Judith Stacy (16 page)

“P
ssst. Mrs. Sayer?”

Jana jumped as she stepped into the office of the women’s refuge and whirled to see Oliver Fisk cowering in the corner.

“Good gracious, Oliver, you startled me,” she said, heaving a sign of relief. “And what are you doing in here? Hiding?”

“Shhh.” Oliver rushed forward and closed the office door. “You—of all people—should understand.”

“Oh. Yes.” Jana put down her little satchel and unpinned her hat. “The newspaper.”

“This is a fiasco. We have to stop running those articles,” he pleaded.

“Stop running them?” Jana laid her hat on the corner cabinet. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he insisted.

Oliver fidgeted worse than usual, adjusting his spec
tacles, straightening his jacket, tugging down on his shirtsleeves. He looked wild-eyed and frantic, on the verge of an all-out fit.

“Why do you want to stop?” Jana asked.

“Because we have to. The whole city is in an uproar. Those modern, progressive types are lining up against the women from the church. The men are up in arms. I’ve received all sorts of complaints these last few days. Demands that I quit publishing the articles, demands that I don’t quit. I had to sneak out the back door of the newspaper building to get over here.”

“The articles and the Ask Mrs. Avery column are the talk of the town,” Jana agreed.

Before coming to the refuge today she’d had lunch with several friends at the tearoom. The women had talked of nothing but the controversial articles. Women at an adjoining table had broken into their conversation, voicing their own opinions. Jana had forced herself to join in, so as not to draw suspicion.

“Everyone is dying to know who this Mrs. Avery is,” Jana said. “There’s all sorts of speculation.”

“The church ladies demanded that I reveal her true identity.” Oliver’s eyes widened. “I think they intend to do me harm.”

“What about the women here at the refuge?” Jana asked. “Do they suspect anything?”

“No,” Oliver said. “But they cheered—actually cheered—when I stopped by here yesterday. Then they refused to even look at
Travels with a Donkey in the
Cevennes
—a fascinating book—and insisted they read the
Messenger
instead.”

“They cheered my article on proper table settings?” Jana asked.

“It was the Mrs. Avery questions regarding what to do when one suspected her husband of adultery, how to handle a nosy neighbor, dealing with meddlesome in-laws.”

Jana sank into the chair behind her desk.

“How are the advertisers handling this?” she asked.

“We’ve lost a few,” Oliver said, “but we’ve picked up a half-dozen new ones.”

“Circulation?”

“We topped the
Times
yesterday for the first time ever. But this—this is a complete disaster.” Oliver collapsed into the chair in front of the desk. “It’s awful…just awful. I’d—well, I’d wanted to ask Audrey if I could call on her, and now she won’t have a thing to do with me.”

“She won’t?” Jana asked.

“Well, she probably won’t,” Oliver admitted. “But after my newspaper has instigated this bedlam, why would she?”

“Don’t judge Audrey too soon,” Jana told her. “She just might find that sort of behavior very alluring.”

Oliver’s cheeks flushed, then he shook his head. “I’m no rebel. No social reformer. No crusader.”

“Perhaps you should be,” Jana suggested.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Do you…do you think I could?”

“Of course you could. The stir the newspaper has caused in only three days points up the need for these topics to be addressed. Change is inevitable.”

“Well, I suppose…”

Jana opened her satchel and handed him several pieces of paper. “Tomorrow’s articles, and the Ask Mrs. Avery column.”

“Don’t bother making up your own questions any longer.” Oliver rose from his chair and fetched his satchel from the corner. He flipped it open on the desk. Out poured dozens of envelopes. “Questions from your public, Mrs. Avery. They’ve flooded our mail chute.”

Jana picked up several of them. “We have to be very careful, Oliver. Keeping Mrs. Avery’s true identity a secret will perpetuate the mystique of the column, ensure that circulation continues to rise.”

“Not to mention that your husband will kill me if he finds out.” Oliver stuffed the papers Jana had given him into his satchel. “I’d better get back to the office.”

“Why not wait around?” Jana suggested. “Audrey’s supposed to be here in a bit.”

Oliver winced. “No…no, I can’t face her,” he said, and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jana opened several of the Mrs. Avery questions and read them over. Problems with husbands, mostly.

She had her own husband-problems to deal with. As Oliver had said, Brandon wouldn’t be happy when he learned that she was behind the newspaper articles and column. Even though that had been her plan all along,
she hadn’t anticipated dragging the entire city into a debate on the need for social reform.

Was this another bad decision on her part? Jana wondered. She’d made several already—all of which she’d come to regret. Leaving Brandon in the first place. Running off to Europe. Keeping the baby a secret from him. Not telling him immediately upon her return.

Those choices had all impacted Brandon’s life, as well as hers. Now here was another one. As owner of the newspaper, he’d bear the brunt of much of the public outcry over the
Messenger
’s content.

But Brandon had made his share of poor decisions, too. He’d ignored her as a bride, hadn’t come after her when she left. He hadn’t even written to her. And when she finally returned, he made no effort to change, at first. He had simply wanted to pick up where they’d left off—despite the fact that those very situations had caused her to leave in the first place.

And he had lied to her about his family, about his past. That hurt Jana as much as everything else. Aunt Rosa had unknowingly given him away. Her cryptic comments this morning were troubling, too. Jana wasn’t sure if she should confront Brandon, or wait until he chose to tell her. Surely there was a reason for his secrecy.

Did Leona Albright figure into the situation? The idea bothered Jana considerably.

She pushed herself to her feet and shoved the dozens of Mrs. Avery letters into her satchel. Her head had started to hurt and she needed some air. Reaching for
her hat, Jana decided she’d go to the Morgan Hotel and visit Aunt Maureen. And the baby, of course. Seeing those bright eyes and that happy smile always lifted her spirits.

Yes, she’d got to the hotel. Nothing bad ever happened there.

Brandon paced the parlor of Leona Albright’s Bunker Hill mansion, a home left to her by her second—or was it her third?—husband. Brandon had been here a few times before when Leona had given parties for whatever cause she championed at that particular moment. He didn’t remember the parlor looking like this, burnt oranges, creams and deep green colors. What was it with women and decorating all the time?

Brandon had tried to find Oliver Fisk, but he wasn’t at the newspaper office. Brandon’s instinct was to come here next.

“Why, Brandon darling, what a pleasant surprise,” Leona purred as she swept into the room.

Brandon didn’t doubt for a minute that Leona would agree to see him, even though calling unannounced was frowned upon. She wore a plum dress, the color complementing her fiery hair.

Leona stopped and tilted her head. “Is that a frown? A frown from the man responsible for a most scintillating scandal?”

He grumbled under his breath. “You’ve heard, huh?”

“Of course, Brandon. Why, this is even more salacious than when your wife left you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You should be rewarded, actually. Thanks to your newspaper, all the parties have finally gotten interesting.”

“I’m looking for Fisk,” Brandon said. “Do you know where he is?”

“Why would you think I’d know?” Leona asked, drifting across the room and settling onto the settee.

“A hunch,” Brandon told her.

“I’ve had the pleasure of Oliver’s company on a few occasions lately.” Leona gave him a little smile. “But not today. Not yet, anyway.”

“It’s
you,
” Brandon realized, the idea hitting him hard. “You’re Mrs. Avery. You and Fisk are in cahoots over this whole thing.”

She raised a brow. “I’m flattered. But why on earth would you think that?”

“Because Oliver Fisk hasn’t got guts enough to pull off something like this,” Brandon said.

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Leona said, favoring him with a secretive smile. “There’s more to Ollie than you realize.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Brandon demanded.

“Are you asking me to declare my intentions?”

“He strikes me as a little…innocent,” Brandon said. “And I heard he’s got his eye on a young woman.”

“A young, innocent woman?”

“I don’t know personally,” Brandon said, “but it seems so.”

“Then she’ll thank me for my effort, one of these days.” Leona smiled. “My interest in the dear boy is purely business. I find myself fascinated by the newspaper game.”

“Since when?”

“Since I met Oliver.”

“You’re just amusing yourself.”

“He’ll be amused too,” Leona predicted. “If I choose to invite him over for…tea…one afternoon.”

“He’ll need some amusement,” Brandon grumbled, “after I get my hands on him. The whole city is in turmoil because of what he did.”

“What did you expect?” Leona proposed. “You pushed him. You threatened to close his newspaper. Did you think Oliver would lie down and take it?”

“I explained to him what was at stake,” Brandon insisted. “I gave him ample warning.”

“People do drastic things when they’re pushed. You, of all people, should know that.”

Brandon glared at her, not answering. Not anxious to admit—if only to himself—that she might be right.

“My Jennings project is ruined,” he said, after a moment.

A little frown crossed Leona’s face. “With the newspaper flourishing, you can’t close it, can you? Can’t take over the building. Oh, well. You’re a smart man, Brandon. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Your confidence is overwhelming,” Brandon told her.

“And when you see Oliver, tell him to come by, would you?” She smiled. “I think he could use a serving of my afternoon…tea…right about now.”

“Leona, stay away from him.”

“You’re so cranky.” She tsked, then gave him a sultry smile. “Perhaps you should toddle on home and see what your own wife is serving this afternoon.”

“Goodbye, Leona.”

Brandon stomped out of the house, not bothering to listen for her reply.

Outside, he sent his carriage away without him, preferring to walk off his pent-up energy. If he saw Oliver Fisk right now he just might do him bodily harm. And even though Brandon had wanted to hit someone for a while now, Fisk wouldn’t likely stand up to the blow.

Leona’s words floated through Brandon’s mind as he walked. Go home to his wife. The notion was comforting, surprisingly so. Even though the house was still under construction and he faced a future with a lilac-colored study, the idea of being there warmed him.

Walking in. Seeing Jana. Smelling her sweet scent. Having her tell him everything she’d done today. All that awaited him.

In his mind, Brandon extended the daydream to include whisking her upstairs, the two of them making love all afternoon. He knew it wouldn’t happen, even though he’d attempted to woo her a dozen ways.

He could always beg. He hadn’t tried that yet.

Brandon pushed on, weaving through pedestrians, crossing streets, dodging the trolley. Somehow, he would have to figure a way to fix this mess Oliver Fisk had gotten him into. The church ladies breathing down his neck, his Jennings project in shambles, loss of considerable money, and his friend turned against him. He could always—

A familiar figure caught Brandon’s attention. He turned sharply, staring over the heads of the people crowded around him on the sidewalk.

Jana. Walking into the Morgan Hotel.

B
randon hurried through the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk and went inside the Morgan, all the while telling himself there was a perfectly good reason for Jana to be here. At a hotel. In the middle of the day.

Not long ago, Noah had mentioned that he’d seen her at this same hotel. Brandon had figured she was here for a luncheon. He’d even asked her about it.

Jana had answered his questions that day, but he’d wondered if she was holding something back.

And now she was here again.

Brandon paused in the doorway, watching as she crossed the lobby. She looked small amid the gigantic marble columns, the Oriental carpets and low-hanging chandeliers. Guests sat on the plush furnishings and milled around at the registration desk. Bellhops in blue uniforms, loaded down with baggage, hustled toward the wide staircase that led to the rooms upstairs.

Brandon’s heart rose to his throat as he watched Jana pause at the bottom step, lift the hem of her dark blue dress, and begin to climb.

Up the stairs. To the guest rooms.

For a moment, he stood there, paralyzed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t understand what he was seeing. Why would Jana be here except to…

Anger surged through Brandon. He crossed the lobby with powerful strides and stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

“Jana!”

Halfway up the stairs she stopped, turned and looked down at him. Brandon saw the shocked expression on her face. His anger doubled.

“What the hell are you doing here!” he demanded.

Jana stood on the step for another few seconds, and he wondered if she would come down to him.

Or continue upstairs.

Then slowly, deliberately, Jana walked down the steps.

She looked up at him. “Perhaps you could speak a little louder, Brandon, I don’t think
everyone
heard you.”

He didn’t give a damn who heard him, but he was certain heads had turned their way.

“Where are you going?” he asked, gesturing up the staircase. He lowered his voice but couldn’t take the edge off of it.

Jana gazed at him with that new wealth of patience she’d developed during their time apart. She didn’t tear up, didn’t break down.

“I’ll show you,” she said calmly.

But instead of heading up the staircase again, Jana crossed the lobby to the registration desk. Brandon followed.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sayer,” the young man behind the desk said, all smiles, anxious to please.

“Good afternoon,” she answered. “Would you please inform my husband here of the name of the party registered in your finest suite.”

The young man cast a troubled glance at Brandon.

“You are, of course, Mrs. Sayer,” he reported. “And Miss Maureen Armstrong.”

“Thank you,” Jana said, and moved away from the desk.

Brandon stared after her, his emotions churning, but for a different reason now. He caught up with her behind one of the marble columns near the entrance.

“Your aunt has been here all this time?” he asked.

Jana nodded. “Yes.”

“Waiting?” Brandon demanded, the sense of betrayal knifing through his heart.

“Yes.”

“You said you’d honestly try and work things out in our marriage, Jana. You gave me your word. You made a commitment to me.” He waved his hand, gesturing at the upper floors. “What the hell is this? Plan B?”

Again, Jana didn’t rise to his anger. “I didn’t set out to hurt you, Brandon.”

But it did hurt, knowing that her aunt was a short
carriage ride from home, ready to take her away from him. Again.

“I’ve kept things from you, Brandon,” Jana said. “But you’ve done the same. When—and if—you want to talk, I’ll be at home.”

She ducked around him and left the hotel.

Jana’s heart lurched as she heard a familiar voice drifting into the sitting room from the foyer. After their confrontation in the lobby of the Morgan, she wasn’t sure whether Brandon would come home at all this evening.

She rose from the settee and watched the doorway, waiting for him to walk through. He’d looked so hurt this afternoon when he’d discovered her at the hotel. She saw in his expression that he suspected her of frequenting the hotel for a love affair. But when she’d revealed to him that Aunt Maureen was the real reason for her visit, he wasn’t relieved at all. If anything, he’d been more upset.

She’d made yet another bad decision.

She’d hurt Brandon again.

She’d challenged him, also, to come home this evening and explain his own secretive past. Jana wondered if she’d pushed him too hard. Would this, too, prove to be another bad choice on her part?

She couldn’t tell from his expression as he stepped into the doorway of the sitting room. He looked tired, drained, a little pale. Was it from dealing with the news
paper problems? Or coming home feeling he had to confess something he never wanted her to know?

Brandon lingered near the door for a few minutes, then drifted into the room. He watched her, waiting, she supposed, for her to begin their conversation. It seemed only fair.

“Aunt Maureen accompanied me back from London,” Jana began. “I asked her to come here with me while I spoke with you about a divorce. I didn’t think you’d refuse me, after I’d been away for so long—”

“You thought I didn’t love you anymore?” he asked, frowning, looking hurt.

“I didn’t know what to think,” Jana said. “But it never occurred to me that you’d insist I stay with you for a month and try to rekindle our marriage. Since Aunt Maureen was already here, already settled at the Morgan, she agreed to stay until you and I had decided things one way or the other.”

Brandon nodded slowly, as if her explanation made sense and he understood, but was still hurt by it.

“Is there anything more you want to know?” Jana asked.

He met her gaze then. “Are you involved with a man there? Is your aunt covering for you?”

Jana shook her head. “No, Brandon. There’s never been any man in my life but you.”

He looked at her for another moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied that she’d told him the truth.

“At the hotel I asked you about your secretive past,”
Jana said. “Aunt Rosa mentioned some things that contradicted what you’d told me. She alluded to some problems when you were young.”

Brandon shrank back a little and glanced away.

“But you don’t have to tell me anything, Brandon, if you don’t want to. It’s your private business, and if it’s too painful to share, then that’s fine.”

He walked to the window and gazed out at the rear lawn. Shadows stretched across the grounds in the fading light.

“I owe you an explanation for why I never came for you in London,” he said.

Jana wasn’t sure how the two things connected, but she didn’t say anything. Brandon remained at the window, gazing out. She saw him in profile, his face drawn in tense lines.

“My mother was quite a hellion, according to my grandfather,” Brandon said. “Rebellious, headstrong. Determined to do just the opposite of anything he told her to do. At age fifteen, just to spite Grandfather, she eloped with a man who was quite beneath the family standards.”

“Your father?” Jana asked.

“Yes,” Brandon said, still looking out the window. “Grandfather was furious. He forbade her to enter his house, and cut her off without a cent.”

“That seems awfully vindictive.”

Brandon glanced back at her. “He was as headstrong as she.”

“What happened to them?”

“They ended up in Europe, somehow,” Brandon said, turning toward the window once again. “In short order, my father disappeared, I was born and my mother was left to fend for herself.”

“Your father isn’t really dead?” Jana asked.

Brandon lifted his shoulders. “I have no idea what happened to the man.”

“What about your mother? How did she get back home from Europe?”

“She didn’t. She refused to contact my grandfather and ask for forgiveness or help. Too much pride.” Brandon looked back at her once more. “Recognize the family trait?”

She did, but chose not to say so.

“It must have been difficult for your mother making a living on her own and caring for a child.”

Brandon drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “No. Not really.”

He’d said it easily enough, but the shift of his shoulders, the tightening of his jaw told Jana there was more.

“How did she manage?” she asked slowly, softly, fearing she was asking Brandon to reveal a very ugly truth about his own mother.

“She was young and pretty and vivacious,” he said. “And she still had the Delaney family name to trade on. She knew people all over Europe, wealthy people who didn’t know she’d been cut off, or caused a scandal. People who wished to garner favors from a member of the
Delaney family. People who welcomed her as one of their own.”

“They took the two of you in?”

“No.”

A few minutes passed, so many that Jana wondered if he intended to go on with the story. She let him take his time.

Brandon braced his hand against the windowsill. “She went off to parties and balls, country houses and yachts. And she…left me…with strangers.”

“Oh, Brandon…” Jana went to him, wanting nothing more than to throw her arms around him, comfort him. But Brandon pulled away, warding her off with his gaze, refusing to accept any kindness she offered.

“These people, were they good to you?”

“Most of them.”

Jana forced herself to remain a short distance away. “Was she gone for long?”

“Weeks…months…” Brandon rubbed his forehead. “She’d take me to people she barely knew, reputable people from our social circle mostly, anybody who would agree to keep me. She’d say to them ‘Just keep him until Sunday. I’ll be back for him after services on Sunday.’”

“But she didn’t come back?” Jana asked, her heart breaking as she spoke the words.

“Every Sunday I’d be as good as I possibly could in church. When we got back home I’d rush to the window and…wait.” Brandon uttered a gruff laugh and tapped his knuckle against the glass pane in front of him.
“Sometimes I still catch myself standing at windows, looking out, waiting…for something.”

“How did you end up with your grandfather in New York?” Jana asked. “Did he and your mother finally make amends?”

Brandon drew in a breath. “Actually, Leona Albright brought me home.”

Her eyes widened. “Leona?”

“She was honeymooning in Europe with one of her husbands—I believe the fellow’s name was Riley—and she happened to visit the home I was staying in. She was acquainted with the Delaney family in New York and knew the situation with my mother. When she realized who I was, and how I was being treated, she brought me home to my grandfather.”

“It must have been a bit frightening for you,” Jana said.

“I was ten years old, but I remember every moment of it,” Brandon said, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “Onboard the ship during our return voyage, Leona played checkers with me. She read to me. She bought me ice cream. We walked the decks and spit off the railing together.”

So that was the bond between the two of them. Jana understood it now. Leona had rescued him. Saved him. Cared for him. A debt so monstrous, Brandon could never repay it.

“Your grandfather must have been relieved to learn that you were all right,” Jana said, “to have you safely under his roof.”

“Some of the family deeply resented Leona for interfering. My appearance caused a bit of a scandal, as you can imagine, and stirred up all the old gossip about my mother’s elopement years before.”

“Did you like living with your grandfather?” she asked, easing a little closer to him.

“It was stable. After the way things turned out with my mother, Grandfather was less strict, less demanding with me, I’m told. He and I were never very close, but we tolerated each other.” Brandon turned to the window again. “And sometimes on Sundays, I’d stand and look out, wondering if I’d see—”

He stopped, not saying anything more.

“Your mother.” Jana finished the thought for him. “You’d look out the window, hoping to see her coming back for you.”

Brandon turned away, not answering.

“Did you ever learn what happened to her?” Jana asked after a moment.

“Some years later, Grandfather received word that she’d died in France,” Brandon said. He pushed on. “After I finished my education, Grandfather settled money on me and sent me here to California. It suited us both that I was out of the house. I don’t think he expected much from me, given who my father was, and that pushed me to prove him wrong.”

“Which you did,” Jana said and gave him a prideful smile.

They fell silent then. Brandon’s shoulders sagged a
little and he looked as if the things he’d told her had left him exhausted. And rightly so, Jana thought.

She understood now, for the first time, why he hadn’t come after her in London. And the supreme sacrifice to his pride at asking her to come back to him.

Gently, she touched his arm. “Brandon, I’m so sorry. If I’d known how your mother abandoned you, I would never have run out on you like I did.”

Another wave of emotion hit him and he waved his hand to silence her, but Jana couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wouldn’t have complained about being home before six, either. That’s the reason, isn’t it? Because you don’t want to be left standing, waiting. It’s the reason you couldn’t come after me in London, wasn’t it?”

He managed a little nod. “All those painful memories of being left behind. Maybe it was pride, too. But I just couldn’t bring myself to go after you, beg you to come home with me. I just…couldn’t.”

“I understand.” Even though he didn’t seem to want her to, Jana put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

He stood there for a while, letting her hold him, then stepped back. “I’m tired.”

She didn’t really want him to leave. She wished he’d sit with her on the settee, let everything he’d said sink in. Let her hold him and comfort him.

But Brandon wasn’t ready for that. She wondered if he ever would be.