The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (6 page)

Now the man who Nick deduced to be Reverend Harris flung his daughter down onto the sitting room settee.

"Wait just one minute," Nick snapped, taking a protective step toward the young woman.

Warning flashed in her eyes and she gave her head a slight shake. In the periphery of his vision, Nick noted that Sarah had come to stand in the doorway between the suite's two rooms. After that, his entire focus remained centered on the preacher. The fellow looked angry enough to chew nails.

"The devil has worked his evil and stolen my daughter from the bosom of her loving family." Pointing an accusing finger at Susan, he continued, "In order to protect my other children from her wickedness, I hereby cast her out. As her partner in sin, you are now responsible for her. Her and the devil's spawn she carries."

Nick's stomach sank. Prickles of unease crawled up his spine like a thousand spiders. "Pardon me?"

"The girl is increasing!" the preacher shouted. "She's two months along and she claims the child is yours."

Everything within Nick froze.

Susan watched him, her gaze both proud and pleading. Nick's gaze flicked to the doorway where his bride stood like a statue, her complexion gone pale, her eyes wide and stricken.
Damnation.

Nick fastened his stare on Sarah, silently pleading for her patience. She visibly flinched.

"Well? What say you?" demanded the preacher. "Do you deny it?"

Nick didn't see how he had a choice. She'd saved his life and he's sworn an oath to protect her in return.

Sarah wouldn't like it. She'd be hurt and embarrassed. Dread dribbled over Nick like sticky, warm molasses.

Well, she'd simply have to understand. Susan was in trouble and at the moment, Nick was the only one who could help her.

He cleared his throat in an effort to dislodge the noose around his neck and said, "No, I won't deny it."

The door between the sitting room and suite closed with a quiet
snick.
To Nick, it sounded as loud as a gunshot.

* * *

Midmorning sunshine glistened off storefront windows downtown as Sarah made her way toward the Texas and Pacific Railroad depot. A gentle breeze blew from the south, foretelling the approach of yet another cattle drive along the Chisholm Trail. Judging from the sting of manure on the breeze, they could expect the first of the herd to thunder down Main Street before noon. While Sarah didn't begrudge the drives that brought such prosperity to Fort Worth, she wished the trail took a path around town rather than directly through it.

Of course, she could wish all she wanted, but it would do her no good. Hadn't she learned that lesson the hard way where her so-called marriage was concerned?

She wished she could turn back the clock to this time yesterday, to before the moment when she'd stood at the altar and pledged herself to a man who'd betrayed her.

The news was already all over town. She'd been humiliated down to her soul. She wondered if she'd ever be able to hold her head up in public again. Leaving her room this morning and facing the curious stares of Fort Worth society had been the most difficult thing she'd ever done.

But she had done it. She had left the hotel and shown herself in public despite her mother's advice.

Advice given at daybreak when her mother came knocking at her hotel room door, shortly after receiving word that her newlywed daughter had thrown her new husband and his pregnant mistress out of the Blackstone Hotel.

Last night after Reverend Harris's departed the bridal suite, Nick had barged into the bedroom and insisted he wasn't the father of Susan Harris's child. He'd paced the room and told a vague, convoluted tale of debts and oaths and promises, and he'd asked for Sarah's trust despite withholding certain salient facts—such as the real father's name. That, he said, could come only from Susan.

He'd spoken with such passion that Sarah had been inclined to believe him, even in the face of Susan Harris's refusal to confirm his claim. The way the woman had placed her hand protectively over her womb told Sarah more than mere words.

Then, before she had quite made up her mind, the vitriolic sound of Reverend Harris's preaching had risen from the street in front of the Blackstone Hotel. He'd said mean and evil things about Nick and his daughter. He'd made Sarah look like a fool. The betrayed bride. The object of pity. That she couldn't abide.

Her humiliation before the people of Fort Worth complete, no longer willing to listen to Nick or believe in him, she'd banished him from their room, then spent the rest of the night crying into her pillow.

Now, though, it was morning. The nightmare of a wedding night was behind her and the rest of her lift stretched before her.

A life without Nick.

It had to be that way. Shortly after dawn, Sarah had decided to take the failure of her wedding night as an omen. This marriage between her and Nick was not meant to be. When he departed on this morning's train, he'd be leaving without her. She was simply going to tell him good-bye.

Probably.

Sarah reached the station just as a train whistle blew. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nine fifty-five. Five minutes to departure. She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, blinked back her tears, and entered the depot. Nick was waiting for her.

He looked tired. He, apparently, had slept no more than she.

"Hello, lass."

She nodded. "Nick. Or should I say, Lord Ross?"

"Nae. 'Tis actually Lord Innsbruck." He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and rolled back on his heels, eyeing her intently. "I'd rather be simply your Nick."

Swallowing hard, Sarah looked away.

Nick's voice was raspy as he said softly, "Come with me, Sarah."

Sarah blinked back more tears. "Stay with me, Nick."

His eyes closed. "Damnation."

"Yes." Then, thinking,
What's one more scandal among many?
she added, "Damnation."

Surprise lit the gleaming blue eyes that jerked toward her. Then Nick's mouth twisted in a rueful grin. "Ah, lass. Tis sorry I am it has worked out this way. I think under other circumstances we could have had a fine life."

She felt a sob well up in her throat. "I agree."

"Is it over now, Sarah? Are we to be free of one another?"

She swallowed hard. "I guess so."

His expression sobered. The train whistle blew. Nick heaved a sigh and said, "Fine then, I'll consider the question settled. You can send the annulment papers to me at Hunterbourne."

"All right." Bravely she held out her hand. "Good luck, Nick."

He eyed her hand and scowled. "Nae, not like that," he muttered, gripping her hand and yanking her into his arms. He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss both hard and tender, bitter and sweet. Tears fell freely from her eyes by the time the train whistle sounded a final warning and Nick released her, then stepped away.

She thought she might have seen a sheen of tears in his own eyes as he gently cupped her cheek. "Good-bye, lass."

She could do no more than whisper, "God's speed, Nick."

He turned away and headed for the door. Halfway there, he stopped and looked back. "We could have had a fine family. I'll never forget you, Sarah."

Choking back the tears, she trailed him to the depot door and watched him cross the platform. Then, when she watched him hand not one, but two tickets to the conductor, Sarah's heart, already cracked, shattered.

Nick did not leave Fort Worth alone. His hand resting on the woman's waist, Nick guided Susan Harris up the train steps. That woman was leaving town with Nick.

Filled with both anger and an overpowering sense of loss, Sarah sank onto a bench and wept.

It's bad luck for a bride to make drapes from the same fabric as her wedding gown.

Chapter 4

July
1877

Hunterbourne Manor, Surrey

Dear Lady Innsbruck,

Please be advised that any correspondence requiring my personal notice should be sent to the attention of Mr. Nicholas Ross via the New York Herald for the foreseeable future. Please be advised that you should anticipate a substantial passage of time before receipt of a reply. However, rest assured that I will do everything in my power to see that a reply is forthcoming.

Innsbruck

October 1877

Galveston, Texas

Dear Nick,

I recently received a letter I assume was from you although I must admit I found both the tone and the message of the missive rather ambiguous. Not to mention stuffy. I wonder how it is you have gone from traveling to England to assume a title and reunite with your father, to being a reporter for an American newspaper. However, I do not intend to worry about it as I am busy seeing to my own arrangements.

To avoid lingering public humiliation in the wake of your desertion, my mother and I have removed ourselves to a place where my aunt and uncle's social prominence will help us overcome the hurtful tongues of gossip.

You should be advised that any correspondence should be sent to me at 42 Main Street here in Galveston.

Your maligned wife, Sarah Ross

April 1878

Galveston, Texas

Dear Nick,

I have been reading your accounts of the Russo-Turkish War in the New York Herald. At first I didn't believe that you and the newspaper correspondent were one and the same, but when you wrote the story about the puppy in the Turkish village and compared it to the beloved spaniel of your childhood I knew it had to be you. I am filled with curiosity about how and why you have this new occupation. However, your talent for the work is undeniable. I have found your portrayal of the events surrounding the Great Assault and the Siege of Plevna haunting. Others with whom I have spoken about your work agree.

The prayers of the American public, mine in particular, are with you, Nick. Despite our differences, I find the idea of you being in danger quite worrisome.

Sarah

May 1878

Galveston, Texas

Dear Mother,

I hope you are enjoying your honeymoon trip and that Doctor Morrell is proving to be a considerate husband.

I have news. Following my success with the arrangements for your wedding, I have been approached by two affianced brides about designing a plan for their upcoming nuptials. After much thought, I approached Uncle Michael about helping me establish myself as a professional wedding consultant. I decided to use the unfortunate incident with Nick to my benefit, and as of this morning, Weddings by Lady Innsbruck is officially in business. That sounds rather fine, don't you think? I am quite excited about the entire process, and I trust you will be happy for me.

Speaking of my erstwhile husband, I have another bit of news to pass along. I believe we have finally come to understand why Nick Ross has become a foreign correspondent for the Herald, why he is portraying himself as an American journalist when in fact he is a British lord. Uncle Michael made a few discreet inquiries of a journalist friend and thus figured it out.

Mother, we think my husband is a spy.

It makes good sense. While Nick is a very gifted writer, and his accounts of events in Asia are in my opinion superior to those of his fellow correspondent, Mr. MacGahan, I know for a fact that despite his years in our country, he considered himself British, not American. His family's circumstances being what they were, it is easy to believe he is working at the direction of his father. Uncle Michael lamed that Nick's father is a confidant of Prime Minister Disraeli.

In light of these suspicions, I face the troublesome question of my own patriotic duty, and whether or not I should report my impressions to government authorities.

I am interested in your opinion, Mother. I admit to being torn. Despite the pain he caused me, I do not wish to cause Nick any harm. Also, Uncle Michael says that since Nick is still legally my husband, this could reflect poorly upon our family. You and my uncle and aunt have done so much for me during this difficult period in my life, and I cringe at the notion of bringing you any more grief.