An Unwilling Husband (34 page)

She was in search of some small something to bring back to Garret. An apology, perhaps. Or a belated wedding gift for her handsome, if sometimes maddening groom? Maybe simply a token of her love and devotion to him. Whichever the reason, it didn’t matter. She only knew this pocket watch was made for a great man. A man such as Garret Shaw.

Of high quality, the watch on display was polished gold and lay open, not to the clock face, but to an intricate engraving on the innards of the piece. A golden man on a horse raced desperately against the setting sun in the background. So balanced and detailed was the artwork, the small possession enraptured her. She stood mute on the walkway, missing every word Robert Faraday said.

“Does your silence mean you accept my invitation?” Robert asked.

“Mmm?” She straightened up to try and catch onto the conversation.

“My father’s party? Tomorrow night?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Your father is throwing a party and you are inviting me?”

“Say you’ll come. It promised to be dreadfully boring, but having you there would lighten things up a bit, I think.”

“That sounds...” she started, searching for an excuse not to go. “Dreadfully boring,” she finished, using his words, which elicited a laugh from her undeterred admirer. She grew irritated with the undesired attention.

“I won’t take no for an answer, I’m afraid. I shall simply have to follow you around until you concede.”

Maggie sighed, trying not to show her misery at the thought. “Let me think on it, as I will need to speak to my Aunt Margaret. She will have the final say in any acceptance of invitations while I’m staying in Boston.”

Nicely done. She hadn’t lied. She’d bring it up to Aunt Margaret as promised. All she had to do was act like she wanted to go, and Aunt Margaret would have her locked in her room for the duration of the gathering. The upswing of handing social decisions over to her personal saboteur.

Faraday finally took his leave, assuring her he’d send written word with the details of the party to the Hall estate promptly. Maggie smiled her relief when he walked away, and purchased the pocket watch immediately afterward. She headed home without delay. She’d had quite enough excitement for one day, and had no intention or desire to run into any of the other few people in town she knew. The walk home took an eternity, and she found herself desperately missing Buck. Again.

By the time she reached the Hall estate, she was drained, bedraggled, and thanks to the moisture in the air, her hair had adopted the look of a wild animal. What she did not want, to deal with more of Aunt Margaret’s treachery.

“Mrs. Maggie! It’s important I talk at you right away,” Berta screech-whispered as Maggie removed her fitted jacket.

Alas, one didn’t always get what one wanted.

That Berta had finally called her by her preferred name was good, but her friend’s tone had been worrisome. Berta ushered her into the hall, and then into a secret panel leading to a hidden hallway, usually only used by the servants so they could appear as if by magic when summoned. The lighting was dim, and the pathway between the walls narrow, but it was private enough.

“Mrs. Maggie,” Berta said breathlessly. “You must be more careful, girl. Mrs. Hall has spies everywhere. Everywhere, do you hear?”

“Whatever are you talking about? I have done nothing wrong,” she whispered, baffled.

“Someone saw you talking to a man in a hat shop, Mrs. Maggie. Rode straight here and told Mrs. Hall, who had me pen a letter for her straight away. She wanted me to write a letter and send it to Rockdale.”

“Oh dear,” she breathed. “It wasn’t as if I wanted to talk to the man! He recognized me from a party and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Oh, I know.” Berta smiled wickedly in the dim light. “Mrs. Hall’s eyesight is fading, so she didn’t notice what I was actually writing while she fabricated some story about you having found a new man of attractive means.”

Maggie gaped at Berta in shock. “What did you write in the letter?”

“Well, mostly I wrote down next week’s kitchen list, and after I ran out of food I started reciting old nursery rhymes me mum used to sing to me. Your man will be right confused when he receives that letter.”

“You sent it?” She stifled a giggle.

“Had to. Mrs. Hall insisted we send it out before you returned home. No harm done, but I thought you should know what the old bat is up to.”

“Well, thank you, Berta. I know you took a great risk.”

Berta smiled wide. “Don’t mention it. No really, don’t mention it,” she finished with a wink.

“Mention what?” she asked innocently.

“Good girl. Mrs. Hall is ready for dinner and has asked you join her when you are returned home.”

She repressed a groan. “Fabulous.”

Leaving Berta to the secret passageway, she went to her room to freshen up before meeting Aunt Margaret for dinner. Goodness forbid, her moist and muddled appearance should be the thing that sent her aunt into an even earlier grave.

* * * *

Maggie studied her small bed. It was such a simple thing. It wasn’t extravagant as the other beds in the sprawling house. Though her room was large, it had the barest of decor and comfort offered. Growing up, she’d always wondered why even the lowest paid member of the house was afforded more luxury than her, but these days, she suspected it a ploy by Aunt Margaret to keep her feeling her place in the house. Uncle William had fought for more extravagant trinkets and decorations, furniture even, for her room. But from the loud and bitter battles between him and her aunt, and the continued cold and impoverished feel the room took, it was clear who won most often. A part of her wished Garret had been able to accompany her so she could show him where she grew up, the good and the bad, and he would have a chance to see where she came from.

She knew how much he was needed at the ranch. It was dependent on him and he couldn’t be spared for even a day, but she missed him terribly. As frustrating and boorish as he had been most of their time together, she couldn’t get the sweet, almost tender moments out of her head. Maggie lived for those moments.

The bed reminded her of the last night she’d spent with him. Before everything had gone horribly wrong and she’d found the crushing letter. That night, for the first time it had seemed as if everything had come together perfectly to give her a life she could be devastatingly happy in. She didn’t know why the bed reminded her of Garret. His bed and hers neither looked nor felt anything alike. This small, lumpy pallet lacked the warmth she’d found in Garret’s.

Her lip trembled, and she tore her gaze away. The gravity of her situation was overwhelming. She couldn’t imagine spending another day away from the beloved home she’d found in Rockdale, much less an unnamed length of time with the one person bound and determined to bring her to her knees. Would she survive her aunt’s cruelty? Would she eventually make her way back to Garret broken and unrecognizable? Would she be so shaken that she would become only a shade of the woman she knew she wanted to be? A person only had the capacity to bear so much. The fear of losing herself was a constant struggle in such a dreary place.

She changed quickly and re-pinned her hair. Not perfectly coiffed, but it would do if Aunt Maggie’s eyesight was as bad as Berta hinted. Finished readying herself, she hurried down the halls to Aunt Margaret’s room, sure she would get a verbal lashing for tardiness.

Surprisingly, Aunt Margaret was in a jovial mood. Surely due to her recent secretive, or so she thought, letter of betrayal. That Aunt Margaret thought she’d gotten away with ruining any chance of her happiness in Rockdale burned, but it would do no good to get Berta in trouble. Surely Aunt Margaret would figure out where the information came from and punish the maid accordingly.

So Maggie suffered through dinner and absorbed all her aunt’s not-so-veiled insults. The ailing woman was weak and had trouble eating solid foods so a young maid named Beatrice spoon-fed her broth. Maggie ate dinner in the chair furthest away from Aunt Margaret until she bid her come closer and take over feeding her. Beatrice gave Maggie a sympathetic look when she left, taking her mostly untouched plate of food with her.

Aunt Margaret complained, ever the impatient patient, about everything. The broth was too hot, and then too cold. Maggie spilled too much of it, prolonging her dinner. Maggie’s hand shook like a beggar’s. Upon close inspection, she looked disheveled and her hair wasn’t quite tidy enough. She looked too thin, and breathed too loudly. Aunt Margaret was reaching.

To shut her dear old aunt up, Maggie told stories of her adventures in Rockdale. What began as a boring story of almost every memorable moment in her travels to Rockdale, turned into something more, and Aunt Margaret piped down and gave her space to talk. Maggie finished feeding her, and continued talking, finding the story somehow comforting. As if she were there again. She left out the finer details about Garret, and how their marriage came to be. Aunt Margaret tarnishing such an intimate memory would be unbearable and she was afraid the woman would see how much she really cared for him, hurt her with the knowledge. Instead she told her aunt of Lenny and Cookie, and of Buck.

Aunt Margaret’s eyes drooped, and she struggled to keep them open. At the description of Lenny, she perked up. “You met an Indian?”

Of course that would interest her. In the cities, Indians were more romanticized than in the country, where battles for land and resources still occasionally took place as the Comanche fought the government’s broken promises and the unfair pressures of the reservations. To the sheltered they were thought of as exotic, the sight of natives being much rarer in Boston’s shopping districts and social circles.

“Yes. She has become a dear friend. I’ll take my leave now, Aunt. You must rest.”

“You’ll leave when I tell you to leave, girl,” Aunt Margaret spat as she struggled to sit up straighter.

Having endured quite enough of Aunt Margaret’s disgraceful manner, she wheeled on her. “You’ll rest, and if you are as kind as your bitter heart will allow toward me, I’ll tell you more over supper tomorrow.”

Aunt Margaret gasped. “How dare you talk to me in such a way, you ungrateful little whelp. Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew you had such a devilish tongue on you. I always told William you were not to be trusted. Never trust that redheaded little demon, I said, but he wouldn’t listen—”

“Enough!” Maggie yelled. “I’ll not be treated thus anymore, or I will not be taking care of you like you have required. I’ll leave you here to die alone and uncared for, consequences with the estate be damned. Have I made myself clear?”

The muscles in her aunt’s jaw tightened and worked, and she glared, eyes bloodshot and angry.

A soft knock came on the door and a servant entered carrying a silver tray with a small envelope on it. She brought it to Aunt Margaret and opened the letter. The girl read its contents into the ailing woman’s ear.

Aunt Margaret smiled; such a predatory thing. “Why dear,” she said with an air of innocence, “it appears you have been invited to a party. By Mr. Faraday, hmm? I feel as if you should go. Respond with her acceptance right away,” she barked at the servant.

Maggie whirled and left the room before she lost her temper still further. As she tramped out the doorway, she was accompanied by Aunt Margaret’s weakened but chilling, cruel chuckle. Even the long fit of coughing which followed the soft laughter didn’t diminish the callous delight that had been in the woman’s voice. For logically, how many battles did one have to lose before losing the war altogether?

Chapter 24

The party was indeed as boring as promised. The guest list comprised a collection of singles and newlyweds of similar age seeking the company of others who shared their interests. Maggie was so dislike them she felt awkward and flustered. Likely, a rancher’s wife who knew how to skin a rabbit, didn’t care for politics and once killed a man wouldn’t fit the bill.

She wore her most unexciting dress in a dull colored material that, though it fit well enough, left much to the imagination, and not in an interesting way. Robert Faraday didn’t care in the least. He toted her around all night and introduced her to everyone at the gathering as if she were his betrothed. It bothered her, but it was infinitely rude to ignore the host, much less leave the party unannounced. He acted so jubilated at her acceptance to his invitation. Most likely her meddlesome aunt had sent correspondence encouraging his affections.

Robert finally left her in the company of Lady Redding and Elizabeth Devocourt to fulfill his hosting duties. Both were wealthy and young. Lady Redding was recently married and Miss Devocourt engaged to be wed in the fall.