Love in the Balance (25 page)

“Bailey,” Carrie purred, “thank you for offering to be my escort. It would be bad form to show up at a wedding unaccompanied.”

As Molly had.

“Prue asked me to escort you. Nothing more.” Bailey must have found something fascinating through the doors into the salon, because he couldn’t bring himself to look at anything closer.

“But I hope Molly doesn’t mind seeing her old beau enjoying the company of another lady. If so, this wedding would be doubly painful.” Carrie turned to address Molly. “And what about your husband? Did this ceremony bring back memories of your own wedding, or have we stopped pretending that there was a real ceremony?”

Molly’s lips parted in surprise at the hurtful comment. “I
am
married.”

“That’s what you claim—that Mr. Fancypants was so besotted that he swept you out of town. But where is he now? Has the loving groom even inquired after his bride?”

What could she say? Carrie spoke the truth, and Molly was as scandalized as anyone at Edward’s behavior.

“Carrie, I think Prue wants to introduce you to someone.” Bailey gestured to the bride, waving frantically at her.

Carrie’s eyes glinted like hard emeralds. She knew when she was being routed. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, my friend requires her bridesmaid’s assistance.”

———

He should leave. Bailey couldn’t get messed up with her, but it was the same old story. Even if he didn’t care a jot for her, his feet rested under her father’s table every evening. He couldn’t walk away from Mr. Lovelace’s kin.

Before he could make up his mind, she spoke. “You were wise to tell me to move to Lockhart. If I were home, my parents would’ve realized by now that Edward and I aren’t corresponding. Carrie’s right. It’s been a month now and I’ve had no letter, not a single telegraph or note since he left. He’s not coming back, Bailey.” She bit her lip with perfect teeth.

Bailey felt the dread of a hundred spiders crawl up his back until he reminded himself that whether present or absent, she had a husband. His location didn’t change the truth of his existence.

“You wanted freedom. You wanted to prove to your father that you could make it on your own. You can’t unburn the bridge now.”

“Freedom meant the chance to earn Father’s respect. I wanted him to be proud of me. Discarded woman, abandoned wife—what I’ve become will crush him. Yet if Edward returns, how can I honor and respect a husband who left me?”

Bailey had tarried too long already. The conversation had wandered into dangerous territory. Maybe someday he’d have the experience and wisdom to offer counsel, but not anytime soon.

“I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.” Molly set her glass down, her hand lingering on the stem. “It was terribly gauche of me. I didn’t mean—I should go.” And quietly she vanished from the assembly of Lockhart society leaders so he could breathe freely again.

To Do List:

• Find a boardinghouse far from Mrs. Truman’s and Carrie.
  
• Send an inquiry to Edward’s family in New York.
  
• Plead Anne’s case to Judge Rice again.
  

Molly brushed off her best gown and hung it in the wardrobe with a last fond caress. The gown never made it to a New York ball as she’d hoped. She slipped her arms into her white housedress, confident she wouldn’t be leaving for the rest of the day. Wouldn’t leave her room if possible. As soon as supper was on the table, she’d make herself a plate and disappear. She’d rather grow a beard like President Hayes than see Carrie tonight.

Carrie had always been critical, but never had Molly suspected the animosity that must fill her veins. Had all Carrie’s ribbing been purposely aimed to hurt her? Now that she’d seen the mask slip, Molly couldn’t laugh off her jibes with the same carelessness. She brushed her hair with swift strokes. People had finally stopped asking about her absent husband, and Carrie had to stir the pot. What indignity would she be subjected to next?

If she knew for certain that Edward wasn’t coming back, she’d buy herself a house in Lockhart, away from Carrie. Even the little place she and Bailey had wandered into would do. Molly slid her shoes into the row at the bottom of the wardrobe. Now that Prue had retired and Molly worked all the cases, she made enough to set up housekeeping on her own.

A knock at the door and Mrs. Truman could be heard making her way through the house.

“Molly, you have guests.”

No one at the reception had wanted to speak to her. Who would call now?

She checked the buttons on her housedress and descended the stairs.

21

“Reverend Stoker, Judge Rice, to what do I owe this honor?” The words were calm but her emotions were in turmoil. Legal and spiritual? Was she in need of both types of counsel?

The men doffed their hats. Judge Rice smiled kindly while the reverend passed his Bible from left hand to right.

“May we come in?”

“Yes. Please follow me to the parlor.” Molly led the way, forcing down the lump in her throat. “I suppose the reception is over?”

“Most likely,” Judge Rice said. “We were unable to stay for the duration.”

“You came to see me instead?” She could feel the blood leaving her face as she lowered herself onto a rocking chair, allowing them to share the settee.

“We have news that couldn’t wait.” The judge paused for Stoker to grunt his consent before continuing. “Despite your reservations, I made some inquiries into Edward Pierrepont, and what I found was unexpected.”

Molly didn’t move. The elderly judge’s blue eyes held hers. She knew he was waiting for some response before he continued, but she was paralyzed.

“Go on,” she finally managed.

“I queried every courthouse between here and San Antonio, and there were no marriage licenses filed for a Pierrepont. Are you certain—?”

“Yes!” Molly sprang to her feet, eager to squelch the doubt his question introduced. “I have a license.” Without asking for leave she exited the room, skimmed up the stairs to scatter jewelry across her bureau as she pulled the folded license from the bottom drawer.

Smoothing it, she read the two signatures. Edward’s angular thick strokes crowded into each other, her own small loops drawn unevenly from her sickbed. Proof.

From the time her foot left the bottom step until she sailed into the room, she held it outstretched and opened, afraid the all-important autographs might disappear if let out of her sight. “Here it is.”

Judge Rice reached it first. His eyes flickered up immediately. “This says Edward Postmont. Do you know for certain he’s a Pierrepont?”

“Of course. The pastor may have printed his name wrong, and his signature is illegible, but he’s a Pierrepont, all right.” Molly dropped into the rocker and clasped the arms of the chair to steady her trembling hands. “He had the private car on the train, and Freida, the maid, knew him. So did the man in Cheyenne who came to take the car away. He’s legitimate, but that explains why you couldn’t find a license. An honest mistake.”

“Unfortunately that leaves us a situation that isn’t honest at all.” Judge Rice tapped the license with his long finger. “If he is Edward Pierrepont, then you aren’t his wife. Mr. Pierrepont is already married. His wife is a member of the European nobility—Contessa Anatasia of Moscow.”

“He was married?”

“
Is
married.”

Molly’s insides felt like they were being tumbled in a butter churn. “He’s married to me, so that’s impossible.”

Reverend Stoker pulled the carnation boutonniere from his lapel. “Either he’s not Edward Pierrepont and you’ve married a confidence man, or he is a Pierrepont and there is no valid marriage.”

“But I . . . we . . .” Her gaze fell to the baseboards. “I have a license. I was his wife.”

She turned toward the window in an attempt to manage the revulsion rolling across her in waves. Another woman’s husband? She’d been with another woman’s husband? But even as her emotions rioted, her analytical mind found evidence to verify their words. The conductor had forced Edward to marry her in Marion. He’d said that his family would strongly disapprove. He promised to show her the world but refused to take her to his home. She dug her fingernails into her palms. Why didn’t he tell her? Why didn’t he bring her back instead of going through with a ruse?

“Molly, dear.” Judge Rice placed a cool hand over hers. “This is quite a shock, and we want you to take your time. You mustn’t feel rushed to make a decision.”

“I don’t have a say, do I? I can’t annul a previous marriage.”

“No, but you must decide if you want to press charges,” he said. “He’s going to be brought to Caldwell County regardless of your decision, but the other charges wouldn’t involve you.”

“How many women did he marry?”

Reverend Stoker laid down his Bible. “No others that we know of, but some of our merchants have unpaid accounts that he defaulted on.”

The rest of the conversation was beyond Molly’s comprehension. All her hopes of a tidy resolution were gone. She’d been duped, ruined . . . and what had begun as a glorious solution to her problems had turned into a disaster from which there was no recovery.

Bailey passed through the receiving line, kissed the bride, and congratulated Mr. Fenton but stepped out before reaching the hateful bridesmaid. One more snide comment about Molly and he might lock Carrie in an outhouse with a wasp’s nest.

He lifted a whole piece of cake off a glass plate and headed for the door. Why was it that his most unselfish impulse would bring the most condemnation? Yes, he was hotter than a two-dollar pistol that Molly had left with Pierrepont, but he couldn’t stand to see her suffer. And as he tried to decide whether to come to her aid or stay away, Bailey couldn’t help but think of those who were watching.

Despite the busybodies, he should check on her before he saddled up and headed home. It was the right thing to do. Didn’t Jesus talk to the woman at the well? Jesus could’ve hurt His reputation, but He was willing to risk it to minister to a fallen woman. Bailey rubbed his neck as he neared Mrs. Truman’s boardinghouse, still unsure of his intentions. Were they pure? Was he caring for a friend or giving in to temptation? Trying to know his heart was like balancing on a weathervane.

The one consolation Bailey clung to was that Molly was married. Their relationship could never be resumed, and even he wasn’t so foolish and ungodly to wish that it could. He mourned what might have been, but the future held no possibilities for them. He was safe on this side of the barrier, forgiving her from afar.

The front door was ajar and swung open further as he rapped against it. He immediately recognized Stoker’s voice. Thank the Lord. Stoker would keep him accountable. Bailey followed his voice to the parlor.

“I think we need to consider the social implications in addition to the legal. Molly has much to lose if this case goes to trial.”

“But if she doesn’t prosecute, she’ll be implicated in the scandal. No one will believe there was a ceremony or that she was wronged,” Judge Rice said.

“What’s this about?” Bailey asked as he stepped into the room.

Molly looked as green as a grasshopper.

Reverend Stoker placed a hand on her shoulder. “Bailey, perhaps you should go. This isn’t the time.”

“It’s Edward,” Molly said. “He’s . . . he’s . . . Oh, I can’t say it.”

Bailey’s heart lurched. “He’s coming back?”

Molly shook her head and raised stricken eyes. “He’s . . .” She covered her mouth with her fist.

“Married,” Stoker and Rice said in unison.

Bailey blinked as he tried to comprehend what they were telling him. Married? Edward? The Edward who came into town and left with his girl?

He swallowed hard. “But not to Molly?”

They both nodded.

“I was explaining to Molly that his marriage came about as his father and the count, his wife’s father, negotiated the Alaska Purchase,” Judge Rice said. “According to my sources, he left shortly after the wedding and hasn’t returned to New York since.”

“Already married?” The room turned red as understanding dawned. “String him up.”