Leather and Lace (Gold Sky Series Book 5) Read online

  Leather and Lace

  Rebel Carter

  Violet Gaze Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in book reviews.

  Copyright © 2019 Rebel Carter

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber

  Edited by Bria James & Jack Holloway

  Published by Violet Gaze Press

  20-22 Wenlock Rd

  London

  www.violetgazepress.com

  Created with Vellum

  For everyone who has ever had to fight

  for their right to go their own way.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  Also by Rebel Carter

  Chapter 1

  Mary Sophia James ran her brush through her hair for what felt like the thousandth time that morning, though the young lady could not be certain as she had lost count somewhere near the 740th stroke. How she had even managed to count her strokes for that long was a feat indeed but Mary had always found that counting did a world of good when it came to steadying her nerves.

  Although in this instance, Mary’s nerves were not the concern. Her unsettled stomach was.

  She winced as the dry toast she had eaten that morning roiled and churned in her belly. She hadn’t been able to keep much down for the past week. Mary had been determined to keep her black tea and toast precisely where it was meant to be. Her small figure was already feeling the loss of a week’s breakfasts.

  She winced and stopped, letting her brush hit the vanity in front of her with a clatter. Mary blanched at the bout of nausea that swept over her in ever-growing waves. It appeared her efforts in brushing her hair had amounted to nothing more than a head full of tended-to locks.

  “Lord,” she murmured, shoving away from the vanity and rushing towards the water basin a few feet away. There was no hope of her making it anywhere but the basin, not if she wanted to avoid making a mess of her day dress. Her mother, no doubt, would throw a fit worthy of publication if Mary ruined one of her few dresses, especially when they hadn’t the funds to have it laundered at present.

  The contents of Mary’s stomach emptied into the basin with little incident and for that she was grateful. She slumped to the side, dabbing as delicately as she was able to at her mouth with the linen tea towel beside her. She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples while she focused on breathing in-and-out in measured breaths.

  “Calm, yourself. Be calm,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “It will all be well. It will, it will, it will…”

  Though for all of her self-soothing, Mary didn’t believe a single word she was saying, and that was because things had little chance of working out for a woman such as she. Not in the world as it presently was, not with society’s expectations and cruel enforcement of justice where women like her were concerned.

  Women that had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh outside of wedlock. Women that had been, truthfully, too naive to truly understand the gravitas of what they were doing, women who had thought it was the only way to improve their station.

  “Silly, stupid girl,” Mary whispered, her voice almost as bitter as the acrid taste of bile left on her tongue from that morning’s sickness. She should have never done it, never given herself so freely to a man who had no intention of marrying her.

  But what was she to do with her mother bearing down on her as she was, as she had always done since Mary was old enough to catch a man’s eye? She was a lovely girl and had always managed to find favor from men of all manner and economic status. More than once Mary had thought herself capable of returning their affection and attention but some detail or another would come to light and her mother would deem the suitor perfectly unmarriable, and once more it was upon Mary’s shoulders to find another suitor in possession of more wealth, more pedigree, more business savvy.

  More...more...more…

  It was always the case of more where her mother was concerned. Sarah James had never been one to settle.

  “You shall never receive what you are due if you do not demand it,” she informed her daughter daily. “Take what you want, Mary. You were born to it.”

  Except that Mary found she quite hated more. Her dresses always required more lace, her hair more ribbons, she was found lacking in graces and charms, her musical skills at the pianoforte and song always too stiff, her ability to carry a conversation flawlessly with sparkling laughter nonexistent, or at least if Sarah James was to be believed.

  Her mother had married young and well above her station as the daughter of poor Irish immigrants. Her hands did not know manual labor as her mother’s had, her fashionable clothing was the work of skilled modistes and designed to impress, unlike the plain muslin Sarah James had been raised in, and Mary’s childhood home was nothing short of a palace when compared to the rickety walk-up in which her grandmother had raised nine children.

  And then misfortune had struck by way of her father’s untimely death at sea. This was what happened when a merchant fancied himself a sailor. Mary had begged her Papa not to captain the ship bound for South America, but he had not listened. It had been years since he had worked on a ship, but in his words it was, “As natural as breathing air. I shall be fine, Minnie. I’ll be home in time for Christmas. You’ll see, my Minnie.”

  Minnie.

  Her heart wrenched painfully. It had been so long since anyone had called her that tender name. Her father had been a soft touch when it came to her, and she had relished it. Christmas had been their most treasured time together. Her father had always loved Christmas, and so had she until he had been taken away by the sea.

  Mary closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. When the waves had swallowed his ship, they had also taken her future. Gone were her carefree days, ones that had once stretched on endlessly in front of her full of nothing but possibility. In their place was a ticking clock counting down the days and hours until what little remained of her father’s estate dwindled to nothing. Successful merchant though he was, her father had been lax in making provision for the bulk of his assets---by fluke of law the lot had been taken by distant family Mary scarcely recognized. She supposed her father had always assumed she would marry affluently, had put off the endeavor hoping for a grandson, or son-in-law to deed his wealth to. But she had not married, thought she’d been in possession of plenty of time to take her pick of suitors. But she had been wrong.

  So utterly wrong.

  The family that had come to take their share of her father’s wealth had reminded her of vultures. Greedy, beady-eyed things bent on taking and taking and taking. There had been no love lost between them and her mother, which had made it remarkably easy for said family to upend the grieving women’s lives and leave Mary and her mother all but destitute save for what they were able to carry with them from their home.

  There had been no kindness in those people, and they had killed whatever kindness, precious little as it was, that had once lived in her mother.

  Mary slumped back against the table she sat in front of. After her morning sickness, she knew there was little chance that she did not look unwell. She did not wish to add red-eyed to the list of faults her mother would account to her during
their daily walk about town. She sucked in a deep breath and rose shakily to her feet. She needed to freshen up and set herself to sorts. Nothing short of perfection would do for Sarah James.

  She would meet her mother and do her best. She would perhaps dazzle her with a witty anecdote and though the Baptiste heir had slipped through her fingers there would be another well-suited man. One that had good intentions, one that she could, with effort, force herself to care for, to want as she...well, as she wanted women. Her fingers clutched at her skirts and she raised her hands to her belly. It was still trim, her skirts and corsets hiding what she and her mother knew, the proof of her one foray into trapping a man when she hadn’t a cent to her name.

  She had been willing, but she had thought it would garner her the name and place in a house as good as the one she’d been turned out of. That hadn’t happened. The man and his offer had vanished, drying up like a spilled drink in the unyielding heat of the Texas sun. Why had she done as her mother instructed? The woman did not care for her, not like her father. No, never like that.

  I’ll be home in time for Christmas. You’ll see, my Minnie.

  It had been nearly a year since anyone had called her that term of affection. Almost four months since she had realized the clock above her head was now spinning wildly out of control. And she had no idea what her life would become once the secret of her delicate situation was made known to the public.

  A bitter laugh escaped her mouth. It was not a situation. It was a pregnancy. One that she’d been ill-educated to anticipate, and now here she was fighting for her future with each and every simper and smile. She did not want a man, but she did, in fact, want her child. A hand dropped protectively over the spot she supposed it to be.

  For it was not just one strike against Mary, but two. Yes, she was pregnant, and yes, she much preferred the gentle touch of women to the company of a man. Marriage or not, she would have damned the entire thing if she were able to, but there was no escaping her mother, not when her place at Sarah James’s side was all she knew.

  She hated it.

  Mary turned to look at herself in the mirror and her resolve for perfection wavered. Her bottom lip quivered, and Mary lost her play at perfection. She burst into tears, arms wrapped around herself as she shook with sobs in the small room that was not hers, in the town she did not belong and in a life that she did not want.

  Chapter 2

  “Whatever is the matter with you? Please, do keep up, we haven’t the time for your dilly-dallying, Mary.” Sarah James’s stern voice cut through Mary’s pounding headache.

  The pair were out on their daily walk about town, and Mary had been struggling to see through the blinding pain at her temples. It was difficult to keep up with her mother’s brisk walk in the best of times, let alone when she was having difficulty walking in a straight line.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that my head--”

  “Stop dawdling, Mary Sophia.” Her mother’s tight grip tugged at her elbow and pulled her forward to match her step. “I heard there was a new batch of bankers and investors coming to town on account of Julian Baptiste’s efforts with the railroad depot. If we make it to the cafe then we have a good chance at catching their eye.”

  Mary frowned, still rubbing at her temples. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  Sarah James let out a titter of laughter and turned to give Mary what she supposed was her mother’s attempt at coquettish. “Well, two arrows are better than one, now aren’t they dear?”

  “Are you saying that you are intending on finding yourself a suitor?” Mary drew up to her full height despite the pain she suffered. “Are you aiming to marry again?”

  “Keep your voice down! Good god, you would think I had never spent the money to send you to finishing school, screeching like a fish wife!” Her mother berated her at a volume far more at home in a saloon at midnight than on the town’s main avenue at midday.

  Mary glanced about furtively and stifled her groan at seeing the attention they were attracting. Her mother’s near shouting was doing wonders at making them stand out in Gold Sky. She didn’t estimate it was quite in the way her mother wished for them to gain attention.

  “Now come along and do walk with your back straight. Remember your lessons on posture and grace for heaven’s sake, Mary Sophia.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Mary replied automatically. So oft had she said the words that her response fell from her lips with little thought. And for her part, Sarah James, so used to having her wishes fulfilled by her daughter, did not think twice at the barely there response.

  “Now then, pinch your cheeks and I wish you had thought to apply a bit of rouge. You look so pale in the daylight. We simply must get you in the sun at more regular times.”

  At that Mary found her tongue. “I love the sun, but you say it causes freckles.”

  Sarah James clucked her teeth and nodded in agreement. “Right you are, right you are. The sun is no place for a woman like you.”

  Mary would have scoffed if her headache hadn’t redoubled its efforts to lay her low. There would be no scoffing, not when she was nearly blinded by her pain and the sun overhead. Instead, Mary hurried along behind her mother, and before long the cafe her mother spoke of came into sight. She breathed a sigh of relief when her mother slowed her pace and let go of her arm.

  “There it is. Lily’s Cafe, or some such. It apparently has decent food, unlike the establishment we were turned out of, like common riffraff,” her mother gave an indignant sniff. Mary bit back the remark about their behavior, her mother’s in particular towards Julian Baptiste’s new bride. The cook had been nothing but efficient, her meals tasty, and she’d always had a smile for her when her mother’s back was turned.

  Mary’s cheeks burned with shame thinking on how she had kept her mouth shut when she should have spoken out. Of how she had followed her mother’s lead in attitude and decorum towards the other woman. It was hard to remember who she was when her mother’s hand was so tight on her neck. It was as if the older woman’s grip tightened as surely as Mary’s corset and stays did with each and every day of growth.

  A hand strayed to her belly and she sighed when it growled. She was hungry, no doubt due to her morning sickness. If she were lucky her mother would allow her the time to eat...maybe if she did manage to catch a man’s eye, then she would be invited to lunch with him? The thought perked her up and she lifted her head to see that her mother’s keen eyes were, for once, not on her.

  Now her mother’s emerald gaze was trained on a far bigger prize than Mary.

  “Bankers,” her mother breathed, hands practically rubbing together in anticipation, “and lots of them. Come close, and quick Mary. We will have to pick out the one for you.”

  “I don’t feel well, mother,” Mary said but her daughter’s protestations fell on deaf ears, Sarah James waving a hand at her.

  “Pish. Stand up straight and smile, dear. Men like a woman who smiles.”

  Mary clenched her jaw tight. She didn’t trust herself to keep her mouth shut without the extra effort and fortunately, her mother mistook it for smiling.

  “Now, then, that one looks quite good. He’s young. That means he won’t understand what’s happening until it’s too late.”

  The happening was the baby. The baby that Mary wanted. She had begun to tire of hearing of her child in the abstract, or as a thing---or even worse, a problem.

  “It’s a child, mother. Not a ‘happening’,” Mary blurted out before she thought better of it. She clapped a hand over her mouth with a muffled gasp once she realized what she’d done. The words fell fat and heavy in the dirt between them with a nearly audible thud. Mary blinked and watched as her mother slowly turned to her, the older woman’s face was nearly red with frustration.

  “Watch your tongue, girl.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Sarah James sucked in a deep calming breath and ran a hand over her skirts with a shake of her head. “On better thought, I think it may
be best that I go, on my own.”

  “Your own?” Mary asked in confusion. Her mother allowed for so little alone time that the suggestion surprised her.

  “Yes, alone. I see an older gentleman in the bunch that I think would quite enjoy an introduction. You may use this time to do as you please.”

  “Truly?” Mary’s heart soared with joy and for a moment she forgot about her painful headache. Who knew when her mother would next leave her with a moment’s peace? The moment must be seized and savored, enjoyed to the fullest in whatever small way she could find in this frontier town.

  “Yes, truly. It’s not as if anything worse can happen to you,” her mother bit out, giving her daughter a cold look. The words should have stung, but Mary found they didn’t so much. Not when there was the promise of an afternoon hour spent away from Sarah James.

  Her mother stepped closer to her and lowered her voice so that none but they could hear her words. “Now stay out of trouble for the next hour, hmm? I will return with lunch for you, courtesy of the rich gentleman I have in my sights, if all goes well.”

  She balked at her mother’s assertion that the man in question had money, how could one even tell such a thing from a glance? She had known more men than she could count that dressed as a dandy, though they proved penniless and feckless in business matters. Her father had warned her against tolerating the attentions of such men, and yet here she was all the same.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, shoving away the dark thought. She forced a smile as fake as any she sent her mother’s way and nodded quickly.

  “Yes, mother.”

  Sarah James came to touch her daughter’s cheek lightly, a hand cupping it briefly though the woman’s eyes were still not on Mary. She did not see her daughter, not now and not ever. She tapped Mary’s cheek lightly before she was gliding away again, her voice rising as she walked away.