The Marriage Mishap. Judith Stacy

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      Her words died when Bernard turned away, as if embarrassed for her, and Adam drew in a deep, steadying breath.

      “We don’t celebrate Kip’s birthday,” he said quietly.

      Haley clasped her hands together. “Why not?”

      He eyed her sharply. “Because our mother died when he was born.” Adam pulled the pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Two minutes behind schedule,” he mumbled, and looked at Haley. “See that the parlor clock is repaired today. If you need anything, consult with Bernard. He is always apprised of my schedule.”

      And with that, Adam left her standing in the foyer.

      “Would madam care for breakfast?”

      Bernard had a way of looking at her without seeming to actually see her. “Whatever Mr. Harrington had.”

      “Including the spirits, madam? Mr. Harrington has a Bloody Mary with his breakfast.”

      She frowned. “No.”

      Bernard bowed slightly and silently left the foyer.

      Haley exhaled heavily in the still, silent house. Sitting in Adam’s monstrous bathtub this morning, she’d mulled her situation over and, try as she might, Haley could think of no good reason to leave, and several good reasons to stay. For one, it would put the Farnsworth incident behind her, and for another, this marriage would appease her mother, and might even bring her back into favor.

      Haley walked into the dining room. But, more than anything, marriage to Adam was just the excuse she needed to stay in Sacramento, which was what she’d wanted all along.

      Seated alone at the dining room table, listening to the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house, Haley thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Adam had kept his word.

      She certainly hadn’t interfered a bit in his life, just as he’d promised.

      

      Leather creaked beneath him as he eased into the chair across from his father’s massive desk, and smoke from his cigar coiled in front of him. Adam blew out a gray, hazy cloud. “Trouble this weekend?”

      Martin Harrington reared back, puffing. “Damn vandals. I’d like to get my hands around their necks.”

      “What happened?”

      Martin sat forward and dragged his hands through his silvery hair. “Spilled paint, nail kegs overturned. Nuisance stuff again.”

      Adam shrugged. “Probably just kids.”

      “It better not be the trade unions. If I find out it is, they’ll sure as hell be sorry.” Martin clamped the cigar between his teeth. “How are the McKettrick plans coming?”

      Adam blew out a heavy breath. “Fine.”

      “I want to get there first. I don’t want McKettrick looking at anybody else’s ideas. I want this bid to—”

      “I know. I know.” Adam sat straighter in the chair. “You know I don’t want to do this project.”

      “It’s money in the bank. Big money. I want it.”

      They’d discussed it a half-dozen times already; it wasn’t the first time Adam and his father had disagreed. “We’ll get it, Martin.”

      He hadn’t called his father by anything but his first name for years, since he came to work at the firm. It suited them both.

      “We’d better.” Martin rose and walked to the window, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. Folding his hands at his back, he stared down at the street below; the view from his private office on the second floor of the Harrington Building allowed him to look down at much of the city, the docks and the Sacramento River. A long moment dragged by. Finally he said, “Well, who is she?”

      Adam tapped his cigar in the ashtray on his father’s desk, surprised he’d waited this long to bring up the subject. “Don’t you mean, what is she?”

      He threw a look over his shoulder that offered no apology, and turned to stare out the window again.

      “Her grandfather is Cyrus Hasting of San Francisco. I think you’re familiar with the family. Banking, real estate, shipping, railroads.”

      He grunted—a sound Adam interrupted as favorable.

      “Her mother’s a widow, prominent in social circles.”

      Martin snorted distastefully.

      “She’s here visiting her aunt on her mother’s side, Harriet Covington.”

      “Damn. Too bad old Ben Covington died already. We could use another supporter in the legislature.”

      Adam puffed on his cigar again. “All in all, an acceptable pedigree.”

      “Oscar check her out?”

      “He did.”

      “No skeletons in her closet?”

      Adam shifted in the chair. “None I’m concerned about.”

      A long moment dragged by. “Well, it’s about damn time you got yourself a wife. I don’t know what the hell you were waiting for. Bring her to dinner tonight.”

      Dinner at his father’s house was definitely not the evening he had planned.

      Martin looked over his shoulder. “I want to meet her.”

      “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Gwen—”

      “I’ll handle Gwen.” Martin turned. “Bring her over. I want to meet the woman who’ll give me my grandchildren.”

      

      “Good evening, sir.”

      Adam passed his valise to Bernard. Maybe it was his imagination, but the house seemed to smell sweeter tonight. He’d certainly been more anxious than usual to get home.

      “Where is Haley?”

      Bernard inclined his head toward the back of the house. “In the solarium, I believe, sir.”

      “Is she ready to go?”

      “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know.”

      He frowned. “You told her, didn’t you?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Adam passed through the arched doorway and headed down the hall toward the solarium, but caught sight of Haley in his study. “What are you doing in here?”

      She looked up from her seat behind his desk. “Good evening to you, too.”

      Light from the gas jets bathed her in hues of pink. Adam rubbed his forehead and СКАЧАТЬ