“You little slut, what do you know about anything?”
The viciousness of her attack left Byrony breathless, but just for a moment. Cleansing anger shot through her. “Slut, Irene? I wasn’t the one who got pregnant. I wasn’t the one who was stupid enough to have relations with a married man.”
She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She said quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Surely we can live in the same house without so much discord.”
Irene said not another word. Byrony left the nursery and went to her room. I am twenty years old, she thought, and I was right about something—I don’t have anything, except a mockery of a marriage and the reputation of having become pregnant before I married. I live a lie and I hate it. She felt further alienated that evening when she followed the sound of Ira’s voice and found him and Irene in the nursery playing with Michelle. She crept away before they’d noticed her presence.
The house was quiet now, the quarter-moon outside her window nearly obscured by dark clouds. She tried to imagine her life in this house in five years, but couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine her life continuing in this vein for another month. She was a well-treated boarder, nothing more. Eileen was kind to her, she supposed, in her matter-of-fact way, but it was to Irene she went for her orders. As did Naomi.
She walked to her bedroom window and leaned her face against the glass. Her thoughts went to Brent Hammond. He wouldn’t stay out of her mind and she’d given up trying to keep him out. She hadn’t seen him for two weeks, not since that lunch with Del and Chauncey Saxton. Surprisingly, he’d stopped baiting her after his initial remarks. In fact, the lunch had been enjoyable. She hadn’t wanted it to end even though she knew he was being pleasant only because he had to be in front of Delaney and Chauncey. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to agree with Chauncey that she wanted to see Brent’s saloon.
They’d only peeked inside, of course. Ladies didn’t venture into such male lairs. She found that she was just as interested in the other half of the large building. The brothel. Did she expect to hear seductive laughter? See scantily clad women?
Because he’d been so nice and proper during lunch, very much the gentleman in fact, Byrony was held speechless when Brent whispered in her ear, “Shall I ask Maggie if she’d allow a very proper little lady to use one of the very nice bedrooms upstairs? I could meet you there, of course. Should you like that? The mystery of it? Just imagine, my dear, what I should do to you.”
“I will not listen to you, Mr. Hammond.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, keeping his voice so soft she could barely hear him. “I would much enjoy having you. You can’t begin to imagine the things I’d do to you.”
“Stop it,” she said, wanting to strike him, but knowing she couldn’t, not with Del and Chauncey standing so close.
“Stop? Why, I haven’t even begun. I’ll bet you taste very sweet, Byrony, between your lovely legs. Do you have lovely legs? It’s so difficult to tell with all the damned clothes you women wear. Perhaps I could write to some of your former lovers—talking to Ira wouldn’t be too very prudent—and ask them what you like. Or were they fumbling young boys?”
Byrony whirled about and said in a high, thin voice, “Chauncey, I must get home. Michelle—she must be hungry.”
“Ah, I’d forgotten about your breasts,” he said. “Perhaps soon you’ll share your warm milk. I would like to taste you, you know.”
Even after two weeks, she remembered every one of his hateful words. Irene had called her a slut, and obviously Brent believed her to be one. Suddenly she started laughing, softly, then more loudly. It was all too ridiculous. She should tell Brent Hammond that he was the only man who had ever kissed her. What would he say to that? She laughed so hard she hugged her aching sides. She wasn’t certain when the laughter turned to sobs.
“Well, since my two very best friends are here, I will tell you my news.”
Byrony and Agatha looked at Chauncey. She looked ready to pop, she was so excited.
“Don’t keep us in suspense!” Agatha said.
“Very well, I’m going to have a baby.”
Agatha hugged Chauncey and patted her back. “I am so happy for you, my dear, so happy indeed.”
“Yes,” Byrony said. “Is Del pleased?”
“Oh yes,” Chauncey said. “He acted like a wild Indian, shouting and whooping about last night. Mary and Lin and Lucas came rushing in wondering what was going on. At that point, Del was waltzing me around the room. Among the five of us, we drank two bottles of champagne.”
“What wonderful news, my dear. Have you seen Saint?”
“He visited me yesterday and confirmed what I’d hoped. You should have seen Mary hanging over him, telling him what she thought and giving him instructions. He just laughed at her and told her to get herself married to Lucas so he’d have another baby to deliver in the future.”
“He said everything was just fine?” Byrony asked.
“Saint assured me I was as healthy as any horse he’d ever seen. With this twinkle in his eyes, he told me to continue everything I was doing until he told me to stop.”
“I’ll wager Del was happy to hear that,” Agatha said.
Chauncey flushed a bit, then laughed. “What my dear husband said, Agatha—his exact words were, ‘Ah, at last there will be fruits to my labors.’”
“Has he been working too hard, Chauncey?” Byrony asked.
Both women stared at her, then broke into gales of laughter.