The One Month Marriage. Judith Stacy
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months ago, Jana reminded herself.
“Good evening, Mrs. Boone,” she said.
The woman gave her a curt nod. “Evening, Mrs. Sayer.”
“I wanted to speak with you about the menus,” Jana began and held up the book. “I have some new recipes here that I’d like you to incorporate into the meal.”
“As it should be obvious to almost anyone,” Mrs. Boone said, and jerked her thumb toward the stove, “supper is fully underway, requiring my whole attention. I don’t have time to be discussing things at the moment.”
From the corner of her eye, Jana saw the two assistants glance at her, then turn away quickly.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Jana told her, placing the book on the sideboard beside the stove. “These are the recipes. Include them in this week’s meals.”
Mrs. Boone shook her head. “Mr. Sayer likes his meals just so…in case you don’t know. He doesn’t cater to fancy food or newfangled dishes. Did he tell you to make these changes?”
Jana pressed her lips together. “No,” she admitted.
Mrs. Boone picked up the recipe book, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Jana. “When Mr. Sayer says it’s all right to change something, then I’ll change it.”
The cook turned back to the stove, ending their conversation.
Jana’s cheeks warmed, and not from the heat of the cookstove. She turned sharply and left the kitchen.
Fourteen months had passed…and nothing had changed.
As Jana passed Brandon’s study, she spotted him at his desk, flipping through papers. He had, apparently, already dispatched Oliver Fisk. And that didn’t suit Jana.
She walked into the study, Brandon’s earlier dismissal and the cook’s blatant disregard for her instructions still stinging.
“Why are you shutting down the Messenger?” she asked.
Brandon looked up. “You needn’t concern yourself with business matters.”
She stood in front of his desk. “I want to know.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m certain I can follow.”
He studied her for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I purchased the newspaper two years ago. It was a strong rival for the Times. A few months later, the editor died. The paper floundered. A succession of editors couldn’t revive it. Oliver Fisk is the latest to try.”
“But you won’t give him the time he needs?” Jana asked, hearing the edge on her voice.
Brandon heard it too, obviously, because he sat forward again and began rummaging through the desk. “I gave him six months to show an improvement. That hasn’t happened.”
“Then give him more time.”
“I did.” Brandon opened a lower drawer. “I gave him two additional months—three times.”
“But if even more time is needed—”
“No more time.” Brandon closed the drawer with a thud and looked up at Jana. “The Messenger is losing money every minute of every day. I won’t tolerate that sort of loss any longer. Fisk has another six weeks to turn the paper around, or it will be closed. Permanently.”
“But what about all the employees?” Jana asked. “You can’t put those people out of work.”
“Most of them will find jobs at the Times. The others might find work at one of my other businesses,” Brandon said.
“And you won’t even consider giving Mr. Fisk another extension?”
“It won’t matter,” Brandon said. “If that newspaper could have been saved, it would have happened already. It’s a lost cause. Besides, I already have another project in the works for the Jennings Building. It’s coming along nicely. Once the newspaper is closed and moves out, I can go forward with it.”
“But that’s hardly a reason—”
“It’s the only reason I need.” Brandon came to his feet, the tone of his words and the look on his face ending their conversation. “And in the future, when someone such as Oliver Fisk shows up here, you are not to offer them any hospitality whatsoever.”
Jana’s simmering anger flared. “Are you telling me I cannot be civil to whomever comes to the house?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Brandon softened his voice. “It’s all right…this time. You didn’t know.”
Jana just looked at him, too stunned to speak.
Brandon came around the desk. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about. Last night you said I had no idea about why you left. I thought about that today.”
“You did?” Now she was truly stunned.
“Yes. I thought about it and I want you to know that I’m fully aware of why you left.”
A different sort of unease came over Jana. “You are?”
Brandon straightened his shoulders. “It was my fault, really. I didn’t give you enough guidance. You were young and somewhat pampered, and I should have provided more direction, made you more aware of your duties and responsibilities.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, it was really my fault. It was my duty as your husband to provide those things. I was remiss in not doing so.”
Her expression soured. “How generous of you to admit it.”
“Yes. Well, I want to assure you the situation will be corrected. So,” he said, drawing in a breath, “with your—and my—new commitment to our marital responsibilties, I’m sure everything will be fine. This time.”
A thousand retorts jetted through Jana’s mind, itching to be spoken, hurled at him like spiked daggers.
But she held her tongue. A sense of calm came over Jana.
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” she said softly, never meaning anything more in her life.
Brandon smiled, apparently pleased with himself. “Good. I’m glad that settled things.”
“Oh, that settled things, all right.”
Jana left the study, determination and strength lengthening her strides as she bounded up the stairs and into her room.
Yes, Brandon’s assessment settled things, all right. But not the way he thought.
Jana drew in a deep, cleansing breath, knowing without a doubt what would happen next.
She’d leave.
Nothing had changed in the past fourteen months—including Brandon. Everything that had driven her from the house was still firmly in place.
The servants who ignored her instructions.
That awful decorator Mr. McDowell who bullied her.
Not being allowed to have guests in her own home.
The loneliness.
The loneliness had been the hardest. She’d left all her friends behind in San Francisco when Brandon had brought her here. Aunt Maureen, hundreds of miles away. Everything that was familiar, friendly, comforting.
And Brandon, always gone. Up early, not wanting her presence at the breakfast table. Out late, business keeping him occupied well into the evenings.
Crying alone in her bed at night.
He had seemed almost a stranger during those first three months, always busy,