Legally and in the eyes of God they were married. Brandon had been right about that. And Jana could find no argument to refute his assertion. She’d taken vows, pledged her life to their union. None of which should be taken lightly.
It had all seemed so much easier, so much clearer in London. There, she’d known exactly what she wanted. With the distance from her husband, she’d realized exactly what sort of man he was—and what sort of man she wanted.
But after seeing him again yesterday…
Jana sank onto the settee. She’d tossed and turned, paced the floor all night. Was she being foolish? Wishing for something that would never be there? Expecting more from Brandon than he’d given in the past?
Or had he changed? She certainly wasn’t the same person she was fourteen months ago. Could Brandon have changed, as well?
For better or worse, their marriage vows had stated. Could the “worse” really be behind her?
Jana sensed her aunt come into the parlor and rose from the settee. “I owe it to the marriage to give it another chance.”
Aunt Maureen raised her brows. “And you’ll do that? Give it an honest chance?”
Jana nodded. She’d do just that. If not, why bother with it at all?
“I think it’s better that we try one last time,” Jana said. “As Brandon says, if it still doesn’t work at least we’ll know we tried to do the right thing.”
Maureen nodded. “It will be easier to explain…later on.”
Doubt swept through Jana, but she pushed on.
“You’ll take care of everything here?” she asked. She’d discussed it with her aunt already and she’d agreed, but Jana felt she had to ask one last time.
“I’m ready for some rest, some solitude.” Maureen gestured toward the window. “The sunsets here are glorious, at times. I want to try and capture them on canvas. I have books to read and poetry to write. I’ll be fine, dear. Don’t give it a thought.”
“I’ll come visit every day,” Jana told her.
Maureen smiled gently. “I understand.”
Jana took one last look around, then drew in a breath. “Well, I’d better go.”
She pinned on her hat and found her handbag as the servants took her trunk out the door.
“I’ll see to it the rest of your things are packed and sent over tomorrow,” Maureen promised, then as if reading Jana’s thoughts added, “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of our staff go to the house. Someone from the hotel will deliver your things.”
Jana rushed to her aunt and gave her a quick hug. “If anything happens—anything at all—let me know. Day or night. Don’t hesitate.”
“Of course, dear,” Aunt Maureen promised.
With a final hug and peck on the cheek, Jana left the suite and set off yet again for her new life with Brandon.
When she arrived at the house on West Adams, Jana instructed the hansom driver to place her trunk on the front porch. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to have it taken inside just yet. She wanted to talk to Brandon first, be sure they both understood their arrangement.
Parts of it he wouldn’t like. She was sure of it.
And if they reached an agreement on their unorthodox arrangement, today—though only a few hours were left in it—would count as day one. Twenty-nine to go.
“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles greeted her as she stepped into the vestibule. He eyed the trunk, but didn’t say anything.
“Good evening, Charles,” Jana said, glancing around, expecting to see Brandon waiting. It wasn’t quite six o’clock, her designated arrival time, so she was a bit early. “Would you tell him I’m here, please?”
“Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”
A knot jerked in Jana’s stomach. “He’s not here?” she asked, hearing the accusation in her voice. Though only she was supposed to be home by six, she expected Brandon to be here also, under the circumstances.
Charles cast his gaze away. “No, ma’am.”
“I see.” Jana drew herself up. “Cook is preparing supper?”
“Yes, ma’am. Seven o’clock, as always.”
“Of course. Seven o’clock.” How could she have forgotten Brandon’s designated supper hour?
“Shall I have Cook prepare you some refreshment?” Charles asked.
“No, thank you.” Jana removed her hat and passed it to the butler along with her handbag. “That’s all, Charles. Thank you.”
He dipped his head slightly and crept away.
Jana moved through the still house, switching on lights as she went. The fixtures had been built for both gas and electricity. Tonight, the electrical current flowed smoothly, making the more reliable gas jets unnecessary.
In the parlor, the light cast a harsh glare on the half-papered walls and reflected off the white furniture shrouds. The smell of paint hung faintly in the air. Jana stood in the center of the room, turning to take it all in.
Good gracious, had she really picked out this wallpaper, this paint color? And the mural on the ceiling. A hunting scene? Hideous. What had she been thinking?
Her thinking had been just fine fourteen months ago, she suddenly remembered. But no one had been interested in her opinion.
The color samples, fabric and wallpaper swatches were piled in a heap on the shrouded settee. Jana sat down and immersed herself in them, her mind filling with ideas that would do this room justice. She lost track of the time until, vaguely, she heard a clock chime the hour once more. Seven o’clock.
Seven o’clock and no Brandon. Jana rose from the settee and went to the vestibule. She peeked out. Gaslights burned on West Adams Boulevard. The trolley had stopped for the night, but carriages made their way up and down the street.
No sign of Brandon.
At seven-thirty, Jana went to the dining room, ate alone, then returned to the parlor. At eight-fifteen Brandon arrived home. She went to meet him.
“You’re here. Good,” he said, passing his bowler and satchel to Charles, and striding across the foyer to where she waited. He looked rushed, hurried, distracted.
“I ate supper already,” Jana told him, just for something to say.
He frowned. “You know I prefer we eat together. Well, no matter—this time. I saw your trunk outside. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Have it brought inside and—”
“We need to talk first.”
Brandon stopped, seemed confused for a moment, then nodded. “Well, all right.”
She trailed along behind him as he strode to his office. He flipped through a stack of envelopes on his desk, then glanced up.
“So, you’re staying,” he said. “Good. We can—”
“For thirty days,” Jana pointed out. “I’ll give it a month. That’s our agreement. Unless, of course, at some point you change your mind.”
Brandon frowned. “I have no intention of changing my mind.”
“Fourteen months have passed,” Jana said. “You might realize too much is different now.”
“Nothing’s different,” he insisted.
“It was your idea that we try again,” Jana said.