. A few minutes by the fire and he’d be dry and warm. “What kind of news?”
“It’s Felicity.” Her voice shook.
“Is she ill?”
Charmaine shook her head slowly. “She’s . . . she’s left Howard and run off with the gardener.”
Staid little Felicity, who had been high-and-mighty by the age of eight? “No kidding.”
Charmaine shook her head. “It’s true. His name is Tavish. Goodness, I don’t even know if that’s his first name or his last. He’s a Scot, a very tall redheaded man who’s been with Howard for years. Evidently they’ve been carrying on for the past year, and now Felicity’s expecting his child and they’ve run off together.”
“Must have been quite a shock for Howard.”
She nodded, and at last met his gaze straight on. “It’s been devastating for him. He wants me to return to Boston with him and stand at his side, just for a while. Otherwise, he’ll feel that everyone is laughing at him. If he has my support. . . . ”
“When are you leaving?”
She took a single step forward and placed a hand on his still-damp sleeve. “I told him I would think about it, but only for a visit. Once he’s on his feet again and this scandal is behind him, he’ll be fine. You must understand, Howard has been so very kind to me, and my sister has . . . has humiliated and disgraced him. I must do my part to repair the damage.”
“When are you leaving?” he asked again.
“Ash.” She stood squarely in front of him and grasped the front of his shirt with both hands. “I did send a second telegram to Felicity and Jeanette, telling them that I was fine and there was no need. . . . ”
“To save you,” he finished for her.
She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. God, he couldn’t think with her this close, couldn’t breathe. Her body touched his lightly, her breath warmed him. Her heart beat for him.
“I was angry when I sent that telegram. Angry and confused and. . . . ”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Maybe you could come with me,” she whispered. “It will just be for a few weeks. . . . ”
He laughed at her. “I can’t leave, not even for a few days. This is a farm, my farm, and there’s work to be done every day.”
“Daddy could have his hands take care of things for a while,” she suggested.
“Absolutely not,” he said with a harsh and humorless laugh.
“I won’t be gone long.”
It was a lie. Once Charmaine was back in Boston she’d stay there, and he knew it even if she didn’t. “When are you leaving?” he asked again, hoping she would answer this time. Not knowing was killing him by inches.
“Next week, on the Thursday train.”
She nodded silently. “You do believe me, don’t you, about the second telegram? You know I’ll be back.”
“Yes,” he lied.
She believed him. Her sigh of relief was audible. “I don’t blame you for being angry,” she said softly. “You do forgive me . . . don’t you?”
Didn’t she know that he would forgive her anything? She could rip out his heart and stomp on it, and he wouldn’t stop loving her. It was a terrible curse, or else a fatal failing. He wasn’t sure which at the moment, and didn’t care.
“Sure,” he said without enthusiasm.
“Oh, and I know you won’t be happy about this, but . . . there’s going to be a family dinner Sunday after church. We’re expected to be there.”
Great. Sunday dinner with Stuart Haley, Howard Stillwell, and three-quarters of the Harley women. It was sure to be an interesting mix of heaven and hell.
“She seems happy enough,” Jeanette said with more than a trace of disbelief in her soft voice. “But goodness gracious, Mother, there was a bathtub in the kitchen!”
Maureen smiled at her daughter. Jeanette perched on the edge of the chair nearest the sofa and twiddled her thumbs nervously. “You girls bathed in a tin tub in the kitchen until we moved into this house.”
“Well, it just seems very . . . undignified.”
It now seemed that sending her daughters East to be educated had been a terrible mistake. Charmaine had joined in Howard Stillwell’s ridiculous crusades. Felicity had put aside her morals and her good sense to run from her husband with another man, and Jeanette had turned into a snob.
“What did you think of Ash?” she asked, to change the subject as well as to gather information.
Jeanette screwed up her nose. “I don’t really know. He was only there for a moment before he became angry and stormed out of the house.”
Maureen sighed. Of course he was angry. She’d been a bit heartbroken herself upon reading the telegram. It must have been devastating for Ash.
Everything had been going along so well. She’d executed Nathan Sweet’s plan to get Elmo out of Salley Creek, and the little man had held up his end of the bargain by taking Oswald and Verna on the road with him. Alone, Ash and Charmaine had a chance. And now this.
“He was somewhat . . . well, more handsome than I remembered,” Jeanette allowed. “In a rather crude way. Of course, he was just a child when I left Salley Creek.” She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips once again. “He’s practically a complete stranger, and you made Charmaine marry him. How could you?”
If Jeanette had seen the two of them together at the ball, she wouldn’t question the integrity of this marriage. It had come about in an unconventional way, yes, but it wasn’t wrong. “Charmaine and Ash found themselves in a compromising position. I should say your father found them in a compromising position, one that indicated a wedding was called for.”
Jeanette’s face went blank with surprise. “Charmaine?”
“Yes, Charmaine. And I think . . . no, I know that she loves Ash Coleman very much.”
“She always was sweet on him,” Jeanette said thoughtfully, “but I thought it was a childish infatuation. Not love. Are you sure?”
Yes, she was very sure. She’d seen it in Charmaine’s eyes as she’d given all her attention to Jane’s instructions on cooking. She’d seen it when Charmaine got angry about the way Verna treated her husband. She’d seen it in a hundred little clues Charmaine surely didn’t realize she gave.
And anyone who knew Charmaine knew she wouldn’t still be on that farm if she didn’t want to be.
“Yes,” she assured Jeanette. “What did she say to you when you tried to convince her to leave that farm?”
Jeanette fidgeted uncomfortably. “First she said she was married, and so she couldn’t possibly leave.”
As if that would stop Charmaine from doing exactly what she wanted to do.
“Then she said Ash needed her there, that he couldn’t cook and clean for himself because he works so many hours on the farm. Howard was livid about that, I can tell you. He told Charmaine that Ash could hire a housekeeper to handle the domestic duties.”
“And what did Charmaine say to that?”
Maureen was pleased to see that Jeanette was at least giving some serious thought to what she’d seen and heard at the Coleman farm. “She sat down in a rocking chair and refused to budge. Crossed her arms over her chest, stuck out her chin the same way she did when she was six, and said she wasn’t going anywhere.”
“Would she have said that if she didn’t love her husband?”
“Probably not. She did,” Jeanette added with renewed energy, “agree to go to Boston with Howard for a couple of weeks. She was very distressed upon hearing the news about Felicity.”
“As we all were.” She still had trouble believing that her eldest and most sensible daughter would do something so outrageous as leave her husband and run off with another man. And if Howard was to be believed, she was carrying the man’s child. Maureen shook off the pain of that news. Until she had heard from Felicity, she would not pass judgment.
For the moment she would concentrate on more immediate matters. It was definitely not a good idea for Charmaine to return to Boston with Howard Stillwell, not even for a short visit. Howard seemed to be more concerned about Charmaine’s situation than his own, and that just didn’t feel right. It was unnatural, and more than a little unnerving.
Nineteen
Ash ate his supper and seemed to enjoy it, but he hadn’t so much as looked at her, not once since the meal had begun. He hadn’t really looked at her since yesterday when she’d tried so ineptly to explain away that darn telegram.
It wasn’t like her to be at a loss for words, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make Ash feel better. She’d apologized several times, but those apologies didn’t seem to touch Ash at all. He told her to forget it . . . but he hadn’t.
Between Ash’s hurt feelings and the knowledge that she was responsible, and the startling news about Felicity and the gardener, Charmaine was thoroughly miserable.
Felicity and Tavish. It was unthinkable, preposterous, and the most scandalous disgrace of Charmaine’s life. She tried to remember Tavish clearly, to remember more than the fact that he was an incredibly tall man with red hair, but she’d never so much as carried on a conversation with the man.
Felicity had, though. Several mornings Charmaine had seen her sister walking in the garden with Tavish, pointing at this rosebush or that, gesturing gracefully at a bed of flowers. He had walked beside her, hands clasped behind his back, head bent to hear her words clearly.
She now doubted their conversation had anything to do with roses and flower beds.
Felicity was usually so practical, it made no sense, no sense at all. . . . Charmaine rested her gaze on the stoic profile of her husband. Unless Tavish had turned Felicity’s world upside down, as Ash had hers. Unless she found such comfort and joy in his touch that nothing else mattered. Unless she loved him.
Charmaine knew now that what Felicity and Howard had found in their marriage was not love. There had been caring there, at one time perhaps, a mutual respect . . . but not love. She couldn’t imagine sending Ash off to his own room at night, sleeping alone when she could be nestled in his arms. Purity and chastity were all well and good, but there was a spiritual core to her love for Ash that was as pure as anything she’d ever known.
If Felicity had found that with Tavish, how could Charmaine denounce it? How could she stand at Howard’s side and condemn her own sister?
Yesterday’s shock aside, she knew she couldn’t do it. At the family dinner tomorrow she’d pull Howard aside and tell him that she couldn’t go back to Boston, that her place was here with Ash.
And when Ash’s anger faded, as it surely would, she would tell him how much she loved him. He didn’t love her, of course, so it would be difficult to say the words. But with time, h
e would come to love her. Of that she was certain.
“How am I supposed to sleep with that man under my roof?” Stuart whispered huskily as he paced before the moonlit window. “He must have done something to Felicity to make her behave in such an irresponsible manner. She’s always been an honest, reliable girl, and she would never do anything so . . . so dishonorable without a damn good reason.”
Maureen was propped up on a number of fat pillows, her thick braid falling over one shoulder, her hands folded primly on her lap. She wasn’t sure what distressed her husband more, the news that his married daughter had run off with another man, or the fact that Howard Stillwell slept just down the hall.
“Let’s reserve judgment until we hear from Felicity,” she said calmly. “And as for Howard, well, he’ll be gone in a few days.”
“Taking Charmaine with him,” Stuart whispered. “He says it’s temporary, but I don’t believe it. She’ll get to Boston and its seminars and social life, and she won’t come back.”
Maureen smiled. Her husband was loving and passionate and protective, but he was also occasionally blind. “I think Charmaine will have the good sense to change her mind before Thursday rolls around.”
Stuart snorted softly.
“And if she doesn’t, do you really think Ash will allow her to go?”
Stuart made his way to the edge of the bed. “Allow her? This is Charmaine we’re talking about.”
“A very changed Charmaine,” she said as she took his hand. “You haven’t been paying attention to the tempering of your youngest daughter.”
He sat beside her with a heavy sigh. “I haven’t seen her enough lately to know if she’s changed or not. She’s been avoiding me since the wedding. I guess she still hasn’t forgiven me for making her marry Ash.”
“Oh, I think she’s forgiven you,” Maureen whispered.
Stuart shook his head slowly.
“You’ll see,” she said, stroking the top of Stuart’s hand. “Tomorrow.”