Marrying Christopher (38 page)

“One month. That is all I ask.” He was fully smiling now, as if he knew he had won.

“And, at the end of that month, if I should wish to leave—”
When I find my husband.

“You will be free to go.” He released her hands and held his up as if freeing her now.

“And Lady Cosgrove?” Marsali asked. “What would become of her if I were to go?”

“She will remain my guest indefinitely. Our families are old friends, and when I offered for her daughter, I knew it meant Lydia’s mother would be coming as well.”

“You are very generous,” Marsali said. “How is it that a man like yourself does so well at business if he is forever paying other’s debts and supporting them with his means?”

Mr. Vancer’s smile turned sly. “Fortunately, I do not conduct many business transactions with damsels in distress. Rather, it is stuffy old men with whom I barter and bargain. And for those, I show no mercy.”

“You must make one deal with this damsel if she is to stay,” Marsali insisted, rationalizing that what she was about to propose would make her feel better about the situation. “My true identity must be made known to all. I cannot continue on as Lydia. And second—”

“Ah.” He held up a finger, stopping her. “You said
one.
”

“Yes, but that is only the first part of the one.” She smiled sweetly, causing him to laugh.

“
That
is exactly why I do not do business with females.” He brushed his fingers down the side of her cheek, causing Marsali a sudden intake of breath.

His face grew serious. “I can see already that I will not be impervious to your smile. What is it you wish, Miss Abbott?”

“I wish to continue a search for my husband. And if I find him or if I choose to leave at the end of the month, you must allow me to repay the money of my indenture. It will take some time, but I shall be able to do it.”

“Honesty, loyalty, and equity… you strike a hard bargain.” He held out his hand. “But I’ll take it.” Marsali placed her hand in his and felt the pressure of his fingers closing over hers. But instead of being comforting, as Christopher’s touch had been, she felt entrapped— caught by Mr. Vancer’s kindness, ensnared in his generosity.

But as they returned to eating their breakfast, and she silently admired the fine china and beautiful furnishings in the elegant room, she realized she had arrived at the station in life she had only dreamed of. Just like that, she had returned to the status she’d been born to, a refined and luxurious life laid at her feet.

If she chose to start down that path— one that promised everything she might wish and included the kind Mr. Vancer at her side.

My Dears Lady Grace Sutherland and Mrs. Helen Preston,

It is my unhappy fate to tell you that your beloved brother, Christopher, has been missing since the night of 25 September, when he incurred an injury just prior to the ship, the
Amanda May
, being lost at sea
.
Rather than share with you the details regarding the event (and revisit those myself) I must simply tell you that his probable death was a result of a price of ninety pounds sterling on his head, the sum of which was offered by a pirate named Crayton. A man whom we (all of us upon the ship
Amanda May
) believed to be a trustworthy member of the crew was, in fact, in league with Crayton.

What I do wish for you to know is what Christopher’s last weeks and days were comprised of. You may think me forward for referring to him by his Christian name, but I assure you I mean no disrespect. I loved your brother dearly and was given to believe he felt the same for me. We were wed by Captain Gower while still aboard the
Amanda May
, on the morning of 25 September…

Marsali walked down the hall, the sealed letter in her hands. She hated that it was to deliver such sorrowful news to two ladies she almost felt she knew, but she realized it was her duty, as Christopher’s wife, to inform them that he was missing. She had been to both the hospital and the docks every day and had discovered no news of him. With each passing day, it became more difficult to hold onto hope that he was yet alive.

She passed Lady Cosgrove’s open door, and a few seconds later, Lady Cosgrove herself emerged, walking briskly to keep pace with Marsali.

“What have you got there? Where are you going?” Since learning that Marsali had slipped out of her room and sought out and spoken with Mr. Vancer, Lady Cosgrove had assumed the position of Marsali’s shadow— a situation Marsali found most unpleasant.

“I wish to find the butler. I have written a letter to Christopher’s sisters informing them that he is missing.”
That it is probable he is dead.
She had yet to say the words. Though the days stretched further between her memories with Christopher and her new future, he remained as present in her mind as if he was here with her. She would not be surprised to find him at breakfast, holding the milk captive, or waiting outside on the step, wishing to take her for a walk.

“Well, hurry, then. We mustn’t miss our appointment.”

Inwardly Marsali bristled at Lady Cosgrove’s tone, though she had heard Lydia addressed the same way on many occasions.
But I am
not
Lydia.
At least her chat with Mr. Vancer had cleared that up. He promised to make everything right concerning Marsali’s identity, and she trusted him to do it.

“We’ve only
three
hours. We must be prompt,” Lady Cosgrove insisted. “The dressmaker will be here at precisely ten o’clock, and we mustn’t waste a minute of her time. I took the liberty of arranging to have her come here, rather than going out to her shop. I thought you would prefer that.”

“I do,” Marsali said earnestly. As much as she had professed to Mr. Vancer that she needed to leave and fulfill her obligations to Mr. Thomas, she could not deny that she felt some measure of safety here. Now that she knew she did not have to seek employment for a few more weeks, she wished to leave the house as little as possible. She especially did not want to go out for something as frivolous as purchasing a gown.

“How am I to pay for all this clothing, which you insist I must have?” Marsali asked. For that matter, how was Lady Cosgrove to pay for hers? In the end she had arrived every bit as destitute as Marsali.

“Mr. Vancer will pay for it, of course,” Lady Cosgrove said, as if that was the most logical, most appropriate thing to be done.

Marsali felt quite the opposite. It had been one thing for Mr. Vancer to take her into his home and offer her food and shelter as she recovered from her ordeal. She could even justify his loan, paying off her debt to Mr. Thomas, as she fully intended to repay every penny of it. But to spend his money on purchasing her clothes when this borrowed servant’s gown was finer than any dress she had owned for quite some time seemed very wrong.

One more thing to bind me to him?
She imagined a noose tightening around her neck.

She found the butler and gave him directions regarding her letter, then allowed Lady Cosgrove to steer her where she would. They returned to the second floor and ventured into a corridor Marsali had not yet visited. Lady Cosgrove led her toward a set of open double doors, through which Marsali glimpsed the finest dress makings she had ever imagined.

They stepped inside the room, and Lady Cosgrove moved forward to speak with the dressmaker and her assistants— three of them— already in place, waiting to attend to them. Marsali stood transfixed, certain her eyes were large as they took in the bolts of silk and velvet and organza in every color imaginable.
No plain muslin here
. There were open boxes of ribbon and lace, and a small, circular dais upon which she was to stand. For a moment, Marsali closed her eyes, remembering a similar scene, long ago, when she and her mother and sister had gone to visit a dressmaker in Lyon.

After her mother had selected the fabrics she wished Marsali’s dresses to be made from, she had allowed Marsali to choose one additional fabric— any she wished— for a party dress. Marsali had chosen a blue silk, the color of the sky.

How I loved that dress.
She realized that she had not appreciated it or the many other fine clothes she’d owned. And in the years since, she had nearly forgotten them.

“Come in, come in.” The stoutest of the four women came forward, beckoning Marsali into the room.

Marsali entered, feeling as if she had stepped back in time or into a dream. She allowed the woman to guide her to the dais and then held her arms out obediently while her measurements were taken.

“Something rose-colored to start with, I believe,” Lady Cosgrove was saying and pointed to a bolt of pink fabric laid out on one of several tables.

“A lovely choice.” The dressmaker picked up the fabric and brought it over to Marsali, holding a swathe of it in front of her.

“Do you like it as well?” the dressmaker asked.

“It is very pretty,” Marsali concurred, rubbing a piece of the fabric between her fingers.
Very soft. Like Lydia’s borrowed satin.
Would she forever be reminded of that when she wore fine gowns?

“Good. We will make your first dress out of this.” The dressmaker whisked the bolt away, handing it off to the third woman before marching back over to the table and Lady Cosgrove.

“I think a pale yellow next,” Lady Cosgrove said. “And then a green and perhaps a lavender.”

“No.” Marsali left the dais and came over to the tables. “I do not have need of so many gowns. You may make me two only. And I wish one of them to be blue.”

The image reflecting back at her in the mirror shocked Marsali. Disbelieving, she stepped closer, squinting at her reflection and feeling slightly better when she recognized the way her nose wrinkled.
But the rest of me…

Her hair was done up in what she’d been told was the latest fashion, something called an Apollo knot. The maid who’d been sent up to fix it for her had complained heartily that Marsali hadn’t long enough hair to work with for such a style, and even if she had, Marsali wasn’t at all certain that she liked it. The curls hanging down on either side of her face seemed a nuisance, and the bun was pulled much too tight, not to mention the ridiculous amount of time it had taken with the curling tongs to get her short hair to curl as it should.

But the jeweled butterfly combs were quite lovely, and Marsali could not help but admire her new gown. She could hardly keep from running her fingers over the smooth blue silk.

“Mr. Vancer awaits you.”

Marsali turned from the mirror to see Lady Cosgrove standing in her bedroom doorway.

“The blue was a good choice. It becomes you.”

“Thank you.” Marsali heard the sadness in the older woman’s voice and guessed at once that she was imagining what it would have been like had Lydia been standing here— as she ought to have been— preparing to attend a dinner and be presented by Mr. Vancer.

Marsali quickly crossed the room, took Lady Cosgrove’s hands in her own, and leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you for your kindness to me.”

“You’re most welcome.” Lady Cosgrove blinked rapidly and pulled away. “Forgive me. I was just thinking of when I was younger, and my first husband was courting me, and what a lovely time that was.”

“You must tell me all about it tomorrow.” Marsali felt her own sorrow swell, pained that Lady Cosgrove had not been thinking of her daughter but of herself. Marsali knew Lady Cosgrove had to be grieving and had heard her crying at night. But for some reason, she seemed unable to show her emotions to others.

And I am no better— attending a dinner as another man’s guest when my husband has been missing but two weeks.
Marsali walked down the hall, knowing she did not belong here— not in this fine house and especially not seated beside Mr. Vancer at his table, as she would soon be.

She twirled her wedding ring beneath her glove and remembered the moment Christopher had slipped it onto her finger and the promises that had come with it.

As long as we both shall live. What if he no longer does?
Though they had been married but one day, a mourning period seemed appropriate just the same. He had given her all he had, and moving on so quickly felt wrong.
And impossible.
Circumstances might require her to wear a pretty gown and to pretend to enjoy another’s company. But her heart and soul felt bleak.