The Mistaken Widow

She could find her baby and leave on her own before morning. Sarah glanced at the bulky outline of her leg beneath the covers. And what? Become a cripple? She really doubted she could put any weight on it, anyway. And what would she do if she ran off? Where would she go? She would be unable to work for weeks—months maybe, let alone care for herself or her baby.

She thought of her father and her comfortable childhood home, and squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt unbearably to know she hadn’t meant enough to him for him to forgive her. He hated her now. She had to wonder if he’d ever really loved her, or if she’d merely been a convenience as long as she kept the house running and entertained his clients. Going back was out of the question.

When this Halliday fellow showed up, she would explain to him what had happened. He would be easier to reason with than the doctors and nurses had been.

Sarah spent a fitful night, waking often, dreaming of twisting metal, cold dark alleyways and crying, hungry babies. Finally, morning arrived, and with it, nurses to assist her. One washed her hair and helped her bathe while the other laid out unfamiliar black clothing.

“I tried to find something—appropriate—for your trip, Mrs. Halliday,” the nurse said hesitantly. “Your trunks were sent ahead, and Mr. Halliday asked us to shop for you.” Not her trunks, Sarah thought. She’d only had one. Apparently Claire’s trunks had been sent ahead. Obviously, the Halliday name carried much weight, and they were treating Sarah as though she were one of them.

She looked at the black wool skirt, handkerchief linen blouse and short velvet jacket with eyelet embroidery, all purchased with Mr. Halliday’s money.

The nurse gave her a hesitant look. “Don’t you like the suit? Buying it ready-made, I didn’t have much to choose from.”

“It’s lovely—it’s not that, it’s just that…”

“What, dear?”

She could hardly leave in the cotton hospital robe she had been wearing. She would have to accept this traveling suit and somehow repay Mr. Halliday. “Nothing. Thank you.”

The nurses helped her dress, then situated her awkwardly in a wooden chair with wheels and brought the baby to her. He’d been outfitted as well, and was accompanied by an enormous valise. Sarah stared at the flannels and changes of clothing with a growing sense of unease. “Where did all this come from?”

“Mr. Halliday had them sent for the baby, ma’am.” The nurse opened a round box and presented Sarah with a smart hat made of the same velvet as the skirt and jacket. One side of the brim curled upward, trimmed with black silk ribbon and ostrich feathers. “Do you like it?”

Sarah stared at the hat, apprehension roiling in her stomach. Where was the man? He’d gone to all this expense without even laying eyes on her, without giving her a chance to explain!

“You don’t like it.” The nurse’s voice held disappointment.

“I’ve never worn anything so—mature.” She was, in their opinion, a married woman with a child, she remembered, and she wished she hadn’t said anything.

“You are in mourning,” the nurse reminded her.

“Of course.” She accepted the hat and turned to the mirror the nurse held. She would throw herself on the man’s mercy when he arrived.

Sarah sensed the atmosphere in the room change. Slowly, she turned and found a tall, elegantly dressed man just inside the doorway. Eyes as dark as black coffee, full of questions and uncertainty, swept the length of her skirt and jacket, touched on her fair hair beneath the hat she held in place with one hand, and then met her gaze. She recognized his pain at once. Grief had etched lines beside his firm mouth and shadows beneath his unsmiling eyes.

“I’m Stephen’s brother, Nicholas.” His voice was low and resonant, a rumbling sound a woman heard in her soul as well as with her ears. He was darkly handsome, like Stephen, with the same chin and hairline, but there the resemblance ended. Where Stephen’s face had been open and candid, with just a touch of laughter behind his eyes, this man’s was closed and unfriendly, without a sign of humor.

But then, he’d been handling painful details. He’d undoubtedly had to identify his brother’s body. Had he buried him? Sent his body home? Stephen had been a charming and generous man, cut down in the prime of his life. Grief wedged its way into Sarah’s chest.

And Claire. The lovely young woman had not deserved her fate. She’d had her entire life ahead of her, a life with her husband and baby. Sarah blinked back stinging tears.

And what of Claire’s body? If they thought Sarah was Claire, what had happened to the real Claire? Dread pooled in her queasy stomach. Guilt swept over her in a torrent: She’d been spared and his family had died! She couldn’t manage to voice a coherent thought. The words she needed to say lodged in her throat.

His intent gaze slid to her baby on the bed, and he moved to stand over him. A protective instinct rose in her chest, and then abated when he turned back.

“Mother wants me to tell you she’s eagerly anticipating the arrival of you and your son, and to assure you that you will have a home with us for as long as you want to stay.”

Sarah tried to coax words from her throat.

“I’ve taken care of the debt and purchased this chair for you.”

“The debt?”

“The hospital and doctor’s fees. Are you prepared?”

He’d paid her bill already? Of course. The man was efficient, as well as decisive. She should have looked into it herself. “H-how much?”

“You needn’t worry over that. It’s taken care of.”

A panicky little sob rose in her throat, and she clenched her teeth against the desire to rail at her heartless father. If only she could have wired him, could have had someone to come to her aid. Alone. She’d never been so alone.

“I asked, are you prepared? I have a driver waiting. It will take a couple of days to get there, and I’ve business waiting for me.”

There was no talking to this man. Sarah realized that with a cold, hard certainty. He would never understand. What would happen to her son if Nicholas Halliday demanded she repay him then and there or be thrown in jail?

“Yes. I’m ready.” She turned back to the mirror and stabbed the long pin through fabric and hair until the hat was secured. She would have to take her chances with him until she could talk to his mother. Surely a woman would be more understanding and responsive. She would understand and let Sarah settle up with them when she was able.

The nurse moved Sarah’s chair closer to the man.

“I claimed your things,” he said. “They’ve been sent ahead.” He paused, and with no small amount of dismay Sarah discovered she’d been watching his mobile lips as he spoke.

She raised her attention to his dark eyes.

“I didn’t want to go through your personal belongings without your permission,” he said, by way of explanation. “I asked the nurses to shop for enough clothing and personal items to get you home.”

“Thank you,” she replied simply. How did he plan to travel, and—she swallowed hard—where were they going? She raised a questioning gaze.

As though reading her trepidation, he said, “I’ve brought my carriage and driver. I thought you’d prefer that.”

Thank God he hadn’t chosen a train! She sighed in silent relief.

The nurse placed the baby in her arms, and moved behind her to wheel the chair. Nicholas Halliday stepped around Sarah’s extended leg, picked up her bags and followed. The chair rolled her down a corridor, toward a door that led to the outdoors and an uncertain journey.

Heart hammering, Sarah carried her son close. Whatever the future held, her own welfare was not the concern. Her baby was all that mattered now. And she would do what she had to do to take care of him. Unlike her father, she meant to take her responsibility seriously and love her child, no matter what.

Even if that meant pretending to go along with this man for a little while longer. His mother had to be easier to talk to than he was. Had to be! After all, Stephen had been a kind, warm individual.

Sarah prayed he’d taken after his mother.

Chapter Two

Nicholas experienced a measure of guilt for thinking that Claire wasn’t predictably like Stephen’s previous acquaintances. The girl was obviously under a great deal of stress and physical discomfort and could hardly be expected to keep up a steady flow of chatter. Her withdrawn manner and silence since they’d left the hospital that morning didn’t necessarily reflect her personality. Or…perhaps she wanted him to believe she was grieving over Stephen’s death.

He cast her another sidelong glance. After the noon meal they’d settled themselves in for the long ride, and she’d removed the hat. Good Lord. Her hair, precariously gathered up and invisibly secured on her head, caught his attention immediately. The tresses radiated a fascinating blend of wheat tones, some dark like honey, some as light as corn silk, some nearly white, with brassy threads of gold woven into the springy curls. One coil hung against the translucent skin of her temple, and another graced the column of her neck. The spirals looked as though he could tug them and watch them spring back.

He decided immediately that it was not a wise idea to look at her hair and have such absurd notions, so he watched the spring countryside blend into the freshly plowed farmlands of Pennsylvania. From time to time, as she closed her eyelids and rested, he studied the sweep of her golden lashes against her fair cheek, the interesting fullness of her upper lip and the tiny lines beside her mouth that showed she had smiled. He wondered at whom. Stephen?

Even her ears appeared delicate, with a single pearl dangling from each lobe. Her eyebrows were the same color as the dark undertones in her hair, narrow slashes above eyes that he’d noticed right off were a pale, somber shade of blue. Everything about her was somber, from her expressions, to her voice, to the way she focused her vigilant attention on the infant in the basket beside her.

He just couldn’t ignore the gnawing fact that she didn’t fit the picture of the woman Stephen had written them about. Stephen hadn’t gone into any detail, except about her wit and charm and vivacious personality. The material facts had come after Nicholas had investigated her background.

Her gaze lifted and she caught him studying her.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

She nodded and her earbobs swayed.

“You’re getting tired. We’ll stop for dinner and the night. He’ll be waking again soon, no doubt.”

A blush tinged her neck and pale cheeks. He hadn’t imagined her a woman easily embarrassed by feeding her child or the calls of nature. If he didn’t know better, he’d think her a gently bred young lady. Each time the baby woke, he’d had the driver halt the carriage, and he’d waited outside. Once they had stopped to use the facilities at a way station, and he’d been glad he’d purchased a pair of crutches, because she had insisted on being left alone.

The baby made tiny mewling sounds, and she leaned over the basket.

“There’s a town just ahead.” He unlatched the leather shade and called instructions to his driver, Gruver.

Claire once again placed her hat over her hair, worked the pin through and picked up her gloves.

“Where’s your wedding ring?” he asked, noting the absence of that particular piece of jewelry.

Her clear blue gaze rose to his face, and quickly, she averted her eyes. “My fingers were swollen,” she said softly, and pulled the gloves over her slender fingers. The perfect lady.

Or a hell of a good actress. Time would tell.

The carriage slowed and stopped before a two-story wooden structure with Hotel painted in black letters on a weathered sign that swung in the breeze. He raised the shade and studied the building. “Doesn’t look like much. We can go on.”

Her earnest gaze dismissed the building and turned back to him. “I’m sure the accommodations will do fine, Mr. Halliday.”

“Call me Nicholas. After all, we’re family.”

Immediately, her gaze dropped to her gloved hands.

The door opened and Gruver, his dark-haired driver, a man in his early thirties, lowered the step. Nicholas stepped out of the carriage and strode to the rear where he unstrapped the wooden wheelchair, wiped the road dust from it himself and rolled it to the bottom of the steps. As she had when they’d stopped earlier, Claire accepted his hand hesitantly and lowered herself into the chair.

He placed the basket containing the now fussing baby on her lap and pushed her forward. It took both him and Gruver to lift the chair up several wooden stairs to the broad boardwalk, and the driver went back for their luggage.

Nicholas signed the register and received room keys. “Up the stairs and to the right for twenty-four,” the desk clerk said. “Twenty-seven’s a little farther and to the left and twenty-eight’s across from it.”

“Don’t you have something on this floor? Mrs. Halliday can’t walk.”

“Nope. Kitchen, dining room, and private quarters only on this floor.” The man scratched his pencil-thin nose and blinked at them.

Nicholas turned to Claire. Her complexion had grown paler and dark smudges had appeared under her eyes. He couldn’t ask her to go any farther tonight. This would have to do. “Very well, then. I’ll be right back.”

He took the baby, basket and all, from her lap, climbed the stairs and located the first room. He left the now wailing infant on the bed and thundered back down the stairs.

Claire wore a wide-eyed look of surprise as he approached her. Gruver had entered the tiny lobby with their luggage. Nicholas motioned him over and handed him a key. “Carry Mrs. Halliday’s chair, please.”

Nicholas bent toward her. “Lean forward.”

Her eyes widened, but she did as he asked. He slid one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees, somehow managing her voluminous skirts in the process, and raised her effortlessly, being careful of her injured leg. She didn’t weigh much, but she was an armful, nonetheless. His head bumped her hat, sending it askew, and she caught it before it fell. Her hair tumbled, the soft springy curls grazing his neck and chin, the sweet fragrance touching him somewhere more elemental.

She grasped him around the neck, her hat bouncing off his back, her full breasts pressed against his jacket. He cursed his immediate and unexpected physical reaction, but reined in his distressing response and concentrated on the stairs, one at a time, until they reached the top.

The baby’s cries carried down the corridor, and Claire sucked in a breath, which Nicholas felt to the tips of his toes.

Sarah’s heart beat so swiftly, he must have felt it through their layers of clothing. Against her breast his chest was broad and hard, as hard as the arms banding her back and secured behind her knees. She could smell the starch in his shirt, and the faint smell of shaving soap that lingered about his chin and jaw, masculine features that were close enough to scrape her cheek should she be foolish enough to turn her head.

Her son’s plaintive wails had released a tingling in her breasts, accompanied by a seeping wetness she feared would soak through her clothing to Nicholas’s.

He carried her into the room and paused. Her heart raced as his driver maneuvered her chair through the doorway. The man placed her hat on the seat of a rocker and excused himself.

Gently, Nicholas lowered her into the chair. “May I help you with your jacket?” he asked above the baby’s cries.

“No!” She glanced down, relieved to see her jacket still dry and covering her. “I mean, no thank you. I can see to myself now.”

He straightened and cast a helpless look at the basket “Can I send a servant to help you?”

She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

He backed up a step, then turned and left, pulling the door shut. Sarah struggled with the jacket, an awkward situation because of the chair arms, but she finally removed it and unbuttoned her blouse.

The baby rooted for a there second before latching on to her breast and suckling noisily. She had to laugh softly. “You don’t care where we are or what’s happening, do you?”

He’d finished eating by the time a young girl with a dark coronet of braids wrapped around her head brought water and towels. “The gentleman paid me handsomely to help you with the baby, ma’am. I have five brothers and sisters, and I’ve taken care of all of them. Can I bathe him for you? Rock him maybe, so you can rest?”

Nicholas’s thoughtfulness touched Sarah. Gratefully, she allowed the girl, who told her her name was Minna, to change and wash the baby while she raised her throbbing leg on a pillow and leaned back into the mattress.

“He’s a pretty one, Miz Halliday. What’s his name?”

Sarah had been dozing, her thoughts drifting from the stern-faced Nicholas to their mysterious destination, and she opened her eyes, an odd feeling of shame curling in her chest. How could she have overlooked something as basic as giving her baby a name? “Why, I—I haven’t thought of a name for him yet.”

Minna looked at her curiously, but turned back to her task.

“I was in an accident and just came around a few days ago,” she said, by way of explaining her lack of thought.

“Oh. That’s what happened to your leg?”

Sarah nodded.

“Your husband takes fine care of you. I’m sure you’ll be better in no time.”

“Mr. Halliday is not my husband.”

The girl didn’t turn around, but Sarah knew what she must be thinking, and cursed herself for opening her mouth on the subject. “He’s—my brother-in-law,” she said, using the first and easiest explanation that had come to mind. She cringed inwardly and waited for a lightning bolt or the rumble of an earthquake, but the only sound was the gentle lapping of water as Minna rinsed the baby.

A knock sounded at the door. Minna glanced toward it, but her hands were occupied.

“Who’s there?” Sarah called.

“Nicholas.”

“Come in.”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing a fresh shirt beneath his dark jacket. He glanced from Sarah to the girl and back. “Would you care to join me downstairs for dinner, or shall I have something sent up?”

“I’ll stay here with the baby,” Minna offered immediately.

Sarah imagined him carrying her down those stairs and back up again, and thought it would be a whole lot safer to eat in her room. “My head hurts terribly,” she said in excuse. “May I just stay here?”

“Of course. I’ll see that you get a powder for your headache.”

“You’re very kind.”

He gave her a brief nod and closed the door.

“Is Mr. Halliday married?” Minna asked.

Sarah stared at the door, a speculative question forming in her own mind now that the girl had brought it up. She knew nothing of this man or his family. “I don’t know.”

Minna placed the towel-wrapped infant on the bed and dried his flailing arms and legs.

Sarah captured her son’s tiny hand in hers, and watched as the girl skillfully diapered and dressed him. Her own attempts at changing him had been slow and clumsy. Surely she would gain more confidence soon. Thank goodness Nicholas had provided help immediately.

I will learn, little one, she intoned silently. I will be the best mother a little boy ever had.

“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.