Cheryl St.John - The Mistaken Widow

“Where are we going?” she dared to ask finally.

He looked at her as if she’d asked what color the sky was. “You don’t know?” he replied, that resonant voice a low rumble.

Sarah cringed inwardly, regretting her haste. Claire would have known where she and Stephen had been headed. “I only knew his mother lived in Ohio,” she said quickly.

“Mahoning Valley,” he said. “Our forges, factory and home are near Youngstown.”

“Who lives there?” she asked a minute later. “In the house?”

“Mother and I. A few servants.”

He didn’t mention a wife. Why did she care?

“It’s a big house,” he went on. “There’s plenty of room for the two of you.”

She hadn’t been concerned about that. She’d only wondered how many people would be expecting Claire to show up. The fewer she had to face, the better.

They made another afternoon rest stop, then rode as far as St. Petersburg, near the Allegheny River. They could have made it the rest of the way that night, Sarah overheard Nicholas say to the driver, but he didn’t want to push too hard. Meaning her, she knew. The rest of them were holding up beautifully. Even the baby. He ate and slept, oblivious to what was going on around him.

The St. Petersburg Hotel had a cable elevator, sparing them a repeat of the previous night’s encounter. Sarah wondered if Nicholas had known about the elevator and chosen their stop accordingly.

He settled her in her room. “Dinner sent up again?” he asked.

“Please.”

“We’ll arrive at the house tomorrow. I’m wiring ahead to have the local doctor call in the afternoon. The doctor in New York said you have bandages on that leg that will need to be changed, and we haven’t tended to that.” He started to close the door.

“Mr. Halliday?”

“Nicholas,” he corrected, pausing.

“Nicholas,” she managed. “You’ve been very considerate. Thank you.”

His dark gaze flickered momentarily, but his expression didn’t change. “What else would I do for my brother’s wife? ”

She didn’t reply. The inflection in his tone was almost…acerbic. Her heart skipped a tiny beat.

But then he wished her a polite good evening, pulled the door closed, and she wondered if she’d really heard it.

Something told her he was skeptical. He treated her politely and provided more than she could ask for, but it was there, lurking behind his eyes and beneath his words. Doubt.

And tomorrow, she would have to face Stephen’s mother and tell her the truth.

Again and again, while picking at her dinner, while feeding the baby and settling him down for the night, she went over her pitiful options. And each time, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice. She would plead her case with Stephen Halliday’s mother and hope for the best.

What was the worst thing that could happen?

Mahoning Valley, Ohio

Leda Halliday, garbed in black, her eyelids swollen, greeted Sarah with welcoming arms. And Sarah knew, in some deep recess of her heart as she pulled herself to stand on her good leg and let the sobbing woman embrace her, that this was the worst thing that could have happened.

The small-statured woman smelled of violets and faintly of camphor. Her ample bosom shook against Sarah’s waist as she cried openly. To her surprise, responding tears came to Sarah’s eyes, and she accepted the violet-scented hankie the maid pressed into her fingers.

Leda pulled away, dabbing at her nose, and let Sarah sit back down but didn’t release her hand. “You are just as beautiful as Stephen wrote us,” she said on a sob. Her fleshy face crumpled, and Nicholas was there to take her in his arms and hold her against his broad chest. When he raised his face from his mother’s silver-streaked dark hair, there were tears on his dark lashes.

Sarah’s heart ached for them both. A pang of guilt shot through her chest like a sword of cold steel. She couldn’t meet Nicholas’s eyes. How was she going to say the words? If only Nicholas would leave them alone.

Finally Leda pulled away from her towering son and glanced toward the door. The driver stood in the opening, the basket firmly in his grasp. “Well, bring him here, Gruver, bring him here,” she said, motioning the man forward.

Her expression held anticipation, as well as curiosity. When she caught sight of the baby, she covered her trembling lips with her fingers for several long seconds. Sarah saw how badly she wanted to see her son in this tiny child, and regret yawned in her chest.

“He’s just beautiful,” she said at last, her voice thick with emotion. “What’s his name?”

Embarrassed, Sarah edged her gaze away from Nicholas and looked directly into Leda’s gray eyes. “I haven’t named him yet,” she said, knowing the older woman would think that as strange as Minna had.

Instead Leda glowed as though she’d been gifted with a king’s ransom. “We can do it together.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, but Sarah wouldn’t lock gazes.

“Your rooms are ready,” Leda announced. “I think you’ll find everything in order, but you need only ask.”

Sarah glanced at the grand curving marble staircase that led to an open hallway above. She met Nicholas’s dark eyes.

“They’re upstairs,” Leda said, and then as if just now realizing, turned back. “Oh dear.”

“Not to worry, Mother,” Nicholas said. “Claire and I have perfected this transportation problem. Gruver, if you’ll just carry the little fellow up, you’ll be dismissed for the rest of the day. Take tomorrow off, too. I’m sure you’ve missed your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Nicholas swooped forward and waited for Sarah to reach for his neck. She did so, and he slid his arm beneath her legs, brought her against his chest, and turned to his mother. “See, Mother? All those peas and carrots paid off in the long run.”

“I told you so.” The woman chuckled and followed them up, her skirts rustling. Her small laugh eased some of Sarah’s discomfort, and Sarah was strangely grateful to Nicholas for making his mother smile.

This time Sarah didn’t fight the sensations his nearness created. His interaction with his mother and his treatment of his driver said more than a million words could have. He was a good man. A sincere man. A respected, decent man.

And she was still taking advantage of him.

She rested in the security of his arms for just these few minutes. Enjoyed his strength, the masculine scent of his hair and the crisp, fresh smell of his clothing. And wondered just how long she had before she was truly, deeply, impossibly past the point of turning back.

Leda had hired a nursemaid to care for the baby. The woman, a tallish, gray-haired widow who called herself Mrs. Trent, took him while Nicholas and Leda made Sarah comfortable. Sarah sighed in relief when Nicholas finally excused himself and left the room.

“Mrs. Halliday…” Sarah began.

“Leda, dear. Please.” The older woman patted the counterpane into place over Sarah’s good right leg and made sure the other one was settled on a pillow.

“Leda. I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”

“I know, darling. We’re going to have plenty of time together. You’re going to be the daughter I never had. And this little man…”

Leda took Sarah’s son from Mrs. Trent and held him to her cushioned breast. Tears ran down her cheeks openly. “This little man is going to keep me from dying of a broken heart.”

At the woman’s anguish, a great suffocating weight burgeoned in Sarah’s chest. “I’m not who you think I am,” she choked out.

“I don’t care who you are,” Leda said on a half sob. “If I hadn’t had you and the baby to look forward to these past few days, I couldn’t have borne the sorrow. A mother should never have to lose her child. Never,” she said fiercely. “You’re what I need to go on living now. You and him.” She nuzzled the infant’s downy head, and Sarah choked on the confession that welled in her soul.