Darby: Bride of Oregon (American Mail-Order Bride 33) (9 page)

Rand caught the train at Longview Junction the
next morning. Dressed as he was, he didn’t worry about anyone recognizing him.
He paid extra for the sleeper car and slept the whole way.

It was surprising how well one could sleep without
his conscience bothering him. And it had been a long time since that had
happened without a bottle of brandy. His final, comforting thought was that the
world was crazier than he’d believed possible. And if it chose to chew itself
up and spit itself out, the blame couldn’t be laid at his feet.

Later that day, he watched out the window as
Seattle came into view.

Ah, Seattle. It had been a long time. In fact, it
had been a long time since he’d left Portland at all. But with the new routine,
and his men taking turns at playing Phantom, it was the perfect time for him to
take a little break. His men could handle any trouble. And it wouldn’t hurt to
let someone else play God for a while.

He was tired of deciding who lived, who died, and
who was sacrificed to the monster.

Alone again, for the first time in weeks, he was
even able to forget he’d been married. What he would do about that marriage was
a worry for another day, though. For now, he was on vacation.

On holiday, the Brits would say. But he didn’t
care about the Brits. The one he had cared for, temporarily, hadn’t really
existed in the first place. So she didn’t count. And the one on paper would be
annulled shortly.

He supposed he had decided what to do about her
after all.

But what did it matter? He was a reasonably wealthy,
reasonably young man. He could find another wife to put on his mantle. Maybe
that Bride School in Wyoming was still in business. If so, he could send a
letter and find a woman who fit the bill perfectly. And at that place, he’d be
able to meet the candidates before picking one.

Maybe British hadn’t been the wise request after
all. England shared a border with Scotland. Maybe all Brits had some Scottish
blood in them.

But that Mrs. Carnegie, who ran the Bride School,
had once been the upper crust of New York Society. Surely she could find him
the kind of woman he was looking for. Someone he could take to bed on his
wedding night and never have to worry about it again. She would mind her own
business and he’d mind his. Just like his original plan.

No more mail-order brides for him. No matter how
carefully he’d worded his needs, he’d still attracted the wrong sort.

Trust a Scot to go where she was specifically
uninvited.

A dull pain throbbed in his stomach at the thought
of her. So he took pity on himself and stopped thinking about her at all.

~ ~ ~

The streets of Seattle were a welcome change. Rand
found a new gambling hall well away from the waterfront so he wouldn’t have to
worry about some customer disappearing through the floor, specifically himself.
All along the coastline, there was a booming slave industry. But that didn’t
mean he had to get involved.

After he became governor, he’d worry about it. If
he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, in a strange city, he might end up in
China instead of the Governor’s office. And what good could he do there?

The second evening of his vacation, he had just
lost his twentieth dollar of the day when he decided to try his luck elsewhere.
After walking the streets for a good half hour, though, he found himself on the
steps of Rosemary’s. And the only gambling he’d find inside that establishment
was with his health if he wasn’t lucky.

The Scot was inside, he warned himself.

His stomach hurt again, and his leg throbbed a few
times to remind him what had happened the last time he’d seen her. But a little
train ride and a lot of sleep had fixed him up fine. Why his leg throbbed now
was a mystery.

He marched up the steps a little harder than
necessary, to remind his leg who was boss. Once inside, he was greeted by
Rosemary herself who assured him his guest was safely secluded in a room
upstairs with his guards taking turns at her door.

Just being in the same building with her brought
out the worst in him, but he asked Rosemary for a favor anyway.

~ ~ ~

 Darby jumped when the door opened, but it was
just Rosemary again. Instead of fussing over her and asking what she could do
for her, this time, the woman was nervous.

“I need you to come downstairs,” she said. “I wasn’t
supposed to keep you all locked up after all.”

“You mean I can leave?” Darby had no idea where
she would go. She didn’t have much in her pocket. And it was dark out. But if
there was a chance she could leave and never have to face Rand Beauregard
again, she’d take it.

Rosemary shook her head. Her straight white hair
shivered around her. “No. You can’t leave. But…but you can come downstairs for
a little while, just for a change.”

Darby sighed. She would have liked nothing better
than to hide from the world, but after a whole day in the little bedroom, she
welcomed a different wall to stare at.

“All right. Thank you.”

Elton, the tall one guarding the door, followed
along behind them. He looked confused but kept silent.

Rosemary’s parlor was much cheerier than Jezebel’s.
The same red velvet covered the furniture, but instead of dark walls, they were
painted with colorful murals depicting life on the sea shore. Of course the
women who peopled those paintings were scantily dressed, but considering they
were in a brothel, Darby was surprised they were as modest as they were.

Four young women with dramatic make up and equally
scant clothing gathered at the far end of the long room and giggled and chatted
like school girls.

Rosemary pointed to a chair by a potted tree and
Darby sat. She’d changed out of her britches, washed the horse hair from her
body, and donned a clean dress that had once belonged to Rand’s sister. But
Darby had worn it so much in the past few weeks, it seemed like her own now.
And she was certain Rand wouldn’t want it back, not with her Scottish fleas infesting
it.

She was determined to put the man out of her mind
until she understood what he had planned for her. For all she knew, he would
pick her up at the train station in Portland and put her on a ship bound for
China. The look he’d given her, just after he’d slapped her, promised he’d be
capable of doing just that.

She tugged her handkerchief out of her sleeve,
dabbed at her eyes, then chided herself for letting her mind wander again.

There was a murmur of deep voices from the
entryway and the four girls fluttered away from each other to sit on separate
furnishings. Their inviting smiles magically appeared the moment a gentleman
walked into the room.

He gave a little bow in their general direction,
then turned and bowed to Rosemary. His eyes lit up when he noticed Darby, but
her hostess stepped slightly in front of her and shook her head. The fellow
nodded, then wandered in the other direction.

Darby was fascinated. If she did get away from
Rand and end up on the streets, would she be able to find a place like Rosemary’s
in which to make a living? Now that she knew what kind of work was required,
would she be able to stomach it?

The gentleman offered his arm to a short girl with
dark hair, then he led her from the room with a disturbing smile on his face.
And Darby, knowing the gist of what would transpire between the two, couldn’t
suppress a chill.

Elton, standing just inside the door, frowned at
Rosemary, then looked away. Apparently, the guard was a bit revolted too.

There were more voices in the entryway. Someone
drunk, it sounded like. Or perhaps just a little too pleased to be there.

The girls took their places and set their smiles.
Then everyone in the room turned to the doorway.

Rand Beauregard stepped into the room and Darby’s
heart jumped. He spoke quietly with Elton only for a moment, then walked
directly to the far end of the room where he spoke with all three of the girls
at once. They gathered around him like they were old friends and laughed at
something he said. Then, as if he were playing some child’s game, he tapped
them each on the head, again and again, until his hand stopped. The girl he
touched stuck her lip out and sat on the couch. Then Rand offered an elbow to
the other two, turned, and escorted them out of the room.

Two? Why would he need two?

With Rosemary partially blocking her from view,
Rand couldn’t have known she was there. But if he had, would he have done any
differently?

Don’t be a fool.

What did she expect? For the man to have picked
her? Of course not!

Darby stood and Rosemary took a step back. The
woman wouldn’t look her in the eye. “I’m sorry about that, Miss.”

Darby looked at Elton. The man was fuming mad. And
she finally understood that it had all been arranged. She was supposed to see
Rand choose those girls and go blithely on his way. He wanted to hurt her.

Well, it was only fair. She’d hurt him soundly
enough to deserve a little pain herself. And she’d been deserving it since the
moment she’d decided to answer his advertisement. And her mind went back to the
day she’d first read it.

“Margaret?”

“Mm?”

“How long does it take, do ye reckon, to make a
man fall in love with ye?”

“Less than a night, if the trollops are to be
believed.”

Well, she was better equipped to answer that
question now. And it definitely took longer than that. In fact, three weeks
wasn’t long enough.

Slowly, deliberately, and just as determined as
she’d been to get away from Rand two nights before, Darby strolled toward the
doorway. Elton watched her. He turned and prepared to escort her back upstairs,
but then had to watch silently as she continued to the other end of the room.
When she settled into an overstuffed Victorian chair and forced her lips into a
pleasant smile, she was sure the guard gasped. But he covered the slip with a
cough.

Rosemary fled.

Elton stopped coughing abruptly. Male voices
echoed from the entryway at his back. His eyes widened, but to his credit, the
man remained at his post.

The girl sitting on the couch opposite Darby
raised her brows as if to ask if she knew what she was doing. Darby gave her a
little nod, but on the inside she was terrified of what might truly happen.
What if Rosemary didn’t seek Rand out to tell him what she was up to? Or worse
yet, what if Rand didn’t care? What if he thought that a place like Rosemary’s
was a suitable home for any Scottish skirt-wearing monster?

Hearty laughter preceded two gentlemen into the
room. The taller of the two gave a nod to Elton as he dropped something into
his own suit pocket. His face lit with a smile when his gaze fell on Darby. He
gave the other girl only a cursory glance, but his friend looked immediately
smitten with the lass.

Darby felt each step the man took. Or was it her
heart beating hard and slow?

“Good evening,” he said, with a little bow. His
moustache curled along with his smile. “You’re new.”

“Aye.” Considering where they were, there was no
use pretending she was shy.

“My name is Lionel.”

“And I’m Darby.”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Scottish?”

“Aye. Go on, then. I give ye permission to flee.”

He laughed. “But Scottish is my favorite flavor.”

She blushed so suddenly she grew light headed. He
tugged on her hand and pulled her easily to her feet. Then he kissed her on the
head and spoke against her hair. “Let’s get you upstairs where you can lie
down, shall we?”

Horrified that he would say such a thing in mixed
company, she looked around to see if the other two had overheard, but they’d
already disappeared.

She took a deep breath, then another, and planted
her feet before he could lead her any further. “Just a moment,” she said. “Just
give me a moment.”

She took another deep breath and the room righted
itself. “Just so we’re clear. I don’t work here.”

He seemed surprised, but the tug on her hand
proved he was undeterred. He was rather handsome, she supposed.

“Darby, go upstairs.” Rand appeared behind her
would-be seducer and though he spoke to her, Rand kept his attention on
Rosemary’s customer. “She’s not on the menu.”

The man laughed and took both her hands in his. “I
think that’s up to her.”

“No,” Rand said. “I’d say it’s up to her husband.”

That finally surprised the man enough that he
dropped her hands and stepped away from her. Elton appeared at her side and his
message was clear as well. Go or be carried.

She nodded at Lionel, and strode through the room
like the queen she used to feel—until Rand Beauregard had decided she was
Scottish trash.

What scared her was how close she’d come to making
his judgment of her a reality. And as she climbed the stairs to her temporary
prison, she vowed she would never make that mistake again.

 Rand’s stomach churned with worry. He’d hired the
private car to take them back to Portland, but no matter how much he was
willing to pay, there was no tempting a conductor to hold the train.

The last order he’d given Elton was to have her to
the train on time. And no matter how much the man disapproved of what Rand had
done in the brothel, he wouldn’t have agreed to an order if he hadn’t intended
to obey it.

So where were they?

The train would leave, with or without her, in
five minutes. The question was would it be leaving without him?

If she’d managed to get away from four full grown
men, should he just let her go and forget her? If he asked the church for an
annulment, would she show up in five years and claim to still be his wife?

She was a Scot. He wouldn’t put anything past her.

Hell, for all he knew, she was kith and kin to
Captain McClintock himself.

It put a bitter taste in his mouth to do it, but
he stepped out onto the platform to wait. If the train began moving and she
still hadn’t arrived, he’d jump on and good riddance.

His stomach roiled again. Then his heart jumped
when Elton’s tall head was visible in the mob at the gate. The man parted the
crowd and hurried through, but there was no woman with him.

Damn her!

“Where is she?” He didn’t care who heard him.

“They’re coming. We had a little...disagreement.”
He tilted his head to show the beginnings of a large bruise under his eye and
Rand was suddenly worried what kind of shape the woman would be in. He couldn’t
very well show up to a bunch of fanfare holding the hand of a beaten woman. But
if she had been roughed up, it would be his fault for not giving clearer
orders.

The train whistle sounded just as a couple of men
separated from the crowd and hurried through the gate. He recognized Palmer,
then realized the second man was Darby in her britches. The reason the pair
walked so close together was because they had metal cuffs around their wrists—one
set between them.

“You shackled her?” No matter how angry he’d
been—still was—with her, he was appalled.

“No choice. She nearly got away from us.” Elton
tipped his hat back. “I think we taught her too well how to slip around without
being followed.”

“All aboard!” The engineer hollered in their
direction. Everyone else had boarded. And a good thing too. Rand didn’t need a
bunch of Nosey Nells wondering why a woman in shackles went into his private
car, only to see a finely dressed woman step out again in Portland.

Palmer hurried up the steps and for a second, it
looked like she considered not following. But then she hopped up on the lower
step just as the train tugged itself into motion. Rand and the others hurried
up the next set of steps just in time.

They all gathered in the private car. Elton was
ready to explain, but Rand held up a hand to save him the bother. There was no
need.

“Just take the shackles off.”

“You know she’ll bolt,” Palmer warned.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure she will. Eventually.”

Her gaze snapped to his.

Well, at least she was listening.

Masters placed her bags on the floor and the four
men split up. Two ahead, two behind. But a lot of good it would do. If the
woman was insane enough to jump from a moving train, they were lucky to have
gotten her onto it in the first place.

Lucky. Hah!

He remembered feeling very lucky just a few days
ago when his high class wife was willing to don a pair of britches and sit a
saddle in order to help him. But look how that had turned out.

No. There was nothing lucky about this.

She rubbed one of her wrists, but stopped as soon
as he noticed. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself when the train
tugged again. Apparently, she didn’t want to sit.

Well, he wasn’t going to stand all the way to
Portland, so he moved to a comfortable chair and took a seat. From his inside
pocket, he pulled out the folded papers he’d prepared in the middle of the
night when he couldn’t sleep.

“I have a proposition,” he said, and waved the
papers.

“A petition for an annulment?”

He smirked. “That would be much easier, I know.
But no.” He could tell he had her attention. So he gestured to the small couch
across from him.

She narrowed her eyes for a few seconds, then made
her way over to it. The train car swayed and threw her off balance, but he
resisted the urge to reach out. What had she said?
We Scots are scrappers. I’ll
make out just fine.

She slipped onto the couch and held onto the arm
as if she was prepared to run at the first sign of trouble.

“Don’t worry,
Miss
McClintock.” The stress
was a reminder of one of the many lies she’d told him. “If you don’t like my
proposal—uh,
proposition
, you can ride this train all the way back to
Massachusetts if you like. I won’t stop you.”

“Well, I reckon ye must need something from me or
ye would have left me in the woods that day, aye?”

He suddenly realized she was laying on the brogue
a little thick in order to irritate him. And what was more, she’d done so in
the forest too. When she’d been speaking to Rosemary’s customer, her accent
hadn’t been so pronounced, and she hadn’t been trying to hide her nationality
then.

“All I will admit to,” he said, “is, at the time,
I thought it best to keep my options open.”

She looked doubtful, then impatient. “Let’s hear
it, then.”

He slapped the papers on his knee. “This is a
contract. If you sign it, you’ll be agreeing to carry on as if nothing has
changed. You’ll continue to be Mrs. Rand Beauregard for the next fifteen years,
or until I am elected Governor, whichever comes first.”

She snorted. “Governor?”

“I’m deadly serious.” Then, reluctantly, he revealed
his plan to her, starting with the next mayoral election. Thankfully, she kept
her thoughts to herself until he was finished. “I understand it might take me
longer than what I have planned. Thus, the 15 years. If I am in the Governor’s
office for my first term when the 15 years has elapsed, you’ll be expected to
stay on for a second term, if I can get re-elected. You’ll also agree not to
sabotage any elections.”

“Sabotage.”

He shrugged a shoulder and offered her the papers.

She took them and glanced through them. “Anything
about children?”

He shook his head and tightened his gut to keep
his voice steady. “No children. My wife, is unfortunately barren.”

For a second or two, she looked like she’d been
punched in the stomach and was having difficulty swallowing. Then he realized,
to a woman, having the option of children taken from her would probably feel
much the same. Only the pain would last longer.

But if he was going to get through the
conversation, he had to remember she was a proven liar. He had to be cautious,
and he couldn’t let his emotions hold any sway.

They had no past between them. The few weeks he’d
spent with Lady Beauregard, he’d spent with another woman entirely. Lady
Beauregard was dead and gone. And this was the woman who had killed her.

He realized he’d done just what he’d been trying
to avoid, letting his emotions in the room. So he took a deep breath and braced
himself for rejection. If he were to get an annulment, he would have to marry
very soon to wipe away any memory Portland would have of his first failed
marriage. It would cost him a few years politically, but he would get over it.

He tried not to think of how many lives might be
lost because of those lost years. It would only make the rest of the trip
intolerable. As it was, he wanted to have her decision so he could go to the
dining car and start drinking. And he would keep drinking until he had to sober
up for the Portland fanfare.

What a ridiculous idea, to have people greet them
at the train. He should have called it off as soon as he’d reached Seattle. He
could have sent a telegram. But then he’d come up with the contract and
forgotten about the reception until it was too late.

Hopefully, Jez would have kept the plans small.

Jez. She was bound to give him one hell of a time
for this.

After reading through them again, the woman folded
the papers again and held them tentatively between two fingers. Not a good
sign. But then again, he didn’t know which would be worse—to have her sign them
or throw them in his face.

“So,” she said. “I commit to living as yer wife
for 15 years. I live in the house. Ye live...”

“In a separate part of the house, whenever I am
home.”

“And this says I’m not allowed in the city without
ye?”

“No. You’re allowed in the city anytime you wish—in
the daylight. At night, for social events, you would have to accompany me.
Otherwise, Portland, at night, is off limits to you.”

“Until?”

“Until the contracted 15 years. However, if I
become Governor earlier than planned, and fail to get re-elected, you will be
free to go, even if the 15 years have not passed.

“May I have friends? May I have people come to the
house?”

“Women friends, yes.”

She laughed. “I wasna suggesting—”

“We can add a section about pregnancy. If you
agree to what is there, and sign it, you’ll be committed. But we’ll have the
papers drawn up properly, add whatever else we agree on, and we’ll sign again.

“And just what would this new section decree?”

“That, if you were to become pregnant, you would
have to go away until the child is born, then return...without it.” She gasped,
but he continued. “You have to understand. If I had a child, or there was a
child my enemies believed was mine, it would never be safe. It has nothing to
do with fidelity at all.”

She stared at him for a minute, then slowly nodded
her head. “I see. No need for fidelity...for either one of us, because
you
will
keep your...women friends.”

He smirked. “Oh, no. I do require your fidelity. I
insist on it.”

“Then why a new section in the contract?”

“I said I require it. I didn’t say I expect it.”

She got to her feet then. The car bounced her
around, but she didn’t reach out to balance herself, as if she was in such
shock it never occurred to her that she might tumble over.

“Sit down, Darby!”

She blinked, sat, and shook her head. “You don’t
get to call me
Darby
. You may call me dear, my wife, even sweetheart if
necessary. But you will never call me
Darby.
” She tossed the papers at
him and the disappointment he felt was a surprise. And the pain in his middle
nearly doubled him over.

“I want that added to yer bloody contract,” she
said.

He frowned, confused.

“I won’t sign this. But I’ll sign the final
contract. I’ll stay 15 years. I’ll stay faithful if it kills me. But you will
never call me Darby.”

~ ~ ~

As Rand made his way to the dining car he assured
himself the only reason he was glad she’d agreed was because he wouldn’t have
to face the welcoming committee alone.