Читать книгу The Texan's Engagement Agreement - Noelle Marchand - Страница 11
ОглавлениеI can’t believe I’m doing this.
Chris stared at the front door of his parents’ house, unwilling to pull the doorbell and begin this evening’s charade. It was one thing to pretend the woman he’d asked to marry him had never ended their engagement. It was another thing entirely to parade a lie before his parents’ faces. He wanted to turn around, go back to his apartment above the mercantile and forget any of this had ever happened.
“Steady.” The low whisper from Adelaide’s stepfather meant the man understood Chris’s struggle. Adelaide must have told him the truth. Now the only people in the dark were Chris’s parents and younger brothers. He rolled his shoulders as though that might free him from the ever-growing burden of guilt resting there. It didn’t.
He pulled in a deep breath, then rang the doorbell. A few moments later, Chris’s mother opened the door and immediately enveloped Adelaide into a hug. “You’ve finally come, and you’re staying for supper. What a wonderful surprise! You’re so grown-up and even more lovely than before. Wouldn’t you agree, Chris?”
His gaze skimmed from the fancy chignon of her auburn hair to her lacy cream blouse and dark blue skirt before he managed to catch himself. “She’s always been beautiful.”
Adelaide’s lashes lowered demurely as a hint of a blush appeared on her cheek. “Thank you, both. It’s lovely to see you, too. Marta Johansen, I’d like you to meet my stepfather, Everett Holden.”
After their parents exchanged pleasantries, Chris glanced down the main hall in search of his siblings. Usually the boys came rushing to greet him as soon as he stepped inside the door. “Where is everyone, Ma?”
“They’re waiting in the parlor.”
He headed toward the double doors across the hall. “Why are the doors closed?”
“Just a moment.” His mother rushed around him to stand in front of the doors. “Adelaide, would you come and stand beside Chris? Thank you. Now, Mr. Holden, I’ll need help with the other door. Slide it to the left on the count of three.”
Chris frowned. “Ma—”
“One.”
“What is—”
“Two.”
“—going on?”
“Three!”
The doors slid away. The rich, unmistakable strains of “The Wedding March” crashed over them. His mouth fell open at the sight before him. The parlor had been decked out with all manner of decorations. The largest and most prominent was the banner above the fireplace that read “Congratulations!” in Hans’s big, slightly uneven letters. The little boy’s grin was so big that he kept missing the notes on his flute. Next to him, Viktor played his cello while offering them a much shyer smile. August winked at Chris as he dramatically swayed in time with the mellow tones of his viola. Sophia caught his eye as she ran her fingers across the string of her harp while mouthing two words. “I’m sorry.”
As usual, his father served as conductor for the quartet and soon brought the music to an end. Everyone looked at Chris with such pride and expectation. He had no idea how to respond. Adelaide saved him from having to figure it out by clapping for the ensemble. “That was absolutely beautiful! What a wonderful welcome. I can’t believe how much all of y’all have grown.”
His brothers rushed forward to greet her. Viktor and August remembered her well. Hans was eager to meet her again. Sophia’s greeting was a bit less enthusiastic. She alone knew just how much Chris had been hurt by Adelaide’s rejection. As their brothers continued to monopolize Adelaide’s attention, Sophia sidled over to Chris. She gave him a congratulatory hug that was really just an excuse for her to whisper, “I’ve been praying for you since I heard. I would have come over to see you, but Ma kept me busy preparing all of this.”
“It’s all right. I—” The doorbell interrupted him. Marta rushed to answer it. Chris turned to his father for explanation. “Is someone else joining us for dinner?”
“Yes, indeed.”
The satisfaction in Olan’s tone put Chris on alert. “Pa, you know I don’t like surprises.”
His father simply clasped him on the shoulder without saying a word. Chris stiffened as their guest walked in. Pastor Brightly took one look at the parlor and grinned. Tucking the book he carried beneath his arm, the man rubbed his palms together. “All right, then. Who’s ready for a wedding?”
His brothers cheered. Chris shook his head to clear it. Surely—surely this was a nightmare he would awaken from at any second. Adelaide’s gaze connected with his from across the room and the panic in her eyes was undeniably real. They’d been ambushed. There was no way out but the truth.
Adelaide didn’t quite seem to understand that. She sounded genuinely troubled as she said, “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly get married without my mother present.”
“I agree,” Mr. Holden said, looking decidedly unamused by the turn of events.
Sophia took Hans’s hand and shooed the other boys toward the kitchen. “Let’s all go check on the cake, boys. Perhaps it’s cool enough to frost.”
Once Chris’s siblings left, Pastor Brightly searched the faces of everyone left in the room. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there is a problem.” Finally finding his voice, Chris crossed the room to stand beside Adelaide, then addressed his parents. “Y’all cannot possibly expect us to agree to a wedding with absolutely no warning.”
Olan gave a tired sigh. “One would think that a five-year engagement is warning enough.”
Marta went to place a comforting hand on her husband’s back. “Adelaide and Mr. Holden, I understand your objections to having the wedding without Rose present, but you can always have another ceremony later. You also must remember that Rose has not approved of Chris for the past five years. I see little reason to hope that she will change her mind about my son unless she has the opportunity to get to know him as her son-in-law.”
“I agree with my wife. I would also like to point out that if a young lady truly loved my son no one would be able to persuade her not to marry him.”
If Chris hadn’t already been watching Adelaide, he would have missed the hurt that flared in her eyes before her lashes lowered to cover them. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her high emotions. “And you, Pa? What do you have to say about all of this?”
“Adelaide, you are old enough to know your own mind. It’s your decision to make—yours and Chris’s.”
That was not the response that Chris had expected from the man. Yet, Chris realized, it was the only one he could have given that would truly allow Adelaide the freedom to choose. If Everett had outright forbidden Adelaide to marry Chris and she’d capitulated, she would have appeared weak. This, at least, would allow her some strength and dignity in her inevitable refusal.
Chris also realized that she would leave as soon as she articulated that refusal. He’d have no reason to see her again. She’d been ripped from him before without a goodbye. For some reason, he couldn’t let that happen again. He touched her arm. “Come on, Adelaide. Let’s talk about this outside.”
A fierce March wind met them at the door. Not wanting to take a chance at being overheard, he kept walking until he reached the gate, then turned to face her. “I’m so sorry, Adelaide. If I’d had any idea that my parents would spring this on us, I would have done everything I could to prevent it.”
The wind teased at her hair and skirt as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I know.”
“You don’t have to go back in there. I’ll break the news myself.”
She nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Please tell your siblings I said goodbye. It was nice to see them again.”
She couldn’t seem to look at him. He wasn’t sure how or why, but what his father had said must have struck a nerve with her. Chris didn’t know how he felt. Anger had deserted him—at least for the moment. The only emotion he was left with was one he couldn’t seem to name. Whatever it was, it begged him to pull her into his arms. He shook the errant thought from his head. “Goodbye, Adelaide. Thank you for trying to help me.”
“Goodbye, Chris.”
He left her at the gate, announced to his family that there would be no wedding, now or ever, and said goodbye to Everett. Pastor Brightly left soon after. Chris removed himself to one of the chairs on the porch, feeling tired and bruised.
The sound of the front door opening interrupted his swirling, unmanageable thoughts. He glanced up as his father took the chair beside him. Jaw clenching, Chris shook his head. “You hurt her feelings.”
“I did?” His father frowned and cast a concerned glance down the street in the direction Adelaide and Everett had walked. “That wasn’t my intention. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d let it go this far.”
A beat of silence passed. Chris looked at his father. Olan’s mouth slowly curved upward on one side. Chris straightened in his chair. “You knew.”
Olan lifted an eyebrow and gave a single nod.
Chris’s mouth fell open. “How long have you known?”
“Chris, you are my son. Do you really think I didn’t see your hurt and anger the past few years? There’s also the matter of you flirting with your sister’s friends. The man I raised would never do that while betrothed to someone else.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“At first, I wanted to give you time to heal. Then I wanted you to come to me. Finally I just got sick of it and made you as uncomfortable as I possibly could to see when you’d finally break down and tell me.”
Chris hiked his thumb toward the house. “The wedding. That’s what that was about. You actually set me up with a fake wedding, and you say I’m the one who took it too far?”
“It wouldn’t have been a fake if you’d gone through with it.”
“You knew we wouldn’t.”
“Actually, I wasn’t sure. Adelaide’s always had a hold on you. She still does.” Olan waved off Chris’s protests. “I saw the way you kissed her.”
“That was just to keep her quiet.”
“Was it? Because, I’m pretty sure that by the time I slapped you on the back you’d forgotten not only where you were but why you were kissing her in the first place.”
Heat crawled up Chris’s neck. He stood and walked over to the porch rail. “Pa, what are you getting at? Are you trying to make me admit that I care for her? Why? What does it matter now?”
“We men don’t like to talk much about our feelings. I understand that. However, the way I look at it, feelings are a lot like seeds. You can bury them all you want. They’ll just keep growing. The only way to conquer them is to dig them up, bring them to the light and deal with them with God’s help. You’ve kept quiet about what you think and feel for Adelaide for so long. That isn’t a healthy way to live. I want you to talk to me. For the first time in five years, be honest with me and tell me what you’re feeling.”
“I feel...angry. Not just at her, but at myself.” He turned to face his father and forced himself to speak the truth. “I could have fought for her. I thought about it so many times. How hard would it have been to get on a train to Houston and have an honest conversation with her? But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not after how she threw me away—threw away the future I wanted us to have together. I thought we were in love. I must have been wrong, if she was able to turn away from it so easily. Since then, I’ve just been numb. I tried to find a girl who would be content with that. No one ever was. But maybe now that it’s truly over, I can finally put it all to rest.”
His father was quiet for a long moment. Right when Chris was beginning to feel uncomfortable for revealing all of that, Olan spoke. “What’s stopping you from fighting for her now?”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Sanity, probably.”
“Hey.” Olan leaned forward, brow furrowed. “I’m serious. You might say you’re ready to put it to rest, but I can see you still have strong feelings for her. You need those settled before you can move on. If you can move on. Maybe all of this is God’s way of showing you that you gave up too soon.”
“Why would you, of all people, want me to go after her?”
“Does it matter?”
“It really does.”
“I’d hate to see you start your marriage to another girl with this hanging over your head.”
Suddenly realizing he no longer had a buffer to protect him from his father’s attempts at an arranged marriage, Chris tensed. “Is this about Bridget Saltzberg?”
Exasperation painted Olan’s features. “The girl’s name is Britta Solberg. And, no. This is about you and the fact that being in love with someone else is a horrible way to start a marriage.”
“Listen, I never said I was still in love with Adelaide. I’m not. If that’s the only reason you think I should fight for her, then it’s not good enough.”
“I think it is. Marriage is challenging enough without that type of strain. Now, I have an idea and I think you’re going to like it.” At Chris’s doubtful look, Olan shrugged. “Well, you’ll like at least half of it. I’ll agree to see a heart specialist in Houston if you’ll agree to figure out your true feelings for Adelaide while we’re there.”
Chris stared at his father. “That, sir, is blackmail.”
“Let’s just call it...motivation.”
“Unbelievable.” Chris sank into the chair across from his father and shook his head in amazement. “You know there is no way I can turn that down. I can’t even try to stall you because the sooner you see a doctor, the better. I almost can’t even be upset at you for doing it because it’s such a brilliant move.”
Olan patted him on the knee, then stood. “I’ve got to take care of a few things before we leave, but there should be a train coming through about noon tomorrow. Be ready to get on it. And come inside. Your ma has a plate for you.”
He’d been outmaneuvered, outthought, outplanned and there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he felt particularly interested in digging through his feelings for Adelaide. What did his feelings matter when she’d made her own stance perfectly clear? Still, for honor’s sake, he ought to at least be in the woman’s general vicinity once or twice if possible. He’d just have to keep his guard up, because there was no way he was going to get his heart tangled up with that woman again.
* * *
If a young lady truly loved my son, no one would be able to persuade her not to marry him.
Mr. Johansen’s words reverberated in her head all the way back to Houston. They hurt, not because they had been cruelly meant, but because they were true. They meant her mother must have been right all along. Adelaide hadn’t loved Chris. What they’d felt had been nothing more than a childish fleeting fancy.
It had been odd, though, to stand in the Johansen’s parlor and catch a glimpse of what her life might have been. If she’d loved Chris, perhaps she would have flouted her mother’s wishes. She might have run back to Peppin when she was eighteen to marry him in a ceremony very much like the ones his parents had planned yesterday. She might have lost her mother’s approval but she would have gained his family’s love and support. She’d be much closer to her old friends in Peppin—people who were warm, friendly, and accepting, unlike the society mavens Rose was trying so hard to impress.
It sounded rather idyllic until she remembered that Chris hadn’t loved her, either. He never would have sought out the company of another woman if he had. Adelaide needed to remember that she hadn’t ended their engagement only because she’d doubted the depth of her feelings, but also because she’d feared the life she could see folding out before her the moment she’d read Amy’s letter. It was a life very much like Rose’s had been up to that point—married young to a handsome salesman with a wandering heart. Adelaide could never abide that.
She’d locked away her thoughts of a future in Peppin with Chris and focused on finding some means of supporting herself so that she’d never have to rely on a husband. Thankfully, with Everett’s help, she’d honed her talent for writing. His family’s connections in the publishing world had helped secure her first book deal. She’d managed the rest by herself and was well on her way to fulfilling her new dream. That’s what she needed to focus on, not her trip to the past.
She tightened her grasp on her carrying case as she stepped from the train onto the covered platform. Everett paused beside her and she followed his gaze to the looming three-story brick building that was Houston’s Grand Central Station. He smiled. “As much as I enjoy chasing down a good story, there’s nothing quite like coming home again. Why don’t you go find your mother in the waiting room while I gather our luggage? We’ll meet at the station entrance. That will save us some time, and we’ll be home before we know it.”
She worried her bottom lip. “And I’ll have a few moments alone with Mother to tell her what happened on our trip.”
“Exactly.” He patted her arm and set off in the direction of the baggage claim.
Adelaide sighed, then gathered her courage and slipped through the bustling crowd. In the waiting room, Rose gave her a perfunctory hug, then asked, “Where’s your stepfather?”
“He’s going to meet us at the entrance with the luggage.”
Rose scanned the crowd as they walked. “Well, I’ll have a thing or two to say to him about taking you to Peppin.”
“He didn’t know. I mean, we never told him much about our history there. I...didn’t visit father’s grave.”
“Why would you?” Rose pressed her lips together, then turned to look at Adelaide. “Did you see any of your old friends?”
“I saw Chris,” Adelaide said, because that was really what her mother was asking. “He still works in his father’s store.”
“I don’t suppose he’s married.”
“No.”
“His kind hardly ever does marry, which is a mercy, really.”
Adelaide pulled in a trembling breath. For a moment it was all she could do not to turn on her heel and board a train bound for anywhere out of here. She shook the notion from her head. What was wrong with her? Her mother hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Yet, for the hundredth time, Adelaide wished she’d never breathed a word about why she’d broken off her engagement with Chris. She swallowed any further details of her time with Chris in Peppin and smiled. “I had dinner with Ellie and Lawson Williams while I was there.”
Rose seemed to relax a little. “Did you? That sounds lovely. Now, tell me, did you get as much writing done as you’d hoped?”
“Yes. Well, almost.” Adelaide had been too distracted to get much written while she was in Peppin. However, the rest of the trip made up for that. “The change of scenery helped me figure out what was wrong with my heroine.”
“Good! Then you’ll have plenty of time for all of our social engagements.”
“Oh.” Disappointment filled her voice, but Rose didn’t seem to notice. Adelaide shook her head slightly. Why was it so hard to remember that her mother had no interest in Adelaide’s books? Although Rose had never expressly said so, it was obvious the woman thought that writing dime novels was a waste of time and a borderline vulgar means of making money. Adelaide tried not to let that disdain affect her. After all, her mother had never read a single one of her stories, so Rose was hardly an authority on the subject.
“You do remember that we’re having a garden party at our house this afternoon, don’t you?”
She smiled as pleasantly as possible while wondering if her mother had truly mentioned this before. Sometimes Rose liked to spring things on her at the last minute so that she wouldn’t have a chance to back out. Well, Adelaide could hardly back out of this since it was taking place at their house—no matter how much she might wish she could. As her mother went down the list of eligible gentlemen who were expected to attend, Adelaide stared out the window at the busy street outside the station. The energy of the city could be both exciting and overwhelming. Trolley cars zipped down the street, clanging their approach to each intersection with a jolly bell. The clop of horses’ hooves sounded against brick-paved streets. Grand multistory buildings jutted toward a sky that seemed all the bigger and bolder for the city’s lack of hills.
Everett greeted Rose with a hug and a circumspect kiss on the cheek. He whispered something that made Rose’s tense shoulders ease completely. Finally, Rose laughed, then teased him back. Adelaide blinked at the transformation. Everett’s effect on her mother was truly amazing. Somehow he knew just how to soften her edges and ease her anxiety. Even the cadence of her mother’s voice was calmer now.
Why couldn’t Rose relax that way around her? Adelaide blinked away the prickle of tears that threatened her vision. She had them firmly under control by the time she climbed into the carriage with her family. It wasn’t long before they reached the Holden Mansion. Blossoming magnolia trees shaded the long sidewalk that led to the sprawling green-and-white two-story home. As soon as she entered, a maid rushed her upstairs where a hot bath waited. Adelaide washed away the dust of her travels, then barely had a chance to unpack a few essentials before it was time to dress for the party.
Clad in a mint green walking dress and flowered hat, Adelaide stood beside Rose and Everett on the back patio where they welcomed the guests to their extensive lawn and garden. Most of the attendees were far closer to being acquaintances than true friends. Part of that was her fault. Adelaide focused so much on the imaginary worlds she created with her pen and ink that she didn’t pay much attention to the real one. It didn’t help that she’d never felt as though she belonged in this world. Though society had been polite and welcoming, she was certain they knew it, too. After all, she wasn’t a Holden like her mother. She was simply Adelaide Harper—the daughter of a no-good traveling salesman.
“I think most of our guests have arrived,” Rose said, then nodded toward a small group of young men and women who were laughing together. “Adelaide, dear, why don’t you join that nice group of young people? Try to make some friends and, please, for my sake, don’t mention your books.”
Adelaide stiffened, then watched her mother walk away.
Everett stayed behind to give her arm a gentle squeeze. “She means well, Adelaide.”
Not in the mood for comfort or company, Adelaide shied from his touch and strode toward a hidden corner of the garden behind the greenhouse. This was her safe haven. An oak tree stretched its branches over an extremely comfortable wooden bench that she often curled up on to think or write or daydream. Today she paced in front of it. A familiar, slow-burning anger flickered to life inside her.
Why was it so hard to be the woman her mother wanted her to be? Perhaps it was because Adelaide didn’t like that woman. She was weak, superficial and controllable. She never dared speak her mind. She was boring and vapid. She was nothing like the person Adelaide used to be. The one she’d been in Peppin.
A smile tugged at her lips at the memory of the way she’d behaved the previous day—horribly. She’d kissed the last man on earth she should’ve kissed, right in the middle of his family’s store. She’d put up a fight when he’d dragged her into that alley. She’d certainly had no trouble venting her temper then. She’d come up with the idea to keep the story of their engagement going. And, great day in the morning, she’d enjoyed it—every bit of it. Well, except for the part where it had all come crashing down around her.
“Adelaide?”
She startled, then spun toward the voice to find one of her mother’s guests had followed her. It wasn’t just any guest, though. It was Bertrand Milney, the man Rose had been trying to pair her up with for the last three months. He fit all of her mother’s requirements to a T. He was successful, well-known in Houston’s elite circles, and...well, rather plain. Adelaide might not have minded that so much if they had some sort of innate connection, spark or even common interest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. However, he’d always been kind and respectful toward her, so she’d done her best to be pleasant without actually encouraging his attentions.
His pale gray eyes latched on to her with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Was there something you needed?”
“Just a moment of your time, if that’s all right.” He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at the stone pathway beneath his feet in deep contemplation. “You see, there comes a time in each man’s life where he begins to think quite seriously about his future.”
Oh, no.
“That future can never be complete without a proper companion—a wife.”
She sank to the wooden bench and barely held back a sigh.
“I’ve come to regard you fondly.” His lanky form bent down to one knee. “Your mother says that you’ve spoken of your feelings for me—”
“Oh, she did? I see. Did she happen to tell you what those feelings were?” Adelaide had told her mother more than once that she wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship with Bertrand.
“She didn’t have to say anything. I know you care for me, too, but please don’t interrupt.”
Her eyebrows rose. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. This was the third proposal her mother had managed to procure for her in three years. So far, it was simultaneously the best and worst of the lot.
Adelaide was impressed by her mother’s effort. Only three months into the year and already she’d prompted a suitor to propose. She was far ahead of schedule. At this rate, she might be able to up the average.
Bertrand seemed to realize he’d made a mistake, for he winced. “It’s only that I’ve memorized everything. As I was saying...”
Suddenly, his words faded to mere background noise. Adelaide narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she watched an intruder climb over the fence behind him, landing in the grass with a loud oomph. Straightening, the man brushed the dirt from his knees and the palms of his hands. She’d recognized him immediately, of course, and the flood of relief she felt upon being in his presence again was downright unsettling. She stood and walked toward him. “Chris Johansen, what in the world? What are you doing here? Why did you jump our fence?”
His blue eyes caught on hers. A sheepish grin tilted his lips. He lifted his chin in a quick greeting. “Hello there, Adelaide. Nice to see you again. Your servants refused to let me into the house without an invitation. My pa and I didn’t hop a train and come all this way to get turned away at the door.”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t allow herself to entertain any silly notions about his intentions—no matter how fast her foolish heart tried to race. “I don’t understand.”
“He wants to apologize, is all. I told him—” The sound of a throat clearing interrupted him. He glanced behind her and lifted a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”
Adelaide whirled to find Bertrand still kneeling before the bench with his elbow resting against his knee. A sapphire ring gleamed in his hand. Bertrand stood, his chest puffing out a bit. “You most certainly are. You’ve ruined my proposal. I’ve forgotten the entire thing.”
“Honestly, Bertrand, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t going to accept your offer of marriage.”
“Of course you were. Your mother gave me her blessing. She said you—”
Chris made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Your mother gave him her blessing. That’s rich.”
“Excuse me?” Bertrand glared at Chris, then turned to Adelaide. “Is he why you’re turning me down? Who is this man to you? Some secret beau? Is that why you were hiding back here? You were planning to meet him, weren’t you?”
“I was...” Her adamant protests died a sudden death at the birth of a new idea. Oh, she shouldn’t. She couldn’t. Well, she could, but she really shouldn’t.
It had worked for Chris, though, for almost four years. Imagine the progress she could make on her career in four long years! She’d be entirely independent by then. All she had to do was put on a convincing show while Chris was here, which surely wouldn’t be for long. When he left, she’d be set. Her mother might not stop throwing other men at her. However, Adelaide would be able to tell those men she was taken, which should keep them from proposing. Rose would be absolutely livid about Adelaide’s choice of beau and possible groom...so much so that having a daughter settled down to the quiet life of a spinster writer would seem far more palatable in comparison.
Doing her best to hide the smile playing at her lips, Adelaide lifted her chin. She allowed the tears she’d held at bay all morning to well in her eyes. That gave her a tragic air as she said, “I’m sorry you found out this way, Bertrand. But, I suppose it’s only right that you know the truth. Just please...don’t tell my mother.”
