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“I REALLY SHOULD STAY with you, Dianna. And you should not be bent over this.” Maggie scowled at the metal laundry tub, a third full of soapy water.
“I only washed a few undergarments and two dresses,” Dianna said reasonably. “And I won’t empty it. Juan informed me this morning when he arrived to milk Shannon, that my husband has tasked him with ensuring either he or one of the hands stops by here every day, morning, afternoon, and evening, to look after the livestock and do all the heavy work. All I’m permitted to do is putter, collect eggs, make my own meals, and read piles and piles of pedigrees. I’ll be fine.”
“Still—”
“I’ll be fine.” Dianna raised an eyebrow. “Besides, where would you sleep? There’s only the one bed. And much as I love you, I’m not sharing it with you. So, please—” She gestured to Maggie’s suitcase visible through the porch screen on the floor in the kitchen— “take that with you, and I’ll see you when you’re back from town.”
Maggie cast a dubious look at the laundry hung on the line in the sun, before looking at Eleanor Douglas.
“If she’s well,” Eleanor said, “and feeling strong enough, it’s not my place to tell her what to do in her own home.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Dianna said and swiped sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. She smiled at Maggie. “Why don’t we go inside, enjoy a glass of lemonade?”
Maggie scowled.
She and Eleanor had let themselves in the house through the front, whilst Dianna was seated out back, her knees spread to accommodate her stomach, as she rinsed her clothing. She’d barely had time to stand, and Maggie had slammed open the screen door to march out onto the shaded—but still stickily hot—porch, to castigate her. And inform her she was moving in.
Over Dianna’s dead body. The spare room—the one locked when she'd first come to live with Jake—was unlocked now. But it didn't contain a spare bed.
Her throat tightened with memory of the day he'd unlocked that door, showed her the room he'd not entered—the furniture he'd not been able to look at—for so many years. The tiny cradle, small dresser, and rocking chair perfect for a mother to cuddle her newborn.
“We can get new stuff, if you want,” he rasped.
“No,” she whispered, and grasped his hand, her eyes filling with tears. “It's perfect. If you don't mind, that is?”
He shook his head, his eyes damp, and red-rimmed. “I was hoping you'd say that.”
She cried again, a month later, when she found him on the rear porch, wiping the furniture pieces clean, adding a fresh coat of white paint to the dresser and cradle, wood polish to the chair. He'd gathered her in his arms, held her without saying a word.
Oh, how she wished he didn't have to be away. But until he was home... She cleared her throat, firmed her smile.
“You’re welcome to visit every day, if you'd like.”
Maggie held her gaze a moment longer, before releasing a resigned sigh. “Fine. I know when I’m defeated. But give me two glasses. To go. Ed’s waiting with the carriage, and I expect he’s as thirsty as any of us.”
“To go?” Dianna followed the women inside to the even more shaded—and hotter—kitchen. “Already?”
“Yes.” Maggie smiled, but offered no explanation.
“All right.” Stifling her curiosity, as Maggie plainly had no plans of filling her in on the reason for her urgency—whether as retribution for failing to allow her to move in, or because she didn’t want to alarm her—Dianna filled two glasses from the covered pitcher on the counter. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” Maggie nodded to the hard-sided suitcase. “I’ll leave that here, and collect it when I come back for you,” she added to Eleanor.
Eleanor smiled and nodded, and once Maggie was gone, she sighed. “She’s a force to be reckoned with, that one. Here you are, dear.” She slid an envelope from the wicker basket on the table that contained her crochet materials. She'd taken to taking it with her anywhere she thought she might have a spare minute to continue working on the baby's layette, little white and yellow sweaters and booties, hats, and blankets. “Juan retrieved the post when he saw Jake off. From your sister, I believe.”
“Thank you.” Dianna wiped her hands on her apron, before accepting the envelope. With reluctance, she put it aside to collect the paperwork scattered across the table. “She is a force. And in a quite a rush today. I don’t know that I’ve seen her so... excited?”
“She's a little flustered,” Eleanor admitted. “Owing to an interview she has this afternoon for the teaching position.”
Dianna blinked. “Interview?”
Eleanor pulled out a chair and sat. “I probably should let her tell you, but you’ve enough to worry about here, and I won’t have you worrying about her.”
“Teacher?” Dianna said, stunned. “She wants to work?”
Eleanor shrugged. “She needs something to do. She's grown increasingly restless of late, and I’m afraid she’s not much help in kitchen. Or garden. She doesn’t know mint from thyme, or flour from corn starch. And I only need so many doilies, lovely as her needlepoint is. So, when I noticed her reading, and rereading, the advertisement for a new school mistress to replace Ms. Crossley who’s retiring, I suggested she apply. Told her Douglas needed a school mistress not only smart, and savvy, but unafraid of confrontation, willing to risk like-ability to ensure her protégés are cared for.”
“Really?” Dianna said and picked up the pitcher. “Lemonade, or should I put on the kettle?”
“Lemonade is perfect. And yes, really.” Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “She's more than smart enough—”
“I didn't mean to suggest she wasn't,” Dianna said pouring lemonade into a glass. “I'm simply surprised. It's only been four months.”
“Four months, or twelve, William is never coming back. And unlike tea, the longer she steeps, the weaker she'll get. The sooner she begins rebuilding her life, the sooner she'll have reason to feel good again. From that, she'll gain strength. More pedigrees?” Eleanor used an index finger to sort through papers on the table.
“Yes. From a gentleman in Oklahoma,” she said as she poured a second glass. “He has a couple of mares, and a stallion, that interest me.”
Mother Eleanor's reasoning, perhaps considered improper in some circles, was not impractical. Maggie was a smart, if anxious woman. Left to stew, she'd grow more troubled, slide further into despondency, and potentially into a catatonic delirium, like that she'd experienced immediately following the sinking. But having something—especially children—to occupy her time... Dianna couldn't think of a better way to help heal Maggie's shattered soul.
“When will the first horses arrive?”
She turned, both glasses in hand. “When Jake tells me the stable's finished. I still don’t understand the secrecy. It's just a stable. And really, I should be over seeing it, should I not?”
“Jake wants to surprise you dear. You'll see it soon enough. Thank you,” she added accepting the glass Dianna proffered.
Dianna suppressed a sigh as she lowered to a chair.
She’d approved the stable’s final plans, but Jake had hired the contractor, and forbidden her to ride or walk, the half mile to the new location. When she questioned his decision to build so far from the house, he claimed the mares would settle better if they weren't exposed to activity around the yard. She didn't believe him, but so far had failed to discover what was really going on. When Jake Douglas decided to keep a secret, he was forthcoming as a rock.
“Mr. Sweeney was by for coffee this morning,” Eleanor murmured.
Mr. Sweeney was the contractor. He drove a brand-new Model T Ford. And though he’d initially planned to board in town, Eleanor had invited him to stay and take his meals at the main house, while his crew bunked and ate with the ranch hands. At first Dianna assumed her mother-in-law was simply extending her expansive hospitality. But as Mr. Sweeney's interest in Maggie became increasingly evident, she had to wonder if Eleanor's generosity masked a slightly less altruistic motive.
She frowned. “He is aware she can't acknowledge, nor encourage his attention, for at least another eight months?”
“Unmarried women are as scarce as penguins in these parts of the world,” Eleanor said. “And ones as lovely as Margaret are rarer still. A smart man wastes no time in making his intentions known. And I pray Margaret takes heed. She's far too young to wear the colour of widowhood for long.”
Dianna bit down on the urge to protest. Maggie was alone in the world. Mother Eleanor and Rosa were wonderful to her, but unlike Dianna—and Rosa—who found comfort at night with their husbands, Maggie slept alone, and had no children. Mother Eleanor also slept alone, but she at least, had Jake. And soon, a grandbaby to dote on.
“What about you?” The question was out before Dianna stopped to think.
Eleanor paused in the process of lifting her glass to her mouth. She raised her eyebrows. “What about me?”
Dianna hesitated. She was treading perilously close to the line between observation and invasion. But Mother Eleanor had opened the door... “You're beautiful,” she said.
“And you wonder why I remain unpaired?”
Dianna nodded.
Eleanor nodded, and sighed. “I admit to receiving my share of attention since my husband's death. However, the interest has not been returned. I loved my husband, and still do. I’ve no desire to remarry.”
“I'm sorry,” Dianna said. “It's none of my business.”
“No need to apologise, dear. Your question is normally curious.” Eleanor sipped her beverage. Her smile when she lowered the glass, seemed genuine. “And I'm not unhappy. I like who I am. And I've money enough to live independently. What more do I need?”
“Love?” Dianna said softly.
Eleanor’s smile brightened. “I have all the love I need.”
Dianna stirred a sugar lump into her glass. Her mother-in-law was a fickle woman to suggest Maggie encourage Mr. Sweeney only a few months into her mourning, when she seemed quite content to remain a widow for life.
The spoon clinked as Dianna lifted it out and set it on the table. She sipped her drink. A fat fly crept up the wall behind Eleanor. A gust of wind rattled one of the metal clothesline wheels against the porch post, tossed the valance above the open kitchen window. Tousled papers on the table.
The fly stopped moving. Dianna shifted to ease the uncomfortable pressure of the child. Sipped more lemonade. It was sweetly tart. Delicious. She was at a loss for words.
Or more accurately, keenly aware of how much she appreciated Maggie's loquaciousness.
Her friend usually carried the conversation, barely pausing for breath between questions and observations, certainly never long enough to permit an awkward lull, like now.
Dianna took another sip.
She was alone with her mother-in-law for the first time since the day after wedding Jake, and she had absolutely no idea what to say. Not that Eleanor seemed distressed by the silence. Still...
She cleared her throat. “I'm glad Maggie's interested in the teaching position,” she said. “And that Mr. Sweeney is interested in her. She deserves to be happy.” She compressed her lips, startled by a surge of inexplicable despair.
“There's no need for guilt, dear,” Eleanor said gently. “Margaret will be fine. As will you. You need to focus on what's important here. Rosa and I will look after ensuring Margaret is well. Things will change, and you two will have more time for each other, once you’ve each adapted to the monstrous changes you've undergone in such brief time.”
Dianna managed a grateful smile. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course, I understand,” Eleanor said. “Jake's grown, yes, but don't imagine I've forgotten what it’s like to be a new bride, and mother.” She frowned. “Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable at the main house? Just until Jake returns.”
“No. I like it here. And I don't mind being alone. For now. Because soon, provided all goes well.” Dianna touched the bulge under her dress.
“Of course, everything will go well.” Eleanor scowled. “You'll be fine. The baby will be fine. My son will be fine. You are all going to be fine.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but—”
“No buts.” Eleanor's gaze darted to the envelope Dianna had set aside. “Tell me about your family. How are they?” Her smile did not disguise the resolve in her gaze.
“Ah, fine as far as I know. Lainey—Elaina, keeps me informed when she can.” Which was not often, this only her second response to the many notes Dianna had sent since the day she’d decided to remain in Texas. With Jake. But at least Lainey had replied. That was more than could be said of either Lizzy, or Mama.
Dianna stared at the envelope, waited for the painful lump in her throat to soften, the burn in her eyes to ease.
Eleanor remained silent. She abhorred gossip, never pried, and only discussed other people's personal matters when invited to, and so far, Dianna had not shared with her, her life prior to their acquaintance. But perhaps now was a good opportunity for her and her mother-in-law to become better acquainted.
She hiked a breath. “Elizabeth is currently the youngest in our family, and most like Papa; hot tempered, with an affinity for outdoor sport. And for the most part, she and Papa get on, having similar interests and short fuses as they do. Elaina is between Lizzy and I, and the absolute best at pleasing Papa. She’s like Mama, she accommodates his moods, and I—” She shrugged. “I wasn’t very good at minding my tongue.”
“You mean you’re not afraid to express yourself?”
“That’s one way to look at it. Another way is to admit that Elaina is smarter where Papa is concerned than am I. She knows when to shut up.”
“Knowing when to remain quiet is important,” Eleanor said. “More important, is having the courage to speak out, and stand for what you believe in, or condemn what you know is wrong. Few people, male or female, respect that in a woman. My John did, but he was a rarity. Not only did he ask my opinion, he valued it, and he instilled in Jake the same courage and esteem, which I believe enables my son to appreciate a smart, strong-willed woman. A woman like you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Dianna murmured, flustered.
“You’re welcome. Now, before we get all weepy, open that letter from your sister. I know you're dying to.”
Dianna tore open the envelope, impatient to read the contents. The need to reconnect with her sisters, and even Mama, intensified as the days of her confinement shortened, but it seemed she’d have to content herself with reading—and rereading—Elaina’s brief missives. She wished she could see her. And Lizzy. See everyone she cared about at Ansmall, before her baby was born. But that was impossible.
No one there would make the journey, any more than could she. Still, the fear she might not survive the birth, and never see any of them again, niggled. Knowledge Jake's first wife had died in childbirth, gnawed.
Pushing aside the morbid thoughts, Dianna scanned Elaina's precise handwriting. “We’ve a new brother! Born third of July.” She dragged in an excited breath.
“'Mother is elated to have finally produced a son and heir. Papa is no less joyful. He took a trunk load of cigars and a cask of his favourite brandy to London to celebrate. I'm relieved, as he’s been in a terrible funk since you left. I pray that the long-awaited arrival of our brother, Master William Edward Arvon Marshall, proves a lasting balm for his newly invigorated spirit’.”
“How wonderful,” Eleanor exclaimed. “A little boy to keep everyone busy.”
“I hope so. With any luck at all, he'll preoccupy Papa enough the next decade or more, to allow Elaina and Elizabeth to choose husbands of their liking, not his.”
Eleanor made a face. “Your father sounds fierce.”
“He is. In a way. Here—” Dianna extended a newsprint clipping of the birth announcement Elaina had included with the letter. “That's Papa there, behind Mama who's in the chair, and of course that must be little William in her arms. Elaina’s seated on the floor on the right, and Elizabeth on the left, against Mama's legs.”
Eleanor stared at the photo, and then covered her mouth with her free hand. “That’s your father?” she whispered.
Dianna frowned. “You know him?”
“I sincerely hope not.” Eleanor drew a breath. “Does he have any...unusual scars?”
“Scars? Well, yes.” Dianna raised up to touch a finger to the clipping. “There. On his cheek, under his eye—”
“Which eye?” Eleanor had hers closed, as though she couldn’t bear to look for herself.
“Why? What's wrong? What does it matter, which eye?”
“Just tell me. Which eye?”
Dianna examined the clipping. “Well, it's on my right now, so...his left. Under his left eye.”
Eleanor hunched. “No,” she croaked. “No, it cannot be.”
“What, cannot be?” Dianna scowled, torn between confusion, and irritation, at her mother-in-law's odd behaviour.
Tears shimmered in Eleanor's eyes when she finally looked up. “Your father,” she rasped. “Edward Marshall. His father was Arvon Marshall, Earl of Ansmall?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor nodded. “Edward Marshall was engaged to my sister, Evelyn. I never connected you to him. There are many Marshalls in England. It never occurred to me that you’d be his daughter.”
“Well, I am,” Dianna said primly. “And obviously he never married your sister, because he’s married to my mother.”
“Yes. I know. Which is why—” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, God. I have to tell you. You must know.”
“Know what?”
Eleanor’s face, already pale, whitened further, and her gaze darkened with shame. “Edward Marshall—the man in that photograph—is... Jake’s father.”
“What?” Dianna reared back. “Are you mad? He told me—you told me—his father was Mr. Wilson.”
“That’s what he, and everyone who knows he’s not JJ Douglas’s son, believes. But...” Eleanor's eyes filled with tears. “Your father—Lord Ansmall—was still Viscount Tolle, when he stayed at our estate in Devon. He and Evie—Evelyn, my twin—were to marry within a fortnight. It was late August. I couldn’t sleep, because it was so hot. I stole out to the pond for a swim, something I did often. I liked to swim. Evie hated it. And that night, he was there.” Her gaze was distant, thousands of miles, and over two decades away.
“He was sitting leaned against a tree trunk. I thought... I believed he was waiting for me. I knew he didn't love Evelyn. That was clear in his behaviour even if no one, but I, cared to notice. So, I foolishly, naïvely, believed his kindness and teasing towards me was evidence of his interest in me, and when I realised that he’d been drinking, and was in fact drunk, I let him believe I was her. I let him pull me into his arms. Afterwards, when I told him who I really was...”
She bowed her head knuckles gleaming white as she pressed her fists into her upper thighs. “I thought he’d be grateful, and break off the engagement with Evie, to marry me. But he was furious. He insisted we tell Evie immediately. The scar. That was me.” She looked up. “He grabbed my arm, to force me to go with him to tell Evelyn, and I...I used my hair pin. I was so angry. So ashamed. He didn't love me. Or Evie, as it turned out, but he’d been prepared to marry her. He fully intended to honour the contract agreed to by his father, and mine. But I ruined it. I ruined Evie’s future.”
“No,” Dianna said, shaking her head. “William Thomas Wilson the Third is Jake's father. That is what you told me.”
“That's what I wanted everyone to believe,” Eleanor whispered. “Jake doesn't know the truth. Tom...Thomas had approached my father to request permission to court me. I think that’s what compelled me to such rash action. I wasn't fond of Thomas, in the least, but I knew Papa was considering his suit.” She swallowed with obvious difficulty. “When my parents learned what happened, my father gave Thomas more than permission to court me. He paid him a princely sum to marry me and take me far from England. No one wanted a scandal, least of all me.”
“Why?” Dianna demanded. “Why are you telling me this?”
Snags of hair straggled from Eleanor's chignon. Her red-rimmed eyes glistened in her chalk-coloured face. “Don't you see?” she rasped. “You can't stay here. You can’t stay married to my son. He's your half-brother.”