would solve both our problems, wouldn’t it?” he drawled mockingly. “You get the husband of your dreams,” he said, smiling at her blush, “and I get a respite from gossip that could ruin Diane’s good name.”
Diane’s good name, she noticed, not his own. He was still putting the woman above his own reputation. And the unkind remark about her infatuation for him hurt. She hated having him know how she felt.
“Marry you?” she replied haughtily. “I’d sooner eat an arsenic casserole with deadly nightshade sauce!”
He only smiled. “The offer stands. But I’ll let you come to me when you’ve discovered that it’s the best solution to your problem.”
“I’ll drive the car and make my living!” she said belligerently. She knew she wasn’t facing reality, and she almost added that she could support herself equally well if not better by becoming a seamstress. However, since he knew nothing of that particular talent, she thought it best to keep it to herself for the time being.
He shrugged. “Drive the car, by all means,” he said, turning to leave, “but, just remember, no self-respecting businessman is going to permit himself to be driven through the streets of Atlanta by a woman.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Claire. When your situation is desperate enough, come and see me.”
“I’ll never do that!” she said to his retreating back.
It was all bravado. She didn’t know how badly she might end up, or what measures she might be forced to take. But how dare he make her such an offer of marriage—so cold and calculating that she got chills down her back just thinking of it! He couldn’t believe she’d accept such a proposal—without even the pretense of warmth or affection! He could believe it because he cared so much for Diane. She didn’t have to hear him say that to know the truth of it. He loved the woman more than anything, so to save her the vicious gossip of society dames, he would sacrifice himself on the altar of marriage to another woman. It was rather noble and heroic, except that Claire would also be making a sacrifice to marry a man who didn’t love her. She knew how he felt about Diane. That wouldn’t change. She would be a fool to link her life to his.
But what if she could make him love her? asked a tiny voice deep inside her mind. What if by living with her, sharing things with her, being around her constantly, he could learn to love her? There might even be a child, she thought with a scarlet blush, and surely he would feel something for the mother of his son?
She put the thought away as quickly as she entertained it. He might be able to make love to her, as men were known to be capable of it with any woman. But he would be thinking of Diane, wanting Diane. How could she bear his kisses and his embraces when she knew he wanted someone else, even if the someone else didn’t want him back?
The answer was, of course, that she couldn’t. She had to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and become independent. There would surely be a way. If her uncle’s beloved motorcar wasn’t the answer she would think of something else. Then let Mr. High-and-Mighty Hawthorn come calling with his infamous proposals!
FOR TWO WEEKS AFTER the funeral Claire only went through the motions of living. Kenny came once and offered to do anything she needed done, including trimming the hedges. She didn’t take him up on his offer, because she didn’t want to raise his hopes. He had a mild crush on her, but she had no love for him, only friendship.
She missed her uncle terribly. Money was already a problem. She’d had to let Gertie and Harry go, a blow to all three of them, and not done without a tearful parting and promises to keep in touch. They easily found work, because locally they were known as hard workers. That, at least, took some of the burden from her conscience. The house was sold; Mr. Calverson had sent word that he had a buyer who wanted to move in within the month.
Claire would receive two hundred dollars as her part of the sale, but that would quickly be gone, because the funeral expenses had to be paid out of it.
She had tried to find clientele for her motorcar enterprise, but as John Hawthorn had predicted, businessmen didn’t flock to her door to become clients. In fact, she was brushed off unceremoniously. She did back the motorcar out of the drive and run it around the block, dressed in the long white driving coat and goggles and cap her uncle had always worn. Young boys threw rocks at her, and she frightened a horse into jumping a hedge. Afterward she parked the motorcar in the garage and locked it away.
She had briefly considered work as a seamstress in a local fabric and notions shop, but the woman Gertie had suggested as a potential employer had just taken on a new seamstress and had no need of help. The only alternative was to sell her designs door-to-door or find a shop owner who would let her do alterations. Kenny came to mind, but she had no wish to sew men’s fashions, much less do alterations on them.
Sewing at home was a good possibility, except that the house would soon be gone. The chickens were hers, and the eggs they laid, but where would she take them to live in order to keep getting her egg money from her regular customers?
John had predicted that she’d have to come to him for help, and she was almost to that point. Only pride held her back. Pride was very expensive, though, and she was running out of money fast.
SHE’D ONLY JUST PUT UP HER CLOAK and hat when there was a knock on the front door. She went to open it and found John on the doorstep.
Her heart skipped, but anger overrode attraction. “Women run brothels and boardinghouses!” she raged, shaking her finger at him. “If they can run one sort of business, certainly they can run others!”
“Are you planning to open a brothel?” he asked, with faint amusement. “I shouldn’t advise it—not in Colbyville.” He leaned down. “However, if you do, I promise to be your first customer,” he whispered.
She flushed to her neckline. “You know very well that I had no idea of doing any such thing! I was merely making a point,” she added, while the thought of being in John’s arms in bed made her knees weak. He was only joking, of course. “What do you want?”
He smiled gently. “I wanted to see how you were,” he replied. He searched her eyes. “I’ve been keeping up with you through your neighbors. You seem less than prosperous at the moment.”
She folded her hands over her waist. “I can find a job when I’m ready.”
“The house has to be vacated by the end of the month. Surely you were informed of this?”
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.
He’d expected her to fold up after her uncle’s death. In fact, he’d had every reason to believe that she’d approach him for help. She hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t approached anyone with her hand out. The extent of her pride surprised him, when very few things did anymore. Past experience had made him far too cynical about human nature. He remembered the very moment in Cuba when all his illusions vanished forever. The sight of human beings rounded up like cattle in the Spanish general’s concentration camps had sickened every man in his company. A large number of those prisoners had died before American troops invaded the island.
But even worse than the sight of those wretched men was the horror of the USS Maine going down in Havana Harbor only two months before his unit was shipped to Cuba. His two younger brothers had been on board that ship. It was he who had influenced them to join, he with his officer’s commission and his medals. Now Rob and Andrew were dead. At the boys’ funeral, his father had cursed him until literally running out of breath.
