Wanted_Lawyer Read online

  The man on the stoop was an utter stranger to her. She supposed he was nice to look at. He was tall, with deep set, light brown eyes that gave the impression they could see through to her very soul. His jaw was square and well-defined with a ring of thick stubble, as though he had been on the road for several days but was accustomed to a morning shave. He carried a traveling case in his left hand, and a ridge-topped hat in his right.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, bowing his head as she appeared in the gap between the door and wall. “I was inquiring about town as to where I might find a Miss Victoria Davenport and was informed that she lives in this very house.” His smile twinkled at her. “Would you happen to be she?”

  Victoria stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door softly behind her, ignoring the swell of panic she felt at shutting herself outside. Her eyes danced nervously between this man and the few passersby that were whispering behind their hands about her, as though she was standing on a raised dais. Luther had told her to accept the good with the bad. She swallowed. Here was her first test.

  “I am she,” she said. “How can I help you, Mister…?”

  “Donahue,” said the man, shifting his hat into his opposite hand and extending his hand to her. “Virgil Donahue. We have corresponded, of course.”

  It took a very long moment for Victoria to realize who this man was. Virgil Donahue. The only man that had responded to her desperate plea for legal aid in the Groom’s Gazette. She had forgotten all about him in the rush of events since Luther had turned up on her back porch in the dead of night.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a faint puff of surprise. She closed it again. Smiled dazedly, and then—as she struggled to remember how to talk— Virgil Donahue’s eyes widened.

  “I should have given you an advanced notice,” he said hurriedly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Davenport. I assumed that my arrival was… anticipated.”

  Victoria recovered herself rapidly. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “Of course, it was. Yes. Most assuredly. It is only that… for a moment… It quite slipped my mind. It is I whom should be apologizing to you.” Her fingers fluttered as, somewhere nearby, a horse gave a loud snort. She glanced around, the familiar terror grasping at her insides.

  “Perhaps we might continue this discussion inside?” she smiled again, attempting to sound robustly sane and not at all like the type of woman who might conceal a wanted outlaw in her guest room.

  Virgil Donahue nodded at her, still smiling, and it was with a relief that Victoria shoved the door opened and tucked herself back inside the foyer. He followed her, his hat still in his hand.

  Victoria couldn’t help glancing up the stairs as she gestured him into the sitting room.

  He set his traveling case down beside the settee and waited politely beside it, looking around the room.

  “Could I bring you something to drink?” she asked. Her skirts swished, and she was acutely aware of the smell of Luther’s shaving cream on her face as she followed after him.

  “That would be welcome,” he said.

  Victoria smiled politely, her heart hammering a violent tattoo against her breast. How could she have forgotten that he was coming? She had asked him to come!

  She carried a tea tray into the room several minutes later and settled herself across from the man, eyeing the vague hints of salt and pepper in his black hair. He had to be nearly twice her senior.

  He thanked her, and the pair sipped their drinks in a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Miss Davenport,” he said at last, “I am… under the impression that you have encountered some sort of… legal difficulties?”

  Victoria lowered her glass. The lemonade within it trembled slightly as she balanced it on her knee. “Yes,” she said. “They concern my husband.”

  Virgil, who had just taken a sip of his drink, coughed loudly.

  “My apologies,” Victoria corrected hurriedly, giving him an apologetic look. “I should have said ‘my late husband.’ I am not currently married, sir.”

  His face was rather red from his coughing fit. “Naturally,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I was thrown for a moment. After all, I did travel to Silverpines hoping that you might agree to become my intended. I did not realize that you were a widow. You’re rather young, Missus Davenport. I had assumed you were… never attached.”

  Victoria smiled cheerlessly. “I married my husband at sixteen.” Her voice was low. It had been a long while since she had spoken about the torrid love affair that had been herself and Jaxsom’s scandalous society elopement. “We met at a charity function my family was attending in Portland.”

  Virgil nodded his head. “I see… and—it seems rather foolish to inquire—but did you ever… are there any children?”

  A lump formed in Victoria’s throat. She breathed past it and looked away from him, examining the sitting room wall as though she had suddenly noticed a fascinating feature she had never seen there before. “We were never able to have any—” she swallowed again. “No,” she said finally. “There were never any children.”

  She chanced a glance at Virgil Donahue. He looked relieved. “Perhaps we should have corresponded a bit further before I insisted on traveling to meet you,” he said. “But I am rather interested in getting to know you, Missus Davenport.”

  “Rhyan,” she corrected, blushing to the roots of her brown hair. “My husband’s last name was Rhyan. I’m sorry. I must confess that after I discovered that my husband had lived a less than honest life… I was rather desperate to rid myself of the stigma of association with that name.”

  Virgil cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Perhaps you should elaborate on your difficulties,” he said. “Then I may be able to tell you whether or not I can be of any assistance to you.”

  Victoria sighed. She was sure that discussing these matters with this man would not be nearly as comforting as discussing them with Luther, but on the other hand, she imagined there was very little time left until the whole of Silverpines found out what their Mayor had done anyways.

  “My husband,” she began, but she halted as the creak of shifting boards sounded from upstairs.

  Virgil looked around. “Is there someone here with you?” he queried, glancing behind him at the foot of the stairs.

  Victoria shook her head mechanically. “The house likes to shift,” she said by way of explanation. “Ever since the quakes.”

  “I only just heard about the Silverpines’ disasters,” replied Virgil, his attention successfully diverted at the mention. “I suppose that they were the cause of your husband’s premature death?”

  “Yes.”

  Virgil sat back in his seat and scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. He looked as though he truly meant it, and Victoria had the impression that here was a man that was no stranger to loss.

  “Thank you.” Her throat felt as though it had been pinched. She shifted and found that her knees had been locked together with tension. “It was not until very recently that I discovered— by way of my husband’s solicitor— that my husband had supposedly been embezzling from the towns’ finances.”

  Virgil Donahue rubbed his forefinger over his bottom lip. “Why do you say he was supposedly embezzling? Do you have reason to doubt your solicitor’s claims?”

  Victoria grinned suddenly. She hadn’t given the matter enough thought. If Mr. Foswick indeed had a motive to steal from her and the town… The information he had originally provided her with might be an inaccurate representation of Jaxsom after all!

  “Yes!” she beamed as this realization struck her. “It seems that my husband fired Mr. Foswick some time ago. The man should not have any control over my husband’s finances at all, and yet he was in my house just the other day!”

  Virgil Donahue smiled at her reaction. “I have to agree with this conclusion. A termination of his employment by your husband would give Mr. Foswick an excellent motive for pursuing vengean
ce upon you after his death. Would you like me to aid you in building a case against him?”

  Victoria’s heart sank as rapidly as it had just risen. It settled low in her gut, and made Victoria feel as though she had just swallowed live snakes. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  Virgil seemed to have noticed the change in her expression. He frowned.

  “He left town,” she said. “He came to tell me… no! He came to accuse me in partaking in my husband’s schemes. He accused me of taking all of Silverpines’ tax money for myself! He told me he could not be a party to my deceit… and he left town that very morning!” Victoria leapt to her feet. “I have to go after him!” she cried. “How could I have been so foolish?!”

  “Missus Rhyan!” Virgil called as Victoria sprinted out of the room.

  She was half-way up the stairs before she realized what she was saying. She froze and then turned around on the steps to stare at the closed front door below.

  “In order to file a case against Mr. Foswick,” she said to nobody in particular. “I have to be able to find him. I have to be able to leave this house.”

  She sat down on the stairs where she stood. They squawked in protest. She gripped the banister very tightly, leaning her forehead against the wood and breathing hard through her nose.

  “Mr. Donahue?” she bleated piteously. “There is something else that you should know as well.”

  Virgil Donahue’s salt and peppered head popped around the edge of the door frame. His eyebrows were raised in appalled confusion. “Yes? And what is that?”

  “It seems that I am condemned to remain in this house for the rest of my natural life,” she said matter-of-factly. “So, unfortunately, I will need someone to help me track down the scoundrel and bring him to justice.”

  The man in her foyer stared at her for a full five seconds. Victoria counted them as they ticked by on the grandfather clock in Jaxsom’s office.

  “I’m sorry, but I am afraid that I do not understand you, Missus Rhyan,” he swallowed and stepped forward, his fist tapping nervously against the wall. “I came here with the intention of making you my wife. It is high time that I settled down. I agreed to come here, despite the difficulties your situation might require.”

  Virgil shuffled through his pockets and removed a tiny box. It was nearly the same color as Luther’s eyes, she noticed. A light, grayish blue and… The man before her sank down onto one knee at the bottom of the steps. He was smiling up at Victoria where she sat, stupefied, unable to move.

  “Missus Rhyan, I will do my utter and complete best to help bring this man to justice. If only you will do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  ∞∞∞

  Luther heard but did not believe. He was still sitting on the vanity stool, precisely where Victoria had left him, staring toward the closed bedroom door and the two voices that he could hear echoing up the staircase.

  He heard Victoria stutter a response, and he sat very still, trying to catch every word. Who was this man? Was he insane? What kind of man proposes to a woman he only just met?

  Wait. What had she said? Had she said yes? He strained his ears. Half of him wanted nothing more than to bolt down those stairs and tell this meddlesome individual to remove himself from the premises at once. He wanted to shout, “She belongs to me!” like some sort of barbarian and throw the man from the porch by the scruff of his neck, but he knew that he couldn’t do it. The fact of the matter was that Victoria did not belong to him, and if she did, she would likely be murdered by his cousin the moment Mace was given the chance.

  Luther forced himself to sit there, very still, grappling with his emotions, until he heard the front door open and shut once more. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and waited. Had he gone? Had Victoria gone with him? Sick jealousy twisted its way into his insides as he imagined Victoria clinging to this faceless stranger’s arm and striding off down the street. Would he make her laugh? Would he get to hear her sweet voice sing him to sleep at night?

  His mind was racing, and his heart was aching so badly that he longed for the strength to reach inside his chest and tear it out. Would he regret this moment for the rest of his life?

  The bedroom door opened. Luther looked up. Victoria was standing there, framed in the doorway. The expression on her face displayed nothing but shock. Her lips were still slightly swollen from his kisses.

  “Well,” he murmured, an awkward grin crooking the corner of his mouth. “That was interesting.”

  ∞∞∞

  To his indignation, Victoria’s gentleman caller visited the house again the very next day. Luther was forced to lurk upstairs, not moving a muscle, lest the blasted floorboards creak beneath him, while he listened to her tinkling laughter echo up the stairs.

  It was a nightmarish experience. He sat there on the bed, grinding his teeth until the man left, and that night, when he sloped downstairs for dinner, there was a giant vase of fresh flowers sitting in the center of the table.

  He hadn’t had the courage to ask Victoria if she intended to marry the man. He hadn’t even asked his name. An uncomfortable tension had sprung up between them. It was at complete odds with the peaceful companionship they had shared before her suitor’s arrival. One thing was for certain, this man’s coming had yanked the budding romance between them to a screeching halt.

  Luther supposed that he should be thankful. He wanted to be thankful, but he couldn’t quite summon up the resilience. Instead, a bitter resentment was spreading through him. What he wouldn’t give to be this man that could court Victoria in the open, under the jealous eyes of every other man in town. He would take her out into the sunlit world and show her that there wasn’t always something out there to fear.

  It took Luther only a matter of days to realize that he was healing rapidly. His arm was still done up in bandages and a sling, but he could move without the dizziness over-powering him now. He told himself that he wasn’t capable of riding yet, that he couldn’t hold the reigns or shoot, but after the fourth day, he was running out of excuses.

  Victoria no longer needed him. That was a hard fact. She had a fully qualified lawyer at her disposal to aid her in her case. A sick bitterness swam into his mind at the thought, but the longer he stayed with her, the more danger she was in. She could have a life with this stranger. A good one. Luther? He had nothing to offer her. Nothing, except for the possibility that his cousin might come along and prove to her that there was more to be feared outside her stark walls than natural disasters.

  On the fifth evening after her suitor’s arrival, Luther announced his departure.

  “You’re… leaving?”

  Luther tried to ignore the note of desperation that colored her voice as he responded, “It’s time I was on my way.” He was fiddling with the untucked end of his shirt, avoiding her eyes.

  They were standing in the scrupulously clean kitchen, four steps apart from one another. Victoria’s lithe form was radiating apprehension and strain. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes were sparkling.

  “I thought—” she broke off and shook her head.

  Luther’s gaze slid up to peer into her face. Her hazel eyes were the color of the sun shining through spring leaves, but as he watched, they turned dark, as though a cloud had drifted across the light. She lifted her chin.

  “Very well,” she said stiffly. “There is a livery beside the schoolhouse on Adams Street. They may be able to provide you with a horse, unless you intend to steal one.” She glared at him defiantly, as though daring him to contradict her.

  “I do not intend to steal one,” he growled, and he stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arm, angered by her reaction. “What did you expect would come of this?” he bit out. “Did you think I could stay here with you? Shut up in your house just like you? Afraid of everything beyond those closed doors?” He shook her a little and lowered his voice. “I cannot shut myself away. And neither should you. Go outside, Victoria,” he begged. “Go bathe yourself in
the sunlight. This world is not as bad as you think. Chase down your own justice. Make peace with your husband’s death. Live. Live for me, if not for yourself, and please believe me when I say…” he reached up with his good arm and pressed his palm against the softness of her cheek, scrubbing his thumb over the single tear that was tracking over the skin there. “I am doing this for you.”

  He found his shoes in the hall closet and pulled them on. They looked ridiculously absurd beneath the hem of his too-short trousers. “I won’t return,” he said through the hard lump that had risen in his throat. “Do not wait for me.”

  He did not look at her as he wrenched open the back door. He knew that if he spent one more moment in her intoxicating presence, his resolve would fail. He would pull her into his arms and beg her to run away with him. To leave her manor-house prison and help him to drag his cousin to justice… To purchase a house in the countryside with him… To raise their children away from any bustling town or city… He thought he heard a sob as he stepped out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Luther cursed himself as he moved stealthily down the steps, keeping to the oncoming shadows. He had no wish to tarnish Victoria’s reputation by being caught sneaking out of her house in the dead of night.

  The sound of her sob as he had left had gripped his heart in its teeth. He knew, as he crept out of her yard and onto the dark street outside, that he would never be able to banish the sound from his memory. It would haunt him. Even as he left her, he was fully aware that he was abandoning the only true, intense happiness he had ever felt in his whole, miserable life.

  He nearly turned back.

  Her name was on the tip of his tongue.

  She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She had proved it to him. She had kissed him. It hadn’t been the other way around. She had kissed him. Didn’t that prove that she felt for him at least half as much as he did for her?