Beloved (2 page)

The carriage drew to a halt in front of the house Tyson had purchased, sight unseen, before coming to Boise. He’d hoped Diana
would be willing to furnish it, to purchase those things they would need to set up not just housekeeping but entertaining. He’d hoped she would be willing to give him another chance to be a good husband to her. He’d hoped she would want to help him in the new life he’d planned for himself. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that she would have moved on with hers? What had he expected?

The truth was until earlier this year he’d given little thought to the wife he’d left behind. And even when he had, he’d thought she would still be waiting for him. One more example of the selfish man he’d been—and could yet be if he wasn’t careful.

He didn’t wait for the driver to dismount and open the carriage door. No need for that. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to take care of himself. He’d had no valet, butler, or footman tending to him when he climbed mountains in Asia or went on safari in Africa or when he fought beneath the relentless sun in Cuba. In fact, he still had no valet, butler, or footman to wait on him. Not yet. But if all went as planned, within a week he should have a full staff hired for home, grounds, and stables.

He entered the house through the front door and made his way in the dark up to the largest of the six bedchambers on the second floor. Once there, he lit a lamp, then slipped off his suspenders and removed his necktie and stiff collar before sitting in a wing-backed chair near the cold fireplace. Though there was a chill in the spring night air, he didn’t bother to set a fire.

Memories from his adventurous past, both good and not so good, paraded through his mind. Those weeks in Cuba with Roosevelt and his Rough Riders were among the latter kind.

Tyson had learned many things in war. He’d learned he was a good soldier. He could follow orders, ride fast, shoot straight, and get by on lousy grub and little sleep. He’d also come to believe that war wasn’t the better answer, even if sometimes it was the necessary
one. Now he wanted to use those lessons he’d learned for the benefit of others.

Which was why he, at last, had returned to Idaho.

Amusing, in an odd sort of way, that the very thing his father had wanted most for him was what he now sought for himself.

August 1885

As he had done many times for as far back as he could remember, Tyson stood before his father’s massive desk in the library, awaiting the lecture he knew would come. He was eighteen. A man. But his father always made him feel like a small boy.

“We will
not
have this conversation again,” his father said, cold steel in his words. “You
will
study the law. Knowledge of the law will give you an advantage when the time comes for you to run for public office.”

Tyson had no intention of running for public office. He had no intention of living the life his father had planned for him since birth. But he didn’t waste his breath saying so. Not again. Jeremiah Applegate didn’t tolerate disobedience. Not from his wife. Not from his son. Not from his employees. Not from anyone. But the day would come when Tyson would tell him to—

“Go see your mother. She is waiting to tell you good-bye.” His father looked down at some papers on his desk. “I’ll expect good reports of your progress at Harvard.”

The assumed reply stuck in his throat for several heartbeats before he managed to force the words out. “Yes, sir.”

Someday …

TWO

Diana’s mother set her coffee cup in the matching saucer and looked at her daughter seated opposite her. “I could accompany you, dear.”

“No, Mother.” Diana shook her head. “I think it’s better that I see him alone.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

Diana didn’t like it either, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to face Tyson. She had to know what he wanted. Why he had returned after so long.

“What will we do if he casts you aside?” her mother asked.

Would
he cast her aside? She wanted to be free of Tyson. But divorce? Divorced and penniless. No way to provide for herself and her mother. Would he do that to her? She couldn’t know. Despite the years they’d been married, he was a stranger to her.

She pushed away the plate with her half-eaten breakfast on it. “I’d best go.” She rose. “I will return as soon as possible. Try not to worry.”

Her mother wouldn’t obey, of course. She would do nothing
but
worry until Diana was home again. Worrying had become second nature to Gloria Fisher since the death of her husband. Diana’s adoptive father, Byron Fisher, hadn’t meant to leave his
wife financially insecure, though that was exactly what happened. At one time, the Fisher family had been well-to-do. But her father had invested heavily in stocks and when the market tumbled five years before his passing, he’d lost almost everything. Perhaps that had been the reason for his heart failure at the age of fifty-five.

Tyson Applegate, on the other hand, had seen the fortune he inherited from his maternal grandmother grow and grow. And if he’d been declared dead, that money would have come to Diana, his widow. With it she could have taken care of her mother, allowing them both to live in comfort for the rest of their lives. Without it—

She felt a sting of shame. She didn’t truly wish Tyson dead. Not even for his money. Oh, there’d been many moments when she’d
thought
she wished him dead—perhaps death coming to him in some horrible fashion. Eaten by cannibals on the Dark Continent or tortured by pirates in the Indian Ocean.

Diana gave her head a slow shake. She didn’t want to be the sort of person who wished such things on another human being. Not even on the husband who’d abandoned her. Which didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. She hadn’t. She couldn’t.

She made her way out of the house and down to the corner of their quiet street, where she hailed a hansom cab. The journey from the modest neighborhood where she and her mother rented a small house to the affluent boulevard listed on Tyson’s calling card was not a long one, but they seemed worlds apart. It surprised her a little, to find him living in such a place. It was much more his father’s style than Tyson’s.

He must have been watching for her arrival because he came to the street and personally opened the cab’s door. When he held out his hand, she stared at it, not knowing what to do. Take it? Don’t take it? Let him help her? Refuse to touch him? The air around her crackled with tension.

If Tyson knew the turmoil swirling inside of her, his expression didn’t reveal it. He waited with apparent patience until Diana, at last, placed her hand in his. After helping her to the ground, he paid the driver. She was grateful for that, of course. Her circumstances had changed drastically from yesterday morning to this. Could she even afford the cab fare home? Much depended upon what Tyson had to say during the course of this meeting.

“Thank you for coming, Diana.”

The hansom cab moved away from the curb.

What choice did you leave me?
She pressed her lips together. Better to let him do the talking for now.

“Come inside.” He motioned toward the front door.

She moved up the brick walk, Tyson following behind her. Feeling his gaze on her back was disconcerting, although she couldn’t say why. Most men watched her. Most found her beautiful. But this was different. This was Tyson. This was the man who’d broken her heart and taught her to guard it well in the future.

Keep your wits about you, Diana. He mustn’t get what he wants unless you get what you want
. But what exactly was it she wanted? What kind of future remained for her?

Another surprise awaited her inside the house. It was nearly empty of furnishings. On her right no books or desk in the library and no table, chairs, or sideboards in the dining room. Only two upholstered chairs and a small, round table with a lamp on it in the spacious parlor to her left. Her footsteps echoed off the bare hardwood floors, making the house seem cold and unwelcoming.

“Whose house is this?” she asked.

“Mine. I purchased it through a broker before I came to Boise. Haven’t had time to furnish it.” Tyson motioned toward the chairs in the parlor. “You must have lots of questions.”

She did, but she hadn’t any idea where to start. Wordlessly she
entered the parlor and sat on the edge of the nearest chair, back stiff, hands folded in her lap. Her gaze roamed the room, looking anywhere but at Tyson.

“Why don’t I start?” He took the other chair. She heard him draw in a slow, deep breath—and hoped that meant he was as uncomfortable as she was.

“First, I’ll say again that I’m sorry about last night. It wasn’t the best way for you to learn I’m not dead. But I thought it better to arrive unannounced than to have your engagement in the newspaper and then learn I’m alive.”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me, Diana. I don’t deserve it. Not yet anyway.”

Not yet?
Her resolve to hold her tongue failed her. “I will never forgive you, Tyson. Never. Why would I?”

“Because you cared for me once.”

“I was a foolish schoolgirl.”
You crushed me. You used me. I learned to hate you a long time ago. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what you did to me?
If she broke down and cried in front of him, it would be herself she hated, not him.

Tyson rose from the chair and walked to the large window facing the boulevard, his hands clasped behind him. When he turned toward her again, his expression was solemn. “Diana, I would like you to come and live with me.”

“What?”

“We are legally man and wife. We should live together.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Here in this house.”

She stood. “Marriage wasn’t reason enough for you to be with me for the last seven years. Why is it reason enough for us to live together now?”

“I had my reasons for leaving.” He raked the fingers of one
hand through his hair. “Poor ones, as it turned out, but at the time they seemed good. I freely admit that I made mistakes and treated you shabbily. I was selfish and angry and thoughtless. Now I … I want to make it up to you.”

It was tempting to slap him and to scream obscenities. He thought he could waltz back to Idaho, crook his finger, and make her come running? The audacity of the man! Selfish didn’t begin to describe him. Shabby didn’t begin to describe how he’d treated her.

“I will make it up to you, if you’ll give me the chance.” He took a step forward. “Believe it or not, I need you.”

Tyson watched the different emotions play across Diana’s face and wished he knew what she was thinking.

“You
need
me?” she said at last.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It seemed they stood on the edge of a great canyon. One misstep and they could plummet to the bottom. One wrong word and he could destroy all hope of reconciliation, all hope of making his life count for something.

“Why, Tyson? What has changed after all this time?”

He drew a deep breath. “I’ve changed.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Have you?”

In an instant he knew what he must say. He must be honest with her. Completely honest with her. Perhaps for the first time ever.

“Well?”

He took a step toward her. “Diana, for you to believe I’ve changed, you’d have to see it. You’d have to see me day by day. Live with me. You wouldn’t believe me if all I did was tell you what’s different. Would you?”

“No. You’re right. I wouldn’t believe you.”

He kept going as if she hadn’t responded. “Here’s what I can tell you now. I’m going to run in the upcoming election for the seat in the United States Senate, and time is of the essence.”

She looked at him now as if he’d sprouted a second head.

“I’m already at a disadvantage as the parties have selected their candidates. I’ll be running as a write-in.”

“What has any of that to do with me?”

“Being separated from my wife would put me at an additional disadvantage. Voters like their candidates to be married. If possible, happily so. If I’m to have a chance in this election, I’ll need you by my side.”

The silence in the room became thick, heavy. A feeling of panic tightened his chest. There was so much more than that to say, more important reasons for them to be together, but he sensed she wasn’t ready to hear them.

“I could never convincingly pretend that I loved you, Tyson. No one would be fooled. I’m not an actress.”

“Couldn’t you at least try?”

A look of defiance filled her eyes. “No. And if this is all you want, I believe I shall leave.”

“Wait, Diana. Please. Perhaps we could find some way to make it worth your while.”

This time her eyes narrowed. Moments dragged as she studied him. Then, after a long silence, she turned and walked to the entry hall. She looked to her right and then to her left before facing him again. “Doesn’t it bother you that I had plans to marry another man?” Her voice was as cool as ice.

“As a matter of fact, it does.”

A small smile curved the corners of her mouth.

“Do you love him, Diana?”

The smile vanished. “I don’t believe my feelings for Mr. Calhoun are any of your business.”

What about me? Do you love me?
But that was something he didn’t dare ask. He knew she’d loved him once. She’d loved him, and he’d thrown it back in her face. Whatever she thought of him now, he deserved it. Worse, probably. But that didn’t mean he was going to give up on his plans. That didn’t mean he would let her go before he had a chance to change her mind about him and about their marriage.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” he asked.

She weighed his question for a long while before she answered by turning and making her way across the entry hall to the library, then into the dining room, and finally past the butler’s pantry into the kitchen.

Tyson followed her, letting her move at her own pace. He didn’t say a word until she glanced into the downstairs bedroom. “I thought your mother might like this room.”

Diana didn’t look at him, but he sensed her agreement. It gave him a spark of hope.