A Season Beyond a Kiss

  Raelynn realized of a sudden that she had great difficulty rationalizing a man of Jeff’s integrity being capable of such a despicable murder. That dark side just didn’t seem to exist in the man. And she was an utter fool for ever doubting him!

  17

  IN THE ENSUING DAYS RAELYNN BECAME MORE AND more involved in discussions initiated by Farrell and Elizabeth as to what fabrics, trimmings, cordings, and other embellishments would go well with her designs. To some degree, the loneliness that assailed her throughout the long hours of night was assuaged during the day by her work. No one knew, of course, how desperately she yearned to see Jeff, yet she was beginning to think he didn’t care to see her. If he had, then surely by now he would have done so. Indeed, the way things were beginning to look, it wouldn’t be long before their marriage was over.

  It was on a Friday afternoon when Raelynn glanced up from her work and espied Gustav Fridrich entering the shop with his usual disdaining arrogance. This he liberally bestowed upon the doorman who had stepped in behind him in an effort to question him. After all, Fridrich was well known and unattached, which seemed primarily the cause for the cordial inquiry as to whether he had come to the right establishment. It was too late for Raelynn to hide, and with seemingly steadfast dedication, she bent her attention to her sketches.

  Elizabeth drew Farrell’s notice to the German’s entrance, motivating the couturier to excuse himself forthwith from his customer, Isabeau Wesley. As he approached the doorway, he waved a hand to dismiss the doorman, but by that time, Fridrich had espied Raelynn in the adjoining hall and was already sweeping off his hat as he moved in her direction.

  “Your pardon, Mr. Fridrich.” Farrell’s icy tone could have frozen both the Ashley and Cooper Rivers in the middle of summer. “Since this is a shop catering entirely to the fair ladies of our city, I must ask why you’ve come. I certainly hope it isn’t to make trouble for Mrs. Birmingham again. I’d hate to upset my customers by a show of violence.” He smiled stiffly before he added, “But if I must, I must.”

  Offended by the man’s intimidation, Gustav peered up at the taller man, a feat that required a definite tilting of his bald head. His eyes were icy hard, his lips tightly compressed, and his nose pinched as if he smelled something putrid. “I do not zee vhy my visit should concern yu, but I vish to speak vith Frau Birmingham. Zhat is vhy I haf come. Now, please step out of my vay.”

  The German’s haughtiness sorely nettled Farrell. He had definite limits as to the people he would indulge, and Gustav Fridrich was not one of them. “I’m afraid Mrs. Birmingham is presently working on some designs for a special customer of mine, and I’m reluctant to see her interrupted until they’re finished.”

  “Vhat I haf to say to Frau Birmingham vill only take a moment if yu vill permit me to pass,” Gustav stated crisply. Then, because he was himself well-versed in coercion, he warned the couturier, “I haf not come to offend either Frau Birmingham or yu, sir, but I vill make a scene if yu do not let me talk vith her.”

  Farrell’s hackles rose. Quite willing to make a commotion himself, he almost caught the stout fellow up by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants, but he was brought up short by the realization that aggression of that sort would likely drive the man to seek Raelynn out after the shop was closed, and although Jeff had men watching Elizabeth’s house, Farrell still worried about the time it would take for help to reach the women.

  Thoughtfully he glanced down toward the area in which he had ensconced his newest assistant. The burly janitor had moved within close proximity to Raelynn, and though the man had dusted the bookshelves and furnishings in the area earlier that morning, he was presently doing so again. In view of the fact that she had such a capable protector near at hand, Farrell could hardly see her coming to any harm by a one-armed man.

  “I’ll give you a moment to speak your piece with Mrs. Birmingham,” he informed the man brusquely. “And then, Mr. Fridrich, I must insist that you make your departure as swiftly as possible.” Inclining his head in a curt nod, Farrell stepped out of the man’s path.

  Raelynn had decided that if she had to face Gustav, she would feel much safer doing so behind her desk. When the man halted before the massive piece, she lifted her eyes with deliberate slowness to meet his gaze. Then, without a flicker of an eye or a twitch of a lip, she returned her attention to the sketch she had been working on. “Did you come here with some specific purpose in mind, Mr. Fridrich?”

  “Merely to see how yu are faring, Frau Birmingham.”

  “Why?”

  The blunt question seemed to perplex the German, and he struggled to find an appropriate reply. “I only vished to express my zympathy for vhat happened to zhat young girl on yur husband’s plantation. It iz a terrible tragedy zhat one so young vas killed zhere in such a merciless vay. I vorried zhat yu might come to zome harm, too, until I heard zhat yu had moved into Charleston. I can only commend yur decision to leave yur husband.”

  “My husband believes you had something to do with Nell’s death.” Raelynn peered up at the man to view his reaction as she asked outrightly, “Were you somehow responsible for her murder, Mr. Fridrich?”

  The blue eyes flared, and for a moment Gustav blustered in hot indignation, “Yur husband iz only trying to cover his own foul deeds by casting zhe blame on me, but I am innocent.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Raelynn met his gaze directly. “Frankly, Mr. Fridrich, I believe you’re far more capable of murdering a young girl than my husband is. You see, I haven’t forgotten that you gave Olney tacit consent to shoot me after Dr. Clarence became incensed by the news that my husband was dead and refused to tend your shoulder.”

  “Oh, but zhat vas merely a ploy to force zhe good dokter to reconsider. I vould not haf actually let Olney kill yu, mein Liebchen.”

  Tossing her head up with a derisive scoff, Raelynn derided, “If you really think you can make me believe that rubbish, Mr. Fridrich, then you’re fooling no one but yourself. I have no doubt that you meant it.”

  Gustav clasped his hat to his breast in plaintive appeal. “I say to yu truly, Frau Birmingham, it vas merely a ploy to bring about zhe dokter’s change of heart. How can I prove to yu zhat such vas zhe case?”

  Laying down her quill, Raelynn lifted her slender shoulders in a casual shrug. “You could start by forgetting that I exist.”

  “Ho-ho-ho,” Gustav tried his best to make light of her answer. “Yu are not so easily forgotzen, mein Liebchen. It vould be impossible for me to do so.”

  “Then there’s no real reason to continue this discussion. I must get back to work,” she stated bluntly, taking up her quill again. She leaned forward over her work and tried desperately to concentrate on the drawing she had been in the process of completing. “Mr. Ives is paying me to work, not to chat with people.”

  “Zhen may I haf yur permission to visit yu at yur new residence, Frau Birmingham?”

  She never looked up. “I don’t think that would be very wise, Mr. Fridrich.”

  “But vhy not?” He chortled and sought to convince her of the rightness of his request. “Yu are lonely, Frau Birmingham, and so am I. Iz it not right zhat zhe two of us should console each other in our solitary plight?”

  Raelynn condescended once more to look up at the man. Bracing her elbows on the desk, she rested her chin on the slender fingers she had entwined to form a bridge. “Mr. Fridrich, may I remind you that I am a married woman. It would be highly inappropriate for me to accept a visit from any man as long as I’m wearing this ring.” She fluttered the thin digits of her left hand, drawing his notice to the massive diamond that glittered there. Until Jeffrey asked for its return, she would continue wearing it in the hope that in the not too distant future all would be well between them. “Now, Mr. Fridrich, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my work, so I’ll bid you adieu.”

  Thus dismissed, Gustav marched irately away from her desk and was just approaching the entrance when the doorman swept open the do
or again, this time to admit Jeff. That worthy strode briskly into the shop without interruption.

  It was a rare occasion for Jeffrey to be out and about in less than natty attire, especially when he came to Charleston, but at the moment he had all the appearances of having been interrupted from work, for he wore no coat or hat, his waistcoat hung open, and the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up midway his forearms. What was more, ink splotched the second finger of his right hand. Nevertheless, Raelynn was struck by his sun-burnished good looks, much as she had been at their first meeting. She didn’t quite understand the almost imperceptible nod he gave the doorman, but that broad-shouldered fellow reciprocated in kind and gently pulled the door closed behind the newest visitor.

  Raelynn realized her heart was gathering speed with a rushing excitement and her cheeks were growing warmer by the moment. She fully expected Jeff to come to her desk, but he seemed much more intent upon claiming Gustav’s attention. Settling his arms akimbo before the man, he lifted a dark brow in an unspoken question.

  The German sneered in rampant distaste. “It vas a pleasure seeing yur wife again, Herr Birmingham, but I cannot say zhe zame for yu.”

  “The feeling is mutual, Herr Fridrich,” Jeff managed to assure the man through a marked rigidity of his lips. It was the best substitute for a smile he could offer the man.

  “Haf yu also come to visit yur vife?”

  Jeff swept the man with a derisive perusal, and when his reply came, it was permeated with sarcasm. “If you were about to leave, Herr Fridrich, I wouldn’t want to delay you even if I were to see a reason for explaining my business to you . . . . Now good day to you.”

  Jeff turned his back crisply upon Gustav and, in so doing, deliberately ignored the presence of his wife in the adjoining hallway. Jeff couldn’t remember ever performing a more difficult task. The urge to go to her was so strong, and it was only by dint of will that he faced Farrell as that one came forward to greet him.

  Raelynn’s hopeful smile faded rapidly as her husband shook hands with the clothier. Bowing her head in a blend of embarrassment and shame, she stared at her sketch through blurring tears. In an effort to screen her face from the other occupants of the shop, she lifted a trembling hand to her brow, but that hardly helped to halt the flow of droplets that began to pelt her drawing.

  Hurriedly rising from her chair, she turned aside and, with bowed head, brushed past the janitor as she hastened toward the back door. Never looking back, she remained incognizant of the green-eyed gaze that turned in her direction and followed steadfastly through the back window until she had gained the privacy of the tall garden hedge behind which the privy was located.

  Only in the privacy of that cubicle did Raelynn dare release the flood of grief that nearly choked her. She sobbed harshly in overwhelming misery, feeling as if her life had plummeted into a dark crevice near the pit of hell. She had no idea what had brought her husband to the shop, but it was all too obvious that his business had nothing to do with her. He hadn’t even felt inclined to offer a civil greeting.

  Farrell had also witnessed Raelynn’s departure, and he faced Jeff in deepening concern. “Don’t you think you were a bit hard on her, Jeffrey? I may be wrong, but I think Raelynn was crying when she left.”

  Jeff released a troubled sigh. Though Raelynn’s tears had caught at his heart and nearly driven him in the garden after her, it had only been by a firm resolve to remember his primary goal that he had managed to steel his emotions against any outward display. Still, watching her scurrying away in absolute misery had been much like having his vitals drawn out. The pain had wrenched him to the very marrow of his being.

  “I must allow Raelynn to understand full measure what it will be like if we go our separate ways,” Jeff replied with stoic control. “Quite simply, I have to let that become a reality for her, as painful as it may be for both of us. I’m afraid that a few days of my absence or reticence won’t be as effectual in bringing that realization into fruition as a good fortnight or two would be. If not for Fridrich’s visit, I would never have come here today.”

  “You certainly got here much sooner than I expected,” Farrell admitted, having felt immeasurable relief when he had espied his friend. “How in the devil did you find out about that toad’s visit so soon?”

  Jeff allowed the couturier a spartan smile. “I have a whole league of men working for me, all the way from your shop to my shipping company. When the doorman signaled the vendor, the vendor whistled to the carpenter working several doors down, and so on and so forth until the livery that I’ve hired for the month came to fetch me.”

  “You sure are going out of your way to make Raelynn think you’re taking this whole damned business rather casually, Jeffrey, when nothing could be further from the truth. You may cause her to think there’s no hope for the two of you. Without some assurance, she may decide to sail back to England.”

  “Though as fearful as I am of that possibility, it’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

  “I swear you’re the orneriest man I’ve ever come across, Jeffrey,” Farrell retorted, and then stretched his own eyebrows upward briefly as he reconsidered. “Besides myself, of course.”

  “You can tell Raelynn I missed seeing her.”

  “You’re going to leave, just like that, without talking to her?” Farrell asked incredulously.

  “Yep.”

  Barely had Jeff issued that concise answer and made his departure than the doorman swept open the portal for another male, this one an English lord. Farrell immediately recognized his lordship as the one who had attended the ball at Oakley with Mrs. Brewster, but he had cause to mentally sigh, for he was beginning to wonder if he would ever get back to his customer.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” he greeted graciously in spite of his growing vexation. “May I be of some assistance?”

  Lord Marsden inclined his head in a succinct nod. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping you’d consent to offering me some help.”

  Farrell was somewhat bemused. “If I’m able, my lord. How may I be of service to you?”

  “If you’d be so kind as to share with me the name of your tailor, I’d be most appreciative, sir. I was no less than impressed by the fine clothing you wore at the Birminghams’ ball.” His lordship bounced on his toes as he stretched his chin upward in a museful vane. “Made me realize just how desperately in want my own clothes are. Indeed, sir, I wouldn’t be at all reluctant to the idea of looking like a changed man once I return to England . . . in regards to my clothes, that is. Would you be of such a mind to help me, sir?”

  “Certainly,” Farrell replied and chuckled softly. Clothes might make a world of difference for the inner man, but they’d fall well short of enlivening the fellow’s bland face.

  Half turning, Farrell lifted a hand to claim Elizabeth’s attention and made his request. “Could you please write out the name and address of my tailor for his lordship, my dear?”

  The nobleman smiled in appreciation. “This is most gracious of you, sir. I shall never forget it.”

  “My pleasure to be of service, my lord.”

  Lord Marsden glanced inquisitively about the shop. “You seem to have a thriving business here, Mr. Ives. The ladies certainly seem eager to see your latest creations. I overheard several talking at another table while I was having my lunch today. They were quite profuse with their compliments.”

  Farrell was having difficulty hiding his growing impatience. Helping his lordship was not as important to him as assuring a customer that he had not forgotten her. He could only wonder how long it would be before Isabeau Wesley would stalk out in an angry huff, never to be seen again.

  Lord Marsden cleared his throat as he begged for another favor. “May I also ask, sir, if the same tailor makes your shirts? I noticed how well-made they are when you shed your coat and waistcoat before entering into an arm-wrestling match with the sheriff at the Birminghams’ ball. Of course, your prowess at such a game impressed me as well.??
?

  “Thank you, my lord. You’re very kind, but I must disappoint you in that respect. You see, Mrs. Dalton makes my shirts, and I’m afraid I keep her far too busy here in the shop to allow her time to make them for other men.”

  “Mrs. Dalton, you say,” Lord Marsden’s brows gathered thoughtfully. “Did I hear it rumored about town that Mrs. Birmingham was letting a room from a Mrs. Dalton?”

  “Mrs. Dalton is my assistant here,” Farrell replied without appeasing the man’s curiosity and laid an arm about Elizabeth’s shoulders as she came with the tailor’s address. “She is also my fiancée.”

  Since no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming, Lord Marsden took the note from the brunette. “I shan’t keep you any longer, Mr. Ives. I know you’re busy.”

  “I do have a customer waiting,” Farrell acknowledged, casting a worried glance over his shoulder at Mrs. Wesley. Elizabeth had been keeping the young widow’s interest piqued by showing her the newest collection of sketches. Even so, he felt a pressing need to get back to her.

  Lord Marsden lifted his head again to a lofty level and, as seemed his habit, bounced on his toes as he glanced around. “I say, I heard from several sources who know such things that Mrs. Birmingham is working for you in some endeavor. Under the circumstances, she might think me rude if I didn’t pay my respects.”