Cheryl St.John - The Mistaken Widow

She nodded.

He appeared unconvinced, and she knew she’d have to be more careful of her speech. She was getting in deep now.

“You had an announcement?” Nicholas queried his mother over the top of his wineglass.

“Yes,” Leda replied with a broad smile. “We wanted to surprise you tonight, darling. Claire has chosen a name for the baby.”

His expression revealed neither surprise nor curiosity. Calmly, he took a sip.

“William Stephen Halliday,” Leda declared proudly. “Isn’t that a fine name?”

Nicholas’s knuckles tensed on the glass. “William was—”

“My grandfather’s name,” his mother finished for him.

Looking as if he knew he was expected to say something, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

“And he’ll carry on Stephen’s name,” Leda added softly.

A maid came through the doorway, platter in hand, and served dinner. Nicholas watched Sarah select her portions and pick up her fork. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Did Stephen have any plans for work?” he asked.

Sarah’s bite of braised beef paused on its way to her mouth. “Work?”

“Taking a position here? Going back to the coast? All his wire said was that he was bringing you home to meet us. He failed to mention whether or not he intended to stay this time. Perhaps he only meant to leave you off to have the baby while he continued his pursuit of folly in the East.”

“Nicholas!” his mother admonished.

“Well, it’s true he never took any interest in our family’s business affairs. And very little interest in our family, for that matter.”

“Nicholas, please,” his mother scolded. “Your brother is dead. Can’t you let this rest? You’ve spoiled Claire’s dinner.”

“No,” Sarah denied. He was testing her. And Lord, save her from herself, she resented it. That was crazy. “He hasn’t spoiled my dinner,” she said to Leda, then turned her gaze on Nicholas. “I’m quite aware that you and Stephen differed on many subjects. I don’t know if he had any plans for involving himself in the business. I do know he wouldn’t have left his wife here to have the baby and have gone on his own way.”

“How can you be so sure?” Nicholas asked. “You only knew him a few months.”

Sarah remembered the loving way Stephen spoke to Claire, the way he touched her as though he needed that contact for his very sustenance. “I may not have known him a long time, but I recognize love when I see it.”

“Of course you do, darling. My son is just too old and stuffy for his years, and he thinks everyone should be just like him. Don’t you dare upset our Claire, Nicholas. I’ll not accept your rude behavior.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry, Claire,” he included her in the apology with a curt nod. “Why don’t you tell us all about your whirlwind courtship with my brother? So we’ll better understand, of course.”

A sarcastic undercurrent ran close to the surface, but Leda seemed not to notice.

Sarah placed her fork on the edge of her plate and nervously wrapped her fingers in her napkin. “I will tell you this. Your brother was one of the kindest, most generous people I’ve ever met in my life. He was accepting and caring and considerate. He laughed out loud and he loved deeply. And I can tell you he probably has a lot fewer regrets now than most people will when their lives are over.”

Nicholas chewed slowly and swallowed before meeting her unyielding gaze. “Have you finished putting me properly in my place?” he asked.

Her heart hammered. She didn’t know what to make of him, of his questions. Was it his brother he resented, or just her?

“Come now, children, we have important things to discuss,” Leda said. “We have plans to make.”

“What plans are those?” Nicholas turned his attention to his mother, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stephen’s memorial service. Now that our Claire’s feeling better, we can get things settled.”

A dark expression clouded Nicholas’s face. His lips flattened into a hard line.

“We can see to it, darling,” his mother said, reaching over and placing her age-spotted hand over his large hair-dusted one. “You’ve done quite enough already, handling the affairs in New York.”

He turned over his hand and encased hers. “I didn’t mind, Mother. And I won’t mind helping with the service.”

“I think we need to do this,” his mother said, and looked to Sarah for verification.

Sarah recognized Leda’s desire to do this thing for Stephen on her own, and to spare her remaining son another unpleasant task in the process. “Yes,” she agreed softly. “I’d like to do it.”

“Of course.” Nicholas gave in, and studied Sarah with a guarded expression, as if gauging her reaction.

She hadn’t tasted most of the meal, and her stomach rebelled against placing any more food in it. She sipped her water, and tried to calm her fluttering nerves. A memorial service! How would she ever manage to play the part of Stephen’s wife in this scenario? What would be expected of her? How many people would she have to see?

“A Saturday afternoon would be most appropriate, don’t you think?” Leda asked.

A Saturday afternoon. Only one afternoon. She could get through that She nodded and gave Leda what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Nicholas folded his napkin and stood abruptly. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

“There’s dessert,” his mother called after him, but he was gone. “We’ll eat his share,” Leda said with a brave smile.

Sarah wished she could bolt from the room as Nicholas had. But she’d gotten herself into this situation. Now she’d have to see it through. She observed Leda’s determined expression and resigned herself. The least she could do was assist the woman and be as much help and support as she could. She owed them that much. And more.

After all, how long could a memorial service take?

The memorial service would be interminable, if the arrangements were any indication. Leda arrived at Sarah’s door early the following morning. Together they came up with the appropriate wording for the invitations, and Leda had Gruver deliver the text to the printer.

The following day Virginia Weaver, a plump seamstress, arrived to measure Sarah for dresses and undergarments. She brought catalogues from which she and Leda selected a double-spring elliptic skirt to shape the full bell skirts, as well as six corsets. Sarah watched with growing trepidation.

“I’ll need to make you at least a dozen petticoats,” Virginia claimed. The women gathered in the enormous dressing room that was a part of Sarah’s suite.

The idea of Halliday money buying her clothing made her increasingly nervous.

“I’m not usually this…full-figured,” she argued, hoping they’d see what a waste so many new garments would be after her figure returned to normal.

“Of course not, darling. But you will be for the next year, and by then, the styles will change again.”

Uncomfortable going along with this plan, Sarah glanced at Leda, who said, “Virginia is right. You know…” She stepped forward with her palms pressed together. “I think Claire should have one of those bustles, don’t you? Perhaps I will, too. And a few dresses to fit it.”

“It’s the latest fashion,” Virginia agreed.

Sarah thought of all her own clothes that had been in her trunk on the train, and wondered what had happened to them.

All she had was the emerald bracelet she’d sewn into the lining of her reticule, and that had somehow miraculously been delivered to the hospital with her. She prayed it’s sale would bring enough money to get her started on her own when she left here.