No Other Love (25 page)

While there was never any hope of replacing you, did I even wish it, I have out of duty and necessity asked Nathan to bear some of the burden of the Western line. While he has not the skills, knowledge or discipline you have, he does seem willing to learn. In fact he seems all too eager to prove himself, even where doing so is not warranted.

Charlotte has high hopes for him which I am afraid have to date been thwarted, whether by bad luck or poor choices I could not say. However, I have now given
him responsibility for handling the landowners in Lenox, and I have hopes that over time and with my guidance he will prove to be an asset to the company.

But enough on that score. I have heard from your sister Annabelle. They are all quite well and hoping to visit Boston within the next year. I do miss them and have not yet seen the youngest. I look forward to the day we will be able to get to Woodstock by rail, and many other places besides. There is no stopping this kind of progress. It has all the force and momentum of a train at full speed. These are exciting times, and would be all the more so were you to return.

Forgive me for once again inserting my own selfish hope. If you cannot come here I may just drag these old bones to you, wherever you may be. I daresay I am not as indispensable around here as I think I am.

As ever,

Your father

3 March, 1841

Dear Luke,

How I miss your rational mind. I could use you around here, and of course a man can always use his son near him. How did my children all end up so far away? I suppose I prevail upon you that much more because I cannot ask the girls’ husbands to return them to me. But what of you? I wonder whether you feel the need for a home. A man can go a long time without one, but it exacts a price.

Over the years I have managed, I think, not to write you letters coercing you too baldly. I suppose I have been less restrained of late due to recent difficulties. The railroad encounters obstacles at every turn, and my efforts to teach Nathan about the business and give him meaningful employment seem to be for naught, or so it appears these last weeks. I recently sent him to Lenox to make another, more generous offer, and by his account Mrs. Harris is close to selling, for which I am grateful. Yet his manner of late has been most erratic. He is querulous, sullen and undependable. His behavior gets worse even as he prevails upon me to give him more responsibility. Were he not my wife’s son I would dismiss him. My hope is that this is a phase that will pass, for he was at one time, if not a brilliant businessman, at least an eager one.

I see I have covered a fair bit of paper airing my grievances. This is what happens when one writes in the midst of frustration. No doubt things will be much improved by the time this reaches you.

As ever,

Your father

Rose sat for long minutes, absorbing the import of the letters. Nathan had ridden out to the farm in February and yet neither she nor her aunt knew of such a visit. This was the confirmation she needed that he’d had been to the farm. Between the letter and the glove there could be no doubt. It was also clear Mr. Fletcher knew nothing of her father’s murder.

Why had Nathan done it? Was he so desperate to prove himself that he would try to weaken their family just to get the land? Or had he become so angry that he shot her father in the heat of the moment?

Now that she had all the pieces, or at least all those she could get on her own, she needed to tell Luke. But it was only morning and he had told her he wouldn’t be home at midday. She would have to wait until evening. Shaking and sick to her stomach, she replaced the letters and turned to leave the study.

Something caught her eye just before she opened the door. A leather portfolio lay on the corner of his desk, several pieces of paper protruding from it. Picking it up, she untied the string binding it and opened it up.

There were half a dozen sketches, all of them of her. Some were of her reading, others sewing, and one portrayed her asleep, the twisted sheets revealing a bare arm and leg, a few inches of her breast. She was smiling in her sleep, as if pleasure had followed her there.

All of them were rendered in careful, even loving detail. But whatever he felt for her, it wasn’t enough. If it had been, he wouldn’t be running away from memories of Catherine.

Upstairs in her chair by the window, she sat with her head in her hands. She’d hoped that when this moment came their marriage would be strong enough to sustain the blow, but they were more distant now than when she’d been a maid in his father’s house.

She’d been sitting in the chair, staring out the window for what could have been hours, when she heard Luke come in the door. With a feeling of unreality she listened to him mount the steps until he stood in the doorway, his masculine beauty a knife in her heart. She would have loved him all her days if he’d let her.

“There you are,” he said, coming toward her. “I hoped I’d find you.”

Roes struggled to keep her composure. “I didn’t expect you before evening.”

“I’m afraid I must leave for Stockbridge this afternoon,” he said, walking over to the wardrobe where he began filling a valise with clothes.

“But why so suddenly?”

“I received a letter this morning from Whistler, asking me to come immediately. They seem to have run into yet another snag.”

Rose could say nothing for several seconds.

“I see,” she finally replied. “When do you expect to return?”

“I imagine it will be at least three weeks. You’ll be all right, won’t you? I know things were difficult the last time I left, but Vivian will be here to keep you company.”

Three weeks. Should she risk telling him the truth now? Then again, could she stand to wait weeks more before telling him? That thought was even worse than the first.

“Don’t look so down, darling,” he said, leaving off from his packing to come over to her.

Taking her hands he urged her to stand, his arms coming around her in a warm embrace. Slow and deliberate, his kiss tore down her meager defenses. Her body responded instantly, as if there were no tomorrow, no imminent betrayal. She let him lead her to the bed where he pressed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, along the neckline of her dress. Restlessly he made quick work of her clothes, revealing her little by little as he removed each layer.

Her fears subsumed in desire, she gave in to his caresses, opening to him and demanding more in return. Fueled by her urgency, Luke pressed her back into the softness of the blankets, holding her hands above her head as he devoured her. His mouth on her throat, her breasts, he kissed her until she knew nothing but him. Twisting and turning she writhed beneath him, every nerve ending painfully alive.

Releasing her hands he moved lower, pressing kisses down to her naval and then further still to the center of her need. She opened for him, her hands twining in his hair, her hips rising to his clever tongue.

Higher and higher he took her, holding her hips as she bucked and tightened around him. She called out for him, needing him inside her. Rising up, his eyes intent on her and his breathing labored, he entered her. She held on to his powerful body, delirious with the feel of him as he filled her. When release broke over her she shook and held him tight while tears streamed down her cheeks. On a hoarse cry he emptied himself inside her, shaking as he lay on top of her in the aftermath.

It was a few minutes before either of them moved. Luke lifted his head from where it lay buried in her neck and looked at her.

“What’s this?” he asked, running a thumb over a tear. “Did I hurt you?” he asked worriedly.

“No, of course not. You mustn’t pay me any mind.”

Though he was only inches away, a sense of loneliness swept through her. Getting out of bed she pulled on her wrapper before turning to him. “There’s something I must tell you before you go.”

Luke sat up and swung his legs over the bed.

“You’re not with child, are you?” he asked, his expression somewhere between panic and pleasure, and it was all she could do not to weep then and there. Wordlessly she shook her head.

“Perhaps you could tell me in a letter,” he said, rearranging the clothes that had been thrown into disarray. “I’m sorry darling, but I’m afraid I’m running late as it is. It’ll be nightfall before I make it to Worcester.”

Coming to her he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “I’ll miss you,” he said, and then he was through the doorway and out of sight, though the feel of his lips lingered long after he rode away.

The next week passed in a blur, with Rose going through the motions of her life without feeling any of it. At night she slept ill, tormented by dreams in which she lost Luke a hundred different ways. Not even waking from these brought relief, for she was stuck in a purgatory of her own making, not yet condemned but not able to live either.

She left the house only to teach her classes and visit Vivian, but her friend persuaded her to come out with her and Edward one evening to meet with a group of people raising funds to build a public library. Rose had been excited to hear of it the previous week, as it sounded like just the sort of project she’d enjoy, and one unlikely to include anyone from Charlotte’s circle of influence.

“It will do you good to get out among the kind of people who’ll be present tonight,” Vivian cajoled. “Think how uplifting it will be to take part in such a worthy project, and one so dear to your own heart.”

Rose finally acquiesced, her interest great enough that it overcame her initial reluctance. When Edward and Vivian came to her door that evening she was ready, and the three of them headed out into the December chill, their breath misting before them.

“Where is the meeting to be held?” Rose asked.

“George Ticknor has offered his home as the meeting place,” Edward answered. “He’s been trying to raise interest in the library, as well as money, for some time. Ticknor was an old classmate of mine at Harvard, and now he’s a professor there. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear he’s heading the initiative. He’s always been a most liberal thinker.”

Rose felt a moment of alarm at this. Her father, Peter, had been a Harvard student as well, and quite a brilliant one, according to his friends. He’d been close with a number of Harvard professors up until Rose and he left Boston, and had corresponded with them until his death. But even supposing someone recognized her tonight, she couldn’t imagine how any harm could come of it.

They arrived at an enormous white house, complete with white pillars and stone veranda. A number of people were streaming toward the door, and carriages lined the street. Vivian and Rose looked at one another in surprise. They’d expected a sedate gathering, but one would have thought Ticknor was hosting a ball tonight.

A servant stationed just inside the door took their coats while another directed them to the ballroom. Rose found herself wishing she’d dressed with more care, for many of the guests were in full evening attire.

A tall, gray-haired man with great bushy sideburns and a ruddy nose greeted Edward the moment they walked into the ballroom.

“Edward, so glad you could make it. Miss March, it’s wonderful to see you. How do you do,” he said, bowing to Rose while Edward made the introductions. “Quite a turnout, is it not?”

“I should say so,” said Edward. “How did you manage it?”

“Everyone’s come to see Vattemare. No one can resist an eccentric Frenchman. Word seems to have spread about his talents, and I haven’t bothered to squelch the notion that he’ll be performing. Let them think what they want if it brings them here. Maybe some of them will empty their pockets for once.”

“What sort of talent?” Vivian asked.

“Vattemare’s a ventriloquist. Have you ever heard the like? Of course, that’s just his hobby. His main interest is in efforts of this sort. He has a most creative and enterprising mind.”

Rose and Vivian looked at each other, incredulous.

“So good of you all to make it,” Ticknor continued. “Do find yourself someplace to sit. I shall hopefully speak to you later,” he said, rushing away as he was summoned to the front of the room.

Edward led them toward the rows of chairs that had been set up to face the front of the room. It was as they were winding their way through the crowd that Rose caught sight of the woman in a plum-colored evening gown, her dark hair precisely coiffed, her head turned in profile.

Charlotte Fletcher. And she was deep in conversation with Eliza Lynch.

Rose clutched Vivian’s arm, unable to believe what she was witnessing. The two women were leaning toward one another in intimate conversation when Mrs. Lynch let loose with the very same laugh that had so charmed Rose.

“What is it?” Vivian whispered in alarm.

But before Rose could reply, Mrs. Lynch’s gaze landed on her. An expression of surprise crossed her countenance, followed quickly by cool amusement.

“Mrs. Fletcher,” she said, one eyebrow raised in arch amusement. “How unexpected.”

Rose stood where she was, unable to move or breathe for a moment. Then fury roared through, and with it a steadying determination not to let either woman get the best of her. Smiling, she walked over to them.

“Mrs. Lynch, Charlotte. How surprising to see you here. I thought only to meet people who concerned themselves with the greater good.”

Charlotte’s mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed, but Mrs. Lynch looked delighted by the confrontation.

“One should never underestimate others, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m sure you’ll agree that leads to much misery.”

“Indeed,” Rose said, looking directly at Mrs. Lynch. “I seem to be forever underestimating the depths to which others will sink. How fortunate for you that you already know.”

Nauseated, her composure eroding, she turned to go only to be brought up short by someone standing in her way. She stared in surprise and disgust at the sight of Nathan.

Nathan laughed. “Goodness me. It appears my sister-in-law is not at all pleased to see me. How very hurtful when I’ve missed you so.”