The One Month Marriage

Chapter Three

R aised voices in the outer office took Brandon’s attention from the ledger that lay open on his desk. Glad for the distraction, he closed the book. He couldn’t concentrate on the figures anyway.

How could he after last night?

The commotion beyond his closed office door continued. Brandon heard the voice of his secretary, Mr. Perkins, raised in protest. Still, Brandon remained in his chair, confident the white-haired, wiry secretary could handle whatever situation presented itself.

Brandon had no energy for confrontation today. Since receiving the telegram from Jana advising him of her return, he’d slept little. All he could think was that, at last, the ordeal would be over. His wife was returning. He’d thought everything would be back to normal.

Brandon sank lower in his chair, tuning out the disturbance in the outer office, preferring thoughts of his wife.

Their fourteen-month separation had changed her in subtle ways. He noticed each and every one of them yesterday when they’d stood across the foyer from each other and he’d been trying to put together a cohesive sentence.

Even more beautiful. The notion had hit him square in the chest yesterday. Her face a little more mature, after so short a time, her dress more sophisticated, her figure a trifle fuller. He had wanted her right there in the foyer.

He had wanted her even when she asked for a divorce.

Brandon grumbled aloud. A divorce. What nonsense. True, Jana had been young, pampered and spoiled when they married. She’d run back home to her aunt who, with the best of intentions, had taken her in and allowed Jana to accompany her on a long-planned extended trip to Europe. Brandon understood how impetuous his young wife had been, and how her aunt couldn’t say no. He’d indulged them both.

But now—

His office door burst open and Mr. Perkins rushed into the room on the heels of the woman who had, surely, been the cause of the commotion.

“Now see here, madam,” Mr. Perkins barked, his face red. “You can’t come pushing your way in here. I told you that Mr. Sayer isn’t seeing anyone today without an appointment, and you haven’t—”

“Since when do I need an appointment?”

Leona Albright directed her question at Brandon, her words a seductive whisper that brought him out of his chair.

Seeing his battle lost, Mr. Perkins turned to Brandon. “I told her, Mr. Sayer, I told her you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment. That those were your instructions and I couldn’t allow—”

“It’s all right,” Brandon said.

“I told that young fella from the newspaper the same thing this morning. That Mr. Fisk. I told him you weren’t seeing anyone today without an appointment.” Mr. Perkins threw Leona Albright a scathing look. “Only he had the decency to respect your wishes and go about his business.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Brandon said. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Albright.”

Mr. Perkins shot her a final contemptuous glare, then huffed out of the office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

Leona, her gaze still on Brandon, gave him a slow, steady smile, one that brought lesser men to their knees.

“You’ve been keeping secrets, Brandon, dear,” she purred and walked closer.

“You like secrets,” he countered.

Leona Albright did indeed like secrets. She liked everything. Tall, ten years older than Brandon, though she’d never admit it to anyone else, Leona wore her dresses cut a fraction lower than was considered decent—especially for her ample figure—and her hair a shade more fiery red than nature alone could provide. Yet her wealth, her social position and political connections on both coasts kept anyone from commenting—in public, anyway. She’d recently lost her fourth, much-older husband and, according to the latest rumor, had already turned down two marriage proposals.

“You know me well,” Leona purred.

“Which of my secrets have you uncovered?” he asked, motioning her toward the seating group at the other end of his office.

Leona took her time settling onto the sofa, arranging her skirt, shifting her shoulders in a way that called attention to her impressive bosom. Brandon took the chair to her immediate left.

“I’m terribly hurt,” Leona declared. “This Jennings deal of yours. You never mentioned a word of it to me.”

“There’s talk?” Brandon asked, a little concerned.

“Whispers,” Leona said, and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I learned of it from an unnamed, but very satisfied, source.”

The Jennings Building, a five-story structure in a prime location, currently housed the Los Angeles Messenger. Brandon owned both the newspaper and the building. Over the last year he’d refused to renew the leases of tenants until now only the newspaper remained. It, too, would be gone soon. Then his new project would be officially announced, though it had been quietly in the works for some time.

“And is this ‘unnamed source’ of yours interested in the project?” Brandon asked.

“Of course,” Leona said. “Everyone is interested in anything that involves you, Brandon, dear. Your name attached to any project guarantees success.”

Brandon smiled, not unhappy to hear a compliment.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll give you the details before the public announcement.”

“Of course you will,” Leona said, favoring him with another smile. “Now, on to your next secret.”

Brandon frowned, trying to imagine what she referred to this time.

“The return of your wife,” Leona said. “I admit, I’m surprised you’re even here at your office today.”

Brandon shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He was certain everyone who’d heard of Jana’s return was curious to find him at work today, rather than at home rolling around in bed with her, making up for their fourteen-month separation.

The playfulness left Leona’s face. “Not a joyful reunion?”

“Not exactly,” Brandon said. He didn’t hesitate to explain further, knowing Leona would keep his confidence, even to unnamed—but satisfied—sources.

It wasn’t the first time she’d kept silent on his behalf.

“She wants a divorce,” Brandon explained. “I told her no, of course. She agreed to work on our marriage.”

“So you have everything under control,” Leona said.

Brandon nodded. He’d thought about it all last night, all morning, all afternoon. He knew what to do.

“Jana is my wife. She must live up to her responsibilities. It’s her duty.”

“You romantic devil, you,” Leona said.

Brandon sat forward. “I have duties in our marriage. She does too. Everyone has duties. We all must live up to them.”

“Duties?”

“Of course,” Brandon said. “Jana needed a firm hand. It was my fault she left, really. I was too easy on her. I’ll be sure she understands her responsibilities this time.”

“Well, as long as you have everything under control…” Leona rose from the sofa, bringing Brandon up with her. She gave him a long, sultry look. “You should have married me.”

“All your husbands die.”

“But they go with smiles on their faces.” Leona sauntered to the office door, threw him one last knowing look, and left.

“I see you’ve made your decision,” Maureen said.

Jana glanced back at her maid closing the latches on her trunk. “It wasn’t exactly my decision,” she said. “Brandon refused to grant me a divorce unless I did as he asked.”

“He has a point,” Maureen said.

Jana didn’t respond, just moved past her aunt, down the hallway and into the parlor of the suite. Brandon did, indeed, have a point. It was all she’d been able to think about since they’d talked yesterday.

Legally and in the eyes of God they were married. Brandon had been right about that. And Jana could find no argument to refute his assertion. She’d taken vows, pledged her life to their union. None of which should be taken lightly.

It had all seemed so much easier, so much clearer in London. There, she’d known exactly what she wanted. With the distance from her husband, she’d realized exactly what sort of man he was—and what sort of man she wanted.

But after seeing him again yesterday…

Jana sank onto the settee. She’d tossed and turned, paced the floor all night. Was she being foolish? Wishing for something that would never be there? Expecting more from Brandon than he’d given in the past?

Or had he changed? She certainly wasn’t the same person she was fourteen months ago. Could Brandon have changed, as well?

For better or worse, their marriage vows had stated. Could the “worse” really be behind her?

Jana sensed her aunt come into the parlor and rose from the settee. “I owe it to the marriage to give it another chance.”

Aunt Maureen raised her brows. “And you’ll do that? Give it an honest chance?”

Jana nodded. She’d do just that. If not, why bother with it at all?

“I think it’s better that we try one last time,” Jana said. “As Brandon says, if it still doesn’t work at least we’ll know we tried to do the right thing.”

Maureen nodded. “It will be easier to explain…later on.”

Doubt swept through Jana, but she pushed on.

“You’ll take care of everything here?” she asked. She’d discussed it with her aunt already and she’d agreed, but Jana felt she had to ask one last time.

“I’m ready for some rest, some solitude.” Maureen gestured toward the window. “The sunsets here are glorious, at times. I want to try and capture them on canvas. I have books to read and poetry to write. I’ll be fine, dear. Don’t give it a thought.”

“I’ll come visit every day,” Jana told her.

Maureen smiled gently. “I understand.”

Jana took one last look around, then drew in a breath. “Well, I’d better go.”

She pinned on her hat and found her handbag as the servants took her trunk out the door.

“I’ll see to it the rest of your things are packed and sent over tomorrow,” Maureen promised, then as if reading Jana’s thoughts added, “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of our staff go to the house. Someone from the hotel will deliver your things.”

Jana rushed to her aunt and gave her a quick hug. “If anything happens—anything at all—let me know. Day or night. Don’t hesitate.”

“Of course, dear,” Aunt Maureen promised.

With a final hug and peck on the cheek, Jana left the suite and set off yet again for her new life with Brandon.

When she arrived at the house on West Adams, Jana instructed the hansom driver to place her trunk on the front porch. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to have it taken inside just yet. She wanted to talk to Brandon first, be sure they both understood their arrangement.

Parts of it he wouldn’t like. She was sure of it.

And if they reached an agreement on their unorthodox arrangement, today—though only a few hours were left in it—would count as day one. Twenty-nine to go.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles greeted her as she stepped into the vestibule. He eyed the trunk, but didn’t say anything.

“Good evening, Charles,” Jana said, glancing around, expecting to see Brandon waiting. It wasn’t quite six o’clock, her designated arrival time, so she was a bit early. “Would you tell him I’m here, please?”

“Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”

A knot jerked in Jana’s stomach. “He’s not here?” she asked, hearing the accusation in her voice. Though only she was supposed to be home by six, she expected Brandon to be here also, under the circumstances.

Charles cast his gaze away. “No, ma’am.”

“I see.” Jana drew herself up. “Cook is preparing supper?”

“Yes, ma’am. Seven o’clock, as always.”

“Of course. Seven o’clock.” How could she have forgotten Brandon’s designated supper hour?

“Shall I have Cook prepare you some refreshment?” Charles asked.

“No, thank you.” Jana removed her hat and passed it to the butler along with her handbag. “That’s all, Charles. Thank you.”

He dipped his head slightly and crept away.

Jana moved through the still house, switching on lights as she went. The fixtures had been built for both gas and electricity. Tonight, the electrical current flowed smoothly, making the more reliable gas jets unnecessary.

In the parlor, the light cast a harsh glare on the half-papered walls and reflected off the white furniture shrouds. The smell of paint hung faintly in the air. Jana stood in the center of the room, turning to take it all in.

Good gracious, had she really picked out this wallpaper, this paint color? And the mural on the ceiling. A hunting scene? Hideous. What had she been thinking?

Her thinking had been just fine fourteen months ago, she suddenly remembered. But no one had been interested in her opinion.

The color samples, fabric and wallpaper swatches were piled in a heap on the shrouded settee. Jana sat down and immersed herself in them, her mind filling with ideas that would do this room justice. She lost track of the time until, vaguely, she heard a clock chime the hour once more. Seven o’clock.

Seven o’clock and no Brandon. Jana rose from the settee and went to the vestibule. She peeked out. Gaslights burned on West Adams Boulevard. The trolley had stopped for the night, but carriages made their way up and down the street.

No sign of Brandon.

At seven-thirty, Jana went to the dining room, ate alone, then returned to the parlor. At eight-fifteen Brandon arrived home. She went to meet him.

“You’re here. Good,” he said, passing his bowler and satchel to Charles, and striding across the foyer to where she waited. He looked rushed, hurried, distracted.

“I ate supper already,” Jana told him, just for something to say.

He frowned. “You know I prefer we eat together. Well, no matter—this time. I saw your trunk outside. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Have it brought inside and—”

“We need to talk first.”

Brandon stopped, seemed confused for a moment, then nodded. “Well, all right.”

She trailed along behind him as he strode to his office. He flipped through a stack of envelopes on his desk, then glanced up.

“So, you’re staying,” he said. “Good. We can—”

“For thirty days,” Jana pointed out. “I’ll give it a month. That’s our agreement. Unless, of course, at some point you change your mind.”

Brandon frowned. “I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Fourteen months have passed,” Jana said. “You might realize too much is different now.”

“Nothing’s different,” he insisted.

“It was your idea that we try again,” Jana said. “If you find that it’s a mistake, I won’t hold you to the agreement. I think that’s only fair.”

“Fine, then.” Brandon went to the door, called for Charles, then instructed him to have Jana’s trunk taken to her room.

When he turned to Jana again, his expression changed. It was subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know him well. Darker eyes, deeper breathing.

She knew what it meant.

“Shall we go…upstairs?” he asked, his voice low.

Jana didn’t answer. He walked beside her through the hallway, up the wide curving staircase, down the carpeted corridor to the suite of rooms they’d occupied as husband and wife.

Jana opened her door and walked inside, feeling the heat of Brandon’s body behind her. She hadn’t delivered all her conditions for staying yet. She’d saved the last one for now because she intended to deliver it at this time and at this place, so as to leave no question in Brandon’s mind.

She swung around to face him. “Where are you going?”

Brandon stopped short in the doorway. His gaze darted past her, then landed on her again, looking slightly confused.

“Your room is next door, if I recall,” she said.

He frowned, as if still not understanding. “But this is your room, and here is where we always used to…you know.”

“Well, there will be no ‘you knowing’ between us,” Jana informed him.

Color drained from his face. “But…”

“Not for thirty days, anyway.”

“Thirty days?”

“It’s the trial period you agreed to,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you meant we couldn’t—”

“Our lives are too unsettled,” Jana said. “We wouldn’t want to complicate them further.”

“But—I—”

“Good night, Brandon.”

“But—”

She closed the door in his face.

Chapter Four

A brisk knock and the door easing open brought Jana fully awake. She pushed herself up, holding the bedcovers over her breasts, and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder.

Brandon? Her heart thumped harder, jolting her. Was Brandon entering her room? Last night she’d forbidden him to enter and he’d respected her wishes. But now at dawn, had he changed his mind?

Jana squinted across the room and blinked the sleep from her eyes, bringing into focus the figure of a young woman, not her husband, entering her bedchamber.

“Abbie? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sayer. Good morning,” the maid replied crossing to the bed.

Jana sat up, genuinely pleased by something in this house for the first time since her arrival.

“Good gracious,” Jana said, “I can’t believe it’s really you. You’re still here?”

Abbie smiled, a warm familiar smile, looking equally pleased. “Yes, ma’am. I’m still here. After all this time.”

“But—how? Why? I thought you’d be long gone.”

The young woman—not much older than Jana—had been her maid when she’d first arrived here as Brandon’s new wife. Abbie didn’t look any different, dark curls barely contained in her white cap, gray uniform with crisp apron, a pleasant smile on her face. Abbie had been Jana’s lifeline, at times, during that tumultuous period.

“I thought I’d be let go for sure, after you left,” Abbie confided. “But Mr. Sayer wouldn’t have no part of it. He said I was to stay. For when you got back.”

Jana’s stomach twisted into a knot. “When I…got back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie assured her, bustling about the room, picking up the clothing Jana had left on a chair last night. “I’m truly sorry, ma’am, that I wasn’t here when you arrived. My aunt, she was feeling a bit under the weather, so I was visiting with her. Charles, he sent for me, told me to get back here straightaway.”

“It’s all right, Abbie,” Jana said. “I managed well enough for myself last night.”

Abbie turned to her, Jana’s dress folded across her arm. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Sayer. Truly, it is.”

“Thank you, Abbie,” she replied, climbing out of the bed.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked. “This time?”

Jana could have been insulted by Abbie’s question, offended by her impertinence. But Jana liked her. They’d become more than employer and maid in the past. Jana could use Abbie’s allegiance—and confidence—this time, as well.

“I wanted a divorce, but Brandon insisted we give our marriage another chance,” Jana told her. “I decided we should do just that…and see what happens.”

Abbie cast a pointed glance at the bed, the covers still tucked in neatly at the bottom, barely disturbed. But she said nothing as she headed for the large redwood closet.

With the first rays of morning sunlight beaming in through the heavy drapes, Jana’s room brightened slowly, giving her a good look at the things she’d barely noticed last night in her haste to get into bed.

She turned in a slow circle, and stopped still in the center of the room.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All stood exactly as she’d left it fourteen months ago.

The bed with the pink-and-white coverlet. The cherry furniture. Her dressing table with the carved ivory brush set, the ostrich feather perfume bottles, jars of lotion, powder and creams—all exactly where she left them.

“Mr. Sayer wouldn’t let us change nothing.”

Jana turned at the sound of Abbie’s voice. “What?”

“Not one thing was to be moved. Everything was to be left exactly as it was.” Abbie rolled her eyes. “And when one of the girls—you remember Rita, don’t you?—when she suggested everything ought to be packed away, Mr. Sayer hit the ceiling.”

“Brandon became angry?” Jana asked, trying to picture it in her mind. In all their time together, courting and during the three months of their marriage, Jana had seldom heard Brandon raise his voice. She couldn’t ever remember him becoming truly angry.

“Yes,” Abbie declared, nodding her head. She leaned a little closer. “He fired Rita on the spot.”

Jana gasped. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” Abbie nodded once more. “And he wouldn’t let your bed linens be washed, either. Not for the longest time.”