Page 1 of Leather and Lace
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 theonly wayto improve their station.
“Silly,stupidgirl,” 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 takingand 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.
