Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2) (2 page)

"And did he?"

              "Well, he took me to my room and swatted my behind over my clothes. It was only one swat and didn't hurt at all, but I was mortified and I think he was too. I threw myself into his arms crying and he carried me down the back stairway and had the cook give me some cookies. Have you ever been spanked, Effie?"

              "No, but I found myself wondering about it after I read Mr. Jordon's letter. What do you suppose it feels like to lie across a man's lap like that? You would be helpless, of course, unable to get away from a man who was strong and determined. Would he lift your skirts?"

              "I really don't know," Grace admitted softly. "I suppose if he was your husband he would be within his rights to chastise you, possibly on the bare, don't you think?"

              "I guess, but what if he was no relation? What if he was just an acquaintance, he couldn't lift your skirts then?"

              "Not unless he wanted to marry you," Grace said thoughtfully. "Once a man saw you like that, I think he'd have to marry you."

"Unless he was a cad and didn't care about the girl's reputation."

              They were quiet for a while, lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the warmth of the sun. Finally Effie turned on her side and looked at Grace.

"Your freckles are coming out," she teased, tickling Grace's nose with a blade of grass.

"Heaven's," Grace squealed, sitting up. "Mother will kill me."

"Did you tell me your parents are going abroad?"

"Yes, at the end of the month," Grace replied, plopping her sun hat on her head.

"Do you have plans?"

              "No, but why do I have the feeling you have plans for me?" Grace sighed, eyeing Effie suspiciously.

              "Oh, they're nothing definite," Effie said with a smile. "I'm just a little worried we haven't had a letter from Amelia. Her new brother-in-law is obviously an opinionated man and not opposed to physical violence. Suppose everything isn't wonderful in Seattle? Suppose they are keeping Amelia from writing to us and asking for help?"

              "You should be a novelist," Grace said with a laugh as she stood and stretched. "You have a wonderful imagination, Effie Lane."

Effie rose too and smoothed her skirts.

              "I'm not saying anything is certain, but if I don't hear from Amelia soon, I'm thinking about paying a visit to Seattle."

"Going to collect on your spanking?" Grace teased.

              "Certainly not, I just want to make sure everything is as it should be and visit for a week or so. Once I'm assured of Amelia's happiness, I'll return home. Would you come with me?"

"Oh, I don't know. My mother would never approve."

              "We'll go as soon as your parents have boarded their ship and be back before they return. Your oldest brother is already in France, isn't he?"

"Well yes, but…"

              "And the other two are away at school. We'll say you're going with me to visit my Aunt Maude."

Grace snorted.

"I believe you used that one when you helped Amelia get away. They'd never believe it."

              "Well I have another Aunt in Pittsburg, Aunt Agatha. She hasn't been well. We'll use that one," Effie said happily. "Come on, Grace. It will take two weeks to get there and two weeks to get home. If we stay for two weeks, that's six weeks at the most. No one will question a six week visit to my sick aunt."

              "Except your sick aunt," Grace drawled. "I don't know Effie. Maybe we should wait to hear from Amelia. I'm sure everything's fine."

              "I'm not. In fact, after receiving that letter I'm more uncertain than ever," Effie said as she helped Grace fold the quilt. "I may have to go by myself if you won't come with me."

"Let me think about it," Grace sighed. "Meet me here the day after tomorrow."

              "All right, but I want you to really think about it. If it were you, Amelia and I would come and find you. One of us should have gone with her in the first place instead of staying here and worrying ourselves sick."

              "If I'd gone, my mother would have had the Pinkerton's on our trail before we got out of the state," Grace said stiffly.

              "That's why this is the perfect time," Effie insisted excitedly. "They'll be gone in a week and you'll be home, safe and sound before they get back. She'll never even have to know."

Grace looked doubtful as she leaned in and kissed Effie's cheek.

              There was no picnic basket over Effie's arm when she unlocked the gate and ran to the clearing. Grace was not there. Pacing, her body shaking with anger, she rushed to her friend as soon as she heard the gate clang shut.

"What is it?' Grace demanded, clutching Effie's shoulders. "Is it Amelia?"

              Nodding, Effie handed over the letter she'd received a short time ago. Her throat was clogged with tears and she turned away, her hands covering her face as Grace read.

My Dearest Effie,

I have made a dreadful mistake in marrying Mr. Jordon.

              As I write this I am sailing on the Mystic Maiden, a ship that is taking me ever closer to desperation. I am locked in my cabin of my own volition. It is for my protection from my new husband, whom I never want to speak to again.

              We married in San Francisco two days ago and boarded this vessel the next morning. Mr. Jordon was occupied with business matters involving the captain; therefore, I went to luncheon on my own. It was in the ship's galley that I found out the truth regarding the scoundrel I married.

              Effie, he also proposed to at least nine other women, and they are all on this ship heading to Seattle to wed my husband!

              Thankfully, the other women he deceived have rallied around me and are making sure my meals are brought to my cabin and I have some company. As soon as I disembark, I will inquire about return passage.  I fear I do not have enough funds to cover the expenses of my trip home and may have to find employment for a short while.  I will accept nothing from Mr. Jordon, and I would die before I approach my father for help.

              I have written to Grace and you may speak freely with her, but please keep this between you two. If word gets out, the gossips will tear me to shreds. I will contact you as soon as I have details regarding my plans.

Your dear friend,

Amelia

              "Oh dear heavens," Grace cried, putting her arms around Effie. "Poor Amelia. We must go to her and bring her home."

"Yes," Effie agreed, wiping her tears. "I'm leaving immediately."

"But I cannot," Grace cried. "I have to wait until my parents board."

              "That's another five days, maybe six depending on the train schedule. No, we must leave now or I'll go without you."

              "You don't understand, Effie. If I don't wait, I'll never get there at all. My mother will have me apprehended and dragged home in disgrace. I'll never be any help to Amelia. Wait for me, please," she begged.

              "Grace look at the date on that letter. It's more than three weeks old already. If Amelia is indeed alone and without funds, she could be in a perilous situation. Every second matters. No, I'm leaving on the first train. Follow me as soon as you're able, but I cannot wait."

"What about your parents? How will you get away?"

              "A letter came for my mother along with this one and I intercepted it. It was from Aunt Agatha informing Mother she is quite recovered and taking a trip to Georgia to visit her sister-in-law. Maisie is packing my trunk right now. I've convinced my parents that I should go and see to my aunt until she is well."

              "Effie, you're taking a great risk. Suppose they contact your aunt and your lie is discovered?" Grace asked as she twisted her hands.

"They cannot reach her; she will not be at home. See, it's a nearly foolproof plan."

              "Yes, yes, it sounds perfect. You go on. I will take the first train as soon as Mother and Father leave and be right behind you. Let me see if I can keep this straight. Train to Chicago, Omaha and on to San Francisco. Then I find passage on a ship to Seattle and locate the Jordon residence."

              "Yes, that's it exactly. If I have to go on from there, if Amelia is not in Seattle, I will leave word at the police station, or the Marshal's office, or whatever it is they have out there to maintain the law. The letter Amelia sent shortly before she married was on stationary from The Palace Hotel, so I'll check in there as soon as I arrive unless I can book passage to Seattle right away. When you get to the hotel, make sure to ask if there are any messages for you. There may be information I can find out from the hotel staff regarding their stay or plans. If there is, I'll leave you a detailed letter before going on."

              "Oh do be careful," Grace pleaded, pulling Effie into her arms and hugging her tight. "Are you taking a gun?"

              "I'm packing my father's pistol in my trunk, but I have a small derringer which I shall carry in my valise. Don't worry, Grace. You know I'm an excellent shot."

              "Unless someone manages to take it away from you," Grace said fearfully. "Try and stay away from Samuel Jordon. I don't think he's a man to antagonize."

              "And I'm not a woman to alienate," Effie insisted, wiping her tears again. "Grace, please be careful. You're such a sweet person, so honest and trusting. I don't want you to talk to strangers at all. Do what Amelia did, stay in your compartment and take your meals when the dining car is as empty as possible. And for heaven's sake, don't believe every sad story someone tells you."

              "I won't, I'll be careful," Grace promised as Effie hugged her one more time before hurrying to her gate.

              "Remember what I've said. It might be a good idea for you to wear a ring on your finger and tell anyone who asks that you're meeting your husband at the next stop. You're so pretty, Grace, and you don't even know it," Effie called over her shoulder.

              Grace walked slowly back to the gate and let herself out, wondering if they'd all ever be together again in their garden. Pretty, she snorted as she closed and lock the gate behind her. She was far from pretty. All of her faults had been pointed out on many occasions. She was too tall to be considered petite, too curvy to be considered slim, and to pale to have a creamy complexion. Her red hair curled at the mention of rain and her freckles never really responded to the buttermilk concoction her mother plastered all over her from a very young age. The only things Grace liked about herself were her straight white teeth and her bright blue eyes. She did have long graceful fingers, but the need to wear gloves all the time prevented anyone else from seeing them. Her mother insisted she would get freckles on her hands if they were exposed to the sun, but it never happened.

              It really was a shame she couldn't travel west with Effie, but she understood the urgency. At least they could make the return trip together, with Amelia by their side. What an absolute tragedy that her friend had not found out about Mr. Jordon's chicanery until after she'd married him. Of course, looking at his picture she could understand. Mr. Jordon had a handsome and honest face, which just went to show you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

              Reaching the house, Grace entered through the back door. She ignored the cook's questioning glance and went up to her room where she sank down on the bed.

              Why had it taken so long to get the letter from Amelia explaining her situation? It had been written aboard the ship, which meant it was after the wedding night. Oh dear. If the marriage had been consummated, Amelia could be with child. It would be very difficult to leave her husband under those circumstances. And why hadn't there been any further letters? Was he keeping her from contacting her friends and family? Perhaps she should pay Amelia's father, Mr. Westcott, a call and show him the letter.

              Lying down, she decided that wasn't a good idea. He might cause an uproar that prevented Effie from leaving and it would certainly arouse suspicion. No, it was best to keep quiet and not draw any attention to them.

              Flipping onto her back, she stared at the canopy over her bed and thought about the letter Effie received from Samuel Jordon. Apparently, men in the west had not caught up with what was considered acceptable in the east. Was Amelia's husband spanking her, Grace wondered with a shiver? Was corporal punishment the normal way to deal with marital differences? Why did that thought both appall and intrigue her? The knock on her door startled her, but she called out in answer.

              "Wear the blue dress for dinner tonight, Grace," her mother instructed as she sailed in. "We're having guests."

"Who?"

"Horace Remington and his mother," Beatrice Wentworth replied.

"The Lecher," Grace mumbled under her breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Mother," Grace sighed. "I'll wear the blue one."

              "Thank you dear. Are you unwell?" Beatrice moved to the bed and placed the back of her soft hand against Grace's cheek.

"I'm perfectly fine, Mother," Grace replied sitting up.

              "Good. I'd hate for you to become ill and spoil your father's and my trip. Try to tame your hair too. I want you to make a good impression on our guests."

"Would you like me to come down naked, so he can inspect the merchandise?"

"Grace, how dare you speak to me that way? I don't know what's come over you," Beatrice gasped, her eyes flashing with indignation.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Grace apologized. "I guess I'm just tired."

"Then take a nap, dear. I want you at your best tonight."

              Grace nodded as her mother left the room. Suddenly five more days seemed like five days too many.

* * * * *

              Dinner was a generally trying experience. Seated next to Horace, Grace fended off his sneaky advances as he made several forays under the tablecloth, grabbing her thigh as their mothers gossiped. Finally Grace stabbed his hand with her fork and he backed off.

"I like a girl with fire," he whispered.

              "That's nice, Horace, because if you touch me again I will take that candelabra and set fire to your hair," she gritted out between her teeth as she smiled.

              Horace laughed uproariously, causing both mothers to smile at them benevolently, pleased by their apparent attraction.

Grace kicked his foot away from hers and tried to eat her meal.

              After dinner, her mother suggested she show Horace the gardens, and against her better judgment, she complied, mainly because she wanted to give him a piece of her mind regarding his insulting behavior toward her person. They were no sooner out of the house and on the terrace when he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, slobbering all over her neck. Disgusting sounds came from his mouth as she struggled to break away. His hand squeezed her breast painfully when she raised her knee in a move Mrs. Pettigrew taught them for just such an emergency.

              Horace had apparently been down this road before, because he spun her around and pinned her back to his chest, preventing her from injuring him.

              "I'm going to have you, one way or another," he growled in her ear. "Now I'm willing to marry you and make it all nice and legal, but if you continue to resist me, I'll take you the hard way."

              Feeling him grind against her bottom, Grace for all her innocence, knew exactly what he was referring too. His body prodded her through her evening dress as he pinched her nipple until she cried out in pain.

              Suddenly the door to the terrace opened and she sagged in relief, hearing her father's voice.

              "Is everything all right out here?" he asked, peering in the dark. "I thought I heard a noise."

              "Everything's fine, Mr. Wentworth," Horace replied, slapping his hand over Grace's mouth. "Grace just stubbed her toe," he offered, squeezing her arm painfully. "We'll be right in."

"All right son."

              "I know your parents are going abroad," Horace snapped as he dragged Grace toward the door. "I plan on stopping over frequently in their absence. It would be remiss of me not to check on the welfare of my future bride, don't you think?"

Grace nodded, afraid to say more.

              "Good, as long as we understand each other. I see no reason why we shouldn't make the announcement tonight. Go upstairs and do something with that wild hair, and when you return, we'll tell them together. I'm warning you Grace, don't fool yourself into thinking you can deny me. I'm not above taking what I want. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she whispered.

"Good."

              As soon as Horace released her, Grace went to her room and did as he instructed. Returning downstairs, she went to his side and plastered a smile on her face as he announced their upcoming marriage.

              Beatrice Wentworth was thrilled and promptly informed her husband they would have to postpone their trip until a later date as she would be much too busy planning Grace's nuptials.

              Champagne was opened and they toasted the couple. Grace noted Horace drank several glasses as his face shone with satisfaction. She had no doubt that now they were engaged, Horace would maneuver her into situations where he could further assault her. Kissing her cheek as he departed, his eyes flared with a promise of vicious retribution should she report his behavior to her father and Grace lowered her eyes. Her face was red with anger which they all took as the blush of a young woman in love.