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The first three hellish months of her marriage flashed in Jana’s mind. Whatever Brandon’s feelings might be tomorrow weren’t her primary concern.
Really, she didn’t know what to expect from him—because he’d never expressed any emotion whatsoever about her departure. She’d received only one telegram from him, and that had been sent to Aunt Maureen shortly after Jana’s departure, asking if Jana had gone home. She’d gotten nothing else from her husband. Nothing. Until three months ago. Then a letter arrived at their London town house telling—not asking—her to come home.
So here she was.
“I know it will be difficult for you to break the news,” Maureen said.
Jana turned, a knot of determination tightening around her heart. “What news? I have no news for Brandon.”
“No news?” Maureen frowned. “But surely you’re going to tell him—”
“No.”
“Jana, you can’t allow him to believe—” Maureen paused. “When we were in Europe all these months, I understood why you didn’t…tell him. But now that we’re here?”
“He doesn’t need to know.”
“Then why did you agree to come here?” Maureen asked.
Jana drew in a breath. “To tell Brandon that I want a divorce.”
Chapter Two
H ome.
Or so she’d believed.
Jana gazed out the window of the hansom cab as it turned onto West Adams Boulevard, the place that had been her home for three months. The first time she’d laid eyes on this neighborhood of wide streets, swaying palms, wrought-iron and stone fences that fronted extravagant mansions, she’d been married but two days, and her husband had been at her side.
Fourteen months ago.
A lifetime ago.
He had built the house for her. Without really wanting to, Jana smiled as she recalled the day Brandon had told her that his wedding gift to her would be a new home in the prestigious West Adams District of Los Angeles. She’d been absolutely thrilled. But everything about Brandon was thrilling…back then.
Handsome, wealthy, successful, Brandon Sayer had instantly become the talk of the San Francisco social scene when he’d come to the city on business and been introduced into polite society. All the young women had vied for his attention. Mothers had sized him up as husband material for their daughters. Fathers had known of his business successes and wanted a part of it.
But Brandon had had eyes for only one young woman.
Jana shifted on the carriage seat, the leather creaking beneath her, as she recalled Aunt Maureen’s pleasure that Brandon had asked if he could call on her. Never leaving anything to chance—especially where Jana was concerned—her aunt had paid a private investigator to delve into the past of the man who seemed too good to be true.
But Maureen’s concern had been for naught. Brandon Sayer, the grandson of one of the East’s wealthiest, most highly regarded industrialists, had come West to expand the family fortune in California. His parents long dead, no siblings, Brandon had forged a name in his own right and built an enviable empire for himself in Los Angeles. When he had asked for Jana’s hand in marriage after a whirlwind courtship, Maureen had readily agreed.
Even now, Jana could hardly remember the details, it had all happened so quickly. Brandon had returned to Los Angeles to run his business, but had visited San Francisco as often as possible. Their long-distance courtship had continued as wedding preparations were underway. Aunt Maureen had staged the grand wedding she always dreamed of for Jana. Jana had felt as if she were a princess as she’d walked down the aisle and become Brandon’s wife.
From fairy-tale bride to crying alone in her bed at night.
The hansom cab swung into the driveway and pulled to a stop, yet Jana made no move to exit. She leaned closer to the window and eyed the magnificent house that had once been her home.
Three stories tall, built entirely of redwood with brownstone trim, the mansion featured a steep roof, a grand entryway and a tower room on the front corner, all snuggled comfortably amid two lavish acres of palms, shrubs, manicured lawns and refreshing fountains. Swedish wood sculptors had hand-carved the home’s woodwork, both inside and out. Italian marble and French stained glass graced the floors and windows, along with bronze hardware in all the fixtures. Brandon had spared no expense.
A lump of emotion rose in Jana’s throat. How could a life that had begun with such promise have turned into…this?
For an instant, she considered shouting to the driver to take her back to the Morgan Hotel. Perhaps Aunt Maureen would come back with her when she faced Brandon? Maybe she could simply send him a letter advising him of her intentions? Or leave the whole ugly mess in the hands of her aunt’s attorneys to sort through and resolve?
Jana reined in her runaway thoughts. No, she’d do none of those things. She’d face Brandon. After all, she was hardly the same woman she’d been when she married him. Many things had changed these past fourteen months—none more than Jana herself.
With a quick, determined breath, she allowed the driver to assist her from the cab.
“Please wait,” she said, passing him the fare and a generous tip. “I won’t be long.”
After all, how long could it take to advise one’s husband of an impending divorce?
“Thank you, ma’am,” the driver said, tipping his hat and stepping out of her way.
Jana squared her shoulders and climbed the steps to the double front doors. She stopped, unsure of what to do. Knock, or simply walk inside? Neither seemed quite right.
But she was saved from the dilemma when the door opened in front of her.
Brandon?
Jana’s heart slammed against her chest and rose into her throat. Did she look all right? She’d chosen to wear for the occasion a dark blue skirt, drawn across her front and gathered high in a bustle, a matching jacket with leg-o-mutton sleeves, an ivory blouse closed at the throat with a large bow. Her wide-brimmed hat dipped fashionably over one eye.
Had the ride over crushed her skirt? Was her hat on straight? Would Brandon like the dress she’d selected, notice the darker color or the—?
“Ah, Mrs. Sayer.” Charles, the white-haired butler stood in the open doorway, giving Jana the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen on the man’s face.
“Hello, Charles,” she replied, chastising herself for her runaway thoughts a moment ago.
“Welcome home,” he said, stepping back and gesturing her into the house.
For a moment she hesitated. Home? This wasn’t her home. It had never been her home. Her home was in San Francisco with her aunt, not here—
Jana pushed the thought aside, gathered her skirt and stepped into the vestibule.
The red marble foyer, the sweeping staircase, the woodwork, the stained glass, the sights, the smells…the memories. The assault on her senses stopped Jana still in her tracks.
Over the past fourteen months, she’d occasionally wondered if the three months of her marriage had really happened. Had it instead been just a dream—a bad dream?
No. It had been real. Every moment of it. The memories twisted Jana’s stomach, as painful and strong as the actual experiences had been all those months ago.
She steeled herself, pushing away the hurtful thoughts. She had to be strong. She would be strong. After all, she wasn’t in this alone.
A warm shudder swept over her, prickling her skin and standing the hair at her nape on end.
Brandon.
She turned and saw him striding toward her. Her knees weakened and her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast.
Good gracious, he was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, brown hair highlighted with the gold of the California sun, piercing blue eyes.
He’d grown even more good-looking these past fourteen months. How could that be possible?
And how could she still sense his presence after all this time?
For an instant, the need to run to him overwhelmed Jana. She wanted to snuggle against his hard chest, feel his arms pull her close.
But Brandon stopped at the edge of the foyer, as if some unseen line had been drawn between them and he wouldn’t step over it. His face was set in hard, cautious lines, a look Jana had seen far too many times already.
Her surge of emotion—or whatever it was—ebbed. Jana reminded herself why she was here…and why she’d left in the first place.
A long, tense moment dragged by with them eyeing each other from opposite ends of the foyer. What do a husband and wife say after so much time apart? Jana decided to leave that up to Brandon. It was he, after all, who’d asked her to come home.
“You’re looking well,” Brandon said.
His voice sent a tremor down her spine, bringing with it the memory of the first time she’d heard his voice. Standing in a friend’s parlor she’d been swathed in pale pink. Brandon, tall and sturdy among the delicate furnishings, had looked so handsome she hadn’t thought she could manage to speak a single word, and then—
Again, Jana pushed aside the memory and replied, “You’re looking well also.”
Her tone matched his, so they both sounded as if they’d just encountered a casual acquaintance whose name neither could remember.
“How was your crossing?” Brandon asked.
“Calm.”
“And the rail journey?”
“Uneventful.”
“Is your aunt well?”
“In excellent health, thank you,” Jana replied.
Conversation stalled, but the awkward moment continued. Jana hadn’t really expected her husband to sweep her into his arms, profess his love, pour out his regret and apology, but she’d seen Brandon give warmer receptions to business acquaintances.
“Perhaps we should go into my office?” he asked, gesturing behind him.
There was no reason not to. After all, they could hardly discuss their situation standing in the foyer. Charles had disappeared, as butlers always do, but she was certain he and some of the other staff were well within earshot. Yet going deeper into the house—with Brandon—caused Jana’s palms to dampen and set her nerves on end.
The heat of his body wafted over her as she crossed the foyer and he fell in step beside her. His scent came with the heat, stirring her memories once more.
As they passed the parlor doorway, Jana glanced inside, then stopped and gasped aloud. The room that she’d begun decorating—along with the entire rest of the house—stood just as she’d left it fourteen months ago. One wall half papered, cans of paint in the corner, shrouded furniture pushed to the center of the room.
“You never finished the work?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“No, of course not,” Brandon replied, as if he didn’t really understand why she would ask such a question.
He continued down the hallway leaving her to follow. When she stepped into Brandon’s office, another wave of emotion struck her. The room, with its heavy walnut furniture, deep green carpet and drapes, had been the first completed in the new house. The decorator—that dreadful Mr. McDowell—had seen to it. No one had asked Jana’s opinion of the color scheme or the furnishings. Or anything else, for that matter.
But it suited Brandon. The office was his refuge. He spent most of his time there, when he was home. Jana had seldom entered the room.
How odd that she’d be there today, when she intended to end their marriage.
Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to sit on the dark leather sofa. She stood, with the oil painting of cornered foxes, snarling bears and mountain lions glaring down at her.
“I see you’ve kept everything here the same,” she couldn’t help but say.
Brandon’s gaze bounced from wall to wall, then fell on her again as she stood a few yards in front of him.
“Why would I change it?” he asked, frowning slightly.
Why, indeed? Brandon preferred—demanded—things stay the same. Jana knew that all too well.
A long silence passed, and finally Brandon spoke again.
“So,” he said briskly. “You’re home now. That’s the important thing. We can put all this nonsense behind us and—”
“Nonsense?”
“Yes,” he went on, rubbing his palms together. “We can forget about what you did, and get on with our lives.”
Stunned, Jana just stared, unable to speak.
Brandon moved to his desk and began sorting through papers. “You’ll want to continue with decorating the house and pick up where you left off with the women’s organizations in town. The servants have done an adequate job, but you’ll need to supervise them more closely this time. There are invitations and correspondence that you will need to attend to before—”
“You…you expect me to take over all my old duties?” Jana asked, shaking her head slowly. “Is that why you think I came back?”
Brandon’s hands stilled on the papers and his gaze came up quickly. “Well, yes.”
“That’s not why I came here,” Jana said. “I’m only here to tell you I want a divorce.”
Breath left Brandon in a huff as color drained from his face. Jana rushed on, anxious to get this ordeal over with, to leave and never return.
“My aunt’s attorneys will arrange everything,” she said.
Brandon didn’t respond.
“You needn’t worry. I won’t ask for anything.” Jana gestured around the room. “You can keep it all.”
“No…”
“I’ll be certain everything is handled quickly. Goodbye, Brandon,” she said, and hurried toward the door.
“No!”
The wrath, the raw anger in Brandon’s voice brought Jana up short. She whirled. Fists clenched, shoulders rigid, jaw set, Brandon glared at her.
She hadn’t expected him to say nothing at all. But she hadn’t expected him to disagree, either. After all, it had been fourteen months, fourteen long months, with no communication whatsoever. Certainly, Jana hadn’t anticipated the fury she saw now on her husband’s face.
