A Practical Arrangement (21 page)

Today, the breeze blew mild across the newly sprouting grasses and the sun shone warm and bright. The fragrance of spring carried in the air.

“
Mrs. Masterson, will you take tea now, ma'am?”

“
Mr. Masterson should appear at any moment. I'll have my tea when we return from our afternoon walk.”

“
Pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Masterson departed early, saying he'd not be back until dark and to expect a late evening meal.”

“
Oh. He did?” Disappointment carried in Evangeline's tone. Why hadn't he shared this information with her, she wondered. But Thomas was ever running off of late, without explanation. Evangeline reasoned it all linked to whatever project he had going on. The man certainly flowed to overfilling with ambition – much to her surprise.

It pleased her. Cherry Hill would thrive under his diligent hand.

“
Mrs. Masterson, the tea?”

“
The tea?” Evangeline repeated, blinking free of her musings. “No, Mrs. O'Leary. I'll have my tea later. I shall walk alone today. It is a beautiful afternoon, not to be wasted indoors.”

“
Very good,” the red-haired woman smiled.

Evangeline followed the familiar route around the house, but upon reaching the north side, an impish grin stole across her face. At once, she set off toward the construction site, giddy with anticipation. Thomas could hold his secret until he burst! She'd sneak a look and be right content; his game would fail, for she would have her answer without ever asking! Eyes lit in her bold adventure, cheeks bright with exertion, Evangeline strode along toward the newly constructed buildings, her mind imagining their possible purpose.

Slowing her pace as she approached, she listened for any sign of activity, and hearing none, proceeded cautiously. The first building stretched long and rectangular, double-door gates at either end. Grain storage bins lined the left side of the interior, and along the right, sixteen large boxes. Peeking over the edge of one, she noticed the bottom of the box lined with a fine screen. At a loss, she walked about the odd contraption. Chutes beneath the screens in each box converged in a wide trough, which slanted downward and led out through the far wall beside the gate to the outdoors.

Interesting.

These must be for transporting liquid, she reasoned. And then it hit her. Malting barley! Thomas planned to malt his barley crop. The lure of what was to be discovered in the other buildings overtook her cautiousness and she hurried on. Just as she expected, the second held vats – not set up properly, but lying about in various stages of assembly. The third building was low, too low, she thought. Upon entering, understanding dawned. Steps led down before her; the bottom half of the structure was dug out of the earth. Sturdy frames, three tiers high, sat in long rows, wooden casks resting in each of the half circle nooks along the lengths.

Her husband was setting up a distillery. Whiskey. The man was going to malt the devil's brew! Good Lord!

Feeling slightly ill, Evangeline ascended the stairs, returning above ground and breathing in the fresh air.

Of all the nonsense! Making money from...from whiskey!

It was unseemly. Improper. Heaven forgive her for saying so, but genius. Start to finish, Thomas would oversee his crop from grain to spirit. Mercy be! What would people say? Well...they all offered plenty of whiskey at their balls and parties, she reasoned. What could they say? Dusting off her pride a bit, she contemplated her husband's bold move. Strolling about the building's perimeter, she spotted a large, metal rectangle leaned against its side. Prying the piece up, Evangeline gasped. In large golden letters on a black background read: Grey Masterson, Distiller of Fine Spirits.

She dropped the sign with a thud, stunned, and turned for home. No small pride burned in her chest, she near brimmed with the sinful emotion on her husband's behalf. Fear encroached as well. Whiskey making could prove lucrative, quite so, but only if the spirits were top notch. With all her might, she hoped for his success. Tea was enjoyed thoroughly, and Evangeline permitted herself an extra bread with jam in self-congratulatory triumph at her stealthy nosing about.

The evening meal was finally served, but still, Thomas had not returned. Tucking her embroidery into the woven basket beside her chair, Evangeline called for her bath and then retired. Fitful sleep denied her any peace, Thomas' absence consuming her thoughts.

What could be keeping him? Had something happened?

Melody's tragedy sprang to mind, filling Evangeline with cold dread. Surely Providence would not take Thomas from her. The thought brought a wave of nausea with its ugly whispers. She was...happy. “Please bring Thomas home to me safe,” she pleaded into the darkness. “I've never even admitted my love for him.” Tears held at bay, no weepy dramatics threatened her composure, but a deep thread of worry rooted in the pit of her stomach before exhaustion overtook her.

Yelling from downstairs wakened her fully at once. Wrapping in her robe, she dashed for the stairs, fear mounting. Mr. Goddard never raised his voice.

“
Evangeline!” Her husband's slurred word shocked her to stillness.

“
Mr. Masterson, perhaps it will be best, sir, if you sleep in a guest bedroom,” Mr. Goddard calmly stated. “Mrs. Masterson has long been retired – and you, I am afraid, will wake her.”

“
Evangeline,” he shouted. “Come to me.”

His entreaty set her in motion. Gathering her wits, she descended the staircase with all the dignity she could muster. Thomas' eyes, murky and dark, locked on her, his expression wild.

“
Evie, she said she'd...she'd say...” He did not finish, apparently too intoxicated to speak coherently. Attempting anew, Thomas jumbled his words, shaking his head in frustration. “Evie,” he pleaded, looking toward the entryway with what appeared to be dismay.

A man Evangeline could not name stood alongside Augusta Preston. The woman smiled faintly. “Mrs. Masterson,” she greeted with a pitying look, “my brother, Mr. Alexander Manson.”

Evangeline stood tall, squaring her shoulders and conjuring an impassive expression. “Welcome to Cherry Hill, Mrs. Preston, Mr. Manson.” Turning to Mrs. O'Leary, who stood in her night-robe alongside her son, Tad, Evangeline continued. “Please settle our guests for the night, Mrs. O'Leary.”

“
Of course, ma'am,” Betsy O'Leary replied.

“
You are quite generous, Mrs. Masterson,” Augusta extolled. “We could not leave Mr. Masterson to find his way in his current state, you understand, and insisted on bringing him home. It is such a long ride.” Augusta clutched Evangeline's hand. “Thank you, dear, for your hospitality.”

“
Thank you for seeing my husband home,” Evangeline choked out. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

“
Of course, you poor dear.”

Unexpected – unwanted – guests dealt with, Evangeline turned to Eldrich Goddard and Tad O'Leary. “Please, let us escort Mr. Masterson to our room.”

The men wrangled a protesting Thomas up the staircase with some difficulty and at last deposited him upon the large bed.

“
Mrs. Masterson, would you prefer we undress him for you?”

“
No, Mr. Goddard. I'll remove his boots and leave him at that. But thank you for the offer.”

Eldrich Goddard held her gaze a moment, speaking a magnitude in the kindly expression upon his face. “Can I get you anything, ma'am?”

“
Nothing at the moment, Mr. Goddard. Thank you.” She sighed the last words tiredly.

“
Come, Mr. O'Leary,” Eldrich announced stoically. “We will leave Mrs. Masterson in peace.”

Both men headed toward the door, the younger Mr. O'Leary turning at the last minute. “Pardon me, Mrs. Masterson, would you be wanting me to sleep nearby – across the hall say – in case Mr. Masterson awakens? He'd be a handful, excuse me for saying, ma'am, and well, he don't seem to be aware of what he's doing.”

The sincere apology on Tad O'Leary's handsome face endeared him to her at once. “It is very kind of you to offer. Perhaps that is a good idea. Mr. Goddard?” Evangeline deferred to the man's wise judgment, having no experience in such matters.

“
I agree, Mrs. Masterson. If you should need anything, either Mr. O'Leary or myself will be close by.”

She nodded. “Thank you...thank you both.”

“
Good night, ma'am. Try and get some rest.” And with that, they closed the door behind them.

Grabbing a booted foot, Evangeline wrestled the heavy leather over his heel and moved to the other.

“
Evie,” Thomas groaned. “I didn't...please believe me.” He attempted to reach for her, unsuccessfully.

“
That is quite enough, Mr. Masterson. Go to sleep.”

The stench of alcohol wafted to her nose, sending her stomach into fits. She washed her mumbling husband as best she was able.

“
Ahh, Evie,” he murmured. “Do not leave me. I swear...”

Exasperated with his continuous rambling, she responded tightly, “What is so important? Let us have out with it at once. I am tired, Mr. Masterson.”

He squinted, attempting to focus on her face it seemed. “Evie, I did not go along...” But the words dissolved into gibberish.

“
I'll have no more of this Evie business! Now go to sleep.” She extinguished the lamp and climbed wearily under the covers.

Thomas rolled awkwardly, clasping her to himself. “I love you, Evie. Please believe me.”

They were the clearest words he'd spoken since being dragged upstairs.

Love! What did he know of love? Drunken. Out cavorting with Mrs. Preston and her brother.

...'he will tire of you quickly.'

Augusta's words cut deeply. Squeezing her eyes shut, Evangeline sought the peace of sleep. Blessedly, exhaustion overtook her and she slipped into slumber.

* * *

Thomas was not in their bed. Evangeline yawned, blinking as the memory of the previous night bid her good morning. She wanted an explanation, but knew her mind at once. No mention of her utter humiliation would pass her lips. Rising from the bed she washed her face and dressed, hoping to see her husband, unsure at why.

By the time she reached the dining room nausea spread a sickly pallor over her skin. Augusta Preston's voice added to her roiling middle. Thomas, speaking in a harsh, low tone, stopped her dead in her tracks.

“
You will leave my wife out of this, Augusta. You should not be here.”

“
Don't be absurd, Thomas,” Augusta laughed. “I will do no such thing. Unless...”

“
Unless what?” Thomas demanded, a pained sound to his tone.

“
Let's not argue. Have you succeeded in getting your heir in her belly that you might gain your inheritance? When the unpleasant task of breeding Mrs. Masterson is no longer necessary, you may pay me a visit. If, that is, you wish me to keep quiet,” Augusta added. “You wouldn't want rumors getting back to your little wife, now would you?”

“
Get out of our home!”

But Evangeline did not hear her husband's response. She fled, desperate to gain their bedchamber before losing the contents of her stomach. What a fool she was! Hadn't she known better than to succumb to fickle emotion? Cursing her folly, Evangeline wretched again and again, her body violently continuing on long after she'd nothing left to purge. At last, she crawled back into the bed and wept. What was she to do? Her heart belonged to her husband, a husband who had cast her aside, just as her mother had foretold. Her marriage was nothing more than a practical arrangement. She'd forgotten, and her folly pierced her heart.

Chapter Eleven

“
Your tea, Mrs. Masterson,” Mrs. O'Leary said softly.

“
Thank you,” Evangeline croaked, voice hoarse. Sitting up against the pillows, she sipped the warm, sweet-spiced brew. Rest had restored her, and once finished with her tea and biscuit, she readied to face the day.

Corinne had yet to arrive, Opal's letters ever informing that she could not do without the young woman. Mrs. O'Leary filled the void left in her maid's absence, and Evangeline had grown quite fond of the woman in her many weeks at Cherry Hill. She stared into the looking glass and breathed deeply. Facing Thomas loomed ahead ominously. Moreover, the thought of Augusta Preston in her home – under this very roof – filled her with disgust.

Self-respect would sustain, would carry her through. Despite her brave appearance, an ache throbbed within her heart. She'd played her part, been utterly seduced by the charms of her husband. Hearing Augusta's words of earlier broke open a floodgate of emotion, especially after worry for Thomas the night before had moved her to acknowledge her love for him. Oh, that she had never let down her guard! If she had only refused him. Better to have been ruined than a brokenhearted fool. But it was far too late for good sense to prevail. She'd make the best of her circumstance.

Entering the dining room, finding it empty, Evangeline sought her desk. It sat alongside Thomas', yet was separate – just as they were. She longed to pour her concerns out to Melody, and settling at her smaller desk, pulled out her monogrammed stationery to write her sister. One hour later, hopeful that her sister's reply would impart some wisdom on the subject of love, Evangeline sealed the envelope – invitation included – and handed it over to Mr. Goddard on her way out for her afternoon walk. Mercifully, the day was again mild.