Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) (10 page)

Every time the train stopped between Seattle and
Portland, Beauregard worried she wouldn’t get back on again. He kept his
distance, but watched her like a hawk.

Each time she climbed down onto a platform, she
was sure she wouldn’t board again. But every time the whistle blew, her heart
jumped and jumped, and wouldn’t settle again until she was safely aboard.

At Longview Junction, when she chose not to get
off the train at all, Beauregard came back to the car just to make sure she
hadn’t slipped away. Maybe he thought she’d jumped off.

He looked so relieved she wanted to laugh. But
there was nothing to laugh about.

She tried to tell herself she had agreed to his
terms only because she had no other options. Then she would reason that she
would live a privileged and pampered life. She would be envied. She would be
the seemingly proud wife of a seemingly good-hearted man who wanted to help his
city and his state become a place Oregonians would be proud of.

When she was grasping at straws, she told herself
she would be one of the lucky women who wouldn’t have to worry about sharing
her husband’s bed. But the real reason she intended to sign that contract—the
reason she would never own up to—was the fact that fifteen years was a long
time to exact her revenge.

And it might take that long to make sure he
regretted every little detail of that contract.

~ ~ ~

She spent an inordinate amount of time on her hair
because she had an inordinate amount of time to waste. Not a strand was out of
place after she attached the wide brim that matched her gown. Beauregard had
left it for her in the private car. Though it was modest and tasteful, the loud
green color led her to believe he’d acquired it at Rosemary’s. It was too large
to have belonged to the two girls he’d taken upstairs that night. But who knew
how many other women he’d visited before the train left the station.

Yet another reason why she was happy she wouldn’t
be sharing his bed! Let Jezebel worry about what diseases he might be carrying
home.

Darby sat quietly in her private car and waited
for the man to come collect her. And for the last few miles of the journey, she
worried that he would find yet another way to insult her with his contract. She
understood his need to humiliate her. She did. But he obviously had a talent
for it. A nasty talent. And no matter what her heart might tell her, she wasn’t
going to put up with much more.

It was just like that ring…

It was just like that ring!

He’d handed her a weapon to wield over him and he
didn’t even know it!

She hadn’t signed it yet.

For a modest reception, Jezebel had outdone
herself.

How a well-known owner of a brothel could manage
to organize perfectly respectable events, like weddings and welcoming
committees, Darby would never know. When she’d put it to Beauregard, in those
early days, he’d give vague answers like, “She has her ways,” or “She has her connections.
But with no clean cut answer, Darby assumed Jezebel’s brothel was frequented by
powerful men who would rather jump to do her bidding than fall out of her
favor.

A band played as the train came to a stop, for
pity sakes.

Darby slipped into the persona of Queen Victoria
again—a persona she both felt comfortable in and resented all at the same time.

In the reverse of a reception line, she and her
politician husband walked along a line of important men and their wives, and
made hollow promises to have them over to dinner or get together for worthy
causes. She was careful to repeat names so her new false friends would feel
remembered. Careful to blush when mention was made of their honeymoon. Quick to
move on when serious subjects were broached.

A man named Poulson insisted that, since her
husband had been gone so long, he absolutely must put in an appearance at his
office and see to some urgent matters. When Beauregard easily relented, she
suspected the man had been part of a plan to separate the two of them without
raising suspicions.

Her smiling husband walked her to the carriage
where Jacobs waited to take her home. They turned and waved to the onlookers,
then he kissed her on the ear and told her he’d be home just as fast as he
could manage.

The carriage pulled away, finally, leaving behind
a wake of witty and suggestive calls meant to embarrass both bride and groom.

She let the curtains drop over the windows and sat
back to enjoy a moment of nothingness. She was numb, and planned to remain numb
for a month or two at least. But one day, she would fight back.

One day.

~ ~ ~

The carriage slowed much too soon and she lifted a
curtain to see that they had not, yet, reached the foot of the west hills.
Would Beauregard join her after all?

She stretched her neck a little and saw that their
path was blocked by a city hack. The carriage door swung open and a cloaked
figure climbed inside. After the intruder sat on the opposite seat, the hood
flipped back to reveal Jez, grinning from ear to ear.

“So, yer a Scot.”

No reason to be surprised. He probably included it
in his telegram.

“Aye.”

“And he’s letting you
stay
?” She shook her
head. “Not like him at all. There must be a catch.”

“None I’ll discuss with ye.”

“Oh, pooh. You mean we’re not going to be friends
anymore?” The woman laughed and reached for the door.

Darby couldn’t let the chance pass. “Wait. I have
something that belongs to you.” She pulled the ring from her finger and pressed
it into Jez’s hand. “Good-bye.”

The woman’s mouth hung open slightly and she kept
looking from Darby’s face, to the ring, and back again, waiting for “the catch.”

“No catch,” Darby said. “Good luck.”

Jez said nothing and climbed out. It was a long
minute before the carriage moved again. And when it did, it moved fast. The
wheels clattered down the street so fast they made a high-pitched whirring
noise she’d never noticed before. Thankfully, the man slowed for the twists and
turns up the mountainside, but still they were stopping at the front steps in
no time.

Jacobs grumbled while he lowered the step and
opened the door.

“What’s wrong?” She looked around, expecting wild
Indians to be flooding up the drive.

“That Jezebel, that’s what. Don’t know what she
could have been thinking, stopping us in the middle of the road like that.”

“I thought she had some pull in this city.”

“Oh, she does. She does. But she’s careful not to
have much in common with Judge Beauregard. For why would she be friends with
him when she is well known as the Phantom’s…favorite.” He had the decency to
blush.

“So, because she climbed into our coach, someone
will put the pieces together?”

“Exactly that. She goes to the judge’s offices for
business matters. She’s never seen publically with him, or at his home. Now,
who knows?”

Darby laughed. “Well, it was just a matter of
time, right? Sooner or later—”

“No, ma’am. She put you in danger today. Not Rand.
And when he finds out, he’s not going to be happy with her.”

Darby swallowed a mouthful of hot emotion. “Oh, I
don’t know, Jacobs. I think you’ll be surprised what she’ll be able to get away
with now.”

His eyes fell to the ground for a moment and he
blushed to the top of his curly mopped head. “Elton told me you’re Scottish, ma’am.”
He held up a thick stack of papers. “I reckon these letters to the staff are
all about it. But don’t you worry. Rand Beauregard is a level headed man—when
he can find his head. And I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

She thanked him with a smile and turned to take a
long look at her new prison.

Fifteen years. It was a long time to be on the verge
of tears all the time.

Thank goodness I haven’t signed the papers
.

Three days later, Hardy Jacobs was suddenly sent
down the coast on business, so Darby had no one left willing to play cards with
her. She soon wearied of thinking up clever ways to spend Beauregard’s money
and instead, started finding things in the contract she wanted changed. He’d
slipped the papers into her hand as she’d climbed into the carriage at the
train station, and she hadn’t seen him since. So, with nothing better to do
than eavesdrop on the staff members—who were making wagers on all kinds of
disturbing possibilities—she’d finally stopped picking apart his proposition
and began writing her own.

The whole idea of 15 years seemed set in stone, so
she allowed it.

She decided the best way to share the house was if
there was a definite apartment created for him on the lower level so she needn’t
worry he’d wander into her part of the house in the middle of the night. Also,
if it was going to put her in danger to have him stay away from home too often,
she wanted him back on the mountain five nights of the week. If it made Jezebel
pout, too bad. The woman’s romantic life was no concern of Darby’s.

She also wanted a guest house built so she could
invite some of her friends to come stay from time to time. With train routes
making travel so easy these days, there was no reason why she couldn’t invite
some of her closer friends out for a month in the summertime. And Violet would
be the first to invite.

Darby also decided that she would reject any
contract that included anything about children. There was no need. She wouldn’t
be sharing anyone’s bed, and she was insulted he actually expected her to be
unfaithful.

“What a great arse he is,” she muttered, just as
Jenny walked into the room. Her eyes were wide, but Darby realized the girl
couldn’t have overheard. “What is it?”

“A...uh...a...uh...Mr. Harrigan is here to see
you, ma’am.”

Harrigan! By the look on the lass’ face, it had to
be the same Mr. Harrigan that had sliced Beauregard’s leg open. It also looked
as though Jenny would faint dead away if she was required to go back and speak
with the man.

“Jenny, go to the kitchen and stay there. Do you
hear me? If I ring a bell, you send someone else. You stay out of sight. And
have Cookie fix tea.”

“Yes’m. Thank you.” She was already in tears.

Harrigan was at her home in the middle of the day?
Then he couldn’t be planning anything nefarious. Could he? Monsters only came
out at night, did they not?

She glided into the parlor with a friendly smile.
No need to be nasty until she took the man’s measure.

The man was tastefully dressed in a warm brown
suit and tie. He was far too handsome to be the man Beauregard had painted as
the devil himself. But on closer inspection, he did look older. His eyes were
slightly bloodshot. His face was closely shaved, but his skin had a gray pallor
to it.

“Good afternoon,” she said, not bothering to hide
her accent. If the man were as well-connected as her husband, he already knew
things the rest of the city didn’t.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Beauregard.” The man took
her offered hand, gave her fingers a little squeeze, then released them. “I’m
Bru Harrigan.”

“So I was told. Will ye sit down?” She took a seat
with her back to the wall and he was left with the more vulnerable position of
sitting with his back to the hallway. It didn’t seem to bother him, so she
assumed he already knew her husband wasn’t at home. Which guards were about was
anyone’s guess.

“I assume,” he said, “since you’re still in the
house, you are still Mrs. Beauregard.”

She laughed. “Until I am informed otherwise.”

He laughed in return, clearly enjoying her
honesty. “I hear you’re Scottish.”

“Aye.”

He laughed again. “You sound like a few sea
captains I know.”

“Weel,” she said, laying the brogue as thick as
she could. “We’re all cut from the same cloth, ye ken?”

Laughing even harder, he put his hands on his flat
stomach and begged her to let him catch his breath.

The cook shuffled out and set the tea tray on the
table, all the while watching Harrigan like she thought he might lunge for her.
Darby shooed her away.

“I’m afraid ye have quite the reputation in this
house, sir. We’re all convinced ye’re the Phantom.”

The man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

She raised her brows. “I take it, from your
reaction, that we’ve hit the nail on the head?”

The man was literally speechless. She poured him
some tea and handed him the cup and saucer. He took it from her, absently. “You
think I am The Phantom?”

She lifted her own cup and stirred it. “Are ye no’?”

“No, madam. I’m just an honest shipping
businessman with a few enemies who happen to have wild imaginations.”

“Ah, poor man.”

They exchanged a knowing smile.

Darby hoped to confuse him even more. “Do ye know,
ye’re the second stranger to come calling just to see if I’m Scottish? Should I
expect more of ye?”

“The second?”

“Yes. The other day, a woman jumped into my
carriage just to put the question to me.”

He described Jez to a T.

She nodded. “Yes. That must be her.”

“That was Jezebel. She’s the Phantom’s woman.”

“Oh? And here I was under the impression ye didn’t
like women.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think we both know I’m not
the Phantom.”

She gave him a conspiratory wink that committed
her to nothing, and hopefully suggested that she would keep his secret. “But I
wonder why ye...I mean, The Phantom, cares whether or not I am Scottish.”

He shrugged. “The Phantom doesn’t care for Scots.
Something he and your husband have in common.”

She waved off the comment. “My husband and the
Phantom have much more in common than that.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He took a sip of his tea, grimaced,
then set the cup down.

“Well, I ken they hate each other.” She widened
her eyes. “Oh, wait! He hates my husband. So that’s something the Phantom has
more in common with ye.”

He feigned surprise. “I? Hate your husband?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Just push those words
closer together—
I hate yer husband
— you see? Ye are The Phantom.”

He pushed on his knees and stood, still laughing. “My
word, Mrs. Beauregard. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for quite a while. I
thank you for the tea, but I must be going.”

“Forgive me for asking, Mr. Harrigan. But you
never said why you’d come in the first place.”

“Oh, I apologize. I should have said.” He picked
up his hat from the table. “I just wanted to meet you, to see this famous
Scottish woman for myself while I could.”

“While ye could?”

“You know. In case you decided to bolt.”

She laughed at him with as much gusto as he’d
shown. “Oh, Mr. Harrigan. We Scots doona bolt.”

He nodded. “We’ll see, Mrs. Beauregard. We’ll see.”

“Actually, it’s
Lady
Beauregard.”

He chuckled while he tugged his large Stetson on
his head, mounted his horse, and hooted like a deranged owl all the way down
the drive.

Elton separated himself from the corner of the
house. “What would you like me to do, ma’am?”

“I want you to go find my husband and make sure he’s
all right. Tell him Harrigan came to the house. I didn’t understand the threat,
but it was there. Tell him to be careful.”

“Yes ma’am.”