Jane suddenly wanted to go to dinner. She wanted to confide in her friend—everything. Of course, she could not, she would not. But she could at least discuss some of her predicament, and cry on her best friend’s shoulder. “No, I want to go, I want to see Grace.”
But Lindley wasn’t listening. He was staring at her intently. “Jane,” he said, “there is a solution.” Jane blinked.
“Marry me.”
“I can’t!”
“Of course you can! Shelton is married to Patricia. Face it, Jane, face it! Damn, I hate seeing you like this! Patricia is his wife. Now you’re pregnant and alone. And we are friends. Most important, I love you and will gladly care for you—and be the father to your child. Do you want this child born a bastard?”
Jane flinched. “I don’t know, I must think.”
“Think.” He leaned close, touched her cheek. “I am here for you. I think I’ve proved it many times. You know you can count on me and trust me.”
He got up and departed to his own rooms. Jane watched him leave. Then she bit her trembling lower lip, her cheek dropping to the sofa back, hugging the big throw pillows. Should she marry Lindley?
Oh, God! What else could Fate possibly have in store for her?
“Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered. “Did I do the right thing?”
52
“Darling,” Grace Bragg said, her smile semisweet and semiwicked, “why don’t you take John into the den and do whatever it is you men like so much to do when you’re ensconced in your all-male citadels that prohibit the fairer, more enlightened sex? Smoke and drink and all that interesting, intellectual—it must be intellectual— male conversation?”
The tall, voluptuous redhead was bending over her husband, a smile on her beautiful face. He was still seated, quite indolently, at the dining-room table, as were Jane and Lindley. Rathe, a big, muscular, devastatingly handsome man, was visibly surprised, his blue eyes wide, his expression startled. Grace nuzzled her cheek to his. “Darling, you could even gamble a bit.”
With one strong arm, he suddenly caught her around the waist, imprisoning her in an intimate position. “Is my wife trying to get rid of me?” he asked, low, laughter sparking his eyes, his mouth near her ear. “Is my impossibly liberated wife trying to encourage my antiquated, chauvinistic stereotypically male pursuits?”
Grace had the grace to blush. During their stormy courtship down south in Natchez, she had, on one or two occasions (or more!), accused him of male arrogance and other philistine attributes. Now she smiled even more sweetly and more wickedly. “Darling, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”
“Is this the wild, rabble-rousing suffragist I married?” he teased. “Or are you someone else, a look-alike? Has there been a stranger in my bed recently?”
She smacked him playfully, drawing free of him, winking at Jane, who was regarding their close, uninhibited relationship wistfully. There was so much love and affection and respect between them. But then again, Grace was such an admirable woman, so strong in her convictions, and so well educated and intelligent. While Rathe appeared to be the ideal husband. Not only was he handsome, virile, and magnetic, he was a very successful businessman and he clearly worshiped her.
“All right, I take the hint,” Rathe announced, rising. He winked as well. Big dimples accompanied his smile, causing a pang in Jane’s heart at the resemblance between the brothers. Yet this was the only resemblance. Rathe was a golden-haired, blue-eyed man, always smiling, teasing, in love with the world and himself and his family. Jane’s anguish increased; how could one brother be so sunny and carefree and the other so dark and tormented? Yet with her, Nicholas had begun to change, to smile and laugh and even to tease. God, she missed him.
“C’mon, Lindley, let’s pursue some antiquated, male-oriented pastimes,” Rathe was saying.
“Sounds good to me.” Lindley grinned, squeezing Jane’s shoulder as he passed. Rathe had the aplomb and insouciance to swat Grace’s behind rather forcefully as he went out, causing her to gasp, jump, and blush a fierce red, in that order. Her gaze met Jane’s sheepishly, then she laughed. “He is impossible, that man!”
“You are so very lucky,” Jane said huskily.
“Very lucky,” Grace agreed softly, her palm touching her abdomen. She was just starting to show the signs of her pregnancy. Her expression grew serious. She closed the dining-room doors, then returned to the table and sat in Lindley’s place, next to Jane. “But you have a good man too.”
Jane just looked at Grace.
Grace smiled. “Tea or coffee? How about some more of this sinful chocolate cake?”
Jane accepted both and had just taken a bit of the cake, which was sheer heaven, when Grace abruptly said, “What’s wrong, Jane? You look as if your best friend died.”
Jane laid down her fork. “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh,” Grace said. “Oh.”
Jane pushed the cake away. Grace knew about Nicole—adored her, in fact—and Jane knew she suspected Lindley wasn’t the father, because of the baby’s coloring, but she had been too polite to even ask. In fact, it was amazing that the Braggs had accepted her into their home knowing she had a fatherless baby, as if she were Lindley’s wife, not, as they thought, his paramour. But they were real people, without a single snobbish thought between the two of them. Besides, after they’d become friends, Grace had confessed she’d been Rathe’s mistress for a while—although not exactly willingly. Jane had been shocked. “He forced you?”
Grace had grinned. “Well, coerce is a better word. Actually, he took advantage of my dire circumstances.” Then she’d amended herself. “Really, I’m making Rathe sound like such a cad. He was sort of a cad, I admit. However, he did want to marry me. I refused.”
Jane had been shocked. Grace had laughed. “I was in love with him but stubbornly refusing to admit it,” she’d confessed. “Can you believe I told him I’d rather be his mistress, that way I wouldn’t be stuck with him forever?”
