Fair Is the Rose (58 page)

He glanced behind them through the French doors and into the drawing room. Alana was searching the room. "I think your sister wants you."

Christal turned her head. Alana waved.

"Just tell me when it's time to go. I'll be with you, Cain. I swear I will," she said.

"Sure," he whispered as he watched Alana take Christal's arm and introduce her to a group of women who wore enough emeralds and diamonds slung around their necks to have financed the entire Confederate army.

"Sure," he repeated to no one as he turned back to Fifth Avenue.

You choose the rose, love, and I'll make the vow

And I'll he your true love forever.

T
ommy
M
akem

"Have you seen Macaulay?" Christal had a tight, almost desperate expression on her face as she sought out her sister in the crowd. It was past midnight. She'd been up in the nursery with Alana while her sister fed the baby. She'd asked to rock the child back to sleep, and when she'd returned back to the drawing room, she couldn't find Macaulay anywhere.

"Darling, he's got to be around here ..." Alana turned around. Her eyes sought her husband in the crowd. With the instinct of lovers, Trevor immediately looked up and found his wife across the room. "Trevor will know where he's off to. Oh, Christal, you look terrible. Why are you so worried—perhaps he went to
bed.
"

"No." Christal wrung her hands and searched the crowd once more. Macaulay's tall form was not among the glittering jewels, gleaming satins, and black swallowtail coats. "Oh, don't tell me he's gone. Don't tell me!"

"Where would he be off to at this time of night?" Alana turned to her husband, who was suddenly at her side. "Trevor, where is Macaulay?"

"Cain? I saw him at midnight. He was talking to Whittaker."

Christal paled. "May I speak to the butler?"

"Come." Trevor took her arm. Alana watched, concern marring her smooth forehead.

The butler was in the dining room instructing the footmen on clearing the table.

"Whittaker—we're looking for Mr. Cain. He spoke to you?" Sheridan's booming voice easily traveled across all the marble in the dining room.

Whittaker bowed to Christal. "I just saw him, sir. He requested his firearms."

"He wanted his guns?" Christal gasped.

"Is he planning on shooting someone?" Sheridan asked dryly.

"No . . ." Christal hung her head. She fought the urge to cry.

"Is something amiss?" Whittaker interjected, the worry in his eyes betraying his professional demeanor. "Should I have kept Mr. Cain's weapons? I thought he requested them because he was retiring—I hear cowboys sleep with their boots on, and such. I assumed that was why he wanted his guns."

"He's—left—me." Christal barely choked back her sobs. She looked once at Sheridan's shocked face, then ran to the foyer and lifted her heavy satin skirts to mount the marble stairs, two at a time, to flee to her bedroom.

"Oh, he can't have left! You only arrived today!" Alana exclaimed as Christal stuffed her few belongings into a valise.

"He probably looked for me"—Christal swallowed her tears and shoved another petticoat into the bag—"while I was in the nursery—he thought I was—I was—having too much fun!"

"Whatever are you talking about, Christal?"

"Oh, how can I explain it?" Christal looked around the room to see if she had forgotten anything. She had. The sky-blue dress was draped across a tufted mauve satin ottoman. It looked ridiculously cheap and homemade against the artistry of the furniture, but it was the most beautiful dress in the world to her. She lifted it to her chest and hugged it.

"Does he not like us?" Alana looked quite vexed. "Oh, but how can that be? He doesn't know us!"

"I think he's trying to help me. He told me he was leaving, that I was better off here in New York, resuming my place in society—but I told him I loved him—how could he leave without letting me know?"

Alana helped her fold the sky-blue dress, not making any comment as to why Christal was forgoing all the costly Worth satin gowns she had donated to her in favor of a crudely fashioned wool gown.

"I wanted to dance at your wedding, Christal. If you leave and marry him in Wyoming, I won't be there." Christal was packed and Alana was in tears. "I wanted to give you such a beautiful big wedding."

"I think I'm going to have a baby."

Alana stared at her, stunned.

"I've missed my monthly time and with everything that has been happening these past weeks, I just couldn't think about it." Christal dropped her head to her hands. "What should I do, Alana? If you were me, what would you do? Call him back here and make him miserable? Or go to him and love him?" She shook her head. "Don't you see, he knows he doesn't fit here—and now I see I don't either . . .
anymore.
"

No words came from Alana's lips. She only stood there and let the tears fall silently down her cheeks.

"I haven't told him about the baby. I wanted to be sure." Christal felt the tears renew in her eyes. "I don't want to leave you. I love you, Alana. I love the children and Trevor. But what can I do? I love him so much."

"Go to him." Alana took the valise and put her arm around Christal's waist. "I'll forgo dancing at your wedding to be at the birth of
my
first niece or nephew. When will that be?"

"In about eight months—seven?
Oh, I don't know!" Christal suddenly laughed through her tears. "There just never seemed to be a moment to sit down and calculate the time."

"If we get to Wyoming and that man hasn't put a ring on your finger, Trevor will kill him—"

"Don't worry. Just let me find Macaulay. I have a feeling the rest will take care of itself."

"Telegraph us the moment you have a chance or we'll set out looking for you all over again." Alana hugged her, misery and love glittering in her eyes. "And know that I love you, Sister. I wouldn't let you go if I didn't."

Christal began weeping in earnest. Anguished, she forced herself to break away,
then
ran down the marble stairs to the waiting carriage.

The train to St. Louis was pulling out just as she ran to the platform. She walked in a fast clip alongside, peering into every window she could find to see if Macaulay was on it. She got to the halfway mark and still she couldn't find him. Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. She'd been through too much in the past days to have it end like this. She could join him later, but she wanted him, needed him,
loved
him.
Now.

"Where are you, you damned Reb!" she screamed at the slowly passing train, shocking the bystanders on the platform. In a fit of anger, she ran past two more cars. He wasn't in either of them.

And then she saw him. He was leaning against the railing between cars, a morose expression on his handsome face while he lazily watched Grand Central Depot ease by.

"I hate you!" she cried out, running to keep up with the slow-moving train.

Macaulay's eyes widened. He nearly slipped from his perch. "What in God's name are you doing?" he cried out, rushing to the other side of the railing nearer to her.

"I'm going with you, you bastard! How could you leave me behind?"

"You're not giving it a chance!" His expression turned dark. She could see the lines deepen in his face. "You don't yet know what you'll miss. I don't want you unhappy. I got better things to do with my life than saddle myself with an unhappy woman—"

"You don't want me unhappy?" She was losing patience more quickly than she was losing platform to run on. Angrily, she threw her valise at him. It landed with a thud against his chest. Next, she reached behind her and unclasped the sapphire-and-diamond necklace. "Then take me with you to Wyoming! Let me leave all this behind. I don't want it!" To prove her point, she handed the priceless necklace to the first person she saw, a frumpy older woman with a black shawl covering her head. The woman nearly fainted when she saw what had dropped into her hands.

"Jesus Christ!" He almost fell off the train. Shock and disbelief were painted all over his face.

"Take me with you! I lied—I don't hate you—I love you. Don't let these things come between us!" She continued to run alongside the train, but it was gaining speed. She dropped her sister's satin cape on the platform and began ripping from her ears the diamond earrings, which she handed to another shocked bystander.

"Damn, girl, what are you doing?" he said, amazed by her crazy behavior. She'd given away a small fortune.

"I'm proving I love you!" The train gained even more momentum. Her chest ached with her need for air. She was quickly running out of platform. If he didn't put out his hand and help her up, she would miss the train.

And her life would be over.

Because there was no way she could live without him. She loved him, and all the Sheridan wealth was paltry consolation if he didn't love her back.

"If you come with me, you might be making a big mistake." His gaze darted between the end of the platform and her running figure.

She didn't answer; she only looked at him, her love in her eyes. The train of her dress was soiled by the dirty platform and her hair, previously dressed, smooth and chic, now flew behind her like a banner of golden tangles. The proud, wealthy heiress was gone. In her place was a woman whose heart was near to breaking because Macaulay Cain thought it best she remain in New York with her empty wealth and useless society prominence.

"No, I
do
hate you!" she cried in despair as she hit the end of the platform.

Then a hand reached out and took her by the back of her dress as if she were a dirty stray kitten. It plucked her from the platform and threw her against Cain's hard, warm chest.