The One Month Marriage

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.