Hannah’s Beau (19 page)

Mavis gasped. Loudly. Then she snorted.
Then
she mumbled something that sounded like “idiot men.”

At least one other person in the room understood.

Beau couldn’t be doing this to her. He respected her too much not to properly ask for her hand in marriage.

Too stunned to do much more than stare at them both, Hannah responded with a growl in her throat, a furious shake of her head and a narrowing of her eyes.

Still, the idiot men forged ahead.

“Your father will perform the ceremony, of course.”

She gawked at him, terrified of how easy it would be to break down and cry. But the vicious stirrings of pride began weaving through her, and she promised herself she would never cry in front of Beauregard O’Toole.
Never.

As though sensing her mood at last, Beau’s shoulders stiffened in alarm. “Hannah?”

She tried to speak, she could even feel her jaw working, but discernible words eluded her. Finally, she said, “Let me see if I have this straight. We’re getting married.” She pointed to her and Beau. “And he’s performing the ceremony.” She pointed to her father.

She held the pause, praying, wishing, hoping either Beau or her father would redeem themselves at any moment.

Which, of course, they didn’t. They both stared at her, eyes blinking in identical displays of confusion.

The ticking of the mantel clock mocked her. Tick, tick, tick went the pendulum. No, no, no went her heart. Wrapping her dignity around her like a shield of armor, she set her chin and held to her silence.

When Beau scrunched his forehead, indicating he was deep in thought, Hannah prayed for a miracle.

Mavis came up next to her and clutched her hand. Hannah held on for dear life. Tears pricked in her eyes. The tears were more from loss of pride than pain, or so she told herself, and that made controlling them so much harder.

In slow, clipped tones that would have sent a sane man running for cover, Hannah broke the silence. “And you two have planned all of this so I won’t end up like Jane.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed, and she saw the exact moment when understanding dawned. His face instantly fell and he raked a shaky hand through his hair. “Hannah, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, but you did.” Seething anger replaced the hurt. His apology had come too late. The damage had been done. “I thought you said you were sorry for the way you treated me at our first meeting. But I see you truly
believe that I will fall into a life of sin without you guarding me against that terrible fate.”

Oh, but this time,
this
time, he’d hurt her deep at the core—where she trusted most.

“I
am
sorry. You are a kind, compassionate, Christian woman. You are—”

“A woman who will end up like Jane if left to her own devices?”

Obviously stunned by her vehemence, he blinked. Then blinked again.

Didn’t he understand? “There is no shame in what I am, in what I do. I am a successful
actress,
” she shouted. “Do you hear me? An actress.”

Mavis snorted. “
I
certainly heard you.” She clutched Hannah’s hand tighter. “And I don’t blame you for being angry. Not one bit.” She glared at Beau with disappointment in her eyes. “You should know better, boy.”

“You stay out of this,” Reverend Southerland said.

“
You
stay out of this, as well.” Hannah jabbed a finger in his direction. “This isn’t about you, either.”

Her father lifted himself to his full height. “You are my daughter. And that makes this my business. I’ve turned my back on you for five years. I was wrong to abandon you. You could have been hurt—” he shuddered “—or worse. I can’t allow you to walk out of this house unprotected again.”

“Oh, Father.”

His eyes looked so somber, so full of pain and regret. “Beauregard can protect you as I never did,” he said.

Hannah stared at her father in awe. Wisps of childhood memories flitted across her mind. But tonight, she didn’t see the unforgiving preacher who’d condemned
her for her sins. No, tonight, she saw the grieving widower unprepared to care for two young daughters. One too wild for him to handle, the other too weak and needy. She saw a man who had escaped in the safety of the rules and rituals of his religion.

He hadn’t been a bad man. Just a hurting one.

He’d done the best he could. And now, in his own, arrogant way, he was trying to make up for his mistake.

She took a deep breath. And forgave.

“Father, I understand your concern.”

She stopped, shook her head, suddenly very tired, and frightened, and confused. But then, she did something she never thought she’d do in this lifetime. She rushed to her father and hugged her arms around his waist.

He stood rigid at first. With awkward movements, he finally returned her embrace. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.” His voice hitched with emotion.

“Me, too. But, Father, you don’t have to worry about me. I have money. Lots of it. And I own property. And stocks and bonds, too.”

She swung around to glare at Beau, pinpointing all of her turbulent emotions into one seething spark of anger. “When your mother took me in, do you think she only taught me about acting?”

“I—”

“No.” She cut him off. “Patience taught me how to save and invest and manage my money properly, once I started making more than I knew what to do with.”

“I don’t understand.” There was such male confusion in his eyes that Hannah almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.

His arrogance had cut her too deeply to stifle her pride now.

“I am a wealthy woman in my own right, Beau. So, you see, I don’t need you.”

Oh, but she lied. She lied, lied, lied. She did need him, needed him like air. But stubborn pride, that evil, evil character flaw that ran deep and wide within her, wouldn’t let her take back her words.

His face collapsed and he reached out his hand to her. All facades were gone. He wore no mask. And no O’Toole charm softened his features. All that was left was raw exposure. “But, Hannah, I need you.”

She lowered her head, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. Her pride wouldn’t release her enough to give him the words he wanted. “Maybe you do need me,” she whispered. “But not enough to ask me to marry you.”

“I did.”

“No.” She sighed. “You
told
me.”

When he stared back at her and didn’t declare his love for her right away, Hannah knew she’d lost him. No, she thought, she couldn’t lose something she’d never had.

He might think he needed her. But it wasn’t her he needed. It was some ideal woman who would smooth his rough edges.

“Come on, Mavis,” she said, her tone flat. “Let’s go.”

Beau found his voice then. “That’s it?” he asked, a hard steel of anger edging his words. “That’s how this ends? You just walk out on me? Don’t you want to know the particulars of my new church?”

“No.” She turned her back on him, felt his hand hover near her shoulder but then drop without making contact. She desperately wanted to swing around to face him, but she was too proud to let him see the helplessness in her eyes. “It would break my heart.”

The Grand Opera House, Chicago, Illinois
Six weeks later

S
hakespeare’s
Hamlet
progressed toward its dramatic conclusion. Crimes were exposed with the perfect blend of shock and retribution. Schemes and false loyalties were revealed at a precise, well-rehearsed pace.

Unfortunately, Hannah no longer found joy translating every nuance found on paper into a memorable performance onstage. The irony of playing Ophelia, an obedient young woman dependent on men to tell her how to behave, brought back poignant memories of her last meeting with Beau.

If only that night had been a dress rehearsal, she would have played her role differently in the final performance.

After tonight there would be no more performances for her. Fitting, perhaps, that her last play was a tragedy.

With nothing left to do but take her bows, Hannah stood poised in the shadows offstage. She tried to
contain her nerves, but she was impatient to move on to the next chapter of her life.

At first, when Hannah had returned to Chicago with Mavis in tow she had craved the escape of her profession. Needed it as much as breath itself. In the end, she’d only found loneliness. Guilt.

Regret.

Unwanted memories slid into her mind, playing out as strangely real as the last moments of the play. She’d been so angry at Beau for his high-handed treatment of her. All because he’d chosen to ally himself with her father. Looking back now, she realized she’d felt betrayed by them both. Yet it had been easier to forgive her father than Beau.

Why was that?

Because she’d allowed fear and pride to dictate her actions. She’d overreacted, jumped to conclusions and had cowardly disappeared before the final act.

Well, Hannah would make it right. All she had to do was find Beau and then ask for his forgiveness.

With that thought, Hannah leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching for the woman positioned in the wings off the opposite end of the stage. Mavis waggled her fingers at her, and then pointed to their packed trunks behind her.

Tonight they would leave the theater forever.

Hannah’s hands started to shake again, threatening her outward calm. A deep, driving urge to leave now, before the play was complete, washed through her. Hannah roped her fingers together and clutched her palms tightly against one another. In this mood, her mind wandered back in time, back to that dismal night in her father’s parlor.

Why hadn’t she asked Beau about his church? Why hadn’t she loved him enough to support his dream?

Because she’d been afraid. Afraid she’d turn into an Amelia. And because of that fear, she’d allowed pride to rule her heart.

Unable to bear her own emotions, she shifted her gaze toward the audience. Hannah squinted deep into the shadows until her gaze focused. Countless faces stared at the stage with their usual rapt attention.

Tonight, however, their willingness to accept the lie grated. Why were so many hungry for an illusion? Hannah no longer wanted the deception herself.

From this day forward, she wanted nothing but truth in her life.

Taking a deep breath, Hannah turned her attention back to the stage. The actor playing the Norwegian prince, Fortinbras, had just demanded Hamlet be carried away in a manner befitting a fallen soldier.

Hannah sighed in relief. A few more minutes and she would be free.

At last, Hamlet’s body was carried offstage.

A hushed pause filled the theater.

Then…

The audience surged to its feet. Applause thundered. And the curtain began its slow descent. Chaos instantly erupted behind the delicate veil between audience and actor.

“Places, everyone,” yelled the director. He turned to Hannah and motioned her forward.

Hannah wove her way through the labyrinth of rushing humanity, gliding toward her spot on the far edge of the troupe.

Once in place, Hannah rubbed her tongue across her teeth before turning her head to seek out Mavis once more.

Hannah’s breath backed up in her lungs.

Mavis was gone.

In her place stood…

Beau.

With greedy eyes, Hannah looked at him. He’d grown thinner, a bit worn, but was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. For once in her life, she ignored pride. She ignored obligation. And broke formation in a run.

“Hannah,” said the director. “Where are you going?”

She flicked her wrist at him. “I’m through.”

“You can’t do this,” he called after her. “You must take your bows.”

Speechless with frustration, she turned back. One step, two, and then she hesitated, poised between her past and her future.

She chose the future.

Shooting the director an apologetic shake of her head, she swung her back to the stage and rushed toward Beau.

Eyes focused on him, and him alone, she ignored the director’s howl of outrage.

With each step, Hannah noted the conflicting emotions on Beau’s face, love overriding everything else.

She picked up the pace, but was suddenly jostled by an actor on her left. Beau’s eyes filled with alarm, but Hannah caught her balance and continued forward.

At last, he smiled at her.

Fear gripped her in response. She couldn’t lose him again.

Lord, fill me with a humble heart,
she prayed.
Fill me with the courage to ask his forgiveness.

How easy it would be to allow pride to keep her from admitting her share of the guilt.

Hannah pressed her lips together, realizing she’d missed the point all along. What did it matter if they lived in a church in the meadow or in a mining camp or a saloon? Life with Beauregard O’Toole, wherever it took them, would hold the perfect blend of Christian grace, charity and hope.

With a shake of her head, Hannah smiled at her astonishingly handsome costar in life.

Golden, spectacular, filled with charm, Beauregard O’Toole was everything she wanted in a man. Three priorities ruled his actions. God. Family. Ministry.

She stopped in front of him, suddenly unsure where to begin. She looked at his chiseled, handsome face. What if he didn’t want her? What if she’d misread the love in his eyes?

A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach. The noise of the theater became a dull drumming in her ears.

He reached for her hand, bent at the waist and dropped a kiss onto her knuckles. The gesture brought tears to her eyes.

Everything would be all right. As long as they were together.

“You were breathtaking tonight, my dear.” His voice was a little shaky, and the most beautiful sound Hannah had heard in the last six weeks.

He rose slowly, deliberately, and then sent her a suave half smile. “How I’ve missed you.”

Pressure built in her chest and stole her breath. “Oh, Beau, can you forgive me?”

“It is I who needs to be forgiven.” The sorrow in his
eyes was real. “I’ve been a stupid, stupid man, ignoring the blessing right in front of me. Well, I see you now. And I see my mistakes. I should have asked you to marry me before I spoke to your father.”

“I should have given you the chance to tell me about your church.”

He shook his head.

She gave him a wobbly smile.

The noise increased, making it hard to speak without shouting. Hannah looked around, tugged him farther away from the stage and into a private nook under the rigging.

“I’m leaving the company tonight,” she told him once they were nestled in the quiet alcove.

His eyes met hers, and in them she saw what she’d missed in her father’s parlor. Beau was prepared to treat her as his equal. “Mavis told me.”

She made a watery sound in her throat. “Did Mavis also tell you we were starting our search for you?”

“She did.”

Ah, Mavis. The dear old woman was better than any godmother in a Grimm’s fairy tale.

“You never let me explain about my new church.”

His gray eyes blazed so brightly with conviction, the heat of shame warmed her face.

Hannah lowered her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He placed his finger under her chin and applied pressure. As her chin rose, Hannah had to fight the urge to look away from his face. But she forced herself to keep her gaze locked with his.

“I didn’t accept the position in Greeley,” he said. “I turned your father down that night in his office.”

In the face of his declaration, it was remarkable
Hannah’s knees didn’t give out. As Beau had once done to her, she’d judged him without knowing the complete facts. Yet he didn’t hold her mistake against her. He’d come to find her, with love shining in his eyes.

Oh, Lord, thank you.

“I…You’re going to continue traveling as before?” she asked.

“No.” He smiled. “God has a different plan for me, for us.”

Hannah blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m starting a new church, outside of Denver, right next to—”

“Charity House.”

“Precisely.”

A sense of rightness filled her. “That’s wonderful.”

“Marc planted a seed months ago,” Beau said. “One I nearly let die. The orphans at Charity House need a spiritual shepherd, as do their mothers and others like them.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“Although the Rocky Mountain Association won’t offer any support or assistance, your father will. Actually, he’s been giving me advice in the initial planning stages.”

Her father giving Beau advice on a church designed to open its doors to all people? Oh, how far they’d all come.

“I would have been here sooner, but I wanted to have some stability to offer you first.”

“Oh, Beau, my home will be wherever you are. I will follow wherever you go. So, you see, I don’t need stability.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need to know I can give you more than a vagabond life.”

She cocked her head. “What if God uproots us?”

“Then we go. Together.” His eyes glittered, and he tugged her hand against his heart. “You said you were coming in search of me? Where did you plan to start that search?”

“In Greeley. I wanted you to know I would support you wherever God leads.”

He stared at her with awe and love in his eyes. “Will you consider coming back to Denver and assisting me in my new adventure?”

Her heart dropped to her toes, bounced, then hung suspended for a split second before settling back in place. “
Assist
you?”

His eyes never left her face, but a charming O’Toole grin slid on his lips. “I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Starting a new church is too big a job for one man to accomplish alone.”

“Too big a job?”

His grin turned into a full, heart-stopping smile. It was a weapon against which she had no defense.

“Are you going to keep repeating my words?” he asked.

She cocked her head at him, searched his eyes. Beauregard O’Toole was up to something. “Are you going to ask me the right question?”

“I’ll need a helpmate to start my church.”

“A helpmate.”

“A wife,” he blurted out. “I need a wife.” He shook his head. “That had to be the worst proposal ever. Second only to the last one, when I
told
you we were getting married. Hannah, I—”

She placed her finger against his lips. “I kind of like this most recent proposal of yours. In fact, I think it’s going rather well.”

“Do you like it enough to say yes?”

“How can I? You haven’t actually asked me a question.”

He lowered to one knee. Threads of light from the stage cascaded in his hair. Her golden knight. No, better, her rebel preacher.

“Hannah, will you marry me?” His voice came out grave. “Will you assist me in doing God’s work? Will you stand by me, no matter where life takes us, even when I’m an arrogant son of an actor?”

“How could I refuse such a lovely offer?”

He slowly rose to his feet and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Is
that
a yes?”

“No.”

His face fell. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

“It’s an ab-so-lutely.”

He abandoned restraint and pulled her into his arms. “That’s more like it.” He pulled back and gave her an arrogant wink. “We’ll get married right away. No arguments. I’m not going to risk losing you again.”

“You know, Beau.” She turned her head at a saucy angle. “Sometimes your arrogance is really rather appealing.”

“I’ll remember you said that.”

“Well, remember this. I’ll marry you, yes. Under two conditions.”

“Two?” He set her away from him and studied her face for a long moment. Then he smiled. “Only two?”

Apparently, he
was
in the mood for teasing now.
“One.” She pointed her finger toward the ceiling. “We get married right away.”

“Makes sense to me.” He regarded her with a triumphant look. “Since I already said that.”

Enjoying herself immensely, she pursed her lips. “You scoundrel.”

He gave her a careless shrug. “I’m working on my arrogant streak.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. “You still have a ways to go.”

Ignoring her comment, he touched a strand of her hair, twirled it around his fingertip, then looked back into her eyes. “What’s your other condition?”

She took a deep breath and forced a serious expression onto her features. “We adopt Mavis.”

He stared at her. Blinked. Stared at her awhile longer. “Isn’t she a little old for adoption?”

Up went her chin. “I think she’s the perfect age.”

“Hannah Southerland, you are an eccentric woman, and I love you with all my heart.” He punctuated his words with a soft kiss to her lips.

“I love you, too, Beau.” This time she didn’t have to feign her serious expression.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled.

“So, what do you say about adopting Mavis?” she asked on a wispy sigh.

He kissed her on the nose. “Done.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

A single eyebrow shot up. “Now who needs to work on their arrogant streak?”