Magnolia. Diana Palmer
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with a twinge of her old impish nature.
He chuckled softly. “That tongue cuts like a knife, doesn’t it?” He took a slow breath and tapped her gently on the cheek. “You’ll survive, Claire. You were never a shrinking violet. But if you need help, I hope you’ll come to me. Will was my friend. So are you. I don’t like to think of you being alone and friendless, especially when the house is sold.”
She looked vaguely panicked, and John understood why at once.
“I won’t own anything, really, will I?” she asked suddenly. “Uncle Will mentioned that he’d just taken out another loan…”
“So he did. The bank will have to foreclose on the house and sell it. You’ll get anything over the amount necessary to pay off your uncle’s debts, but frankly I doubt there’ll be much left. The motorcar will have to go, too.”
“I won’t sell it,” she said through her teeth.
“And I say you will.”
“You have no right to tell me anything. You’re neither my banker nor my friend!”
He only smiled. “I’m your friend, Claire—whether you like to admit it or not. Mr. Calverson won’t act in your interest.”
“And you will? Against your employer?”
“Of course, if it becomes necessary,” he said surprisingly.
She dropped her gaze to his expensive tie. He sounded very protective. He’d always been protective of her. She’d never quite understood why. “I won’t sell the motorcar, all the same.”
“What will you do with it?”
“Drive it, of course,” she said. Her eyes lit up. She lifted them to his. “John, I shan’t have to sell it! I can hire it out to businessmen, with myself as the driver! I will start a business!”
He looked as if she’d hit him in the head. “You’re a woman,” he pointed out.
“Yes.”
He took an exasperated breath. “You can hardly expect me to condone such a harebrained scheme.”
She drew herself up to her full height. It didn’t do any good. He still towered over her. “I’ll do as I please,” she informed him. “I have to make a living for myself. I have no means of support.”
He studied her curiously. Several things were becoming clear to him, foremost among them that he was about to land himself in one hell of a scandal because of Diane. Her husband was very suspicious—and if what Claire had told him was accurate, he was being gossiped about. He couldn’t afford to let one blemish attach itself to Diane’s good name.
His eyes narrowed. Claire wasn’t at all bad to look at. She was spunky, and she had a devilish sense of humor. She had a kind heart, and even passable manners, and most of the time she delighted him. He had a soft spot for her that he’d never had for any other woman. Besides all that, she worshiped him. “You could marry me,” he suggested wickedly. “Then you’d have a husband to look after your interests as well as a roof over your head.”
She felt the ground go out from under her feet. It was the oddest sensation, as if she weren’t touching the floor at all. “Why should you want to marry me?”
“It 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