Authors: Illusion
Emily French (4 page)
Relieved, Seth realized his voice was even, as though he were in full command. For a moment those soft gray eyes had stirred feelings that were strange and unwelcome, yet pleasurably compelling. It was a long time since a woman had so disturbed his equilibrium.
Sophy lowered her eyes demurely to the contents of her coffee cup. Thinking she shouldn’t even be considering the suggestion and knowing it was already starting to tantalize her, she glanced up at him through lowered lashes.
Setting down her cup with great care, she put her small hand to her mouth, shocked by the heady notion. It would be a bold move to try to squeeze further concessions from him, but why not enter into marriage on terms favorable to the wife?
Her mouth tilted slightly at the corners.
Fortune sides with him who dares.
She tried to make her voice bland. “I would like to continue with some projects I’ve been working on, maybe even undertake some new ones.”
Fortune sides with him who dares.
She tried to make her voice bland. “I would like to continue with some projects I’ve been working on, maybe even undertake some new ones.”
Seth’s eyes met hers over the rim of his cup. Sensing his annoyance, Sophy sat up a little straighter, and blinked owlishly. Her voice was a shadowy breathless sound. “No questions, no reproaches, no
comments
even from a husband.”
comments
even from a husband.”
Seth set down his cup, the firm line of his mouth hardening slightly. From the displeased expression on his face, Sophy could tell he found her demands excessive.
Sophy blinked, uncertain of his sudden change of mood. Maybe she should compromise, just a little? She wet her suddenly parched lips with the tip of her tongue and hurried on before she lost her courage. “And I promise no tears. I’ve heard wives cry a lot to gain their points.”
Seth’s features were forbidding as he studied her. Sophy’s jaw muscles went tight. His gaze seemed to penetrate into the very heart of her, as if he were trying to discover her deepest secrets.
He stared at her for a moment, then he laughed. A short, sharp expulsion of air. But definitely a laugh. To his ears the tone sounded surprisingly rusty, but then it had been literally years since he had laughed out loud so spontaneously.
“I couldn’t stand that! Anything more?” His question was more curious than anything.
Sophy shook her head slowly. “No.”
He eased his leg back against the sofa, watching her, a cool, flicking assessment in his bright blue eyes. Sophy could feel the probing inspection as if he had reached out and touched her.
Something feminine and disturbing flowed down her spine. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to look away from his suddenly hooded gaze.
“I take it that this is the end of our negotiations? That you will not come up with new demands and stipulations every other day?” His voice was steady and calm, though she could feel the coiled energy in him.
Sophy felt herself blush at the gibe, but she felt a sense of relief that he was willing to ignore the tension flowing between them. She had to establish firm terms and conditions in her relationship with this man, or she would be lost. She lifted one shoulder and shrugged dismissively.
“Of course not.” She moved her head once in denial. “I simply wanted to have things cut-and-dried before you committed yourself. There is one more thing, though.” She was annoyed to recognize the hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“Let’s hear it.” There was resignation in his tone, but wry humor flickered behind the dark lashes and tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Sophy drew in a deep breath and let him have it. “As I mentioned earlier, I was actively involved in many of my father’s financial dealings. I would like to learn all I can about textile manufacturing as well, assist where I can.”
There was a charged silence while Seth digested her proposal. He sat there, looking as if he were reflecting on his response as he idly ran a finger around the rim of his coffee cup.
Sophy eyed his lowered lashes, a queer feeling in her stomach. It was like a great bubble that threatened to expand and explode the fantasy she had begun to weave about the nature of this man.
It was this element of uncertainty that caused the powerful effect on her. Her heart beat a slow thud, pressing the bubble up behind her breastbone, pounding a thought into her brain.
Had she made a terrible miscalculation?
The silence was becoming more than a little frightening when he looked up suddenly, his decision made.
“Fair enough. I have no objection. If you accept that I reserve the right to try to influence your decisions, you have a deal,” he agreed easily.
The small victory banished Sophy’s apprehension. Once again she felt in charge of the situation. The notion was strangely satisfying. Sufficient for her to proceed recklessly.
“As my wedding gift, Mr. Weston, I intend handing over my father’s entire estate to you. It is not insubstantial and will make the payment of your debts infinitely easier and any plans for expansion less troublesome. Unless you have any objections, I shall retain only those assets and funds I have acquired through my own endeavours.”
Seth gritted his teeth, reached for the cane and started to get to his feet. And he had thought she was vulnerable, a target for fortune hunters like himself!
An uneasy shiver feathered his spine and he shook his head. He had a gut feeling she was not going to be the biddable, obedient wife Matt Tyson had promised.
“The idea of a wife who drives a hard bargain intrigues me, Sophy van Houten.” He slanted her a deliberate glance. “It’s going to be interesting being married to you.”
He had never envisaged that married life was going to be a pleasant experience, not by any stretch of the imagination. The point to recognize was that Sophy van Houten was only a woman, and an unseasoned little squab at that.
He had merely to show her who was in charge, and all would be well. Seth Weston was a man used to giving orders, and to seeing them obeyed.
Time enough after they were married to bring her to heel. He had other things to do today. He was going to visit Wall Street and give a certain banker a small but hopefully salutary piece of his mind.
Sophy’s eyes were bright and steady with exhilaration as the door closed behind him. Every hope she had ever held was blossoming afresh.
Her prayers were answered. All she had ever wanted was within her grasp. A small voice within her whispered,
Be careful not to ask for what you want. You just might get it.
Be careful not to ask for what you want. You just might get it.
It spun through her mind that, if she were wise, she would leap up and run from this marriage as if the yawning pits of hell gaped at her feet. But Sophy knew how often the gamble was worth the risk.
The game was never lost till won.
The day of the wedding was one of October’s smiling ones, still and unseasonable, almost warm. There was the feel of a gentle determination in the air, of tenacious life, a movement, a subtle tremor of restless nature, beneath a shining sun. The curtains were pulled back from the bowshaped windows, letting the light spill into the dressing room.
Standing in front of the long mirror, Sophy gave her hair a final pat, and her delicately arched brows pulled together in a frown. Would she be a disappointment as a wife to Seth Weston? He had made it perfectly clear it was only her coin he wanted. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were a hunchback with four eyes, her wealth was attractive.
There was no reason for her to feel as strangely unhappy and uneasy as she did. After all, she had agreed to the wedding bargain. Her only doubts lay with the unknown quantity of Seth Weston and her growing awareness of him as a man. Sophy touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, suddenly nervous.
Her maid gave a knowing grin. “Now, don’t ye be fretting over something that hasn’t happened yet. Things have a way of working out.” Giving Sophy a caress on the cheek, Tessa adjusted Sophy’s cap.
Sophy had finally settled upon black silk and lace for her wedding attire and a small cap, black, embroidered, with just enough veil to suggest the bride.
“I guess you’re right, Tessa,” she conceded. She wished she had asked Aunt Ella about the intimacies of marriage, but she had not wanted to embarrass her straitlaced aunt.
“Have you never wished to marry, Tessa?”
“Nay, lass. My clan were poor. From the day I arrived in America, I belonged to Nicholas van Houten and his bonny lassie. They were all the kin I ever needed, just as yon man will be your life.”
Sophy stood helplessly. A thousand thoughts possessed her, none of them rational enough to voice.
Seth Weston...
She had not seen her fiancé at all during the two weeks preceding the wedding. Only a brief message with Matt Tyson to say the marriage contract had been drawn up, and, if it fulfilled all her conditions, would she please sign as necessary.
There had been other callers, including her two uncles and her cousin. Uncle Schuyler had seemed relieved that he would soon be able to discharge his final task as trustee. Her mother’s brother had never wanted such a responsibility in the first place. Sophy, with her independent ways, made him uncomfortable, but he was determined to do the right thing by his niece.
He had pompously declared Seth Weston to be a man of excellent character, who would safely see to Sophy’s welfare. He had also sadly reflected that it would have been more seemly if dear Sophy had respected the customary period of mourning before committing herself to marriage, and left.
Sophy had a sneaking suspicion that Uncle Schuyler was secretly impressed that Seth had survived the bloody battle of Gettysburg and still remained a respected textile manufacturer.
While Uncle Heinrich wished her well, he also considered the haste unseemly. Did she not feel the weight of remorse? he asked trenchantly. Did her conscience not trouble her?
A pained expression on his face, he closed his eyes, muttered a prayer for forgiveness, then made the caustic observation that Seth Weston would regret tying himself to such a willful baggage.
But Uncle Heinrich also felt under obligation to see that his brother’s daughter was married well, and pronounced Seth to be a man of honor who had fought bravely for the Union. Any man who could control a regiment of soldiers should be able to control one small woman.
It was left to Cousin Pieter to ask her bluntly if she loved Seth. Sophy flushed, unable to reply. Pieter believed in the cause of freedom, not only for black slaves, but for women. What could she say now?
That love was an illusion, cut to the measure of one’s own desire? That her desire was for independence, not love? That she was desperate for freedom? That Seth Weston was willing to give that freedom to her?
Pieter’s eyes had narrowed with suspicion. Sophy gulped, gnawed at her bottom lip, trying to figure out how she could distract Pieter’s thoughtful attention.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Father’s death, Pieter, it’s that I don’t want my life the way it was. I want more,” she ground out, her throat tight with tension. “I’ll make Seth a good wife if it kills me,” she vowed, “or if he doesn’t kill me first!”
The sound of church bells, ringing as clear and crisp as the autumn sky overhead, accompanied Sophy as she entered the sacristy of the old church at Sleepy Hollow.
Sophy had difficulty in concentrating on the service. She thought it might have something to do with the potion Aunt Ella had given her earlier to quell the butterflies in her stomach.
As she entered the church on her uncle’s arm, her whole being was concentrated on the man waiting at the altar.
Seth Weston...
It was quite remarkable; she knew without looking up the very moment he turned his head to look at her, and felt his start of surprise. At the last moment, she had impulsively plucked some late-blooming roses and pinned them to her cap. A novel touch. Incongruous. Defiant.
The wreath of vivid red roses lent a sweet, pungent scent to the air as she stood before the pastor and prayed for God’s blessing on the marriage. The minister opened his book and began to address the congregation.
“We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony....”
Seth was conscious of the slight figure standing at his side. Whoever heard of a bride wearing mourning black—and red roses? Not exactly proper. In fact, downright unconventional! Like a reflection on water, his first impressions of Sophy were beginning to waver.
That sort of picture did tend to ignore the small irregularities. A dangerous mistake. Although it was only a tiny error in the mental image of her that he had fashioned, it bothered Seth.
A seasoned campaigner, he knew little mistakes, small pieces missing in the puzzle, could lead to much bigger and more dangerous miscalculations. There were still too many unknowns in the mystery that was Sophy van Houten.
No. Sophy Weston. He made a quick adjustment in his mental construct of his bride. His bride. Hell, what on earth was he doing here? It was too late now to get out of it, but he had a feeling that someone had set a trap for him and he had fallen into it.
“Wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband... for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer... in sickness and in health... to love, honor and obey... ?”
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