Beloved (5 page)

“About tomorrow,” Diana said.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a budget for me to keep within when I’m buying furnishings for your house?”

“
Our
house.”

There was that arched eyebrow again, the look she gave him cool and aloof.

“And the answer is no, Diana. Spend what needs to be spent to furnish and decorate it appropriately.”

If he’d expected her to show pleasure at the idea of shopping without limits, he was sorely mistaken. She was all business. “Would you like a desk in the library?”

“Yes. And lots of books on the shelves too.”

“Do you want beds and dressers and wardrobes in the unused chambers upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Paintings and sculptures?”

He felt himself growing impatient. “Whatever you wish.”

A smile tweaked the corners of her mouth, and he could see it pleased her that she’d gotten under his skin.

“I might be the ruin of you, Tyson. I’ve never managed a large household or had an unlimited amount of money to spend. I’ve never bought sofas and chairs or draperies or paintings for a home like yours.”

“Ours.”

She ignored his assertion a second time. “You may be making a very poor bargain, asking me to do all of this.”

“A worse bargain than Mr. Calhoun would have made?” He was sorry the instant the words left his mouth, yet he said more. “Wouldn’t he have wanted you to decorate and manage his home as well?”

How was it that green eyes could make him think of ice? The look she gave him now made him want to shiver.

“As I said, Diana, it is
our
house—”

“For the next six months. Only for the next six months.”

He released a breath, determined not to let her rile him. “As you wish. But for those six months, please remember it is your home as well as mine. You should furnish it accordingly. Decorate it to please yourself. If you know nothing about such matters, I
know even less. I’ve spent a great deal of time in recent years living in a tent, often without any civilized company to be found.”

“My goodness. It’s surprising you knew enough to put on shoes or wear a tie tonight.”

Tyson leaned back in his chair. He didn’t remember her having a gift for sarcasm. Was it an acquired trait or had he ignored it years ago? To his shame, he couldn’t say for sure.

Looking at her husband, Diana felt a small catch in her chest as memories filled her mind. Memories of the Idaho lake party where she and Tyson first met. Memories of their whirlwind courtship in Montana. Memories of their wedding day. It seemed she could taste them on her tongue. Sweet … and then sour. Bitter. So bitter. She must remember the bitter. It was the only thing that would protect her from getting hurt again.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time you tell me where you were and what you were doing?”

“If you wish. I got the feeling you didn’t want to know. You never asked.”

He could be right. She might not
want
to know. But she still
needed
to know. “At least tell me why you allowed me to think you were dead. And explain how you managed to keep it a secret that you were alive. Especially from your father.”

“I’m not sure I can explain any of it well.”

“Try.”

“All right.” He nodded. “I’ll try.”

The appetizer—oysters, béchamel style—arrived. Diana half expected Tyson to use the interruption to change the course of their conversation. But he didn’t. After the server left the table, Tyson took a sip from his wine glass and then began.

“You already know I was in Cuba with the Rough Riders. There was an explosion on the battlefield. The last thing I remember was running up a hill, yelling and firing my rifle. Suddenly I was airborne and then everything went dark. Doctors told me later that I suffered a traumatic concussion. I didn’t come around for a number of days, and when I did, I had no memory and was unable to speak. Because of the brain injury, the doctors say. By then I’d been separated from my men and my identification had been lost. That’s how I came to be presumed dead.”

Could she believe him? Had he been badly injured, so much so that he’d lost his memory for a time?

“I was eventually sent to a hospital in Washington, DC. That’s where I was when I began to remember.”

“So why wasn’t I notified once you were identified?”

Tyson set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. “Because I didn’t tell them who I was. I pretended I still had no memory. I … I didn’t want Father to learn I was alive.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s a poor excuse, but at the time I thought it was my chance to escape the past, once and for all. I could start a new life as someone else. As someone better than the person I’d been for too many years.”

“You hated us that much? That you would let us think you dead.”

“I didn’t hate you, Diana.”

“No?”

“No. And I didn’t hate Father either. Not really. I hated the way he tried to control me and force me to his will. I resented the power he wielded over me, even after I was an adult. And I hated what I’d allowed him to make me.”

An unexpected and unwelcome sea of emotions welled up inside of Diana, and she wished she’d never asked him to tell her
why and how. What did it matter anyway? Knowing wouldn’t change the past. Or her future.

“Ah, here comes our waiter.” Tyson gave her a small smile. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion later and enjoy our dinner now.”

She couldn’t help but appreciate how artfully he steered the conversation away from anything unpleasant for the remainder of the meal. As they dined—the entrée was Bouchée Columbia with French peas and potato salad, the dessert a fancy ice called Argentine Glacé—they spoke of horses and the new businesses springing up in the capital city and articles that had made the front page of the newspaper in recent weeks and even some of the new fashions. Before Diana realized it, almost two hours had passed.

“Mother will wonder what’s happened to us,” she said when she realized the time.

Tyson stood and eased back her chair from the table. “It was a long and exhausting day. I suspect she is already sound asleep in her bed.” He offered his hand to help her rise.

“You are probably right.”

He motioned for her to lead the way toward the front door. Tables that had been filled with people earlier in the evening were now empty, the snow-white linens swept clean of crumbs. But there were still enough late diners to create a soft hum of conversation around them as they left.

Diana was grateful she didn’t see anyone she knew. It would have been too exhausting to answer questions or pretend she was happy about her husband’s return to the living. She would have to do both of those things soon enough. It was, after all, part of the bargain. But thankfully, not tonight.

Outside Chez Les Bois, the air was crisp, making her wish
she’d brought a wrap. But she didn’t own one nice enough to wear with this gown. Hopefully, their carriage would arrive soon.

“Tyson Applegate!” a deep male voice exclaimed.

Tyson and Diana looked behind them.

The man—a distinguished-looking fellow with a close-cropped gray beard—stuck out his right hand. “So you’re here at last.”

“Justice Waverley.” Tyson shook the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Waverley’s gaze flicked to Diana and back again.

Tyson took hold of her arm above the elbow and gently drew her one step closer. “Justice Waverley, may I introduce my wife, Diana Applegate. Diana, this is Samuel Waverley. He sits on our state’s supreme court.”

“Mrs. Applegate.” The judge bowed. “What a very great pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It was my privilege to spend a good deal of time with your husband when I was in Washington last year. He has a fine mind and a good moral compass. One does not often find that in a younger man.”

A fine moral compass?
Those were not words she would use to describe Tyson. Such a man wouldn’t desert his wife and traipse around the world with little thought for the family he’d left behind.

The judge returned his attention to Tyson, and when he spoke his voice was much lower. “I understand an announcement of your candidacy will be forthcoming. Very soon, I hope.”

“Yes, soon.”

“Good. Good. Our country needs men like you. Well, I imagine this is your carriage, so I won’t keep you. I’ll ask my wife to arrange a dinner party for you and Mrs. Applegate. I have a number of friends you should meet.”

“That would be appreciated, sir.”

“Good night, Tyson. Mrs. Applegate.” The judge turned and walked away.

But Diana’s thoughts were on the man standing at her side. She could tell herself all she wanted that she didn’t care what Tyson had done or where he’d been or how he’d managed to hide these past two years, but the truth was her curiosity had been piqued again. After all, Justice Waverley was a man of no small influence in this state. She hadn’t met him before tonight, but she knew his name. Everyone did. Now she’d learned he was a friend of her husband. That he admired Tyson. That he thought him a man of integrity.

The swirling confusion was giving her a headache, and she was thankful when Tyson helped her into the carriage so they could start for their home.

No. For
his
home. Not theirs, no matter what he said to the contrary. Never hers. No matter how confused she got, she mustn’t forget that.

February 1893

They buried Tyson’s maternal grandmother in the family plot on a Monday. Three days later Tyson was summoned to his father’s study. When he entered the room, his father looked up from papers on the desk and motioned to a chair opposite him. “Sit down, boy. We have matters to discuss.”

Boy
. How he hated the way his father used that word. Tyson had celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday last month, but he still wasn’t a man in the eyes of Jeremiah Applegate. Might never be a man in his eyes, no matter what Tyson did, no matter what he accomplished.

His father leaned back in his chair. “How long has it been since you returned from Missouri?”

“Six months.”

“Your legal work on behalf of the mines is more than satisfactory.”

It wasn’t a question, so Tyson said nothing.

“Other mine owners have taken note of you, as well. It’s time we widen your circle of acquaintances. I believe you and I should make a trip down to the capital later this spring.”

Resentment rose like bile in his throat. Tyson understood the reason for this proposed trip. To realize his father’s ambitions for him. Would he ever get out from under his father’s control? Would he ever be allowed to live his own life instead of the one Jeremiah had chosen for him?

As if in answer to Tyson’s silent questions, his father said, “But that isn’t why I sent for you. It seems your grandmother has left you the bulk of her estate in her will.”

Excitement thrummed in Tyson’s brain—his maternal grandmother had been as rich as his father—and it took every fiber of resolve not to let the elation show in his expression.

Clearly disapproving of the inheritance, his father continued, “You won’t receive the money immediately.”

Tyson cleared his throat. “What are the conditions?” He tried to sound like a serious attorney and not an eager beneficiary.

“Her estate will come to you on your thirtieth birthday or upon your marriage. Whichever comes first.”

Thirty. A month shy of four years from now. It seemed an eternity. Could he wait that long?

FIVE

The following week passed in a flurry of activity. Diana hired a head housekeeper, Edith Brown by name. A stern, no-nonsense kind of woman. Mrs. Brown went on to help Diana hire the cook, a house maid who would also serve as lady’s maid to the two women of the house, and a kitchen maid.

Diana and her mother spent a great deal of time buying furniture and oil paintings, draperies, and carpets. They purchased china and table service and glassware, but they left it to the cook, Madge Cuddy, to buy the necessaries for the kitchen. Mrs. Brown was assigned the task of furnishing the servants’ rooms on the third floor. Following Tyson’s instructions, Diana and her mother also ordered a number of new gowns, for both casual and formal occasions. Diana had a new riding habit made too. Reluctant though she was to admit it, she was delighted by the update of her wardrobe.

Tyson kept busy preparing for the announcement of his candidacy for the Senate seat from the great state of Idaho. At least, that was Diana’s assumption. He was absent from the house for many hours every day. Perhaps he needed to escape the chaos of the household as deliverymen and workmen came and went. It did seem that everything was at sixes and sevens from dawn to dusk.

Oddly enough, Diana was sorry to spend so little time with him during those hectic first days of what she’d come to think of as “the arrangement.” And although they dined together in the evenings—the dining room table and chairs being among the first items delivered to the Applegate home—their conversations never turned toward the personal, perhaps because of her mother’s presence.

Or perhaps he’d decided he wanted nothing more from her than a distant relationship after all.

Which suited her fine.

Tyson stood before the mirror and scraped the last trace of soap and stubble from his jaw with the razor. For the first time in a solid week, he didn’t have a morning appointment. In fact, he had no appointments at all. The day was completely his, and he was determined to spend it with Diana. Alone. Without his mother-in-law.

He wasn’t sure yet what Gloria Fisher thought of him. Perhaps a little grudging respect at this point in time, but surely no real affection. That would take some doing. He’d injured her daughter’s feelings, and he suspected he would win Diana’s forgiveness before he earned it from her mother.

But today was not about changing Gloria Fisher’s mind about him. It was about wooing his wife. Something he knew little about. Oh, he knew plenty about how to seduce a woman. He was well acquainted with the type of gifts and the type of compliments the fair sex appreciated. But he was an amateur when it came to showing real affection to whom it mattered most—his wife. He hoped he wouldn’t stumble too often over his own ignorance.