Page 24 of A Season Beyond A Kiss (Birmingham #2)

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W ELL BEFORE ANY OF THE OTHER EMPLOYEES ARRIVED , Elizabeth Dalton entered and approached Raelynn with a dazzling smile, readily conveying her eagerness to have the younger woman as a boarder in her home. “Your room is all ready for you, Mrs. Birmingham. Your coachman insisted upon taking your baggage upstairs, so if you’d like to send your maid over now, my Flora can show her to your bedrooms. Tizzy can start unpacking for you, and by the time we leave here this afternoon, everything should be done, and all we’ll have to do is relax and enjoy supper. Flora normally has a meal ready and the table set by the time I get home, but I’m afraid for breakfast and weekends, you’ll have to struggle through my cooking. I do what shopping needs to be done on Saturdays. Although I know there’ll be things you’ll be wanting to do on your own, Jake and I would love to have you accompany us whenever you’d feel up to it, Mrs. Birmingham. What I’d really enjoy is making you better

acquainted with the city. I’m sure you’ll come to love it as much as I do.”

“Please, Elizabeth,” Raelynn begged, bestowing a gracious smile upon the woman, “I’d be ever so much more comfortable if you wouldn’t be so formal. Besides, if you continue calling me Mrs. Birmingham, it will arouse the customers’ curiosity. They’ll soon be gawking at me as if I’m an oddity in the shop.”

Elizabeth laughed as she reached out and clasped the other’s hand. “All right, Raelynn, you win. Of course, I should warn you that our casual address will likely cause Mr. Ives’s brows to quirk at a higher level, but then, that’s rather nice to see. Our employer looks diabolically handsome whenever he’s crossed.”

Both women broke into sudden giggles, drawing the couturier’s curious attention even from where he was standing down the length of the hall. As the pair eyed him, his eyebrow shot up to a lofty height, evoking more laughter. Growing increasingly suspicious, he paced forward almost warily, sending the pair fleeing in opposite directions, Raelynn to her desk and Elizabeth to the first cubicle where she promptly began checking the prior days’ progress of the seamstress who worked there. Farrell followed his winsome assistant as far as the open door and, tilting his head at a curious angle, peered intently at her ignoring back until Elizabeth finally deigned to glance back at him.

“Did you want something, Mr. Ives?”

Farrell was most appreciative of the enchanting vision she presented wearing one of his own creations, a fetching pink gown with a pleated collar that flared outward charmingly from beneath her finely boned jaw. The delicate hue favored her fair skin and rosy cheeks and, in like degrees, set off her lustrous dark hair, which today had been intricately woven into a heavy chignon at her nape. Confronted by the sudden realization of how her beauty affected him, Farrell had to jar his memory to even recall what had caused him to follow her. “Yes, well ... ah ... I was just wondering what you and Mrs. Birmingham found so amusing.”

“Oh, nothing really.” She wagged her head whimsically. “At least nothing you’d likely find entertaining. Just private observations, the sort women are wont to share in secret.”

“Secret?”

When his eyebrow jutted sharply upward again, Elizabeth found her composure seriously threatened. Little spurts of laughter seemed destined to escape, finally driving her to mumble a hurried excuse and brush past him in her haste to flee the room. As she disappeared through the back door leading out to the garden and the outdoor convenience concealed from view by a collection of topiary, Farrell gave up his quest to have his probing inquiries assuaged, at least by that winsome lady.

Turning about on polished black heels, he fixed his cerulean blue gaze purposefully upon his newest employee and raised a querying brow when she suddenly busied herself shuffling through her drawings. One glance in his direction sent her giggling toward the same door through which Elizabeth had recently escaped.

Farrell set his jaw thoughtfully askew. Something was definitely going on between those two. He could feature a pair of virgins dissolving into instant sniggers at sight of a man, but these ladies were hardly that. So what in the devil had set off their twittering?

Inquisitively Farrell went to scan his long frame in the nearest floor-length silvered glass. He couldn’t see that his cravat was askew or, more disastrously, that his trousers were too snug. In spite of the present fashion rage of slender trousers and closely fitting breeches, he had always been averse to defining his private parts by overly tight garb. Indeed, advertising one’s manly possessions had always seemed the depth of crassness to him. He had always considered subtlety in good taste.

Cocking an eyebrow, he searched for some other flaw as he gave his image another critical inspection, but he could draw no firm conclusion from his appearance. Perhaps their amusement had nothing to do with him at all. Mayhap they had just been exchanging humorous comments about men in general, and without cause he had let their amusement unsettle him. What male wouldn’t feel pecked apart when two hens started clucking together?

Musefully he lifted his bearded chin, wondering how best to cope with two ladies who seemed in complete accord about heaven only knew what! Ignoring them might be the answer, but then, he could hardly do that when he fully expected to garner valuable assistance from each. He might try chiding them for their undignified conduct, but that could backfire in his face. With their fine, beautiful noses lifted haughtily in the air, they’d resort to snubbing him, and then he’d be in more of a stew than he was now. Should he praise them as he did all those addlepated young fillies who thought they were the most fetching little things that this century had ever seen? He didn’t know about Raelynn, but Elizabeth would definitely think he had taken leave of his senses, when, in her case, it would probably be the blooming truth. Best to go on as if nothing had happened, he decided. At least, then, he’d be able to keep his skin intact.

“H AS M R . I VES EXPLAINED WHY I’ M HERE ?” Raelynn asked Elizabeth hesitantly after they had returned from outdoors.

“He has informed me of your situation, but he hasn’t seen fit to talk to the other women about it. If that contents you, then I see no reason why they should know. You can be assured of Mr. Ives’s discretion and, of course, my own.”

“You’re very kind, Elizabeth.”

Gently smiling, the woman shook her head. “No, I’m merely a woman who has experienced some adversities of her own. Some night perhaps I’ll tell you about them, but for the time being, let’s have some tea. Then I’ll introduce you to the other employees. I know they’ll be curious, having seen you in here with Mr. Birmingham.”

The five remaining seamstresses were well versed in discretion, having worked for Farrell Ives for a couple of years or more. Outwardly they betrayed only the slightest evidence of surprise at finding Jeffrey Birmingham’s wife among the employees. In explaining the reasons for Raelynn’s presence, Elizabeth chose to lighten the mood by relating an amusing exchange which had actually taken place.

“Once Mr. Ives learned of Mrs. Birmingham’s enormous talent at designing lady’s fashions, he asked her husband if he could steal her away from him.” She laughed with the other women at the absurdity of such a notion and went on with her explanations. “In actuality, our business is flourishing, and Mr. Ives is hard-pressed to appease all of our clients. As you’re well aware, some of them expect his personal attention, which leaves him less time to create. Therefore, as the wife of his best friend, Mrs. Birmingham has been gracious enough to consent to help him, at least for a time. We’re fortunate to have such a talented employee with us for a time, do you not think?”

A combination of laughter and applause assured Raelynn that at least outwardly most of the seamstresses accepted the reasons that had supposedly brought her to the shop. Only one spoke obliquely of the real issue, a tall, older woman, with kindly gray eyes, who hesitated to speak, but finally seemed driven. “Such a terrible shame what happened ta poor Nell. I knew her widowed mother when Nell weren’t no bigger than a wee mite. After her ma died, Nell went ta live with an aunt, but the woman was so busy raising her own eight, she didn’t have much time ta spare for poor Nell. Whatever Nell’s failings, no one can say she weren’t a good mother ta her babe. He’s such a winning li’l soul, he is, an’ handsome as can be. I hope it won’t be long afore a nice family takes him in. ‘Twould be a bloomin’ shame for the li’l tadpole ta grow up without lovin’ parents.”

Scarcely had the woman spoken than she looked horrified at her own temerity and clasped a trembling hand over her gaping mouth. Having overheard her comments, the other seamstresses, aware of the gossip that had claimed Jeffrey Birmingham as the sire, seemed clearly anxious.

Raelynn managed a smile and was further motivated to set them at ease by conveying a willingness to discuss the matter of the boy’s welfare. “Presently Daniel is being tended by Mrs. Fergus, the wife of my husband’s overseer. She seems to have a great fondness for babies, and it’s obvious that he’s thriving from her attention. Until his father can be located or a good family decides to take him in, the babe will remain with her.” Raelynn’s gaze never wavered from her audience of seamstresses as she deliberately added, “She’ll give him the best of care which any orphan, who is found at Oakley and is thrust into similar circumstances, will receive. My husband has been very sympathetic to the child’s needs in spite of the talk we both have heard, but he refuses to cast an orphan out because of such malicious rumors. He’s too much of a gentleman for that.”

Feeling relieved that she had gotten through such declarations with some measure of dignity, Raelynn found her tensions easing. Though the five women seemed to accept her claims, one could only guess what they were really thinking. In spite of her own qualms she had managed to voice her confidence in her husband’s integrity, calmly refuting as merely rubbish such claims that he had impregnated Nell and had left the girl to whelp his bastard child in shame. She could only hope and pray that that was the truth.

Discretion notwithstanding, Raelynn had no doubt that her statement would be spread abroad throughout the whole of Charleston ere the sun lowered its face behind the horizon and that other conjectures would likely rise up just as quickly and be hopelessly mired in muddled confusion as the city’s populace tried to determine why (if indeed she believed her husband innocent of siring Nell’s babe and of other things which they dared not openly speak) she had left Oakley to work at an establishment belonging to a bachelor who was only one of a handful who rivaled the striking good looks of her husband.

T HE FIRST CUSTOMERS ARRIVED, AND THAT HERALDED the beginning of a steady stream of ladies which did not ease throughout the remainder of the morning. During this heavy deluge of customers, Farrell hired a new seamstress, a janitor and a doorman. The latter two were burly, young fellows who seemed eager for the work. The more handsome of the two, who spoke with an Irish brogue and a twinkle in his eye, also seemed gifted with words and ever ready with a charming greeting. Farrell chose him to fill the doorman’s position, for he had no doubt the ladies would come to adore the man. A nice cloth of a deep green hue to match the distinctive green door of Ives’s Couture was found, and immediately a seamstress was given the task of making the fabric into a dapper uniform for him. The new doorman was then sent to Farrell’s barber and favorite hatter, the latter place to be fitted for a top hat.

Much plainer apparel in matching green was bestowed upon the janitor, the more reticent of the two, but it soon became evident that this one enjoyed cleaning and working and that he was a perfectionist in his own right. He was promptly given several tasks, which included washing the square-paned windows stretching across the front and back of the building, polishing the large brass lanterns hanging on each side of the front door, and renewing the golden luster on all the brass fixtures adorning the front and interior of the shop, including the sign firmly affixed to the brick structure beside the main portal, which identified the shop and owner as IVES’S COUTURE, Proprietor, Farrell Ives . Farrell was no less than impressed by the man’s capabilities and decided forthwith that if both fellows proved equally adept at their chosen tasks that it would behoove him to keep them on as permanent employees.

Into the midst of all this chaos of satisfying customers and engaging new employees came Mrs. Brewster, who bustled in virtually unnoticed until she confronted the couturier. Farrell had just finished showing a small collection of new designs to Isabeau Wesley, a recently widowed, comely young woman who had given every indication that she’d be dismissing her mourning weeds for more fashionable attire as soon as Ives’s Couture could outfit her with a new winter wardrobe.

“Why, Mr. Ives,” the plump, rosy-cheeked milliner coyly exclaimed in a sweetly chiding tone, “I didn’t expect to find you outfitting Mrs. Wesley with new garments so soon after her husband’s demise, but then, considering the advancing age of her dearly departed and the fortune she has recently inherited, I guess you and your designs have proven too much of a temptation for the young widow.”

Farrell’s smile was frail, at best. Barely had the comely widow left than he had found himself encountering another, but this one was neither youthful nor handsome. In fact, she was a definite pain in the derriere. “Good morning, Mrs. Brewster ...”

“Thelma, please!” she interrupted, twittering with ingratiating laughter. Her eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously as she swept her gaze away. As many times as she had insisted upon a less formal address, she had heard no similar request from him, but, of course, the man was ever-so-busy he probably hadn’t yet realized his oversight, and she dared not hint that he should lest he think her forward.

Thelma Brewster was in the process of returning her gushing attention to the handsome man when her gaze swept past a familiar figure sitting at a desk at the far end of the hall. Immediately her eyes returned, prompting her jaw to drop precipitously as she gaped in shock. News of Nell’s untimely death had reached the city and, hard upon it, had flown rumors of Jeffrey Birmingham’s possible involvement in siring the girl’s son and stilling her tongue by taking her life. Since then, the city had been hanging on tenterhooks awaiting further word. Speculations ranging all the way from tales of Jeffrey’s arrest and subsequent confession to morbid stories of Raelynn’s own fate at Oakley had careened haphazardly throughout the city streets. To see the lady sitting calmly absorbed at some task did much to relieve Mrs. Brewster’s anxiety, but such a sight gave birth to a whole host of new questions.

Mrs. Brewster’s generous bosom expanded as she marched in a straight line toward the end of the hall, taking upon herself the task of assuring the young beauty that all would be well, that the world she had entered wasn’t really as crazy as it truly seemed at times, and that the true culprits (she dared not lay any names to them) would be brought swiftly to their due reckoning. Mrs. Brewster was ever-ready to help anyone in need, and this poor, poor child was obviously in desperate want.

“Merciful heavens, child, what are you doing here so early in the morning?” the milliner blurted and, when Raelynn looked up from her work, hastened on with a volley of conjectures, giving no pause for the girl to reply. “My dear, are you well? Do you think you should be here? If you don’t mind my saying so, you do look a touch pale. Of course, I can certainly understand that you have your reasons, what with all the recent goings-on at Oakley and everyone around these parts thinking that Mr. Jeffrey is as guil ...”

Perceiving what the blunt woman’s conjectures would be, Farrell leapt forward as if jolted by a bolt of lightning. “Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Brewster. You shouldn’t believe all the rubbish you hear. Mrs. Birmingham has graciously consented to fashion some new gowns for me and, at this very moment, is hard at work at the task. If she looks a bit pale, perhaps it’s because she’s ...” he glanced aside at Raelynn, who seemed both distressed and astounded by what had been on the tip of the milliner’s tongue. He truly hoped she’d forgive him for revealing her secrets, but the milliner’s thoughts had to be diverted from an outright accusation and censure of his best friend, “not feeling entirely herself these days, in view of her condition and all....”

Thelma Brewster clasped a hand to her stout bosom and stared up at him with mouth agape. “You don’t mean to say ...”

In the face of her awestruck amazement, Farrell was immensely glad he could nod and answer in the affirmative. Yet when he thought of how fast word of Raelynn’s pregnancy would spread from this one source, he almost cringed. “I mean, Mrs. Brewster, that Mr. and Mrs. Birmingham are going to be parents.”

Now suddenly aflutter, the milliner lifted a plump hand and fanned her face as if she were about to swoon. “Oh, my, this is all too much for me. Mr. Jeffrey’s wife working here at your shop while she’s ... Oh, this is highly irregular. What will people say?” The woman looked at him pleadingly. “Dear Mr. Ives, do tell me I’m dreaming. Why, I can’t believe Mr. Jeffrey would actually allow this ...”

“Oh, but he has, most graciously, in fact. Mrs. Birmingham is a very talented couturiere in her own right, and being a devoted friend of mine, her husband has allowed her to help me for a time.”

The woman placed a hand to her brow as if faint from the wonder of it. “Did I say that it was early? Perhaps I’m still asleep and this whole affair is merely the peculiar workings of my imagination. You did say that Mrs. Birmingham would be working for you, didn’t you, and that she’s expecting a baby? And that Mr. Jeffrey knows and is permitting all this?”

“You’re not dreaming, Mrs. Brewster,” Ives assured her dryly.

“Not dreaming.” The milliner slowly repeated the words as if in a daze. “Perhaps I should go lie down and consider this situation until I’m able to sort it out in my mind.”

Farrell didn’t want to seem overly eager for her departure lest he appear callous, but in good manner he lent as much assistance as he possibly could toward that end. Upon ushering her to the front door, he nodded, dutifully listening to her disjointed verbiage and entreaties not to work an expectant mother overmuch. When the portal was finally closed behind her, he turned to find a cup of coffee being offered him by his long-established assistant.

“You look as if you need this,” Elizabeth observed with a sympathetic smile.

“Lord, save me from that woman!” Farrell muttered before draining the cup. Leaning near, he lowered his voice to an incredulous whisper. “Did you hear what that ghastly woman almost said to the wife of my best friend? Why, if left to her unruly tongue, Jeffrey shall soon find himself being strung up on the nearest tree.”

His assistant smiled up at him. “You handled the matter amazingly well in spite of your annoyance, Mr. Ives.”

Her softly spoken encouragement took the edge off his temper, and Farrell met her gaze with eyes glowing with something more than appreciation. “Thank you, Elizabeth. You’ve made me feel better already.” He took her elbow. “Come, let us go do the same for Raelynn.”

“Raelynn?” Elizabeth queried in surprise, looking up at him wonderingly. “Not Mrs. Birmingham?”

His large hand moved across her shoulders in a caress so light that it caused Elizabeth to wonder if she had imagined it. “Between the three of us, my dear, it will merely be Raelynn, Elizabeth, and Farrell. Our friendship allows us that privilege, don’t you agree?”

Her soft lips curved upward approvingly. “Yes indeed, Mr. Ives.”

“Farrell,” he corrected warmly. “We’ve been through too much to bother with formalities, Elizabeth. Remember, I was there pacing your front porch like any anxious father when Jake was born.”

“I’ve never forgotten that, Farrell,” she confessed, looking at him with something akin to adoration. “In the years that have followed, I’ve realized that I never thanked you properly for what you did that night, and I’d just like you to know now just how grateful I was at the time to have you there. Emory wouldn’t have been had he still been alive.”

“Emory was a fool, my dear. I hated the way he abused you,” Farrell replied and then instantly chided himself for being so frank. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No need to apologize, Farrell,” she assured him mutedly, unable to meet his gaze. “You were always far kinder to me than Emory ever was. He tried so desperately to be wealthy and polished, mainly I think to prove that he was every bit the man you were. In his failure he made himself miserable.”

The couturier carefully let his breath out in a pensive sigh and decided it was time to reveal a secret he had carefully hidden throughout the years he had known her. “If he was jealous of me, Elizabeth, then the converse was equally true.”

For a moment, she gaped up at him, thoroughly confused. “But why? Emory couldn’t even make a go of our farm, but you had everything. Why in the world would you have been envious of him?”

“He had something I desperately coveted.”

Her darkly winged brows gathered in deepening bemusement. “What was that?”

“You.”

Elizabeth searched his face with something closely akin to amazement. “Me?”

“I’ve been in love with you almost from the first.” He now scoffed at his many attempts to dismiss her from his mind. “I sought desperately to be a gallant friend to Emory, so I said nothing to you before you married him. Afterwards, it was just too late to speak of it. I’ve often wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for us all if I had just told you right off. Emory wasn’t satisfied just to have you. He wanted the world besides. I’m not sure when he came to the realization, but he knew in the end how much I wanted you.”

“You never said anything ... even after he was killed.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you because I thought you hated me.”

“I’ve never hated you, Farrell. I was merely afraid of myself and what I might do if I relaxed my vigil.” Elizabeth swallowed, trying to gather nerve to make an admission of her own. “You see, I’ve been in love with you since well before I married Emory.”

Now it was the couturier’s turn to be surprised. “You certainly kept it to yourself well enough.”

“As did you.”

His hand squeezed her shoulder fondly. “Don’t you think it’s about time Jake had a father? I’ve never stopped loving you, you know.”

Elizabeth tilted her head aslant as she gazed up at him with a gentle smile. “Are you asking me to marry you, Mr. Ives.”

“Aye, Mrs. Dalton. As soon as you’re of a mind, whether it be this hour, this week, or this month, but I pray that I may not have to wait until next year.”

“Are you sure?”

Farrell faced her squarely and, pressing her palms together, covered them with his own larger hands. “I would have asked you long ago if I would have had some inkling that you’d consider my proposal, but I was thoroughly convinced you’d turn me down.”

Elizabeth’s eyes caressed his handsome face. Had they been alone, she might have reached up and lovingly stroked his cheek. “Foolish, foolish man.”

W HEN THE LAST OF THE SEAMSTRESSES, THE NEW EMPLOYEES , and the errand boy had made their departure for the day, Farrell Ives hung the Closed sign on the front door of his establishment and, with a sigh of relief, turned the key in the lock. It had been an unusually busy day, and Farrell had definitely had enough of mollycoddling spoiled, insipid little misses and haughty dowagers who thought they could control him by merely jangling their weighty purses in front of his nose. After a day such as this, he was wont to reminisce upon his good fortune during his boxing days, but of course, that pastime was better suited for younger men, not one who had passed a score, ten and three years of age and who, merely for pleasure now, only sparred with his friends.

Throughout most of the day, Raelynn had worked at her desk, out of the way of the normal flow of customers. Though she hadn’t actually conversed with any of the clientele, she had nevertheless recognized several who had attended the ball at Oakley and several other social events to which Jeff had escorted her in recent months, but the women seemed too embarrassed to make their way to her desk. From the brief snatches of whispered conversation that drifted to her ears, she had become mindful that word of her presence in the shop was already making its way about town. More than a fair sampling of ladies had apparently come to the shop for no other purpose than to settle in their own minds the question of whether such outrageous claims were actually true, for after espying her, they had left the shop in an excited dither, no doubt anxious to pass on the news. In view of the fact that she was married to the most handsome and exceedingly wealthy Jeffrey Birmingham, Raelynn could imagine that, for them, her presence

might have been tantamount to the heroine of that quaint children’s tale, Little Cinder, deciding she preferred the hearth near the ashes rather than a life of ease in the palace of Prince Charming. As for herself, nothing could have been further from the truth.

Grateful though she was that Farrell had allowed her to remain detached from the busy bustle of the place through out the day, Raelynn knew her isolation couldn’t continue. She was also of a mind to wonder how her presence might affect the couturier’s business, especially once her figure began rounding out. When, at the end of the workday, her employer escorted Elizabeth to her desk and began leafing through her sketches again, Raelynn broached her concerns, yet the man put her at ease immediately.

“Don’t worry about the clientele, Raelynn,” Farrell replied. “We’ll deal with them as the opportunity presents itself. As for these ...” he indicated the drawings with a broad sweep of his hand, “I’ve never seen any quite like them. Your lines are exceptional.” He held up one that he especially favored. “For instance, this gown would easily complement a woman of excellent figure, yet I believe it would also be kind to one less favored by nature.”

“I hadn’t really considered that aspect of it,” Raelynn admitted, pleased by the man’s enthusiasm. “I just thought the gown would flow better that way.”

“Your illustrations come vividly alive, even on parchment.” Farrell indicated another sketch wherein the figure, garbed in a ball gown, was caught as if in the midst of a waltz with the skirt swirling around the slender form and a meager glimpse of an ankle showing above an undulating hem. “This one doesn’t just look like it’s being worn; it gives one the feeling that it’s actually being enjoyed.”

Raelynn was aware that her drawings were different than other fashion sketches. Indeed, she had made a point of making them unique. Other artistic designers simply presented the front and back views of the garments they created without bothering to draw a figure of a woman, but she hadn’t really cared for that bland way of drafting fashions and had sought instead to illustrate beautiful ladies in partial scenes and to incorporate a feeling of life within those sketches. “I simply thought it would be more interesting to illustrate gowns the way they might look actually being worn.”

Farrell laid down the parchment and met Raelynn’s gaze directly. “I like your idea of figures in various settings rather than the usual nondescript views. The drawings seem to bestir a wealth of stories right along with their great designs, as if the subjects have been caught in a particular situation, such as at a ball with a suitor nigh at hand. Kindly do more of the same. In fact, I may adopt this technique for use with all our designs.”

He turned a smile upon Elizabeth who was peering past his arm to peruse the sketches. “Does that meet with your approval, my dear?”

His casual endearment brought a flush of color to Elizabeth’s cheeks even as her lips bowed upward at the corners. For too long she had envied other young ladies who had become the recipient of his attention, and she couldn’t help but luxuriate now in a moment of secret pleasure beneath the warmth of his gaze. “I’m willing to predict that in the months or years to come such fashion plates will become the standard. They do seem to stimulate one’s imagination about what wonderful things might be happening to the ladies in the sketches.”

“You have an incredibly keen insight into such things, Elizabeth, which is only one of the many reasons I’ve come to admire you over the years.”

The dark eyes searched his in smiling amazement. “I think you’ve been very secretive about a lot of things, Mr. Ives.”

“Aye,” Farrell acknowledged with a slanted grin, “but then, until recently you kept me virtually in a fog as to where I stood with you.”

Raelynn’s gaze flicked between the two. The magnetism between the couturier and his assistant was so strong she couldn’t help but be inundated with memories of the breathless excitement that Jeff had always stirred within her. Just as quickly, a poignant regret over her loss pierced her heart, infusing within it a sadness so intense it seemed to constrict her chest. It was all she could do to stand there with a faint smile pasted on her lips and think of her drawings. It was as if the glow that had once lit her whole being with joy had darkened to a morose awareness of what she had previously possessed, but now had lost.

E LIZABETH’S RESIDENCE WAS A MODEST, TWO-STORY , pale yellow house that sat off the street behind a white, wrought-iron fence and a well-maintained flower garden partially shaded by a huge live oak. All the trim, shutters and spindled railing adorning the front porch had been painted white, lending the place a fresh appearance. The interior was just as charming.

“It’s absolutely enchanting, Elizabeth,” Raelynn declared enthusiastically. What she saw was enough to convince her that the woman’s talents were indeed vast and varied.

The brunette glanced around as if trying to see her home through another’s eyes. “It wasn’t much when I bought it, but I’ve been working for almost four years now, doing this and that in an attempt to improve it. Now I think it’s pretty much the way I had first envisioned it.”

“You did all the work yourself?” Raelynn asked in amazement.

Elizabeth laughed at such a notion. “I’m afraid if I had tried, I wouldn’t have gotten very far. Farrell did the heavier refurbishing in exchange for some home-cooked meals, a routine cleaning of his apartment, and an ongoing agreement that I would make his shirts, all of which he now pays me for above my regular salary. As for papering the walls and the easier repairs, I did those myself.”

A young boy about four years old ran through the kitchen on his way toward the back door, but with a laugh, Elizabeth caught his arm and brought him near for a hug, which she playfully administered with an exaggerated grunt.

“This is my son, Jake,” she announced, settling her hands upon his shoulders as he turned about to face their guest. “He’s four years old and can already count to twenty.”

“Ya wanna hear me?” he asked, peering up at Raelynn with a sheepish smile.

“I do indeed,” Raelynn replied, kneeling down to his level.

Proudly Jake recited the numbers and, at her praise, grinned with the same bashful timidity. He lifted large blue eyes to his mother to see her reaction and was rewarded by an affectionate smile.

“You’re saying your numbers so well now, Jake, I think it’s about time I started teaching you some more,” Elizabeth stated, with gentle affection running her slender fingers through his sandy hair. “In fact, the way you’re progressing, it won’t take you any time at all before you’re counting to a hundred.”

The boy beamed with delight and hugged his mother’s leg through her skirts before he scurried off to play. As Raelynn watched the youngster race toward the back fence, which at the moment another young boy was climbing over, she found herself thinking how nice it would be to have a son as fine as Jake and for that son to also have a father.

“Have you found it difficult being Jake’s only parent?” she queried, struggling against the depression that never failed to sweep over her whenever she recalled her recent estrangement from her husband.

“At times, yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I’ve also been fortunate having Farrell living so near. I can’t account for all the times he has shared his time with the boy. He has truly been a good friend to us. On weekends, when I’ve been busy cooking or doing other things, he has taken Jake out fishing, riding or on some other kind of adventure men and boys seem to enjoy. Without him, Jake would have no fatherly influence at all in his life. In that respect, it hasn’t been easy for the boy. Jake really wants a father and has often won dered why he doesn’t have one when all his friends do. Once he even asked me if Farrell was really his father.”

Raelynn looked at Elizabeth in surprise, realizing the boy had the same coloring as her employer. She dared not say as much, for she had no desire to pry into such matters.

Elizabeth lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. “The idea was initially presented by an older couple during one of Jake’s outings with Farrell. The people had paused to ask for directions, and before they went on their way, they told Farrell he had a nice-looking son. I’m not sure what Farrell’s reasons were, but he didn’t bother correcting the people. Perhaps it was nothing more than a brief exchange, but it had a lasting effect on Jake. He was terribly elated over the incident when he came home. Later that night he asked me if what the people had said was really true. As much as he wanted Farrell to be his father, I had to tell him that it just wasn’t so.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Jake is quite properly the offspring of my late husband. The boy takes after his late grandmother, Margaret Dalton, a dear sweet woman whose death left me grieving. She was someone I dearly loved and, even at her death, was still a handsome woman, although by that time her sandy hair had paled to white and her blue eyes had dulled, but they were just as kindly as always.” Elizabeth cast her gaze downward in chagrin. “As for her son, I’m afraid I don’t have many fond memories of him. Emory used to gamble quite a bit, and when he’d lose, which was quite often, he’d get mad and take his frustration out on me.

“Once, after witnessing such an event, Farrell threatened to kill Emory if he ever hit me again. Emory ignored his warnings, but I didn’t dare let Farrell know for fear of what he’d do. He was so angry with Emory after witnessing his heavy-handed ways, he just might have carried through with his threat or, at the very least, given Emory a severe thrashing. Not many men can best Farrell in a sparring match even now.” She laughed softly. “I’ve heard his friends complain about that often enough to be aware of that fact. Although that’s all done pretty much in fun nowadays, Farrell was once a very proficient boxer.” Elizabeth turned aside to hide a blush as she confessed, “The same night that Farrell issued his threat, I caught myself wishing Emory would die. There were moments when I actually thought I hated my husband for the pain he caused me. My wish came true a few nights later. I was so filled with remorse I couldn’t bring myself to accept Farrell’s

assistance even when my labor started and my water broke. I fully expected to die in childbirth for daring to hope for Emory’s death.” Facing Raelynn again, Elizabeth forced a smile, but it was weak and tremulous as she met the other’s sympathetic gaze. “As you can probably guess, I’m not very proud of that part of my life.”

“I shan’t tell anyone,” Raelynn murmured reassuringly, dropping a hand upon the woman’s arm.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth patted the comforting hand and then heaved a sigh. “So now you know my dark, ugly secret, the only one who knows, I might add, but you seemed so distressed by your own circumstances, Raelynn, I thought it would help if you knew what I’ve been trying to hide these past few years.”

“You’re not the only woman who has wished for a man’s death,” Raelynn informed her. “When I thought Olney had killed Jeff, I wasn’t in a very forgiving mood. I found myself wishing the same end for both Gustav and Olney. So you see, Elizabeth, I’m capable of having revengeful thoughts, too.”

“It’s not very heartening for a woman to realize she can feel so much hatred for a man that she can actually wish his death.” Elizabeth managed a wavering smile. “At least you don’t hate your husband.”

Raelynn tried to laugh, but it came out sounding strained. “No, on the contrary, if Jeffrey were to banish me out of his life forever, I think my heart would probably shrivel up and die.”

“Jeffrey seems immensely taken with you, Raelynn,” Elizabeth ventured. “I can’t believe he’d ever distance himself from you.”

Raelynn could not bring herself to explain that he had done that very thing but in a smaller measure during the first two weeks of their marriage. “Only time will tell,” she murmured dejectedly, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the short time I’ve been married to Jeffrey, then it’s his utter lack of hesitancy to do the unexpected if the situation calls for drastic measures. He will set me aside in a divorce if we can’t reconcile our problems.”

Mentally casting off her gloom for her own sake as well as for her boarder’s, Elizabeth assumed a brighter countenance. “Let’s go upstairs, shall we? I’d like to show you the bedroom you’ll be using while you’re here.”

I N THE DEAD OF NIGHT, AFTER MUCH TOSSING AND turning in a pitch-black room, Raelynn finally gave up the battle she had been waging in her lonely bed and allowed her mind to drift back through her memories of Jeffrey. In whatever circumstance or mood, whether serious, sensual, angry or playful, he had never failed to demonstrate a gentle, chivalrous regard for her. He had likely saved her life in the swamp, and even in Red Pete’s cabin, when he had known of her suspicions and, for a time, been angry with her, he had nevertheless nurtured her as a husband deeply concerned for her welfare.

One afternoon about a week after they had wed came to mind. They had been at a wedding reception for an old acquaintance of Jeff’s. Male friends had drawn him away from her side to teasingly harass him for marrying without obtaining their permission. His ready quips had elicited boisterous laughter, prompting the wives of his companions to follow in growing curiosity, but by then, Raelynn had begun to sense that Jeffrey was keeping his distance, at least as much as circumstances allowed, and she hadn’t felt the freedom to join the ever-expanding group, but had stood alone, self-consciously sipping her punch. Almost without pause, the vultures had descended upon her in the form of several former hopefuls who had crowded around her to ask snide questions, the most pointed being, “How in the world did you ever manage to entrap Jeffrey Birmingham in marriage?”

Perhaps her face had registered her deepening dismay, for it wasn’t long before Jeff had left his friends to come to her rescue. With a debonair grin that had vividly defined the taut depressions in his cheeks, he had made a show of claiming her for the benefit of her antagonists, settling a hand possessively upon her waist as he bent near her ear and whispered much too softly for the other women to hear, “Would you like me to save you from these malevolent witches, my dear?” to which she had eagerly nodded and smiled.

His gallantry had extended itself in the form of kissing her hand before he had tucked it safely within the crook of his arm and turned to the other women to make their excuses. Had he been a knight in shining armor, he could not have looked more wonderful to her at that moment. Barely an hour later, when they had been about to climb into the landau, she had found herself once again the recipient of the inquisitive stares of the spiteful three. After handing her in, Jeff had taken a place beside her on the seat and had dropped the leather panels over the windows, ignoring the liberally accommodating gap that had been left between the frame and the shade. While the women had craned their necks to peer inside, Jeff had pulled her close and, to her utter amazement, kissed her in an overtly sensual fashion. In one way Raelynn had been entirely grateful for his favor and yet, in another, regretful, for the fires he had lit had been difficult to quench even after she had retired to her virginal bed later that night.

But that task had hardly been as arduous as calming the tumultuous cravings now tormenting her. After tast ing passion’s appeasement to the fullest extent, she was now fully conscious of what she was yearning for, no less than her husband’s amorous attentions.

Could a man who had been so caring and tender with her during that difficult period of abstinence turn so completely about face and callously murder a young mother with a baby at her side? The question flared without warning in her mind, as if to accuse her for her irrational condemnation of her husband. If indeed Jeff was capable of such a monstrous crime and some dark demon truly lurked behind that gallant facade, then wouldn’t he be a man tormented by the wickedness lurking deep within him? Wouldn’t she have glimpsed some evidence of those malevolent characteristics in him in some brief, carelessly unguarded moment? Was he such an accomplished actor that he could hide a vile nature so adeptly beneath a facade of gentlemanly refinement? Although he had ranted at Nell and expressed his desire to throttle the girl, was he more evil than other men who might have done the same thing in a moment of irritation without meaning a word of it?

Raelynn realized of a sudden that she had great difficulty rationalizing a man of Jeff’s integrity being capable of such a despicable murder. That dark side just didn’t seem to exist in the man. And she was an utter fool for ever doubting him!