Louisa Rawlings (34 page)

“Yes,” said Brian. “There’s something I want to talk to him about.”

Willough hurried out, catching Nat in the vestibule. “Come into the parlor,” she said sharply. “Mother’s serving coffee in a minute. And Daddy wants to talk to you.”

He hesitated, then followed her into the parlor. His eyes searched her face. “Well?”

She was reluctant to meet his glance. “How could you?” she said at last. “Your rudeness was unforgivable. And Mother was trying so hard to be nice to you.”

He snorted. “I think she did it all deliberately. The questions about my background, the false concern for my clothing—which obviously offended her sensibilities. And that damned meal! That was her doing, too, or I’m hanged.”

“Nonsense! Why do it?”

“To make me appear a crude and clumsy fool. An upstart. A cat who dares to look upon a queen.”

“Oh, Nat! How cruel of you! Why should she do such a thing?”

He laughed sadly. “So that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now—with a little dismay, a little uneasiness, a little horror at your choice of bridegroom.”

“Never,” she whispered, near tears.

He softened and pulled her into his arms. “Perhaps I’m the one who’s so conscious of our differences, imagining that you must hate me.” He kissed her gently, then laughed. “But I think I’ll refuse to take coffee. Your mother is apt to give me a cup that leaks!”

The coffee service went well. Isobel poured with her usual grace, and Nat even managed to smile and pay her a small compliment. At last Brian belched loudly, put down his cup, and turned to Nat.

“I’ll be announcing your engagement tonight, but I think you ought to know of some decisions I’ve made. Clegg is retiring. As soon as we get back to Saratoga, you’ll take over as resident manager.”

Nat smiled in pleasure. “That’s very good of you, sir!”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me! I’m not getting any younger, you know. And then, after you and Willough are married, you’ll become my partner.”

“I’m…overwhelmed!” Nat grinned at Willough.

Brian stuck his hand in his pocket and absentmindedly jingled the coins. “I’ll give you five thousand for a wedding present. After that she’s your burden, lad.”

Willough frowned, a stray thought sticking in the corner of her brain. “If Nat’s to be your manager and partner, who’ll be your clerk?”

Brian shrugged. “I’ve been watching Bill. He looks good for the job.”

“But Daddy,
I
…”

“Don’t start that again, Willough,” growled Brian. “You’ll be a married woman. You’ll be able to stay home where you belong.”

Willough opened her mouth to protest. Just then Isobel sank back into her chair. “Oh dear! Such a spell of weakness. I’m quite overcome. Willough, will you see me to my bed? Perhaps you could read to me for a bit before I sleep.”

Willough looked desperately at Nat. “But I…we…”

“Nonsense, lass!” boomed Brian, rising from his chair and clapping Nat jovially on the back. “Nat’s coming with me. To my club. I want him to meet Bigelow. Besides, you’re looking a bit peaked. Do you good to rest up, take a nap before Arthur’s party.”

If I’m looking a bit peaked, she thought bitterly, it’s his doing. Bill as clerk.
Bill
! And though she hated to admit it, she had felt a pang at the announcement that Nat was to be his partner. Bradford and Stanton. Never Bradford and
Bradford
.

Isobel seemed to be disturbed by the same thought. As Willough helped her to her room and rang for Brigid to undress her, Isobel railed against her husband. “It would have been Bradford and Bradford. If he hadn’t driven Drew away years ago. But I suppose
Nat
is delighted. It isn’t every day that a man can get to own a business just by marrying the boss’s daughter!”

Willough gasped. “Nat would never…”

“Of course not, my dear.” Isobel patted her daughter’s hand. “I’m sure Nat is genuinely fond of you. Still, it doesn’t hurt a man’s ambitions to marry well.”

Oh, God, thought Willough, remembering. That first day, Nat had told her that he wanted to be manager when Clegg retired. That was why he had taken the clerk’s job—to stay on her father’s good side. How much better a position he was in now, by dancing attendance on the daughter! No! She couldn’t let herself think such unkind thoughts. Nat loved her. He
loved
her!

Isobel sighed wearily as Brigid went to turn down her bed and fetch her tonic. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, Willough. If marriage is what you want.” There was an odd note in her voice. It gave Willough a chill of uneasiness.

“Why shouldn’t I want it, Mother?”

Isobel looked flustered. “This is a delicate subject, my dear. And one best discussed with your husband after you’re married.”

Why would no one talk about these things? she thought desperately. “But if I wait to discuss it with my husband, it will be too late to change my mind!”

“You needn’t take that sharp tone! I find this very distressing. But if you insist on frankness, despite my sensibilities… It’s only that…a man’s demands can be very…frightening.”

“In what way?”

Isobel put her hands to her burning cheeks. “Please. No more. I’ll only add that I wouldn’t go through it again, if I’d known then what I know now. But you must follow your own dictates, Willough. Now please leave, and let me take my nap.”

Willough stood in the corridor outside her mother’s room, willing her heart to stop its mad thumping. Was marriage the horror that Isobel suggested?

“Shall I turn down your bed for you, Miss Willough? For a nice little nap?” Brigid emerged from Isobel’s room.

Willough jumped in surprise. “No. I’m too restless to sleep.”

Brigid clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Tis a shame Mr. Bradford took that nice Mr. Stanton for a drive. He’d be good company this afternoon. You’ll pardon my saying so, miss, but you’re mighty fortunate.”

“Do you like Mr. Nathaniel?”

Brigid smiled archly. “That I do! He’ll make you a fine husband, you mark my words. A big, strapping lad like that. Me brothers used to say, with a man like that a girl couldn’t walk for a week after—well, you know what I mean!—and be glad for it!”

Willough felt her mouth go dry. “Perhaps you’d better see to my gown. It needs a bit of pressing.”

Brigid bobbed politely. “Very good, miss,” and hurried down the corridor to Willough’s room.

Willough thought, I mustn’t think of such things. I’m being foolish. Yet Nat had said in the boathouse that Arthur would have hurt her. Was that what it was? Pain and grief?

A book. She might divert her fevered brain with something light to read. Daddy had some books in his study. There was no point in going downstairs to the library. She picked up the first book that caught her eye.
The Undeveloped West, or Five Years in the Territories
. It didn’t look promising. She flipped it casually, noting the advertisements for other books by the same publisher.
Human Science, or Phrenology
. Definitely not.
Sights and Sensations of New York
. That might be interesting to order.
Sexual Sciences; including Manhood, Womanhood, and their Mutual Inter-Relations; Love, its Laws, Power, etc
. She scanned the list of topics; maybe there were answers here. She groaned. No. Only more frightening mysteries. “How young husbands should treat their brides to avoid shocking them.” “How to increase the joys of wedded life, and how to increase female passion.” She pushed the book back onto the shelf. There must be something that would be more helpful! She saw the word “Wife.” On a little brown book tucked into a corner of the last shelf. This was more like it.
An Obedient Wife
. Smiling in relief, she pulled down the book and opened it.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. Trembling, she replaced the book and stumbled out of the study, seeking the safety, the sanctuary of her own room. And all the while, before her eyes, she still saw the pictures. Of naked women tied to bedposts. Of leering men with whips. She had heard there were books like that. She hadn’t imagined that
Daddy
would read them!

She sank onto her bed, her mind whirling in confusion. Was she a fool to marry Nat? Quite aside from the more terrifying aspects of the man—Brigid’s “big strapping lad”—there were other doubts in her mind, doubts she’d tried not to face. His behavior at luncheon: feeling out of place, he had accused Isobel of deliberate malice. Yet it was very clear to her that her mother had never been less snobbish, more democratic toward her social inferiors. Would he always be defensive about his background?

And the partnership in the MacCurdy enterprises. Putting aside her own bitter resentment—and, yes,
jealousy
—she was still left with a question. Was he marrying her for Daddy’s money, for her inheritance?

And the last, most frightening question. Was it love he felt for her? Or lust? She’d seen the power of his hands, crushing his pipe in anger, pounding a table. Would that lust, that powerful anger translate itself into something horrible after they were married? Like the pictures in Daddy’s book?

She curled up on the soft quilt, fighting back the doubts, the fears that threatened to overwhelm her. Sleep, when it came, was a relief.

She was awakened by Brigid’s soft shake. “Miss Willough. I’ve drawn a bath for you.” She struggled upright, blinking her eyes. Evening had fallen. She watched as Brigid scurried about the room, pulling the shades, turning up the gaslight. Her gown was laid out neatly across one side of the bed—a frothy concoction of pale blue silk and pink tulle festooned with garlands of silk flowers. Beside it were fresh underpinnings: drawers and sleeveless chemise, a blue silk corset, and several petticoats, including one with a stiff bustle. “I’ve brought you a cup of tea,” said Brigid. “And then I’ll just get you into your tub. But Mrs. Bradford…”

Willough sipped her tea. “I understand. I can manage the bath quite nicely. I’ll wait for you in my wrapper. When you’ve finished with my mother, you can help me with my gown and hair.”

“It should be a lovely party. Mr. Gray has been telling your mother about it for weeks.”

“Yes.” Willough smiled. She was beginning to feel the excitement. Arthur’s elegant new house, her beautiful ball gown, and Nat at her side. She laughed softly. After her nap, the terrors of this afternoon were gone like a bad dream.

She bathed slowly, luxuriating in the scented tub, then dried and perfumed and powdered herself. She donned the lace-trimmed chemise and drawers and hooked on her corset, leaving the back lightly laced. Brigid would tighten it for her later. She slipped into a lace and dimity wrapper, tied it loosely in the front, and sat at her dressing table to brush her hair. There was a soft tap at the door.

Brigid must have finished with Isobel already. “Come in.”

Nat was there, in his shirtsleeves and black dress trousers, a helpless expression on his face. He waved his starched collar and tie. “I can’t manage the damned things.”

She smiled and stood up, taking the collar from him. “Why didn’t you ring for Parkman?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “He’s not as pretty as you.”

She giggled and put the collar around his neck, buttoning it to his shirt band. She tied the tie with deft fingers, frowned at the results, pulled it loose, and started again. “How was your meeting with Bigelow?”

He shrugged. “He’s a good man to know, but I would have preferred to spend the afternoon with you. You smell delicious.” He slipped his hands under her wrapper and pulled her close, then bent his head to the patch of exposed flesh at her bosom.

“Nat. Don’t.”

“Why not?” He brushed his mouth against her bare skin.

“Because I’m in a state of undress, and this is my bedroom. And you shouldn’t even be here!”

His lips had moved up to her neck. “You have the softest skin…”

“You’re not even listening to me. All you want is…is my body!”

He stopped kissing and grinned at her. “Yes indeed, ma’am.”

“And you probably just came here tonight to try and talk me into bed,” she said sourly.

His amber eyes were dark with bewilderment. “My God, you’re serious! Willough, how many times do I have to tell you? I
won’t
! Not till we’re married.”

“That’s what you always say,” she accused. “For your birthday. As if you can hardly wait! But you take what you can in the meantime. Like some lustful pirate!”

He ran his hand through his sandy curls. “Goddammit! Are there only two kinds of men to you? The ‘gentleman’ who won’t even touch a woman, and the animal who’s filled with lust? Well, I’m not either one. I’m a man who loves you, honors you, respects you. But I want you too. Your body! And
that’s
part of love!”

“Stop it! I don’t want to hear such talk!”

He put his hand on her bare arm. “Willough…please…”

She shook off his fingers. All the horrors of the afternoon had come crowding back. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “You’re so…disgusting sometimes. So…so…
male
! Don’t touch me! I don’t like to be pawed!”

“
Pawed
?” His eyes were like amber fire. His strong arms shot out and clamped about her shoulders. “I’ll touch you, all right! By God, I’ve got half a mind to take you across my knee! I’m so sick of being treated like a ruttish swine because I love you. Because I
want
you—in a healthy, normal way. Maybe a good spanking will bring you to your senses!”