Judith Stacy (2 page)

After another long moment, Brandon spoke again, his voice straining for calm.

“As I said, we are married. You and I are bound to
gether by law and in the sight of God. Our marriage isn’t over simply because you declare it to be.”

A thread of panic whipped through Jana. “We haven’t seen each other in months. We hardly knew each other to begin with—”

“Then how can you know that our marriage is over?” Brandon demanded, his eyes boring into her. “How can you declare it dead when we haven’t even given it a fair chance?”

Jana determinedly held herself rigid, refusing to let him see the chaos his words—his logic—stirred in her.

“What makes you think, after all this time and all that’s happened, that we can make it work?” Jana demanded.

“Nothing’s happened that can’t be undone,” Brandon insisted.

Jana gulped, guilt replacing her panic. “That’s not true. Things—”

He put up his hand, silencing her. “Perhaps we can’t work out these problems you believe we have. But we won’t know unless we try.”

Her resolve crumbled further. “Brandon, it’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “And if our marriage dies, at least it will die with us trying to do the right thing.”

Jana’s knees weakened, but for a different reason now. Never—ever—had she imagined Brandon would be so adamant about keeping their marriage together. She had no idea their union meant so much, or anything at all, to him.

“Just say you’ll try,” Brandon said.

Did she hear a plea in his voice? She wasn’t sure.

Jana shook her head. “I can’t live here forever, waiting, wondering how things will turn out.”

“Then give it a month,” Brandon said quickly. “Four weeks. Our vows are worth that much, aren’t they?”

Jana didn’t reply. How could she disagree?

“I’ll think it over,” she finally said.

That didn’t seem to suit him, but he nodded. “Tomorrow? You’ll give me your answer?”

“Yes, I’ll come back tomorrow. Before six,” Jana said, the old habit returning without her even realizing it. Six o’clock. He had always wanted her home before six o’clock.

“Promise?”

An odd wave of vulnerability sounded in his voice, and for an instant, he looked hurt and lost, touching Jana’s heart unexpectedly, making her want to rush to him, touch her palm to his cheek, soothe him.

But in the next instant, Brandon’s expression hardened again and so did Jana’s heart.

“I’ll be here before six o’clock,” she told him. “I promise.”

Brandon just nodded. He stood there looking at her for a while, and Jana didn’t know what to do or say. Nothing seemed appropriate, so she simply turned and left. To her surprise, Brandon walked alongside her through the house and out into the driveway. He waved off the driver up top and opened the hansom door for her himself.

“I’ll send my carriage for you tomorrow,” Brandon said.

“It’s not necessary.”

He gestured to the cab. “You needn’t ride around in public transportation. I’ll send my carriage—”

Jana touched his arm, even though she hadn’t meant to.

“I said I’ll be here tomorrow, and I will,” she told him.

His jaw tightened, but finally he nodded. “Fine, then.”

Jana climbed into the cab, pointedly ignoring his proffered hand. Brandon closed the door and held on to the handle.

He gazed at her though the open window. “There must have been something…something you liked about our marriage.”

“No.”

“Something you liked about…us.”

Jana gazed steadily at him. “Nothing.”

Brandon stepped back and signaled the driver who turned the cab into the street. Jana watched out the window at Brandon standing on the steps, following the cab with his gaze.

She turned away, slumping deeper into the seat.

How could she live here, in the house, for four weeks? How could she manage it…when her heart was somewhere else?

R
aised voices in the outer office took Brandon’s attention from the ledger that lay open on his desk. Glad for the distraction, he closed the book. He couldn’t concentrate on the figures anyway.

How could he after last night?

The commotion beyond his closed office door continued. Brandon heard the voice of his secretary, Mr. Perkins, raised in protest. Still, Brandon remained in his chair, confident the white-haired, wiry secretary could handle whatever situation presented itself.

Brandon had no energy for confrontation today. Since receiving the telegram from Jana advising him of her return, he’d slept little. All he could think was that, at last, the ordeal would be over. His wife was returning. He’d thought everything would be back to normal.

Brandon sank lower in his chair, tuning out the dis
turbance in the outer office, preferring thoughts of his wife.

Their fourteen-month separation had changed her in subtle ways. He noticed each and every one of them yesterday when they’d stood across the foyer from each other and he’d been trying to put together a cohesive sentence.

Even more beautiful. The notion had hit him square in the chest yesterday. Her face a little more mature, after so short a time, her dress more sophisticated, her figure a trifle fuller. He had wanted her right there in the foyer.

He had wanted her even when she asked for a divorce.

Brandon grumbled aloud. A divorce. What nonsense. True, Jana had been young, pampered and spoiled when they married. She’d run back home to her aunt who, with the best of intentions, had taken her in and allowed Jana to accompany her on a long-planned extended trip to Europe. Brandon understood how impetuous his young wife had been, and how her aunt couldn’t say no. He’d indulged them both.

But now—

His office door burst open and Mr. Perkins rushed into the room on the heels of the woman who had, surely, been the cause of the commotion.

“Now see here, madam,” Mr. Perkins barked, his face red. “You can’t come pushing your way in here. I told you that Mr. Sayer isn’t seeing anyone today without an appointment, and you haven’t—”

“Since when do I need an appointment?”

Leona Albright directed her question at Brandon,
her words a seductive whisper that brought him out of his chair.

Seeing his battle lost, Mr. Perkins turned to Brandon. “I told her, Mr. Sayer, I told her you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment. That those were your instructions and I couldn’t allow—”

“It’s all right,” Brandon said.

“I told that young fella from the newspaper the same thing this morning. That Mr. Fisk. I told him you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment.” Mr. Perkins threw Leona Albright a scathing look. “Only
he
had the decency to respect your wishes and go about his business.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Brandon said. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Albright.”

Mr. Perkins shot her a final contemptuous glare, then huffed out of the office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

Leona, her gaze still on Brandon, gave him a slow, steady smile, one that brought lesser men to their knees.

“You’ve been keeping secrets, Brandon, dear,” she purred and walked closer.

“You like secrets,” he countered.

Leona Albright did indeed like secrets. She liked everything. Tall, ten years older than Brandon, though she’d never admit it to anyone else, Leona wore her dresses cut a fraction lower than was considered decent—especially for her ample figure—and her hair a shade more fiery red than nature alone could provide.
Yet her wealth, her social position and political connections on both coasts kept anyone from commenting—in public, anyway. She’d recently lost her fourth, much-older husband and, according to the latest rumor, had already turned down two marriage proposals.

“You know me well,” Leona purred.

“Which of my secrets have you uncovered?” he asked, motioning her toward the seating group at the other end of his office.

Leona took her time settling onto the sofa, arranging her skirt, shifting her shoulders in a way that called attention to her impressive bosom. Brandon took the chair to her immediate left.

“I’m terribly hurt,” Leona declared. “This Jennings deal of yours. You never mentioned a word of it to me.”

“There’s talk?” Brandon asked, a little concerned.

“Whispers,” Leona said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I learned of it from an unnamed, but very satisfied, source.”

The Jennings Building, a five-story structure in a prime location, currently housed the
Los Angeles Messenger.
Brandon owned both the newspaper and the building. Over the last year he’d refused to renew the leases of tenants until now only the newspaper remained. It, too, would be gone soon. Then his new project would be officially announced, though it had been quietly in the works for some time.

“And is this ‘unnamed source’ of yours interested in the project?” Brandon asked.

“Of course,” Leona said. “Everyone is interested in anything that involves you, Brandon, dear. Your name attached to any project guarantees success.”

Brandon smiled, not unhappy to hear a compliment.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll give you the details before the public announcement.”

“Of course you will,” Leona said, favoring him with another smile. “Now, on to your next secret.”

Brandon frowned, trying to imagine what she referred to this time.

“The return of your wife,” Leona said. “I admit, I’m surprised you’re even here at your office today.”

Brandon shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was certain everyone who’d heard of Jana’s return was curious to find him at work today, rather than at home rolling around in bed with her, making up for their fourteen-month separation.

The playfulness left Leona’s face. “Not a joyful reunion?”

“Not exactly,” Brandon said. He didn’t hesitate to explain further, knowing Leona would keep his confidence, even to unnamed—but satisfied—sources.

It wasn’t the first time she’d kept silent on his behalf.

“She wants a divorce,” Brandon explained. “I told her no, of course. She agreed to work on our marriage.”

“So you have everything under control,” Leona said.

Brandon nodded. He’d thought about it all last night, all morning, all afternoon. He knew what to do.

“Jana is my wife. She must live up to her responsibilities. It’s her duty.”

“You romantic devil, you,” Leona said.

Brandon sat forward. “I have duties in our marriage. She does too. Everyone has duties. We all must live up to them.”

“Duties?”

“Of course,” Brandon said. “Jana needed a firm hand. It was my fault she left, really. I was too easy on her. I’ll be sure she understands her responsibilities this time.”

“Well, as long as you have everything under control…” Leona rose from the sofa, bringing Brandon up with her. She gave him a long, sultry look. “You should have married me.”

“All your husbands die.”

“But they go with smiles on their faces.” Leona sauntered to the office door, threw him one last knowing look, and left.

“I see you’ve made your decision,” Maureen said.

Jana glanced back at her maid closing the latches on her trunk. “It wasn’t exactly
my
decision,” she said. “Brandon refused to grant me a divorce unless I did as he asked.”

“He has a point,” Maureen said.

Jana didn’t respond, just moved past her aunt, down the hallway and into the parlor of the suite. Brandon did, indeed, have a point. It was all she’d been able to think about since they’d talked yesterday.

Legally and in the eyes of God they were married.
Brandon had been right about that. And Jana could find no argument to refute his assertion. She’d taken vows, pledged her life to their union. None of which should be taken lightly.

It had all seemed so much easier, so much clearer in London. There, she’d known exactly what she wanted. With the distance from her husband, she’d realized exactly what sort of man he was—and what sort of man she wanted.

But after seeing him again yesterday…

Jana sank onto the settee. She’d tossed and turned, paced the floor all night. Was she being foolish? Wishing for something that would never be there? Expecting more from Brandon than he’d given in the past?

Or had he changed? She certainly wasn’t the same person she was fourteen months ago. Could Brandon have changed, as well?

For better or worse, their marriage vows had stated. Could the “worse” really be behind her?

Jana sensed her aunt come into the parlor and rose from the settee. “I owe it to the marriage to give it another chance.”

Aunt Maureen raised her brows. “And you’ll do that? Give it an honest chance?”

Jana nodded. She’d do just that. If not, why bother with it at all?

“I think it’s better that we try one last time,” Jana said. “As Brandon says, if it still doesn’t work at least we’ll know we tried to do the right thing.”

Maureen nodded. “It will be easier to explain…later on.”

Doubt swept through Jana, but she pushed on.

“You’ll take care of everything here?” she asked. She’d discussed it with her aunt already and she’d agreed, but Jana felt she had to ask one last time.

“I’m ready for some rest, some solitude.” Maureen gestured toward the window. “The sunsets here are glorious, at times. I want to try and capture them on canvas. I have books to read and poetry to write. I’ll be fine, dear. Don’t give it a thought.”

“I’ll come visit every day,” Jana told her.

Maureen smiled gently. “I understand.”

Jana took one last look around, then drew in a breath. “Well, I’d better go.”

She pinned on her hat and found her handbag as the servants took her trunk out the door.

“I’ll see to it the rest of your things are packed and sent over tomorrow,” Maureen promised, then as if reading Jana’s thoughts added, “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of our staff go to the house. Someone from the hotel will deliver your things.”

Jana rushed to her aunt and gave her a quick hug. “If anything happens—anything at all—let me know. Day or night. Don’t hesitate.”

“Of course, dear,” Aunt Maureen promised.

With a final hug and peck on the cheek, Jana left the suite and set off yet again for her new life with Brandon.

When she arrived at the house on West Adams, Jana
instructed the hansom driver to place her trunk on the front porch. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to have it taken inside just yet. She wanted to talk to Brandon first, be sure they both understood their arrangement.

Parts of it he wouldn’t like. She was sure of it.

And if they reached an agreement on their unorthodox arrangement, today—though only a few hours were left in it—would count as day one. Twenty-nine to go.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles greeted her as she stepped into the vestibule. He eyed the trunk, but didn’t say anything.

“Good evening, Charles,” Jana said, glancing around, expecting to see Brandon waiting. It wasn’t quite six o’clock, her designated arrival time, so she was a bit early. “Would you tell him I’m here, please?”

“Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”

A knot jerked in Jana’s stomach. “He’s not here?” she asked, hearing the accusation in her voice. Though only
she
was supposed to be home by six, she expected Brandon to be here also, under the circumstances.

Charles cast his gaze away. “No, ma’am.”

“I see.” Jana drew herself up. “Cook is preparing supper?”

“Yes, ma’am. Seven o’clock, as always.”

“Of course. Seven o’clock.” How could she have forgotten Brandon’s designated supper hour?

“Shall I have Cook prepare you some refreshment?” Charles asked.

“No, thank you.” Jana removed her hat and passed it
to the butler along with her handbag. “That’s all, Charles. Thank you.”

He dipped his head slightly and crept away.

Jana moved through the still house, switching on lights as she went. The fixtures had been built for both gas and electricity. Tonight, the electrical current flowed smoothly, making the more reliable gas jets unnecessary.

In the parlor, the light cast a harsh glare on the half-papered walls and reflected off the white furniture shrouds. The smell of paint hung faintly in the air. Jana stood in the center of the room, turning to take it all in.

Good gracious, had she really picked out this wallpaper, this paint color? And the mural on the ceiling. A hunting scene? Hideous. What had she been thinking?

Her thinking had been just fine fourteen months ago, she suddenly remembered. But no one had been interested in her opinion.

The color samples, fabric and wallpaper swatches were piled in a heap on the shrouded settee. Jana sat down and immersed herself in them, her mind filling with ideas that would do this room justice. She lost track of the time until, vaguely, she heard a clock chime the hour once more. Seven o’clock.

Seven o’clock and no Brandon. Jana rose from the settee and went to the vestibule. She peeked out. Gaslights burned on West Adams Boulevard. The trolley had stopped for the night, but carriages made their way up and down the street.

No sign of Brandon.

At seven-thirty, Jana went to the dining room, ate alone, then returned to the parlor. At eight-fifteen Brandon arrived home. She went to meet him.

“You’re here. Good,” he said, passing his bowler and satchel to Charles, and striding across the foyer to where she waited. He looked rushed, hurried, distracted.

“I ate supper already,” Jana told him, just for something to say.

He frowned. “You know I prefer we eat together. Well, no matter—this time. I saw your trunk outside. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Have it brought inside and—”

“We need to talk first.”

Brandon stopped, seemed confused for a moment, then nodded. “Well, all right.”

She trailed along behind him as he strode to his office. He flipped through a stack of envelopes on his desk, then glanced up.

“So, you’re staying,” he said. “Good. We can—”

“For thirty days,” Jana pointed out. “I’ll give it a month. That’s our agreement. Unless, of course, at some point you change your mind.”