An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One)

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  She sensed he was battling with something more he wanted to say. She watched him take a deep breath and run his hand through his thick hair. Then in a quick movement, Reed brushed his thumb over her slightly parted lips. “I’d be happy to help you settle there and to introduce you into Boston’s social circles.”

  It was not the impassioned plea she might have hoped for, nor was it liable to change her mind.

  *****

  Later, she sat on the porch swing where he had kissed her so fervently the night before and she replayed his words. If only he had said it differently. If only he had asked her to move east for his own sake, she would probably do it—and full chisel at that, confessing how little love she felt for this house where she had known only loneliness since she was young.

  If only he had made it sound as though she would hold a special place in his life and not just be someone he would introduce to others so as to make her feel welcome. If only . . .

  She shook her head at her own romantic notions. Hadn’t he kept company with Helen Belgrave specifically to ward off marriage seekers? Why would she fancy that he could want to tie himself down now to a wife and children?

  Reed had dropped her hand as they’d approached the house. It had not taken him long to pack. Both Thomas and Lily cried. Since their mother’s death, he had been their only constant. He hugged both the children long and hard and promised to write to them. “Mind your Aunt Charlotte, both of you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

  Charlotte couldn’t speak with the lump of tears balled up in her throat. She could only listen carefully to his words, noticing the mistiness in his own blue eyes as he ruffled Thomas’s hair and squeezed Lily’s small hand.

  She was surprised when, in front of the children, he hugged her—it was firm and quick—and then he was gone. He’d given no intimation that he would return, even for a visit. After all, she reminded herself, ultimately, this was just business.

  Though Reed Malloy had let it get personal, she had a feeling he would now chalk it up as a task accomplished. He had disappeared down the road in the vehicle he’d rented from Spring City’s livery, leaving her and the children in a cloud of gloom.

  Charlotte realized she would have to do something, and fast. “You know what this means?” They shook their heads, looking morose. “Well,” she said, taking each one by the hand. “You each get your own room. And we’re going to start rearranging them right now, just how you want them.”

  Their trunks would be arriving in less than a week, thanks to Reed’s promise to telegraph Boston before he left. He would also deposit a large sum of money in Charlotte’s account for their upkeep. Money would arrive at regular intervals and she was to telegraph him if there was an emergency.

  It all seemed to have worked out so perfectly—except her heart was on the train heading east with a man who hadn’t asked for it.

  Gently, she swung and closed her eyes, laying her hands over her stomach. She had found, after Reed left, a package on her bed containing one pre-filled syringe containing a solution marketed to “married ladies.” She knew what it was for, knew what it contained, mostly vinegar and lemon juice. She should use it as soon as possible, just in case, but so far, she’d done nothing but put the note that accompanied it into her jewelry box:

  Charlotte, I didn’t intend to be careless. Please forgive me. If anything should occur, let me know immediately. Yours, Reed

  She swung gently, looking up at the stars. For the time being, her passionate spirit, as Reed had called it, was doomed to stay hidden from the rest of the world, for the one man whom she cared to share it with would soon be thousands of miles away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Dearest Charlotte,

  I find myself with the unpleasant task of once more writing to you for other than a joyful purpose. I hope this matter will not turn out to be as serious as the death of my dearly beloved daughter, your cousin Ann.

  Though you are by birth a Sanborn, as your mother’s daughter, I have always considered you a Randall and take for granted that you hold a virtuous life in the highest esteem. It is thus unthinkable to me that certain sordid allegations, which I shall speak no more of here, are anything other than balderdash.

  However, as these contentions come from a seemingly reliable source, I have no other recourse, Charlotte, but to request that you and my grandchildren come at once to Boston if only for a temporary visitation.

  During that time, I am certain that this matter can be resolved. How could I rest if I did otherwise than to make sure my grandchildren are situated in a household of the highest morality?

  I should not like to be forced to use legal measures to defy my daughter’s last wishes, however ill-advised I think them to be, nor do I want our family thrust into the public eye. Nevertheless, I shall do what is necessary on behalf of my only grandchildren. I look forward to your timely response.

  Yrs. with all due love,

  Alicia Winifred Elms Randall

  Charlotte lowered the letter to the cloth-covered table in the train’s dining car. She had read and reread Alicia Randall’s words, but the result was still the same. She and the children were on the long journey to Boston.

  She hadn’t given herself time to think about what she was doing—or to change her mind—until she boarded the train three days after receiving the letter, with an excited child holding each of her hands. They eagerly looked forward to returning “home,” as they still referred to Boston, even though it had been a month since Reed left. And Charlotte felt she could not delay the trip; everything had to be settled when school started in the fall.

  Before leaving Spring City, she had sent two telegrams, one to her aunt, telling her she was coming for the requested visit, and one to Reed, explaining that she would be arriving in Boston and why. She didn’t want him to think she was following him east for any reason other than the children. Still, her heart lightened at the thought that soon they would be in the same city.

  She folded up the letter and returned it to her bag. Charlotte’s first emotion had been anger that her aunt would listen to rumors, especially when she realized the only possible source had to be Helen Belgrave. No one else with eastern connections, except possibly John Trelaine, knew where Reed had stayed during his visit to Spring City, and no one else would particularly care.

  She alone had had to grapple with the worry after her uninhibited night with Reed—until two weeks after his departure, when she received her monthly flow and knew that the only serious repercussion of their union was the melancholy of her heart.

  As she watched the children finish their ice creams, Charlotte knew that going east to face her aunt was the right decision. Ann Connors had thought her cousin’s life suitable for her own children, but perhaps Ann thought a writer lived a more interesting existence, more in touch with the centers of advancement and learning, in a real city even—not a small, dried up town that had outlived its usefulness as a miner’s haven.

  Perhaps Alicia Randall could give the children a better start in life—or, perhaps, Charlotte could do that herself in Boston, if she could prove to her aunt that she was fit to raise them.

  However, when she ran into Reed Malloy, as she surely would, it was going to be far harder to maintain a semblance of propriety where he was concerned. And what if she liked it there? Then, Charlotte supposed, she’d put down roots and stay.

  As she settled in her seat, she hoped she wasn’t fooling herself, using Alicia Randall’s threat as an excuse to follow Reed Malloy. After all, he had warned her that her aunt might contest the will and that, in all likelihood, the older woman would lose. Charlotte knew she really should have nothing to worry about. But had Reed taken into account the possibility of their brief impropriety reaching Alicia’s ears, not to mention a judge’s?

  *****

  Charlotte went over and over the questions in her head, for two and a half long days. They took the Topeka & Santa Fe railroad to
St. Louis, seeing Dodge City, the capital of the cattle industry, and Kansas City along the way.

  At St. Louis, Charlotte might have rested a day, but all she could think about was Helen Belgrave having stopped in that town to see her sister; and now the woman was spreading malicious tales, albeit true, possibly all over Boston.

  So, she and the children kept moving, taking the Baltimore & Ohio railroad to the east coast. They chugged through Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York.

  By the time they reached Boston’s Providence Railroad depot, Charlotte felt ready to take on Reed Malloy, Helen Belgrave, and Aunt Alicia. Unfortunately, none of the three appeared to meet them at the station.

  She chided herself for not getting confirmation of her telegram. What if no one knew they were here? She’d be forced to make her way with the children and their trunks all the way across town to Beacon Hill. She didn’t even know how to secure a brougham or how much it would cost.

  Just as her fears were mounting, she spotted the familiar figure of John Trelaine coming toward them through the bustling crowd like an answer to her prayers.

  “Thank goodness I didn’t miss you, Miss Sanborn,” he said, taking the carpet bag she was carrying. “I was held up in traffic. I have my coach waiting.”

  “Well, that is kind of you, Mr. Trelaine. I was not expecting you to meet us.” Since she did not want to say whom she was expecting, she closed her mouth.

  “How was your journey?” he asked politely.

  “Long and tiring. We couldn’t get a hotel car on such short notice but we did secure a sleeper. It was an adventure, to say the least.” She looked down at her charges. They resembled how they looked the day Reed first showed up on her doorstep—weary and slightly dusty, yet without that desperately lost look. Instead, they were bolstered by enthusiasm.

  “I assume you’ve got baggage?” John’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Yes, a fair amount, I’m afraid.” The children giggled at this. They had insisted on bringing much of what had been sent out to Spring City only a few weeks earlier, not wanting to be without many of their belongings again.

  “I’ll speak with the porter, and we’ll get it all sent to your aunt’s. That is where you intend to stay, is it not?”

  She assured him that he was correct and in a flash, he had sorted everything out with the porter. Another vehicle was procured to take their trunks straight to Alicia’s residence on Chestnut Street.

  “Mrs. Randall contacted my office and apologized for not coming herself, but she is not up to all the commotion.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Trelaine,” she smiled at him, “We’ll be under her scrutiny soon enough.” He offered her a sympathetic glance.

  They were traveling at a slow pace through the city, passing parks and long avenues. The streets were all cobblestone. Not a dirt road in sight, thought Charlotte. And the sidewalks were solid granite! From the train window, she felt she’d seen enough wonders to last a lifetime, but now, the whole city was a new and exciting adventure for her to explore at her leisure. That reminded her of the man who had offered to show her his home town.

  “I half expected Mr. Malloy to meet us, given his interest in the children,” she mentioned, hoping not to sound too disappointed.

  John looked uncomfortable for a moment, appearing to be exceptionally interested in their route. He pointed out the dome of the State House as they approached Beacon Hill.

  “Only recently covered in gold leaf,” he added, as the sun struck it, momentarily dazzling them. Charlotte was already so overwhelmed by the height of the buildings—many of them over five stories—that she merely put her hand up to shield her eyes. Then he cleared his throat.

  “The truth is Miss Sanborn, Reed never received your telegram. He had already left town when it arrived.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, I appreciate your intercepting it and coming to the station.” Boston had lost a little of its appeal now that she knew Reed was away.

  “Miss Sanborn—” he began.

  “Please, call me Charlotte.”

  “Only if you will call me John.” The children, sitting quietly on the seat opposite laughed at this exchange and Reed’s partner flushed. He started again. “Charlotte, there is more. Reed was on his way to Spring City.”

  “Whatever for?” she asked, the absurd image of their trains passing each other on the open prairie popped into her head. And her heart started to beat a little faster. Anything to do with business, Reed would have handled by telegraph or correspondence.

  “I’m afraid there is nothing more I can tell you. Reed will explain when he returns, I’m sure.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but was startled by a harsh voice in her ear: “Scissors to grind!” Her head snapped to her right to see a small man with gnarled hands and a portable grinder on the pavement, very close to the carriage, plying his trade of blade sharpening. She took a deep breath, but John didn’t let her speak.

  “Please don’t ask me any questions, Charlotte. I must insist. I know it would not sit well with Reed were I to say anything more. Not that I know anything more.” He was silent again as his driver maneuvered their carriage through the traffic.

  “I have endeavored to reach Reed by leaving messages at stations along the route, and he is probably already on his way back.” The coach made another swift turn onto a small street sloping gently upward.

  “Grandma’s,” Lily burst out, recognizing her surroundings as the horses pulled them steadily up Chestnut Street, and there wasn’t time for any more questions.

  Charlotte looked along the discreetly elegant street, sloping gently up the hill with all the homes pressed closely together. It had brick sidewalks and gaslights at every corner.

  About halfway up, their carriage halted and she gazed at the narrow but imposing four-story brick structure that Lily pointed out as Alicia Randall’s. At a second-story window, Charlotte was certain she saw the heavy rose-colored curtains move aside and then close once more.

  Knowing that her family had never been welcome there after her mother married her father, Charlotte wondered what her reception would be now. Alicia was her mother’s older sister by twelve years, but she was also a stranger. Still, they’d come all this way; it was hardly the time to hesitate.

  Moments later, she climbed the six steps to the arched front door, which opened before they had time to knock. They were ushered in to the pink marble entry hall by a stooped and grizzled man with enormous white eyebrows, to whom Charlotte said a quiet “Good day.”

  Beyond him, coming down the stairs was Alicia Randall, short in stature, slightly broad around her waist and hips, and dressed in black crepe out of respect for the loss of her daughter. She looked nearly exactly as Charlotte had expected—except for her gray-streaked hair styled high upon her head, with ringlets and curls spiraling down the sides, so at odds with the proper Bostonian Charlotte had envisioned from her aunt’s letters.

  As she got closer, it was Alicia’s eyes that captured Charlotte’s attention, flashing in the same vivid green as her own and as her mother’s.

  “Charlotte, dear,” her aunt said, extending a hand, which Charlotte grasped in both her own as her aunt leaned forward to kiss the air between them. “You do have the look of my sister, poor sweet girl that she was. I have never forgiven your father for taking Regina away to that barbaric Colorado territory.”

  It didn’t seem to be an auspicious opening and Charlotte braced herself and replied, “It was her choice to marry my father, and her choice to go.” She tried not to sound disrespectful, but she wanted to make it firm, from the start, that she would not tolerate hearing her father abused. She knew he had tried his best and had loved her mother dearly.

  “He always spoke highly of you, Aunt Alicia,” she added, stretching the truth like warm caramel.

  “Yes, well, he knew a good woman when he saw one,” her aunt said, mollified. “Let me see these children.” They moved shyly forward and stood i
n front of her, lined up as apparently they had been taught to do.

  “Hm. Lily, I think you have grown.”

  Charlotte almost laughed. The older lady’s tone bordered on disapproval as if the girl had done so without permission.

  “Thomas, you are the spitting image of your father.” That was sweet Charlotte thought, until Alicia added, “I don’t know how I shall bear it.”

  “Now, are you all famished? I’ve held up the midday meal for you, so everyone, upstairs to wash up.” Alicia clapped her hands together as she discharged her orders. “We’ll be eating in the dining room in fifteen minutes. Gerald, show my niece and my grandchildren to their rooms,” she added, turning to the old man.

  Charlotte let herself be ordered around for the moment, only wishing that John had stayed for the meal instead of begging off with pressing business. Now, she walked behind the shuffling Gerald, up the gently curving staircase at the end of the foyer and along a hallway, lined on one side by paintings and on the other, the stairs to the next level.

  She insisted on seeing the children’s rooms first and they climbed up to the third floor. Reed had been correct about her aunt’s lack of understanding for childlike frivolity.

  If the rooms in Spring City had been basic at best, Alicia Randall’s idea of a child’s room was downright grim. The dark furniture with heavy bed hangings, even heavier curtains, and dark-patterned wallpaper did nothing to inspire youthful warmth and welcome. As soon as they unpacked their trunks after lunch, their own things would brighten up the staid rooms, Charlotte assured herself.

  Gerald was standing at the bottom of the stairs when she descended. He led her along the hallway, opening the door to her room and gesturing her inside with his gloved hand.