Cinderfella (28 page)

Stuart came to his feet, but he was staring at his wife, not at Ash. “Now?”

“Why not?” she sighed. “Everyone's here. We might as well get this over with.”

“Is something wrong?” Charmaine asked. For the moment, everyone seemed to forget that Ash had just compared his wife to a side of beef.

Haley rounded the table quickly, and took his wife's hand. With a nod of her head, Maureen gave him permission to proceed.

Haley turned his eyes and his attention to his daughters. “Your mother and I are going to have another baby.”

They waited for a reaction. Charmaine and Jeanette, side by side, wore almost identical stunned expressions.

Jeanette recovered first. “This is a joke, isn't it?” she said, and color flooded her face. “Well, it isn't very funny!”

Stuart shook his head, and a small smile crossed his face. “It's no joke, sweetheart. Come spring you're going to have a little brother or sister.”

“Are you sure?” Charmaine asked, leaning slightly forward. “Absolutely without a doubt sure?”

It was Maureen who answered with a smile to match her husband's. “Absolutely without a doubt.”

Howard was white as a sheet. “This is scandalous,” he muttered.

“What?” Haley asked, his smile vanishing.

Howard lifted his head and smiled wanly. “I said, what a surprise this must be.”

Haley relaxed. “Well, it was that. But it's a happy surprise.”

Jeanette stood, a petulant frown on her face. “This is just not fair,” she moaned. “You're a grandmother, for goodness sake.” A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“It's certainly nothing for you to cry about,” Maureen said rather sternly. “I'm the one having this child, not you.”

“I don't mean to be selfish, really I don't,” she sniffled. “But I so wanted you to come to Philadelphia in the spring to be with me when I have my first child, but you'll be
here
and I'll be a thousand miles away. It's just not fair.”

“Jeanette,” Maureen Haley said with a huge smile. She stepped away from her husband to give her daughter a hug. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was waiting for the perfect moment.” Jeanette sniffled. “First there was Charmaine's situation, which I sorely misunderstood, and of course we're all terribly upset about Felicity, and I wanted the moment when I shared my news to be perfect.”

“Any time you share such good news, it's perfect,” Maureen assured her daughter.

Three of the four Haley women were expecting. Ash looked at an unusually quiet Charmaine, who'd shared her disappointment over not being pregnant just days ago. She was pale, but not unusually so. Her eyes found and held his, as if she knew what he was thinking. No matter what she said to appease him, he knew she was going to leave with Howard on Thursday and she wasn't coming back. Their chance had come and gone.

 

Ash was still angry, Felicity was God knew where with a
gardener,
and now this.

Charmaine paced in front of her seated mother and sister, here in the parlor that was Maureen Haley's domain. Jeanette occasionally wiped a single tear from her cheek, though she had reclaimed her composure and seemed to be suffering more from sentimentality than sorrow.

Their mother was calm as could be, smiling and happy, irrationally content. “Charmaine, would you sit down,” she ordered softly. “You're making me dizzy.”

Charmaine obliged, taking the nearest chair and sitting on the very edge. “I just don't understand how you could allow this to happen,” she said sensibly. “There are ways to prevent conception, and for a woman of your age to even consider having a child is. . . . ”

“You overstep your bounds.”

“But I don't understand. . . . ”

“Perhaps you don't need to understand,” her mother snapped.

Charmaine sunk back into her chair. Ash was furious with her, Howard thought that she'd decided to return with him to Boston, and now her mother was angry because she had dared to speak her mind.

She was not very diplomatic in her handling of delicate situations, she realized.

“Are you truly happy?” she asked, and her mother smiled.

“Yes. I wasn't at first, I must admit. This baby came as quite a surprise to your father and me, and I . . . I initially had the same reservations you do about carrying a child and giving birth at my age. But Doctor Whitfield assures me I'm healthy enough to see this baby through to the end, and it will be wonderful to have a child in this house again.”

Jeanette dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “I didn't mean to cry. Lately it seems that I sob at the drop of a hat. Robert originally forbade me to come with Howard, but I cried so he finally relented. He would have come along, but one of the partners of his firm has him working a very important case.”

“He must be thrilled,” Charmaine said, an unwelcome envy rising within her. She, the woman who had declared so vehemently that she would never marry and have children, jealous because she was the only female in her family not carrying a child.

Ash would make a good father, when the time came. He was tenderhearted and protective and caring. The perfect father. The perfect husband. She could see it so clearly, the two of them surrounded by their children, filling that house with love and laughter. Ash could tell the children stories by the fire at night, and she would see that they were fed and clothed and well-read. She would teach her daughters to be strong and her sons to be tender.

What was it going to take to make Ash forgive her? He said he had, when she asked, but she didn't believe him. Ash Coleman was much too honest a man to be a successful liar. His eyes didn't catch and hold hers the way they once had, and he didn't smile at all anymore.

A stupid, impulsive telegram, and he just refused to ignore it! All she wanted was for him to smile at her again, was that so much to ask?

She was fooling herself. What she really wanted was for Ash to love her as deeply and completely as she loved him. She wanted everything. Love, family, happiness. She wanted to be Ash's one true love for all time.

Nothing else would do.

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty

 

Of all the people in the world to spend a Sunday afternoon with, Stuart Haley and Howard Stillwell were at the bottom of Ash's list.

Here in the very room where he'd heard Charmaine tell Stillwell that something could be arranged, Stuart Haley sat behind his desk and puffed on a fat cigar, and Stillwell sat in a comfortable chair with his hands in his lap and a pursed frown on his face. Ash stood near the door, poised for escape.

It was quite clear that neither Haley nor Stillwell was any happier with their present company than Ash was. Haley had muttered something insulting under his breath when both of his son-in-laws had declined his offer of an after-dinner cigar. When Howard had very primly refused the whiskey Haley poured, the old man had rolled his eyes in despair.

Ash had downed his whiskey in one swallow. And then he'd downed Howard's. He wasn't a drinking man, but by God it couldn't hurt.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, but when Howard opened his mouth Ash wished for a few more precious moments of quiet.

“I understand you had quite an interesting wedding,” he said, his beady eyes fastened on Ash.

“You could call it that.”

Howard shook his head slowly. “What kind of uncivilized place is this, where a woman can be forced to marry at gunpoint?”

“It's just a minor detail,” Ash said sharply, “but the gun was pointed at
me
.”

Howard turned his attentions to the man behind the desk. “Charmaine doesn't belong here, and she certainly doesn't belong on a . . . on a
farm
.” He actually shuddered, as if revolted at the very idea. “It's unthinkable that a woman like Charmaine might spend her entire life hidden away in this dreary section of the country in that dreary little house. What an unconscionable waste. She's intelligent and forthright and in Boston, with my help, she can make a difference in this rapidly decaying world we live in.”

“Hogwash,” Stuart said without hesitation. “Charmaine made her choice when she dallied in the gazebo while she should have been dancing and behaving like a proper young lady.” If looks could kill, Ash knew he'd be dead now.

“Even a young woman who shows a rare lapse of good judgment should be allowed to choose her own husband, or even the right to live a full and happy life without one,” Howard insisted. “Charmaine is curious, astute, charming. She has such potential in Boston. Did you know she was considering writing a manual of her own? Her role in my seminars has grown steadily, and in a few years she might even have given lectures of her own. A woman like that will never be happy on a farm.”

The hell of it was, Howard Stillwell was right. Ash sauntered to Haley's desk and poured another whiskey. For courage. To kill the pain of the truth. “To be perfectly honest,” he said as he studied the short glass that was filled to the rim, “there was no dallying going on that night.” He tossed the whiskey back, emptying the glass and then forcefully returning it to the desk.

He grinned widely at the man before him. “That's right, Stuart, you shot me for nothing.”

Haley's face turned an alarming shade of red. “Charmaine admitted to me herself. . . . ”

“Charmaine said what she thought she had to say to get back to Boston. You made a wrong assumption when you stumbled on us that night, and she went along with it so she could go back where she belongs.” He refilled his glass with whiskey. “Where she wants to be.”

“Poor dear,” Howard mumbled. “She must have been terrified.”

“Yeah,” Ash said, and his voice slurred just a little. Terrified of being stuck in this place for the rest of her life. Terrified of being married to a sodbuster. He downed this glass as quickly as he had the last one, tossing it back and relishing the burn. “So when you take her to Boston on Thursday . . . keep her there.”

His insides flamed. It was the whiskey, but more than that it was the certainty that no matter how much it hurt, this was best for Charmaine.

Stuart shot to his feet. “You can't put my daughter aside like this.”

Ash forced a smile, and with both hands he ripped his shirt open. Buttons dropped to the floor as he presented Stuart Haley his heart. “Shoot me,” he said, his smile never fading. “Go ahead. I know you, Haley, you've got a six-shooter in one of those drawers, maybe a derringer up your sleeve. Put me out of my misery.”

He might as well be dead. Charmaine deserved better. She deserved a choice, a bright and beautiful life, and what she wanted — what she'd always wanted — was Boston. He wouldn't sit around and mope, knowing in his head that she wasn't coming back, hoping in his heart that she would. It would be pure hell.

Ash's head pounded, and he could feel every heartbeat in his chest, the rush of heated blood through his veins. Haley stared at him like he was crazy, and maybe he was.

He had to get out of here. Haley would tell Charmaine that she was free at long last . . . he sure couldn't do it himself. He couldn't look at Charmaine and smile and wish her a nice life in Boston and pretend it wasn't killing him to send her away.

Ash turned his back on Haley and Stillwell and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. The hallway to the front door was incredibly long, and if he didn't get out of here soon he was going to suffocate.

A doorway near the front door opened slowly, and Charmaine stepped into the hall, placing herself between Ash and an easy escape. Jeanette and Mrs. Haley were close behind her, looking curiously his way. Why had he slammed the damned door! He should have left quietly, sneaking out like the coward he was.

Charmaine looked him up and down, and the response in her eyes and her expressive face was one of concern and . . . no, not love. “What's wrong?”

He wanted to tell her nothing was wrong. He wanted to assure her that everything was fine and take her home.

But nothing was fine. His life would never be
fine
again. Because the only way to make Charmaine truly happy was to let her go.

She'd proved it to him again and again.

That would show Daddy, wouldn't it, if I spent the entire evening dancing with a Coleman.

I do! I do, I do, I do!

I never had any intention of staying here. . . .
 

Married to Ash Coleman. Please save me.

“Ash?” she prompted.

His head swam, the hallway and the women in it tilted slightly to one side. Dammit, he didn't drink. Why had he downed Haley's whiskey like an old drunk?

Charmaine waited a moment for a response, and then she came toward him. Floating, like something out of a dream. Frowning, knowing just by looking at him that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Before she reached him he stepped away, skirting around her and heading for the door. “I need to speak to you outside,” he said softly.

 

They were rounding the house, headed for the stables, when Charmaine was finally able to snag Ash's arm and force him to turn around. An ominously cold gust of wind chilled her.

Ash stood before her with his gray jacket askew and his shirt hanging open and an icy gleam in his usually warm green eyes.

“I think you should stay here until Thursday.” He brushed a strand of windblown hair from his eyes. “I'll bring your things by tomorrow.”

“What?” His words were perfectly clear, but she didn't understand. “Why would I stay here? I told you I decided not to —”

“It's over,” he interrupted her. “You go back to Boston and stay there, and I'll . . . I'll find myself another wife.”

“Another wife? Ash!” She grabbed a flapping bit of his dancing shirt. “What is this? Did Daddy —”