“I shall, dear James.” She swept to her feet, patted the curls around her still-handsome face, and offered her hand to her son, who wanted to throttle her. Jessie looked pushed to the limit and madder than a wild dog. Glenda was humming softly to herself, pleating the material of her gown with soft, white fingers.
James said, “Jessie, would you like me to escort you home?”
Glenda immediately rose, the handkerchief Mrs. Wyndham had given her falling out of her bosom. “That won’t be necessary, James. Jessie and I must be on our way. Good day to you, Alice.”
As they were all leaving the Belmonde house, Nelda’s carriage drew up. The sisters only nodded to one another.
9
JESSIE PRAYED HARD that it wouldn’t rain, but she didn’t think God was listening. It was Baltimore, after all, and most folks believed that God, in His more whimsical moments, allowed the heavens to open up on them ten minutes after the sun had been blazing in the sky.
It was chilly, the air heavy, the night blacker than a sinner’s secrets. Jessie huddled in her man’s coat and leaned through the rosebushes so she could see into the large Blanchard ballroom. She saw James almost immediately. He was taller than most men. When he laughed, he threw back his head, showing his tanned throat. She wondered what made him laugh. She certainly had never done so, at least not like that—laughter so free and irresistible.
She’d been invited to this ball, but she’d declined, as she always did, but this time only after her mother had looked at her, up and down and up and down, and once again, up and down, and given her that thin-lipped smile of hers that had nothing to do with humor. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t want her to have a frivolous evening. It was just that she knew Jessie would make a fool of herself, a fool of her family, and most importantly, a fool of her mother, were Jessie to appear dressed like Glenda, trying to be a lady.
No, it wouldn’t work. Her mother was right. But still. Jessie sighed and pressed closer to the window. She knew tonight was the night. She’d overheard Glenda planning this evening with their mother.
She knew she couldn’t let them betray James. He deserved a lot of things, but he didn’t deserve to have Glenda at his side for the remainder of his sentient days on this earth. If he’d wanted Glenda, that would have been another matter, but he’d said clearly that he wouldn’t ever marry her. No, she wouldn’t allow her mother and Glenda to serve him such a turn.
Ah, there Glenda was, on a course set straight for James. How odd of her; she was staring at his waist, not his face.
Jessie saw James turn finally and give Glenda a smile and a nod before turning back to speak to Daniel Raymond, the lawyer who was helping poor Alice Belmonde pull her life together.
But Glenda wasn’t to be put off. Jessie recognized all the signs. Her chin was up, her bosom thrust forward, and there she was again, staring directly at James’s waist. She stretched out a soft, white hand and laid it on James’s black sleeve. He frowned, turning to look at her.
In but a moment, he’d said something to Daniel Raymond and escorted Glenda to the dance floor. It was a waltz. This was it.
Jessie backed out of the rosebushes and quickly ran to the lovely old elm tree that stood in the middle of the Blanchard garden. She shinnied up it, then grabbed a long, thick branch and pulled herself astride it. She couldn’t have her legs dangling down; they might see her. She stretched out on her belly along the length of the branch.
She waited.
And waited some more.
The waltz should have ended an eon ago. Glenda had had enough time to feel faint at least a dozen times. But Jessie was afraid to move. What if they were already in the garden but not close enough for her to hear them? What if they came beneath the tree and looked up? She’d be caught. She would have failed.
Her left foot went to sleep. She raised her left leg and shook it. It didn’t help much. She felt herself slipping and hugged the branch. It scraped her cheek.
She heard voices, grasped the branch tightly, and tensed. Oh goodness, they were nearly right beneath the tree. But Glenda wasn’t there. It was two men, and one of them was James.
They were arguing.
“Listen, Wyndham, I’m going to buy her out and you have no say in it.” Jessie recognized Mortimer Hackey’s deep, rough voice. She knew him as a man of vicious temper who’d managed to come by money in a mysterious way. He had a jockey who always used his riding crop on any other jockeys who came near him at the races.
“Why I came out here with you I don’t know,” James said. “I have nothing more to say to you, Hackey. She’s going to learn to run the stud farm herself, so forget it.”
“You son of a bitch, you won’t interfere! Why, I might even marry the little piece, who knows? Allen told me she was worthless in bed, but I don’t care. I’ll have the stud farm.”
“I’ll say this just one more time, Hackey. Leave Alice alone. If I hear about your bothering her again, I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.”
“Threaten me, will you, you prissy little boy with all your damned English airs!”
The rage in his voice scared the devil out of Jessie. She’d heard him speak like that once to one of his jockeys who’d just lost a race right before he’d sliced open his face with a whip. She managed to pull the pistol from the pocket of her man’s coat. She shinnied backward on the branch, then swung astride it so she could more clearly see the men below her. What she saw scared her nearly witless.
Mortimer Hackey had drawn a gun on James and was waving it at him. “No one knows you came out here, Wyndham. I looked. I made sure no one was paying any attention. I know all about you and Alice Belmonde. I heard you bedded her while poor old Allen was sleeping with every whore in Baltimore. But you’ll give her up. You’ll not interfere. I won’t beat you, Wyndham, I’ll blow your puny brains out.”
“Slept with Alice? You stupid bastard!”
Hackey jerked his pistol up, aiming it at James’s heart. In that instant, James leaped on him, his hands grabbing Hackey’s arm and wrenching it upright. There was a sharp report. A cascade of leaves fell down to the ground. The two men were grappling, struggling wildly, punching to little effect, each trying to gain the upper hand. Jessie watched James, the larger and younger of the two men, slam his fist into Hackey’s belly. Hackey howled and jerked backward, freeing himself for an instant. He raised the pistol, panting now, hard, as he said, “You miserable whelp, you—”