Four days after her meeting with Tyson in his home, Diana stood in the bedroom of the small rental she’d shared with her mother for the past two years. The bed was stripped free of sheets and blankets. No paintings remained on the walls. All of their belongings were now in trunks and boxes, ready for the movers.
From the doorway, her mother said, “At least Tyson didn’t leave us without income as I feared he might. That is some comfort.”
“Very little.”
“I wish there was something more I could do to help in your time of need. You were so quick to come to me when your father fell ill.”
“I wanted to come. You know that.”
“At least your agreement is only for six months. A woman can bear just about anything for that length of time. November will be here before we know it.”
Diana nodded. I’ve survived worse, I suppose. “Let’s go, then. There’s no point lingering here any longer.” She took her mother by the arm, and together they walked outside to the carriage that awaited them. Tyson’s carriage, provided for this particular errand. It would carry Diana and her mother to his home where their trunks, boxes, and few furnishings would soon be delivered.
She hadn’t seen Tyson since last Friday morning. They had communicated daily via notes delivered back and forth by a stable boy in Tyson’s employ. Perhaps not seeing her husband was what had made it easy to pretend this day wouldn’t come. That it was all a bad dream from which she would soon awaken. But it wasn’t a bad dream, and she couldn’t pretend any longer.
As the carriage carried the two women closer to Tyson’s home on the east side of the city, nerves warred in Diana’s stomach like a couple of alley cats on the midnight prowl. I never should have agreed to this. Mother and I could have found another way to manage.
Only she knew better. She’d had no other choice. Tyson had the money and the power. He even had the law on his side, just because he’d been born male. She had to go along with him if she hoped to have a decent life in the future. How else could she provide for her mother if neither Tyson nor his father gave her some sort of allowance? She had little schooling and no special skills. The one thing she had was her looks, but they would serve her little purpose as long as she already had a husband.
The carriage rolled to a stop at the curb, and moments later Diana disembarked, facing Tyson’s home once again. Her home—perhaps her prison—for the next six months.
Her mother stepped to her side. “Gracious me. It’s more than I expected.”
Diana didn’t reply as she drew herself up, holding her head high, assuming an air of confidence she didn’t feel, and walked toward the front door. It was opened for them by a man she didn’t know.
“Mrs. Applegate.” He gave a slight bow.
She wondered how he could be so certain who she was. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Applegate.” Perhaps Tyson had shown him a photograph or told him she had red hair. “And you are?”
“Upchurch, madam. William Upchurch. I’m the new butler. Mr. Applegate hired me yesterday. I have been expecting your arrival.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Upchurch. This is my mother, Mrs. Fisher.”
“Madam.” Another slight bow.
“Is Mr. Applegate at home?” Diana asked.
“No, madam. He was called out but said to inform you he would return within the hour.”
Strange. She’d dreaded seeing Tyson again, and now she felt slighted by his absence.
“Mother, let me show you where your room is.”
“I’d like that, dear.” Her mother peeked into the parlor. “It’s so empty it echoes.”
“I know. Tomorrow morning we’ll go shopping for furnishings. We can’t continue to sit on two chairs. Goodness knows where Tyson has been eating since there is no dining room table.”
Upchurch cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mrs. Applegate. It’s been arranged for you to interview several women in the morning for the position of housekeeper.”
“Oh, yes. Tyson mentioned that—” In one of his notes. “—but I’d forgotten. Mother, we’ll go shopping in the afternoon.”
“Whatever you wish, dear. I’m a guest in your home.”
Diana led the way down the hall toward the back of the house and opened the door to the main-floor bedroom. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
“Why, Diana, this is a wonderful room. Very spacious. And look, two closets. Have you ever seen the like? One on either side of the fireplace. Such luxury.” Her mother walked to the west-facing window to look outside. “What beautiful lawn and gardens.” She turned toward Diana again. “I shall be very comfortable here. How could I not be?”
Six months, Mother. Don’t get too used to it. Remember it’s only for six months.
“Will you show me the rest of the house before Tyson returns?”
Her mother’s question made the nerves start fighting in her stomach again. “Of course. Until we hire more servants and acquire enough furniture, we shall have to make do for ourselves, so you had best know where things are.”
Diana was glad for a reason to look over the house again, more slowly this time than the last. She would hate to be in the midst of interviewing housekeepers and have to admit she had no idea where the pantry was or that the laundry was in the basement or how many servant rooms were on the third floor.
The two women went downstairs and upstairs and looked into every cupboard and corner they found. When they returned to the main floor at last, they made their way to the parlor and sat on the two chairs.
Gloria waved a hand before her face. “Mercy, I’m worn out. Such a large house for just the two of you.”
“There are three of us, Mother. This is your home too.”
“Tyson must be planning for a large family, with all those bedrooms upstairs.”
Diana sucked in a quick breath and whispered, “Mother!” The idea shocked her. Shocked her because it brought memories of sweet intimacies she’d once shared with her husband. And the idea hurt her too. Because there had been a time when she’d dreamed of having children with Tyson. But that dream was gone forever.
“Well, didn’t you say he wants to convince you to stay with him? If he’s successful in his mission, I should imagine he’ll want children with you.”
Diana began to regret telling her mother every detail of her meeting with Tyson.
“Your father always wanted a large family.” Her mother’s expression turned instantly sorrowful.
Diana leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “Tyson isn’t anything like my father.”
Her mother swallowed, shook her head, and shrugged in quick succession.
As if summoned by her words, Tyson appeared in the parlor doorway. “You’re here.” He smiled at Diana, then removed his hat and handed it to Upchurch, who waited just out of sight. As he strode into the parlor, Tyson shifted his gaze to Diana’s mother. “Mrs. Fisher, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I was very sorry to learn of your husband’s passing. You have my deepest sympathies.”
He already sounds like a politician.
“I’m told the movers will be here no later than three o’clock,” he continued. “Enough time so both of you shall have beds to sleep in tonight.”
“I should hope so.” Gloria released the hand he’d offered her.
“And I thought we would dine out this evening. Then, with any luck, Diana—” He looked at her again. “—will approve of one of the women she interviews tomorrow morning. With both a butler and a housekeeper, things should function properly in the Applegate home from then on.”
Diana’s head throbbed. She would rather lie down and pretend none of this was happening than go out to dine and pretend to be a happy couple. And what did she know about hiring household staff? She supposed she’d learned a few things while living with her mother- and father-in-law, but it was very little. The Applegate mansion up north was four or five times the size of this house, and she had no idea how many servants had been needed to keep it running smoothly. She’d certainly paid no attention to their individual duties.
But this was the bargain she’d struck with Tyson. She would have to make the best of it.
There had been moments during the last four days when Tyson almost convinced himself his wife would be glad to move into this house with him. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen her face, only her words on the notes she’d sent him in reply to his own. But now he could see her face, and the expression she wore dispelled any illusions that she might be glad about her present circumstances. She disliked him. Despised him. Perhaps hated him. And she certainly didn’t want to be with him.
Can I blame her? Not if he was honest with himself.
The silence stretching between them began to feel uncomfortable.
Once again Tyson looked at his mother-in-law. “Have you seen the rest of the house, Mrs. Fisher?”
“Yes. Diana gave me a tour.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“I’m sure I will be.”
“Did you have a chance to go out to see the gardens?”
“No. But I have a good view of them from my bedroom window. It’s all quite beautiful, Tyson. Another month and the colors will be even more glorious than they are now.”
He returned his gaze to Diana. “May I show you and your mother the stables? I assume you haven’t been out there yet. I’ve purchased some fine horses you might want to see. I remember how fond you are of riding.”
This at last brought a spark of interest to his wife’s eyes. He’d been counting on that. A love of horses was something they had in common.
He held out his hand toward her. “Please. Let’s have a look at them.”
She placed her fingers in his and allowed him to draw her up from the chair. He would have liked to keep holding her hand, but she withdrew it as soon as she was upright.
He pretended not to notice. “Mrs. Fisher, will you join us?”
“No,” the older woman said. “You two young folks go along. I’ll just sit right here and close my eyes for a short rest. I’m feeling the weariness in my bones.”
Tyson wondered what his mother-in-law thought of him. Had Diana told her about their six-month bargain? Did Mrs. Fisher hope Diana would leave or stay? The woman had liked him once. Back when he’d come courting her daughter and had been all smiles and charm. Back before he’d hurt Diana, back before he’d proven himself the worst kind of scoundrel. If Gloria Fisher disliked him, he’d given her plenty of reasons for it.
He didn’t have to wonder how Diana felt about him, and he knew better than to offer her his arm. Instead he indicated they should head out of the parlor. Together they made their way down the hall, passed the main staircase, and out onto the rear porch.
It was a beautiful day, the sky a cloudless blue, the air smelling of spring. Diana seemed a perfect fit for her surroundings—fresh, sweet, vibrant. She wore a dress of pale green that flattered her coloring. Although he supposed when a woman was as beautiful as his wife, even a flour sack would be made lovely on her.
The walkway ended at the back fence that separated the lawn from the pathway to the stables, arena, and paddocks. The wealthy merchant who’d built the home a decade before had raised Thoroughbreds for his four daughters. While Tyson hadn’t purchased the property because of the large, modern stables, he was glad for it all the same. It pleased him because he knew it would please Diana.
They stopped in the wide doorway to the airy building. A row of closed stalls lined the eastern and western walls, and as if in welcome, horses thrust their heads over the gates. Diana made a soft sound of delight.
“That’s a fine mare there.” He pointed to the first stall to their right where a sleek bay bobbed her head and nickered.
Diana moved toward the horse, but Tyson stayed where he was, watching as she stopped outside the stall and stroked the mare’s head, speaking to her, staring into her eyes. After a few minutes, Diana opened the gate and stepped inside.
In those first weeks after Tyson and Diana’s wedding, they’d ridden together often. They’d both been happiest away from the Applegate mansion, riding through the forests that surrounded it. He supposed she’d liked spending time with her new husband, but his reasons had been less admirable. He’d wanted to avoid seeing or talking to his father. If that meant taking Diana along with him …
Regret stung his conscience. She’d loved him once. Perhaps it had been the immature, untested love of a teenage girl with her head in the clouds, but it could have become something more if he’d been a man of integrity. If he’d stuck around to nurture it. If he’d treated his wife with the care and tenderness she deserved. But he hadn’t stayed.
He wanted to make it up to her. Would she let him?
“She’s beautiful, Tyson. Exquisite lines. She must ride like a dream.” Diana looked over the stall door at him.
“Glad you like her. She’s yours.”
“Mine?”
It felt good, giving something to her for no other reason than to bring her pleasure. “Yours.” He moved to stand outside the stall. He’d known the Arabian mare—with the faint white star on her forehead and the short white stocking on her right hind leg—would appeal to Diana. That much had been easy to foretell. But he hoped he would learn many more things that appealed to her in the coming weeks. If he could, he would give those to her as well.
As she returned his gaze, her expression changed from happy to wary. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you giving her to me?”
“Do I need a reason to give my wife a horse?”
“It won’t change anything between us, Tyson.” Suspicion narrowed her eyes. Her chin lifted. “My affections cannot be bought so easily. Not this time.”
“I’m not trying to buy your affections. I’m just … It isn’t … I only thought …” His own sputtering response left him irritated and made his voice gruff when he continued. “You’ll need a horse, Diana, and now you have one. Just say thank you and let it go at that.”
She glared at him. “Thank you.” The two words seemed to freeze the air around them.
Females! Maybe this was the real reason he’d spent so many years climbing mountains and tramping through forests with other men. Men were easy to understand. At least for another man.
But women? Heaven help him.
“What?” Jeremiah Applegate shot up from his desk chair. “What did you say?”
His clerk could hardly look him in the eye. “Your son was not declared dead, sir.” The man cleared his throat. “Your son is alive, Mr. Applegate.”
Jeremiah felt his eyes widen and his heart quicken. Tyson was alive? Impossible! Alive? How could that be? But if it was … If it was true … Overwhelming emotions surged through him—including fear that his hopes would be raised only to be dashed again.
Sounding doubtful, his clerk continued, “Your son is in Boise. With his wife.”
“Tyson’s in Boise City? With Diana? For how long?”
“I don’t know, sir. Not long or I’m sure you would have heard of it before now.”
Jeremiah turned toward the window. He’d spent a great deal of time and money keeping tabs on his son in the early years after he got his inheritance. He’d known what countries the boy visited and whom he kept company with. He’d known most everything of importance right up to the time Tyson went to Cuba to fight in the blasted war. And then had come word that his son was presumed dead.
It was like the sun had been extinguished from the sky.
Tyson’s body had never been recovered, but other soldiers had reported him killed on the battlefield in a massive explosion. Everyone believed that to be true. Jeremiah’s grief had been compounded by the inability to lay his son to rest beside Tyson’s mother and grandmother. He’d lived with that grief for almost two years. Grief and regret.
Was it true? Was Tyson alive? And if so, how had he kept his father from hearing of it? How had he kept it from his wife? Jeremiah hadn’t been looking for him, of course, but still …
The clerk cleared his throat again. “There’s more, sir.”
“Well? Speak up, man. What is it?”
“Tyson is planning a run for the Senate.”
“In a few years.”
“No, sir. In this election. I’m told he will announce his write-in candidacy soon.”
“Write-in? Why would he do anything that foolish?” Waving away the clerk, Jeremiah sank onto his chair, his thoughts a blur. From the moment Tyson was born, Jeremiah had had big plans for him. College. A law practice. Election to public office. Maybe even one day becoming president. But Tyson had struggled against his father’s wishes from an early age. There had been many battles of will between father and son before Jeremiah saw Tyson graduate from college and become a lawyer.
But then the boy’s grandmother had left him a fortune, and Tyson had married that Fisher girl. An Irish orphan from Chicago. No kind of wife for a politician, in Jeremiah’s mind. Oh, she was pretty enough and not without the proper social graces. But if a man wanted to get ahead in this world, he needed to marry into a family of both influence and affluence. The Fishers had been neither, and, to his shame—a feeling he despised but had felt all too often of late—Jeremiah hadn’t let Diana forget what he thought of her.
He swiveled toward the window that overlooked one of the Applegate silver mines.
In one of their last arguments, Tyson had sworn he would never run for any political office. What had changed the boy’s mind? Why had he kept his whereabouts a secret? Hadn’t he known he was presumed dead? And what had made him return to the wife he’d left so long ago?
“I’d best get down there and see for myself.” He stood again and strode out of his office.
August 1892
Diana hated to admit it, but she was homesick. She was almost eighteen—too old to feel that way. But she was homesick all the same. Her parents’ friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, and their daughters, Jane and Ophelia, had been kind to her throughout her stay at their northern Idaho home. But she was eager for her parents to return from New York so she could go back to Montana with them. She felt so out of place here, especially tonight.
Standing near a tall pine tree on the edge of the yard, Diana fought tears of loneliness as she watched the festivities. Torches burned all around, bathing the grounds in flickering golden light. The party guests of the two Stewart girls stood in small groups visiting and laughing, sharing the kind of stories that only longtime friends with common pasts could tell. The young women wore pretty pastel frocks in the latest designs. The young men wore light-colored summer suits.
“Why are you hiding, Miss Fisher?”
Diana sucked in a breath, surprised by the deep, male voice that came out of the shadows behind her.
He stepped into the light, and she recognized him. Tyson Applegate. Ophelia had pointed him out earlier in the evening, providing every detail she could think of. He was an attorney, recently returned to Idaho from Missouri. At twenty-five, he was older than most of the other guests. The only son of a mining tycoon, his family was the wealthiest and most important in the entire Silver Valley. Perhaps in the entire Northwest. According to Ophelia, every girl from sixteen to twenty-five and from Seattle to Missoula had set her cap for him. Understandable. He was handsome beyond description, self-assured, and very, very rich.
And he’d called Diana by name. He knew who she was too.
She lifted her chin in a show of confidence and hoped he hadn’t seen how sorry she’d been feeling for herself. “I’m not hiding.” A bald-faced lie.
“No?” He grinned. “Well, I am.”
“You are?”
“Absolutely. I was on my way down to the dock. Care to go with me? We can take off our shoes and dip our feet in the lake.”
“I-I …” She shouldn’t go, of course. Alone, in the dark, with a man who was a stranger. But she found she couldn’t refuse. “All right.”
Tyson took her hand and led her down the path.
By the evening’s end, he’d led her heart down a path straight to love.