Perfect Wedding Page 13

  “Miss MacTavish was kind enough to accompany me to the fair today, Dr. Abernathy.” Hamilton placed slight emphasis on the word me.

  Jason whipped his head around and pinned Hamilton with a vicious scowl. Hamilton flinched. “Yeah? Well, she shouldn’t have. We had a prior engagement.”

  Her teeth came together with a distinct click, all befuddlement fled in a flash of ire, and Marjorie surged to her feet. Fury supplanted the green-eyed monster of jealousy that had so recently infested her heart. “We did not! We had no engagement, prior or otherwise, ye haggis-headed nyaff!”

  “Now see here, Dr. Abernathy . . .”

  Ignoring Hamilton as if he were of no greater import than a pesky fly, Jason interrupted his sputters in favor of berating Marjorie some more. “You were supposed to come to my clinic to learn how to nurse people. Or learn Chinese.” He flipped his hand in the air as if the distinction between the two activities was minute.

  “I wasna!”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Ye nivver asked me to!”

  “Well, I meant to!”

  In an uncharacteristic gesture, Marjorie slammed her napkin onto the table. “Well, ye didna! And I’m’na a mind-reader!” She went so far as to poke him in the chest, something she’d never done to anyone before in her life. “What’s more, when I asked to help, ye told me I’m’na a nurse! And then you told me ye didna want my help!”

  “Well . . .”

  “And furthermore,” Marjorie said, getting her English pronunciation back under control, “If you do want my help, or if you do want to teach me Chinese, you can jolly well ask me politely and set up an appointment!”

  Jason sucked in approximately eight cubic acres of piroshki-scented air. Before he could use it to say anything, Marjorie had at him again.

  “Anyhow, do you mean to tell me that you paid good money to come to the fair only to scold me? For not doing something ye nivver told me about in the first place?” Offhand, Marjorie couldn’t recall ever being this angry at anyone about anything.

  Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket, Jason mopped his gleaming face and turned to Hamilton. “Listen, St. Claire, I’m sorry about this. I’m totally at fault here.”

  “Aye, ye are,” growled Marjorie, forgetting proper English once more. “Gudgeon. Baffin.” She was confused, however, because Jason wasn’t known for apologizing for his bad behavior.

  Hamilton said stiffly, “It’s Miss MacTavish to whom you should apologize, Abernathy.”

  “Damn it . . .” But Jason turned back to Marjorie. “I’m sorry, Marjorie. I’ve . . . ah . . . been under a good deal of strain lately, and I must have forgotten to ask you to come to the office today.”

  “Well, she can go to your office another time,” said Hamilton, seeming to gather his own courage together as Jason lost his. “Today, she’s seeing the Pan Pacific Exhibition with me.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. St. Claire,” Jason pushed out through his clenched teeth.

  “But I do,” countered Hamilton.

  Enraged at both of these men who seemed so eager to disregard her free will and desires—and in the United States, too!—Marjorie raised her voice and spoke in a rather piercing tone. “I shall decide what I shall do in this instance, thank you, gentlemen.”

  Both men paused with their mouths open. They reminded Marjorie of a couple of trout. Jason spoke first. He would.

  “Certainly, Marjorie.”

  “Of course, Marjorie.”

  When Jason heard her Christian name come out of Hamilton’s mouth, his face, which was already high of color, turned puce. Marjorie had no idea why, and she wasn’t going to ask. She’d have liked to march out of the restaurant, leaving both men to their own devices, but she’d miss seeing the fair if she did that.

  Besides, Jason was undeniably the guilty party, and she aimed to let him know it. She hoped he’d suffer, too, although she didn’t expect much along those lines. She’d often reflected that his conscience must be a bluidy impervious object.

  In her coldest voice, she said to him, “Since you didna bother to invite me to learn nursing skills today—indeed, you rebuffed me when I offered my services in no uncertain terms—and you didna ask me to have a Chinese lesson, either, I shall remain in Mr. St. Claire’s company this afternoon, Dr. Abernathy. Perhaps we can discuss nursing and Chinese at another, more appropriate, time.”

  “But, Marjorie, listen . . .”

  “No, thank you, Dr. Abernathy, I needn’t listen any longer. I plan to enjoy the fair.”

  Jason slammed his hat to the floor. Marjorie hastily glanced around, hoping they wouldn’t be asked to leave. “Now see here, Marjorie MacTavish—”

  “Hush up, will you?” she hissed. “Ye’re making a spectacle of yersel’!”

  “Damn it!”

  “And don’t curse, if you please!”

  “People are beginning to stare,” Hamilton pointed out in a strained voice. “Really, Dr. Abernathy, I don’t understand—”

  “No. You wouldn’t!”

  And with that, Jason stooped, swept his hat off the floor, slammed it onto his head, and marched out of the restaurant. Everyone in the room watched him, goggle-eyed and gape-mouthed, including Marjorie and Hamilton.

  Resuming her seat, Marjorie was overwhelmed with embarrassment and guilt—which was not at all as it should be. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. Yet she felt her face flame, and she wished she could dive under the table and cower there until everyone went away or the world stopped turning, whichever came first.

  Not daring to scan the rest of the room for fear she’d see everyone staring at her, she gazed somberly at Hamilton. “I’m so sorry, Hamilton. I have no idea what prompted Dr. Abernathy’s strange behavior.”

  “I have an idea,” Hamilton said darkly.

  “You do?”

  “You mean to say that you don’t?”

  He sounded sarcastic, and Marjorie couldn’t account for it. “Well . . . no, I don’t. I know good and well that Dr. Abernathy and I had no appointment today.”

  “Marjorie, do you honestly not understand what just happened here?”

  She pondered the question for a moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Her appetite had fled. She considered this phenomenon a great pity, since it was the first time in a long, long time she’d actually been almost eager to experience a new-to-her cuisine.

  “Your friend the doctor just had a fit of jealousy, my dear. That’s what just happened.”

  Marjorie had picked up her fork, determined to taste at least one more bite of her piroshok, but Hamilton’s statement shocked her so much, she dropped it again. It clanked against her plate most embarrassingly. “You’re daft.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Daft or not, after about fifteen minutes of discomfort, Marjorie was pleased to note that Hamilton regained his composure. She couldn’t be said to have done the same, but she pretended very hard. One thing that helped was that Hamilton didn’t seem to hold Jason’s outrageous behavior against her. She almost had a good time visiting the rest of the fair and dining out afterwards.

  If she’d had more experience in doing things for pure enjoyment, she was sure she’d have enjoyed it a lot. This all added up to one more proof, if one were needed, that Dr. Hagendorf had been correct about the benefit of practice.

  # # #

  When Hamilton escorted Marjorie to her door that evening, rather like a knight escorting a lady to the castle keep, Marjorie thought whimsically, she could hardly wait to tell Loretta all about her day. She found her in the first place she looked: the babies’ nursery, where she was changing Oliver’s diapers. Marjorie instantly picked up Olivia.

  “Where’s Miss Forrest?”

  “I sent her to the kitchen to find something useful to do.” Loretta made a face. “I keep telling Malachai I want to take care of my own babies.”

  “I should think you’d be grateful for the help of a trained nanny like Miss Forrest.”


  With a grin, Loretta said, “Well, I am, really. Because I’m so exhausted. But still, I want to do as much as I can for them.” She blew a raspberry on little Oliver’s tummy. The infant was too young to appreciate such motherly behavior, and only kicked Loretta in the nose.

  Rubbing said nose, she said, “Tell me all about it, Marjorie. Don’t leave anything out.”

  So Marjorie spent thirty minutes or so relating to Loretta everything that had happened at the fair. After those thirty minutes, she hadn’t yet left the Russian restaurant, but Loretta was so weak from laughing, she fell into a chair. “I can’t believe Jason actually chased you down at the fair!” Then she contradicted herself by saying, “I just knew he was going to do it! He came here and was furious when he learned you’d gone to the fair with Mr. St. Claire.”

  “Well, he did.” Marjorie resumed crooning to Olivia, who seemed to have a touch of colic. “Idiot.”

  “He’s in love with you, of course. That’s what the matter is.”

  Marjorie gave such a violent start, Olivia opened her eyes and frowned at her. “Sorry, darling,” she whispered. To Loretta, she said, “You’re daft.” In actual fact, she was beginning to wonder if the whole world—or at least the American part of it—was daft.

  “Am not.”

  “Well, he’s not in love with me, I can tell you that much. The man humiliated me today. It’s a wonder Hamilton still spoke to me after he finally left the restaurant.”

  “You call him Hamilton?”

  Loretta’s tone of voice made Marjorie glance sharply at her. “It’s his name.”

  “Ah.”

  Marjorie decided to drop the first-name issue. She’d never win. “At any rood, the fair was most interesting once Dr. Abernathy left us in peace.”

  “It’s a good thing Mr. St. Claire remained kind to you, because Jason’s behavior wasn’t your fault.”

  “Mmm. True, but you know men.”

  “I certainly do.”

  Loretta’s tone matched Marjorie’s for the darkness of its quality. She went on, “Did you see Jason lurking in the background and around corners during the rest of your visit?”

  “Nae.” Giving Olivia a smooch on her chubby cheek, Marjorie said, “I don’t want to talk about that madman. I mun tell ye about the fair, Loretta. I hope you and the captain can see it before it closes in December. It’s very interesting.”

  With a sigh, Loretta threw Oliver’s dirty diaper in a bucket intended for the purpose. “I’d love to see it. I was a fool not to take you before I got so huge. And now with the babies and all . . .”

  “You have a nanny to care for the bairns,” Marjorie reminded her.

  “I hate that stupid nanny.”

  “She’s a fine woman,” Marjorie objected, shocked by Loretta’s unjust condemnation of Miss Forrest, who was a qualified nurse and had been highly recommended by Jason.

  “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with her,” Loretta said, backtracking. “I just don’t need her, is all, except when I’m especially tired.”

  Shaking her head, Marjorie muttered, “I never heard of a new mother who didn’t need help, and you can afford it. Yet you don’t want it. I recollect when . . .” She broke off, realizing with a start that she was about to relate something from her youth. She’d never done that before.

  “You recollect what?”

  Perhaps this was another new thing she should try, Marjorie thought. She hadn’t intended to; it had just sort of popped up. Perhaps now that she’d initiated a leak in the floodgates, they’d rupture entirely and she’d begin to spill her guts all over the place. What an appalling thought. However, the story she’d begun to relate wasn’t one that would hurt in the telling, so she finished telling it.

  “When I was about fifteen or so, a friend of mine, Susan McNally, married a nice young man. They had a baby not a year later, and the poor girl was overwhelmed. Her mother was gone, you see, and she had no help to speak of. She could have used a Miss Forrest.”

  Loretta clucked her tongue. “Poor thing. I wish I’d known about it. I’d have helped.”

  With a smile of genuine love, Marjorie said, “Aye, I know you would have. You’ve a heart bigger than yoursel’, Loretta Quarles.”

  “Pooh.”

  Loretta went to her bedroom shortly after that, allowing Miss Forrest to perform her duty as a nanny now that the children were settled in for the first part of the night—they wouldn’t stay asleep, of course—and Marjorie changed into her nightgown, robe, and slippers, and moseyed down to the kitchen to make herself some hot cocoa.

  Could Loretta possibly be right? Could Jason Abernathy, of all unlikely men, be in love with her? In love with her?

  No matter where Marjorie placed the emphasis, the sentence still sounded ridiculous.

  Nevertheless, since she was alone in the kitchen and felt pleasantly tired from a full and interesting—and sometimes frustrating—day, she sat at the nice clean kitchen table, propped her elbows on it and her chin in her hands, and let her mind wander. Naturally, it wandered over to Jason Abernathy.

  Could Marjorie ever be a real nurse? Could she learn Chinese? Could she, if she accomplished the first two formidable tasks, actually become a helpmeet for . . . well . . . someone like Jason?

  Balderdash, Marjorie MacTavish. Allow yoursel’ to think what you mean. So she did. Could she—did she—love Jason? At once her conscience smote her.

  “What about Leonard?” she whispered into the silence.

  Well, for one thing, Leonard was dead. Marjorie would gladly have died with him, but she hadn’t, and she was still alive. Therefore, was it really necessary that she remain in silent mourning for the late, lamented Leonard Fleming for the rest of her life?

  A little frantic after having entertained so revolutionary a notion, Marjorie whispered again. “I love you, Leonard.”

  Usually when she whispered such endearments, she heard Leonard’s precious voice return the compliment in the back of her mind. This evening, Leonard’s voice sounded a trifle tart when she heard it say, “So what?”

  Startled, Marjorie sat up in her char. So what? So what! Well . . . well . . . Well, actually, she didn’t know so what, although the two words sounded frivolous and mocking in the face of so noble and true a love as the one she and Leonard had shared.

  Annoyed, Marjorie heard Jason Abernathy’s voice then. It said, “He’s been dead for more than three years, for Pete’s sake.”

  Well, but so had Jason’s wife, confound it, and according to Loretta, Jason was still mourning her loss. So why should Marjorie be less faithful to her own beloved one?

  An entirely new voice, one Marjorie couldn’t place, said, “All that proves is that you’re both nitwits.”

  She was about to take exception to the phrasing used by this mystery voice, when she was nearly frightened out of her skin by a vicious pounding at the kitchen door. Leaping to her feet so abruptly that she knocked her chair over backward, Marjorie grabbed the first item to hand, a cast-iron skillet standing on the stove. It was so heavy, it nearly broke her wrist when she dragged it off the stove. After it had clunked onto the kitchen linoleum and Marjorie had wrapped her other hand around it, she staggered to the door and realized she couldn’t see who was without because the curtain covered the window. And she couldn’t draw back the curtain without relinquishing her weapon. Not that she’d be able to use it effectively if she couldn’t lift it, but—

  Her reflections stopped abruptly when Jason Abernathy’s angry voice hissed, “Open the damned door, whoever you are! This is an emergency.”

  Marjorie abandoned her skillet and pulled the door open. Her shock when she beheld Jason, holding in his arms the battered body of a Chinese girl, held her speechless.

  Jason rushed into the kitchen, stumbled over the skillet and barreled into the kitchen table. He sat with a crack of pottery, still clinging desperately to the Chinese girl.

  “Who the devil put a damned skillet in the middle of the kitchen floor
?” he demanded, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a furious V over his nose, his face red with fury, his blue eyes flashing sparks.

  Stooping to rescue the skillet and hefting it with difficulty, Marjorie frowned at him. “There’s no need for profanity. And it was the only weapon I could find.”

  “What the hell do you need a weapon for?” He stood and glared at the table, where Marjorie’s squashed teacup and saucer and a good deal of hot cocoa were spread out. The rest of the cocoa and some splinters clung to the seat of Jason’s trousers. “Damn it, now I’ve got chocolate all over my butt.”

  With a mighty heave, Marjorie replaced the skillet, which landed on the top of the stove with a hideous crash. The girl in Jason’s arms moaned.

  “Damn it, will you be quiet?”

  “Stop swearing at me and tell me what you’re doing here in the middle of the night with a girl in your arms!” Marjorie was proud of the steadiness of her voice. She was also pleased with its volume. In truth, when she’d beheld Jason holding a woman in his arms, her heart, which had been lodged in her throat after his attack on the door, had dropped straight to the floor at her feet. She didn’t want to see another woman in Jason’s arms, confound it. “Who is that?” she demanded crossly.

  With a weary sigh, Jason turned around. “Brush off my trousers, will you? And it’s Jia Lee. Either the Chan tong or the Gao tong—unless it was the importer of Chinese goods, who’s in deep trouble with both sides—tried to kill her tonight.”

  “Merciful heavens!” Jason’s explanation so startled Marjorie that she almost wasn’t embarrassed when she took a kitchen towel off the rack and wiped Jason’s rear end of extraneous china bits. There wasn’t much she could do about the chocolate stains except fold the towel and place it on the seat of the chair before he sat in it, which he did with a grunt. She fetched a washrag and began wiping the table.

  “I brought her to Loretta’s because I can’t imagine anyone finding her here,” Jason went on. He gazed critically at Jia Lee.

  So did Marjorie. She was distressed to see awful swelling and bruising on her face. She expected the rest of the girl’s body was similarly disfigured. “Does she have any broken bones?”