The Mistaken Widow

“He’s a nice man,” the girl went on. “Handsome, too.”

Nicholas Halliday did seem like an admirable man. A man who deserved better than deceit. She hadn’t asked for luxuries, however, hadn’t expected the man to provide elegant new clothing and servants to help her. She looked at the new luggage beside the door, at all the items it took to care for the baby, even at the clothes she wore, and knew at this rate it would take a long while to repay him.

She had no more means to make it on her own today than she had the day her father had turned her out. By leaving with Nicholas, she’d made a decision. Now she had to be Claire Halliday until they reached their destination.

The morning dawned as clear and crisp as winter, though it was early April. The scent of spring floated on the air: freshly turned earth and garden flowers. Nicholas admonished himself to enjoy the scenery and not to regret the working hours he’d lost by not taking the train. He could count on Milos Switzer to handle anything that came up in his absence. The work would be there when he returned.

Relief surged through him that Claire looked a little better today, her face not as pale or as drawn. The long stopover the night before must have done her good. She wore a freshly pressed blouse beneath her traveling suit. And her hat—he noticed when a stiff breeze caught them as they’d stopped for the noon meal—had been safely secured.

He’d paid the proprietor of the eatery to allow Claire to use their private quarters to see to her and the baby’s needs.

They would need to stop one more night before they reached Mahoning Valley. The stamina of the horses was no concern, and Gruver had driven nonstop day and night many a time. No, Claire was the one giving him concern. She was far more delicate than he’d imagined, more refined, and obviously not accustomed to long travel or hardship. She said nothing, neither in complaint nor observation, and he wished he had access to the thoughts in her curly blond head.

“Stephen said you met last fall,” he said at last.

Sarah’s heart leaped, and her mind raced, searching for a way to avoid any questions she would be forced to answer with lies.

“Where is Stephen’s body?” she asked.

His expression became even more grim. “I had it sent ahead. He’s buried in the family cemetery. We will have a memorial service when you’re well enough.”

What about his beloved Claire? she wanted to ask. They would have wanted to be together. If there had been a way to tell him…an opportunity…she would have. Certainly, she would have. She studied him warily. If he was as strict and unyielding as her father, he would cast her to the side of the road. She couldn’t take that chance; she’d have to wait.

He stretched his long legs to the side, one knee cracking. Claire wondered how old he was. More than thirty probably. She wanted to ask him the question that Minna had lodged in her mind the night before. She studied the landscape for a few minutes, her thoughts streaking forward with uncertainty.

“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.