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

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  He bent his head, weighing his next words, then continued, “Charlotte, I have known many women.” She frowned at this; it sounded similar to what he’d said in her bedroom last night.

  “I mean, I have been in the company of many women,” he corrected, “in every parlor and ballroom in this city from the time I was a young man. And they all bored me or lied to me or were just plain silly. I had it set in my head that all women were ever thus and was determined never to tie myself to one.”

  He squeezed her hands. “It just took a little while for it to sink in that I could, indeed, change my mind once I found a woman who would never bore me or lie to me, a woman who would only be silly when I coaxed it out of her, when she was naked and in my bed,” he finished, ruining the romantic speech with his excursion into the erotic.

  She didn’t mind but was unable to stop the heated flush that quickly colored her neck and face.

  “I must add that to my credit, I am from a fine family. I make a good living and my house, though in an unfashionable part of town, is comfortable, and,” he paused, looking as if he wanted to add one last thing to his weighty list of reasons why she should marry him.

  Then he smiled sheepishly and added, “And I am able to cook, as you already know. So, Miss Sanborn, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and letting me assist you in raising Lily and Thomas and any other children that we have together?”

  He certainly stated his case with all the ability she would expect from a lawyer. She possessed all the qualities he desired, and he was a suitable mate with many desirable traits. Now, he waited for the answer he was already certain she’d give.

  Yet what was lacking in Reed’s speech was so apparent that she couldn’t help but focus on the oversight. He had made no mention of love. Charlotte had waited this long in her life—had been already called a spinster by at least three people she could recall—and she could wait a little longer for his love or, if it never came, she knew she could manage without a husband.

  After all, she was a woman of the world now, a cross-continental traveler, a writer exploring a stimulating city. And, for the first time, she’d found out that she could love freely and wholly and even need someone without fear. Reed and the children had taught her that in such a short time.

  When she looked at Reed’s handsome face and into his deep blue eyes, though, her stomach clenched. What was it about this man that was holding him back from love? She loved him completely and most definitely did not want to be without him. Wasn’t that enough to make their marriage a happy one?

  Reed was obviously impatient with her silence. “If you are waiting for my permission to speak, you have it now,” he urged.

  “Thank you, Mr. Malloy, for your permission and for your kind offer.” She felt him caressing her hand with his thumb. Most likely, he was certain of her answer, and this irked her.

  Was she supposed to be so grateful to have finally been plucked from the tree of single womanhood, as he’d once described it, that she should settle for a loveless union? Wouldn’t he grow tired of her, as he’d done of Helen, within a couple years if there was no love to hold them together? She swallowed and removed her hand from his.

  “I’m afraid, as things stand now, I shall have to turn you down.”

  Reed looked thunderstruck, rising immediately to his feet.

  “Charlotte,” he started quietly, “you’re not the type of woman to play games. Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.”

  She smiled at that and, rising to her feet, she touched his cheek in a gentle caress. It was a dear thing to say, she thought, though it ran against her nature to rely on someone else to fix anything.

  Previously, his statement would even have made her angry, but at that moment, she was too embarrassed to tell him what was wrong or to ask him outright: By the way, do you think you will come to love me for I need to hear those words once before I die? It would be more than a little humiliating to remind the man who wanted to marry her that he was supposed to declare his love first.

  Deep in her heart, Charlotte believed that love followed attraction and passion, as inevitably as day followed night—but she did not want to make the mistake of marrying first and then waiting for love to occur, just in case it never happened.

  With a newfound confidence, however, she believed instinctively that he would come to love her, for she would make herself eminently lovable and he would succumb. All they needed was a little time and the match would be as ideal as he’d described it. Meanwhile, she had to give him a reason.

  “I have only just arrived in Boston, Reed. As far as society is concerned, it would look highly suspicious, extremely improper, for us to be engaged so quickly.”

  “Damn society—” he began, but she shook her head at his violent oath.

  “It’s not just for appearance, though; with Lily and Thomas at stake, I cannot do otherwise. It is just as you said it would be. I do feel liberated here. I want to experience my new life and make sure I like it enough to stay. It’s just happening too fast,” she finished, turning away slightly, feeling she was coming uncomfortably close to telling him a lie.

  He took her chin in his hand and made her look directly at him. “I am a reasonable man, Charlotte. I understand your hesitations and respect them, but I would prefer you experienced the city under the aegis of being my fiancée than as an unchaperoned single woman.”

  “Then you shall chaperone me, whenever you wish.” She smiled tremulously. By spending more time with her, either Reed would fall for her or he would withdraw his proposition.

  Reed tried one more time to understand her hesitation, “Does your refusal have anything to do with my past association with Helen, or anything she may have said?”

  Charlotte considered her answer. She ventured to ask him the question that had bothered her for days. “Are you sure that all your associations with Helen are in the past? I saw you leave the ball with her.”

  “And I know you left the ball with Jason. Should I be worried?”

  “That’s not the same thing, Reed. I am trying to protect myself from any hint of scandal where you’re concerned—no thanks to Mrs. Belgrave. Have you forgotten that she has threatened me? She would just love for Aunt Alicia to send me packing with or without the children.”

  “I think Helen is bluffing. She has nothing to gain by making you lose the children or by making you leave.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrow. “Does she know that? Are you positive she understands that you don’t want what she offers anymore? Because I believe she thinks she has a lot to gain from riding me out of town on a rail.”

  “I have told her, in no uncertain terms, that she has no future with me.”

  “When you joined her in St. Louis?”

  He expelled his breath in a loud puff. “We’ve been over this. I stopped there to speak with her, so that she completely understood the situation before either one of us returned to Boston.”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “If you’re still wondering in that overly busy brain of yours . . . no, Charlotte, I didn’t go to bed with Helen in St. Louis. I have not touched her since I met you.”

  She looked at her feet. “Well, that is nice to hear.”

  “And Farnsworth?” Reed continued. “Is he just for appearances’ sake?”

  “Not exactly,” Charlotte admitted, truthfully. “He has been gracious about showing me around and making sure I don’t feel as though I’m an outsider. But mostly, yes, I’ll admit that my keeping company with Jason is helping to convince my aunt that I am not a moral pariah.”

  Reed remained silent and Charlotte rushed in to fill the silence. “Just by association with him, Alicia sees me as a respectable young woman with one of Boston’s finest courting me, and he doesn’t even know how useful he is.”

  Reed looked grim. “You are learning how to survive here very quickly, Charlotte. Using people for your own ends is undeniably the first lesson.”

  She felt as if she’d been s
lapped. Was that truly how he saw it?

  “Well, I set much store by your opinion. If your treatment of Mrs. Belgrave is any indication, you are certainly the master where manipulation is concerned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must—”

  Charlotte was interrupted by the entrance of a lady, petite and brown-haired, bearing a tray with a silver coffee urn and two china cups sitting on matching blue and gold saucers. The aroma of rich coffee blended with the subtle flowery fragrance of the woman herself.

  “Jeanine, you’ve returned. This is Miss Charlotte Sanborn,” Reed introduced, his voice having lost the lighthearted tone he’d used in introducing her to Pierre.

  The lady only smiled at her and nodded, setting down the tray. She didn’t say a word before she left the room.

  Reed shrugged. “Her English is not as fluent as her husband’s, which makes her a bit shy around strangers.”

  Charlotte was thankful for the interruption; it forced her to calm down and remember that their unpleasant exchange had arisen from the fact that Reed had asked for her hand.

  In truth, she would love to be able to accept his proposal, if only she were certain she could win his whole heart, and not just captivate his head and his desires. As if reading her changing emotions, Reed took her hand and pulled her down with him onto the sofa once more.

  “Of course, I have trouble thinking of you as a stranger.” His voice was even again, and it seemed he, too, had regained his good humor. The feeling of his thigh pressed next to her own ignited the quick passion that seemed never far from the surface when they were together.

  He leaned toward her and she closed her eyes. A moment later, his lips were on hers, tenderly at first, then more insistently. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him closely.

  “Marry me, Charlotte,” he whispered against her mouth.

  She shook her head, and he pulled away. He stared at her, his eyes searching her face from her earnest eyes to her kissable lips. Then Reed sighed.

  “Coffee?” he offered half-heartedly.

  She nearly laughed, so surprised by the trivial question. “No,” she said, feeling drained by the mountains and valleys of their conversation. “I should return to the library, before someone disturbs my research materials.”

  “Tell me what time you’ll be finished, and I’ll give you a ride in my carriage.” He stopped her when she started to protest. “I know, you said last night that the evening is promised to Alicia, but I can at least see you safely home. Why don’t you just use the telephone to reach me at my office when you’re ready.”

  Her expression told it all.

  “I didn’t think you’d remembered,” he said, unable to keep from smiling as she held her flushed cheeks. “I’m sure the library has a telephone, and of course, we’ve had one at my office for a few years. Next time you are unable to keep a date with me, lady writer, you might try it.”

  Of all the stupidity, she muttered to herself, letting him help her into his carriage a few minutes later. But reconsidering, Charlotte was glad she had not thought about using the telephone; she might have cancelled their lunch outright if she hadn’t seen Reed in person.

  She might have missed out on an extraordinary afternoon with the man she was falling so deeply in love with, the man who had asked her to marry him, the man with whom she could not assume anything. And, of course, there was still the mysterious Celia.

  *****

  Back at her table in the library, she tried to outline her article as she scanned her notes. Criminal reform, mental health institutions . . . Her talent was in gathering what was usually right in front of people’s noses and synthesizing the facts so they clearly and comprehensively explained the overall story from beginning to end.

  Charlotte found, however, that it was now impossible for her to concentrate on anything except Reed’s oddly pragmatic proposal. She carefully made a list of her sources and then left the library. She needed solitude, but she had one more place to go before her work was done for the day.

  Despite a swift ride down Pleasant Street and across the Port Point Channel into South Boston, it was nearly four o’clock when she arrived at the Lunatic Hospital, Boston’s only institution for the insane within the city limits.

  Charlotte looked at the size of the building and decided that the best she could do, given the late hour, was set up an appointment with the head doctor and perhaps get an idea of which, if any, criminals they housed there.

  However, after she gave her name and her reason for visiting, she was met not by a doctor but by the institution’s superintendent, George Mason.

  Squat of stature and thick of neck, the man with hard black eyes neither invited her into his office nor even offered her a chair. He simply started walking her down the long tiled hallway that smelled strongly of lye. Charlotte put her glove to her nose and hurried after the superintendent.

  “I’m afraid it’s impossible for you to come in here and talk to anyone,” he said, his voice as grating as an unoiled wagon wheel. She practically had to run to keep up with him, as his heels clicked at a fast pace along the cheerless corridor.

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Mason.”

  He seemed to sneer as she tried her best to maintain professional neutrality.

  “What is unclear to you, Miss Sanborn?”

  “This hospital has a reputation as the hub of reform and experimental cures. Furthermore, it is a public institution, run by the state. The courts commit people here to be cured of their insanity and return to their regular lives in the midst of all of Boston’s citizens. I don’t see how you can say it is off limits to reporters.”

  “I am in charge here,” he said. “I can answer any questions you have about the inmates. But not today. You’ll have to return another time. In any case, you don’t need to see the head doctor; he’s a busy man.” They reached the large double doors at the side of the building. Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to be put off.

  “Is that what you call them, Mr. Mason?”

  “What?” he looked bored and distracted.

  “Inmates. I’d assumed they’d be considered patients.”

  He shrugged. That nearly destroyed the last of Charlotte’s professionalism. She felt her cheeks turn red. “Is there a problem with me finding out the answers to a few questions?”

  “Such as?” Mason’s impatient look was changing to one of annoyance.

  Charlotte pulled out her notebook and quickly scanned her list of questions. “I’ll need to know about the types of patients, the general length of their stay, and how many are consigned here by the courts for violent crimes, as opposed to, say, intemperance. And if there are any voluntary admissions or placements by concerned family members.”

  The superintendent seemed to think the idea of voluntary institutionalization rather humorous and showed his yellowed teeth in his version of a smile. It made Charlotte cringe to think of being under this man’s control for any length of stay.

  “Now, why would a pretty lady like yourself want to know all about such downright depressing things? Some of them are here for unspeakable, vile reasons. He showed his teeth again at her shocked face. “Why, I bet there are plenty of other subjects you could be writing about, such as—”

  “Mr. Mason,” she interrupted, unwilling to listen to him roll off his version of suitable topics, “I’m going to have to insist on an appointment with the head doctor. If you think it would be useful for me to ask you a few questions, then I’d be pleased to speak with you in a separate interview.” She glanced at her pocket watch as if assessing its accuracy.

  “In any case, I’ll be back at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. And I assure you, if you turn me away, I’ll return the following day and the day after and the day after that, as well. The good people of Boston will hear about it if you persist in putting me off.”

  His yellow sneer became more of a grimace. “There’s no need to get in a pucker, Miss Sanborn. I didn’t realize how important this w
as to you. You simply caught me by surprise. But not tomorrow,” he repeated, looking thoughtful.

  “The inmates are exercised and given all manner of treatment on Wednesday. There wouldn’t be any time for you to speak with the doctor. But the next day.” He stroked his chin. “Yes, Thursday will be fine.” He turned on his heel and headed back along the hallway without even a good day.

  Charlotte stood still and watched him go. What an oaf! Then she let her shoulders droop. It had been quite a day. She could take the cabriolet straight home and send word to Reed, or she could stop at the library and use the telephone as promised. She smiled to herself. As if there was any choice when she could spend a few more minutes with Reed.

  The driver returned her to the library where she was surprised but relieved to spot Reed’s black clarence out front. She was more than ready to have a quiet ride home. She paused beside the carriage, but Reed was nowhere to be seen and his driver, Forbes, was dozing on top. Perhaps she would climb inside to wait and surprise him.

  Charlotte opened the door and then stepped back in astonishment. For lounging inside was none other than Helen Belgrave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You!” came a petulant tone from the depths of the clarence, and then Helen Belgrave was exiting the carriage, dressed in a form-fitting pink and white striped dress. Her parasol matched the outfit, as did her hat. To Charlotte, she looked like a peppermint sweet.

  “What do you mean by throwing open the door to Reed’s carriage? Don’t you know that personal, private activities go on inside?”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, she asked, “Where’s Reed?”

  “Not even the pretense of ‘Mr. Malloy’?” Helen said, adjusting her hat with one hand. “Really, you’re going to give it all away, my dear Charlotte, and one day, it will be in front of the wrong person. One day, Miss Sanborn . . .” She ended with a small pout on her lips and a shrug.

  Thinly veiled threats again, Charlotte thought. “Helen, this is becoming tiresome. Did you ride over with Reed, or not?”