Page 31 of Silver Lining
McCord on the settee." To Max he winked and added, "Judging by a torrent of tears and sighs, I believe someone missed you a great deal this summer."
Rather than look at Philadelphia , Max gazed at a room he would never see again, a room he had always liked. All the worn and most comfortable furniture had found its way here after Mrs. Houser died. Unlike the mansion's other rooms, no effort had been made to coordinate color or style here. Yet the mismatched furnishings and crowded wall hangings fit together in a way that offered welcome and comfort.
"I don't care for anything to drink," Max said, standing abruptly as Philadelphia sat beside him and her skirts overlapped his legs. It wasn't possible to say what he had to say with the scent of her in his nostrils, with the warmth of her scorching him. He moved to stand before the unlit fireplace, leaving her with a puzzled frown drawing her brow.
Even frowning, Max decided she had never looked more beautiful than she did tonight. Her golden curls caught the lamplight and glowed like a halo around her milky complexion. The pink burning on her cheeks spoke of her pleasure and excitement at seeing him as did the moist shine in her eyes. The same shine had glistened in her eyes during their last evening together. He'd never forget how she had looked in the moonlight streaming through the fretwork edging the gazebo. Never forget opening the long row of buttons that ran down her back, and then the touch of her silky bare skin against his palms.
Oh God. Leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, he covered his eyes with his hand. This was the worst moment of his life.
"Max?" she murmured in a puzzled voice. "There are a dozen details about the wedding that require your opinion before I make a decision." He heard her falter. "You seem… I don't know…"
With his mind's eye he observed how tonight should have been. Philadelphia bubbling with questions about his summer in the mountains and his relating amusing stories. After dinner Howard would take him into the library for a cigar and conversation about the bank and the position Max would fill there.
Discussing plans for the future would tack wings on the hours and make them fly until the longed-for moment when Howard discreetly allowed the couple an hour alone. Then Max would draw his bride into his arms and briefly discuss the wedding before he demonstrated how much he had missed her.
"Well, son, did you find what you were looking for up there in the mountains?" Howard handed Philadelphia a glass of sherry, then sank into his favorite chair.
"We need to discuss the period when I was sick with the pox." In about three minutes the smile would vanish from Howard Houser's mouth. The shine would fade from Philadelphia 's eyes. "I would certainly have died if not for the ministrations of a woman named Louise Downe."
"Your mother sent us a copy of some preacher's letter relating how deathly ill you were." Philadelphia 's full mouth pushed into a pretty pout. "It's your own fault, you know. I told you not to go up there. I begged you to stay here with me."
None of her arguments or wiles had changed his mind about prospecting for gold as his father had done years ago.
"You will never know," he said, remembering the taste of her mouth, how her skin had gleamed in the moonlight, "how much I wish I had stayed." A hint of satisfaction flashed in her eyes, but Howard sat a little straighter as his instincts flared.
When Max reached the point in his story where the surviving men agreed to give Low Down whatever she wanted as a token of their gratitude, the warmth departed Howard Houser's eyes. He frowned and set aside his sherry. He couldn't know what was coming, but he sniffed something unpleasant, something momentous.
Max ended the story by speaking directly to Philadelphia , watching her face turn ashen, cringing inside as she stiffened and her expression grew taut with horror. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, after describing his wedding on the side of a mountain.
Her hands lifted, palms out as if warding off a blow. "No!" She drew the word into a long wail. "No, this can't be true."
"You son of a bitch," Howard shouted, coming to his feet. "You could have walked away. What kind of no-good bastard would place himself in the running to marry one woman when he's days from marrying my daughter? How in the hell could you do that?"
"Oh no. No," Philadelphia whispered, staring at him in shock and disbelief. "You didn't. You couldn't have. No. You wouldn't do this to me."
"I ought to kill you, McCord! No one humiliates me or my daughter!"
"There was no choice."
Silent tears streamed down Philadelphia 's face. She trembled all over, and her hands shook so violently that sherry spilled unnoticed down her dress. "Good Lord above. What will I do?"
"I'll ruin you, you spineless piece of offal! Ridley! Bring my shotgun. So help me God, I'll blow you to kingdom come!"
"Oh Max. You don't know what you've done." Slowly Philadelphia rose to her feet, the sherry glass slipping from her fingers. Her arms rose to cross her breasts, she clasped her shoulders, and a long animal sound keened from her lips. Both men fell silent, frozen by her anguish.
"What am I going to do? Oh Lord, what am I going to do?" She gazed at Max with wet, panicked eyes.
Agony thinned her voice. "I'm with child."
Her eyelids fluttered and she crumpled to the floor in a billow of pink silk.
*
Ridley sent the cook's helper to fetch Livvy McCord while the housekeeper tucked Philadelphia into bed. Max found an ax in the backyard and split logs into kindling, working like a man possessed.
Grinding his teeth, he swung the ax above his head then down on the log, feeling the shock of contact ripple up his arms and into his shoulders.
She was carrying his child, and he couldn't do right by her. Couldn't marry her. Couldn't save her from disgrace, humiliation, shame, or a reputation ruined beyond redemption.
