A British Bride by Agreement (19 page)

For a moment, Jonathan’s chest swelled
at his father’s praise. But he dropped his gaze. The only reason the day was a
success was because of Emma and Dede, but he could hardly tell his father that.
“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot. Also, I was thinking…it’s irresponsible for me
to be driven to my charity meetings in a limo. What do you think about the
charity getting a smaller car? Show some fiscal responsibility?”

“I never would have thought of that.
Great idea.”

But instead of satisfaction, Jonathan
sank further in his chair. That was Emma’s suggestion. “Good, I’ll have it
traded it in on Monday.”

“Great.”

“And I’ve upped the monies to the Kinder
AIDS Group. I visited their facility and they needed more funding.”

“Your mother and I are—well the
decisions that you’ve made lately and how hard you’ve worked on the
charity—this is a tough business. Lots of hurting people out there, but you
have risen to the occasion. Maybe this is where you belong and not the
corporate side.”

“No,” Jonathan jumped to his feet. “This
charity work is not for me. Look, you asked me to do this and I’m doing what I
can, but I don’t want to be stuck here. I want to be back as the head of
product development.”

His dad chuckled.
“The
head?
You have some lofty goals.”

“I want to run this company someday.”

“Are you ready to put me out to
pasture?” His dad’s voice rose.

“No, but I will not stay here any longer
than I have to.”

“Grandchildren.”

Jonathan rubbed his forehead. “What?”

“Your mother wants grandchildren. And it
would certainly be feather in your cap if you produced the next generation of Stellers.
If I knew there was a child on the way, I might look favorably—”

“You are holding my promotion hostage
for grandchildren?”

“If you want to
look at it that way.
You have a beautiful wife. It shouldn’t be that
difficult of a request. And, frankly, it would comfort me to know that our
three generation Steller Corporation will have a fourth.”

Jonathan’s head pounded so hard he sat
down.

His dad stood in the doorway.
“One more thing.
Whatever happened to that orphanage in
Belize?”

Jonathan rubbed his forehead. He’d
forgotten all about sending a report to his father. “It seems that, after much
research—and I still have people looking into this, but it…twenty thousand.
Gone.
I may need to make a trip down there.”

His father nodded slowly without looking
at him. “One of the hardest things is weighing the motives of people. The most
innocent person can surprise you sometimes.”

Jonathan barely moved, his head hurt so
bad
. He’d neglected to inform his father about the flood
relief organization in Pakistan that turned out to be bogus, too. After his
father left, Jonathan drove back to his home with a rock in his gut. So far,
he’d nearly led the charity towards insolvency, misled his father, and
alienated his wife. Maybe if he worked harder, longer hours, he could live up
to his father’s expectations of him, but what about Emma? He’d grown to care
for her more than he’d ever planned. Where was God in all this? What was the
point in having faith if help wasn’t there when you needed it?

Ignoring the tug on his heart, he
shifted his mind back to business. It was a choice between his career and his
family, and he knew which he would choose.

 
***

Emma dipped further down into colder
recesses of her bed and pulled the covers to her chin as she heard Jonathan’s
footsteps in the entry. What had she done? She had let him down, all because of
her panic. She thought she was over that. But after years of performing with
the piano, she just couldn’t do it anymore. Her mind drifted back to when, at
seventeen, the panic attacks became so bad she refused to play. It had been a
huge fight with her parents, who accused her of not being grateful for the life
they had provided.
The life I and my
brother provided
. She rolled over and buried her head under a pillow. Her
parents berated her for months, but she was firm in her decision. Relief didn't
come until she left for college in America.

Footsteps outside her door grew louder.
Jonathan was coming to talk to her. She had let him down. She couldn’t fail at
this marriage, too.

“Em?”
Her door
opened, sending in a shaft of light.

Emma’s heartbeat raced as she sat up.

Jonathan strode in and sat on the edge
of her bed. “I’m sorry.”

“I let you down—”She reached for his
hand.

He pressed his finger to her lips. “No,
I let you down.”

The remorse in his voice touched a chord
way down deep in her soul. Did he have any idea how drawn she was to him?
You might be in trouble, Duckie.
Clasping his hand, she savored its warmth. “I can’t perform in front of others.
I guess I could tap dance very badly, but piano playing…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about
it.”

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“I know you never wanted to play in
front of a crowd again. I guess I didn’t fully grasp why.”

She pulled her knees up and hugged them
to her chest. “When I was three or four, my parents discovered I could play
piano and read music without ever having been taught. So they had me tested,
and eventually, I was labeled a musical genius or some such nonsense. My
parents saw my talent as a way to make money, thus I performed in concert
halls, churches, schools, anywhere that paid. Eventually, they discovered my
brother was also musically talented, so he played classical guitar alongside
me. For years we toured all over England.”

“So you’re like, famous?” The beam of
light lit up the curve of his lips.

“With the older folks I was a shattering
success. And at first, it was fun. As a little girl, I liked the clapping and
the praise. My mother would always buy me a new frock to wear. But after a
while, even the sweets she bribed me with weren’t enough. And when their
financial situation got more desperate, threats followed, if I didn’t play well
or practice enough.”

“How long did you do this?”

“We were on the road five to six months
a year up until a few months before I left to go to university in the States.”

“Wow. Did you get to play sports or ride
horses?”

“No, lest I hurt
my hands.”

He rubbed his temples. “I had no idea.”

“Performing became harder and harder. At
one point, my mother took me to a doctor who prescribed some calming medicine.
I tried it once or twice, but it made me feel like a zombie so I never took it
again. I haven’t played publically since I left England—”

“Until your
insensitive husband forced you into a corner.”

“At first, I thought I could do it. I
thought I might be over my fright.” Her throat tightened. She ached to please
him.

He rubbed his forehead again.

She sat up further and clicked on her
bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”

He winced at the light.
“Bad headache.”

Emma immediately threw back the covers
and took him by the arm. “Do you need a cup of tea?”

He managed a grin. “You English think
everything is solved by tea.”

The hope in her heart welled.
“Almost everything.”

She dug in the kitchen drawer for
migraine medicine and once he’d taken the glass of water and pills, she set the
kettle to boil. “Did you come straight from the hospital?”

His brow furrowed. “I stopped by the
office and talked with my dad.”

“Was he upset with how things went
today?”

He ran his hand over his mouth as if
wrestling with telling her something.

Please,
please open up to me.

“No, he was pleased about tonight, but
the truth is…the charity has been swindled out of some money by a couple of
fake aid organizations.”

She took a sharp, quick breath. “Surely
that’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t do a thorough enough
background check and was taken in by a couple of sad stories.”

“Can you recover the money?”

“I need to go to Belize. To see if I can
find any more information on what happened.”

The kettle whistled and Emma kept busy
making the tea, her heart hopeful he would continue talking about this
upsetting event.

“My father thinks I’m doing a terrible
job, but judging the motives of people and the truth behind their stories is
much harder than I thought. It’s near impossible to spot a trickster.”

Emma avoided his gaze as she set the tea
in front of him. She knew a lot about con artists. She wanted to tell him to
watch for stories that change every time they tell it. Be sensitive to odd
feelings when you spend time in their presence. Follow peace and be suspicious
if their
plans for the money varies
.

Her father was excellent at swindling
people out of money in investment and real estate deals, was quite proud of it,
in fact. He used to brag he was as smooth as chocolate mousse. She took a sip
of her tea. She could never tell Jonathan about her parents. And she could
never tell her parents about Jonathan.

“My father brought up one other thing.”

She sipped her tea again relishing the
fact that he cared enough about her to share his heart with her.

“Children.”

The gulp of tea caught in her throat,
sending her coughing.

Jonathan took the mug from her hands.
“Are you okay?”

She nodded before she could catch her breath.
“Sorry, it just went down the wrong way.”

“My parents are anxious, that is, they’d
like to see…er, hold a grandchild.”

Butterflies battled in her stomach. She
wasn’t ready. Her gaze fell. Did he see this marriage as nothing more than for
making children? Did he care for her at all? She had agreed to the bit about
having kids, but what if she couldn’t? After the miscarriage, her doctor
assured her there was nothing amiss with her body, and that miscarriages were
very common in first pregnancies. But what if the doctor was wrong?

“We hardly know each other. I don’t feel
ready to—”

“Em, we need to talk about this.” He
reached out to touch her hand.

She pulled her hands back and gripped
them. Was that why he’d opened up to her? So he could broach the subject of
children? Like she was some kind of vending machine? “We’re not… were not even
close. I need more time to get to know you. I can’t—”

“I’m sorry. I just thought we should
discuss it. Maybe come up with a time table.”

Her jaw dropped open as a cold wave
stole over her once-tender feelings toward him.
A time table
?
“This is all just a
business deal to you. I’m just another employee who needs to improve her
performance.”

His brow creased. “That isn’t what I
meant. It’s just something in our future.”

“Well, for now, I’m going to have to be
one great big disappointment to you.” She strode to her bedroom and slammed the
door behind her. Holding back a sob, she buried her face in her hands. The pain
of the possibility of another unhappy marriage tore at her heart. She paced her
room. How did a woman win her husband’s affections? Make
herself
more important than his career? Show love to a man who held her at arm’s length
most of the time?

She paused at her reflection in the
mirror. Why did she react so badly when he brought up the idea of having
children? She knew this was part of the agreement. Maybe deep inside she was
afraid she couldn’t have a baby. Should she have told him up front about the
miscarriage? Would he accuse her of fraud if she brought that up, now? Her
heart stilled. If there were no children, then there would be no marriage.
And no husband to love.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emma fingered the note from Jonathan
taped to her door.
Charity
meeting today at two p.m.
Please
come. I’d like your input.
She crushed in monogrammed paper in her hand,
embarrassed by her actions last night. She couldn’t fail at another thing. No
longer able to perform musically, and not ready for children, maybe if she
helped Jonathan in the charity she could prove that she was a success at
something.

Dressing in a red jacket, a white,
collarless shirt, black skirt and black heels, she remembered to add the pearls
Jonathan had bought for her on their honeymoon. As she pulled her car into the
parking lot at the Steller Foundation, she hoped he would see the significance
in her jewelry. She tugged the rear view mirror closer to add a dash of
lipstick and check her hair. Still unsure how he felt about her, she hoped he
at least found her attractive. Her cell phone rang with an unknown caller.