Just Between Friends. Julianna Morris
ago?” she asked.
Dylan nodded. In his opinion Jane Elmira Douglas had been the Wicked Witch of the West’s less likable sister, but Katydid was softhearted enough to have loved the old bat, regardless. He’d gone over to see Kate the night of the funeral and even though she’d smiled and pretended it was all right, her eyes had been sad and bruised looking.
“Yes, it’s been about six months,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“And…?” Dylan prodded, as gently as possible.
“Uh, well, it’s my birthday next month.”
“I know.” A small frown gathered on his forehead. He was surprised she’d brought it up; ever since Kate’s parents had forgotten her sweet-sixteenth, she’d been a little touchy about the day.
She stirred restlessly, tugging at her white dress and smoothing the skirt. He waited, knowing that sooner or later she’d tell him what was going on—there was always a plan behind Kate’s verbal detours. As a kid he’d spent a lot of time bemused by the way she flitted around, the bright, elegant butterfly to his ordinary caterpillar. Now he mostly crossed his arms and sat back until she lighted on something.
“My birthday was mentioned in Grandmamma’s will. And that’s sort of the problem.”
“I see,” he said, though he didn’t see at all.
“She left me the Douglas Hill House, but only if I get married by my twenty-seventh birthday. I’m twenty-six now, so I don’t have much time.”
Dylan blinked. The Douglas Hill House was a mansion that overlooked the city of Seattle like a brooding raven and had to be the ugliest place ever built. He’d been inside it once when Kate had dragged him to an interminable party to raise money for disabled children. The only bright spot had been watching her play with the kids. She was great with youngsters; someday she ought to have a big family of her own.
“You’re going to be twenty-seven?” he asked.
Kate rolled her eyes. Dylan was an intelligent man, surely he had an inkling of what she wanted.
“Yes, I’m going to be twenty-seven. And Grandmamma was worried that I’d never marry, so that’s why she put the provision in the will. I get the final deed after a year of marriage.” Kate crossed her fingers because the next part was sort of a lie. “She knew I’d do anything to keep the house in the family.”
“Yeah, of course. You love the old place.”
She loved it, all right.
She’d love to see it dynamited.
Her grandmother had never had a clue about what her granddaughter wanted. The hardest part about losing Nanna Jane was knowing she’d been a disappointing afterthought to her own grandmother—never quite refined or proper enough to fulfill the Douglas legacy.
You’re just like your great-grandfather. You have no respect for our position, Nanna Jane would say, her lips pursed with disapproval.
Kate couldn’t remember the first time she’d heard the accusation, and it had taken years of digging and putting facts together before she learned what her grandmother meant. After his wife had died and his children were grown, Rycroft Douglas had gone to Alaska to dig for gold. The fact that her great-grandfather had added considerably to the family fortune hadn’t mitigated the outrageous scandal of a Douglas becoming a flamboyant adventurer.
Jiminy, Kate envied him.
She’d found Rycroft’s letters to his son, written from the Alaskan gold fields. The old man had been having the time of his life—much to the disapproval of his straitlaced daughter-in-law, who couldn’t quite embrace the idea that Seattle was basically a frontier town turned shipping capital. Kate didn’t know. Maybe certain owners of Seattle’s old money needed to be more uptight than their counterparts in places like Boston because their money wasn’t quite as old as they’d like it to be. Or maybe old money was the same everywhere.
Well, at least Nanna Jane’s will was giving her a chance to get what she wanted—though it was hardly what her grandmother must have planned.
“You understand my problem?” Kate said, a questioning note to her voice.
Dylan nodded. “More or less. You have a little over a month to get married.”
“But I don’t have anyone I want to marry.”
All at once suspicion grew in his face. “Now, Kate, you aren’t thinking…dammit, you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“But it’s the perfect solution.”
“For you, maybe. It’s a disaster for me.”
She didn’t have to manufacture tears, the implied insult was more than enough to make her cry. “That’s a terrible thing to say. A lot of men want to marry me.”
“Then marry one of them!”
“But they’d want a real marriage. I just need a husband for a year.” A tear dripped down her cheek.
“Now, Katydid, don’t start.”
A second tear joined the first. “We’re friends, and friends help each other.”
“Not that way. It’s out of the question.”
Out of the question in that tone of voice didn’t sound good, and she swallowed. She’d hoped so much that this would work. But she wasn’t going to give up, not yet.
“I’d just hate to lose Grandmamma’s house. There’s so much family history there, and all that…uh…hard-wood and parquet flooring.” Kate nearly gagged. If the house was completely renovated it might be a lovely home, but presently it was grim and depressing, a reflection of the austere woman who’d lived there for sixty-seven years.
“So bite the bullet and marry someone else.”
“But that would be the same as selling myself, just to get the house.” She tried to appear shocked. “How can you possibly suggest such a thing?” She actually was shocked, though women had been marrying men for money and position and property for much longer than she’d been around.
Dylan clenched his fingers. Truthfully, he wasn’t wild about the notion of Kate marrying one of the stuffed shirts who were always buzzing around her. He supposed it was because he was like a big brother to Katydid, and brothers never approved of their sister’s boyfriends. But there wasn’t any way he was going along with her nutty scheme.
Kate pulled a white handkerchief from her white purse and dabbed her eyes. “You want me to act like a prostitute, trading my body for gain. It wouldn’t be any different.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Dylan said, appalled.
“Yes, it is.” She lifted her chin. “Fine, if that’s what you want, I’ll decide which one of them I’m going to marry. You’ll get an invitation to the wedding.”
With a graceful twist of her body she rose from the couch and headed for the door.
She looked over her shoulder. “Maybe you can be best man,” she said as a parting shot. “I’m sure it’s an honor you deserve.”
The door closed behind her and Dylan groaned and thumped his head against his high-backed chair. She was working on his guilt and trying to make him feel responsible for a situation he had no part in creating.
Still, in a way Katydid was right. It would be selling herself to get the house. She plainly wasn’t in love with any of those suitors she’d talked about, and they would expect far more from the marriage than she wanted to give.
Suddenly he couldn’t bear the thought of sweet little Katydid submitting to a man’s attentions simply because her grandmother had been a conniving witch. There had to be another way. The Douglases’ small social circle wasn’t