White Lace and Promises Read online

  Morning arrived, and Maggie couldn’t remember sleeping, although she must have closed her eyes sometime during the long, tedious night. The alarm rang, and she heard Glenn stirring in the other room.

  While he dressed, Maggie moved into the kitchen and put on coffee. Ten minutes later, he joined her in the spacious room and hesitated, his gaze falling to her wide, sad eyes. Purposely he looked away. There was no getting around it. He had missed sleeping with his wife. A hundred times he had had to stop himself from going into the bedroom and bringing her back to his bed where she belonged.

  Now she stood not three feet from him in a sexy gown, and his senses were filled with her. He should be aware of the freshly brewed coffee, but he discovered the elusive perfumed scent of Maggie instead. Silently, he poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled out a kitchen chair. He tried to concentrate on something other than his wife. He reached for the newspaper and focused his attention on that. But mentally his thoughts were involved in this no-win situation between him and her bloodsucking brother. When he’d learned exactly how much money Denny had borrowed he’d been incensed. This madness had to stop and soon or he’d bleed Maggie dry.

  Sensing Glenn’s thoughts, Maggie moved closer, wanting to resolve the issue, yet unsure how best to approach a subject that felt like a ticking time bomb.

  Propping up the newspaper against the napkin holder, Glenn hid behind the front page, not wanting to look at Maggie. Yet he struggled to keep his eyes trained on the front page headlines.

  “Will you be home for dinner?” Maggie forced the question out. Leaning against the kitchen counter, her fingers bit into the marble surface as she waited for his answer.

  “I’ve been home every night since we’ve been married. Why should tonight be different?”

  Maggie had only been trying to make idle conversation and break down the ice shield positioned between them. “No reason,” she murmured, and turned back to the stove.

  A few minutes later, Glenn left for the office with little more than a casual farewell.

  By noon Maggie was convinced she couldn’t spend another day locked inside the confines of the beach house. Even the studio that had been her pride now became her torture chamber. One more hour dealing with this madness and she’d go stir-crazy.

  Aimlessly, she wandered from room to room, seeking confirmation that she had done the right thing by Denny and finding none. She took a long, uninterrupted walk along the beach, where gusts of ocean air carelessly whipped her hair across her face and lightened her mood perceptibly. Christmas was only a week away, and there were a hundred things she should be doing. But Maggie hadn’t the heart for even one.

  Recently, she had been filled with such high expectations for this marriage. Now she realized how naïve she’d been. She had always thought that love conquered all. What a farce that was. She had been unhappy before marrying Glenn; now she was in love, pregnant, and utterly miserable. And why? Because she’d stood by her brother when he needed her. It hardly seemed fair.

  A light drizzle began to fall, and she walked until her face felt numb with cold. She trekked up to the house, fixed herself something hot to drink, and decided to go for a drive.

  The ride into the city was sluggish, due to heavy traffic. She parked on the outskirts of Fisherman’s Wharf and took a stroll. A multitude of shops and touristy places had sprung up since her last visit—but that had been years ago, she realized. She dropped into a few places and shopped around, finding nothing to buy. An art gallery caught her eye, and she paused to look in the window at the painting on display. A card tucked in the ornate frame revealed the name of the painting was The Small Woman. The artist had used a black line to outline the painting, like lead surrounding the panes in a stained-glass window. The colors were bold, the setting elaborate. The simple woman, however, was strangely frail and pathetic, detached from the setting as though she were a sacrifice to be offered to the gods in some primitive culture. Examining the painting, Maggie saw herself in the tired woman and didn’t like the reflection.

  A blast of chilling wind whipped her coat around her legs, and to escape the unexpected cold, Maggie opened the glass door and entered the gallery. The room was deceptively large, with a wide variety of oil paintings, some watercolors, small sculptures, and other artworks in opulent display.

  “Can I help you?”

  Maggie turned toward the voice to find a tall, slender woman dressed in a plaid wool skirt and creamy white silk blouse. She appeared to be studying Maggie closely, causing Maggie to wonder at her appearance. The wind had played havoc with her hair and …

  “Maggie?”

  Maggie blinked twice. She didn’t recognize the woman. “Pardon?”

  “Are you Maggie Kingsbury?”

  “Yes … my married name is Lambert. Do I know you?”

  The woman’s laugh was light and sweetly musical. “I’m Jan Baker Hammersmith. Don’t you remember we attended—”

  The name clicked instantly. “Jan Baker.” The two had been casual friends when Maggie was attending art school. “I haven’t seen you in years. The last I heard, you were married.”

  “I’m divorced now.”

  Maggie dropped her gaze, desperately afraid that she would be adding that identical phrase someday when meeting old friends. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I am, too,” Jan said with a heavy sadness. “But it was for the best. Tell me, are you still painting?” Maggie noted how Jan quickly diverted the subject away from herself.

  “Occasionally. Not as much since I married.”

  Jan strolled around the gallery with proud comfort. “I can still remember one of your paintings—a beach scene. The detail you’d put into it was marvelous. Whatever happened to that?”

  “It’s hanging in our living room.”

  “I can understand why you’d never want to sell that.” Jan’s eyes were sincere. “Rarely have I seen a painting with such vivid clarity and color.”

  “It would sell?” Maggie was surprised. Ridiculous as it seemed, she’d never tried to sell any of her paintings. There hadn’t been any reason to try. She gave them away as gifts and to charities for auctions, but she didn’t have any reason to sell them. She didn’t need the money, and inwardly she feared they might not sell. Her artwork was for her own pleasure. The scenes painted by her brush had been the panacea for an empty life within the gilded cage.

  “It’d sell in a minute,” Jan stated confidently. “Do you think you’d consider letting the gallery represent you?”

  Maggie hedged, uncertain. “Let me think about it.”

  “Do, Maggie, and get back to me. I have a customer I know who’d be interested in a painting similar to the beachscape, if you have one. Take my card.” They spoke for several minutes more and Maggie described some of her other works. Again, Jan encouraged her to bring in a few of her canvases. Maggie noted that Jan didn’t make any promises, which was reasonable.

  Sometime later, Maggie returned to her car. Meeting Jan had been just the uplift she’d needed. Already her mind was buzzing with possibilities. There wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t sell her work.

  Glenn’s car was in the driveway when she returned and she pulled to a stop in front of the house and parked there. A glance at her watch told her that it was later than she suspected. Her spirits were lighter than at any time during the past two days, but she didn’t hurry toward the house.

  “Where have you been?” Glenn asked the minute she walked in the door. Not granting her the opportunity to respond, he continued. “You made an issue of asking me if I was going to be home for dinner and then you’re gone.”

  Carelessly, Maggie tossed her coat over an armchair. “I lost track of the time,” she explained on her way into the kitchen. Glenn was only a step behind. From the grim set of his mouth, Maggie recognized that once again she’d displeased him. Everything she’d done the past few days seemed to fuel his indignation.

  He didn’t say another word as she worked, d
ishing up the meal of baked pork chops and scalloped potatoes Rosa had prepared for them. Maggie could feel his gaze on her defeated shoulders, studying her. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but apparently changed his mind.

  “I was in an art gallery today,” she told him conversationally.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m thinking of taking in some of my work.”

  “You should, Maggie.”

  Silence followed. This was the first time they’d had a decent conversation since she’d sided with her brother against him.

  Their dinner was awkward, each trying to find a way to put their marriage back on track. Glenn sat across from her, cheerless and somber. Neither ate much.

  “Did the mail come?” Maggie asked, setting the dinner dishes aside.

  “It’s in your office,” Glenn answered without looking up. “Would you like me to bring it in to you?”

  “Please. I’ll finish up here in a minute.” Well, at least they were speaking to each other, she thought. It was a start. Together they’d work things out. The situation with Denny was probably the first of many disagreements and misunderstandings they would face through the years. It might take time, she told herself, but they’d work it out. They loved each other too much to allow anything to wedge a space between them for long. They had both behaved badly over this issue with Denny, but if she’d bend a little, Glenn would, too.

  When Glenn returned to the living room, he said her name with such fervor that her head came up. Unconsciously, Maggie pressed farther back into the thick cushions of her chair, utterly stunned by the look that flashed from her husband’s eyes. She could think of nothing that would cause him such anger.

  “Explain this,” he said, and thrust her letter to Angie in front of Maggie’s shocked face.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maggie’s mind was in complete turmoil. She’d known it was a risk to write Angie, and later had regretted it. She hadn’t mailed the card. Yet she’d left the letter on top of her desk for Glenn to find. Perhaps subconsciously she had wanted him to discover what she’d done.

  Tension shot along her nerves as she struggled to appear outwardly calm. Lifting the chatty letter Glenn handed her, she examined it as if seeing it for the first time, amazed at her detachment. Whatever she wished, consciously or subconsciously, Glenn had found it and the timing couldn’t be worse. They were just coming to terms with one major disagreement and were about to come to loggerheads over another. Only this issue was potentially far more dangerous to the security of their marriage. Going behind Glenn’s back had never felt right. Maggie had regretted her deception a hundred times since. And yet it had been necessary. Long ago, Maggie had admitted that Glenn had forced her into the decisive action. She had asked him about Angie and he’d refused to discuss the other woman. Maggie was his wife and she loved him; she had a right to know. But all the rationalization in the world wasn’t going to help now.

  “How do you explain this?” His voice went deep and low, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d found. Maggie hadn’t trusted him to help her brother, he thought, somewhat dazed, and now he’d learned that she had betrayed his trust in another situation as well. Glenn knew he should be furious. Outraged. But he wasn’t. His emotions were confused—he felt shocked, hurt, and discouraged. Guilt was penned all over Maggie’s pale face as she sat looking up at him, trying to explain. There couldn’t possibly be a plausible one. Not one. Feeling sick with defeat, he turned away from her.

  Maggie’s heartbeat quickened at the pained look in Glenn’s dark eyes. “I met Angie.”

  “When?” he asked, still hardly able to comprehend what she was saying. He paced the area in front of her in clipped military-like steps as if standing in one place were intolerable.

  Maggie had never seen any man’s features more troubled. “The … the day I flew to San Francisco … I took a flight to Groves Point first and then flew from there to Atlanta before heading home.”

  If possible, Glenn went even more pale.

  “I asked you to tell me about the two of you, but—” Maggie attempted to explain and was quickly cut off.

  “How did you know where she lived?”

  Admitting everything she had done made it sound all the more sordid and deceitful. She hesitated.

  “How did you know where she lived?” he repeated, his rising voice cold and deliberate. Maggie was pressed as far back against the chair cushion as possible as dread settled firmly over her.

  “I found her letter to you … and read it.” She wouldn’t minimize her wrongdoing. The letter had been addressed to him and she had purposely taken it from the envelope and read each word. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong, but given the opportunity, she would do exactly the same thing again.

  Shocked, all Glenn seemed capable of doing was to stare back at her. She yearned to explain that she hadn’t purposely searched through his drawers or snooped into his private matters. But she could see that expounding on what had happened wouldn’t do any good. Reasoning with Glenn just then would be impossible. She felt wretched and sick to her stomach. The ache in her throat was complicated by the tears stinging her eyes. With everything in her, she struggled not to cry.

  “What else did you try to find?” he asked. “How many drawers did you have to search through before you found the letter? Did you take delight in reading another woman’s words to me? Is there anything you don’t know?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered, her gaze frozen in misery.

  “I’ll bet!” He moved to the other side of the living room. His anger died as quickly as it came, replaced by a resentment so keen he could barely stand to look at Maggie. She couldn’t seem to let up on the subject of Angie. For months he had loved Maggie so completely that he was amazed that she could believe that he could possibly care for another woman. Worse, she had hounded the subject of Angie to death. It was a matter of trust, and she’d violated that and wounded his pride again and again.

  “Are you satisfied now? Did you learn everything you were so keen to find out?” His voice was heavy with defeat. “You don’t trust me or my love, do you, Maggie? You couldn’t, to have done something this underhanded.”

  “That’s not true,” she cried. Glenn wanted to wound her; she understood that. She had hurt him when all she’d ever wanted to do was give him her love, bear his children, and build a good life with him. But their marriage had been clouded with the presence of another woman who stood between them as prominently as the Cascade mountain range. Or so it appeared at the time.

  With a clarity of thought Glenn didn’t realize he possessed, he knew he had to get out of the room … out of the house. He needed to sit down and do some serious thinking. Something was basically wrong in a relationship where one partner didn’t trust the other. He loved Maggie and had spent the past few months trying to prove how much. Obviously, he’d failed. He crossed the living room and jerked his raincoat off the hanger.

  “Where are you going?” Maggie asked in a pathetically weak voice.

  He didn’t even look at her. “Out.”

  Trapped in a nightmare, her actions made in slow motion, Maggie came to her feet. The Christmas card and letter were clenched in her hand. Glenn turned to look back at her, and his gaze fell to the brightly colored card. His mouth twisted into a scowl as he opened the door and left Maggie standing alone and heartbroken.

  Maggie didn’t allow the tears to escape until she was inside their bedroom with the door securely closed. Only then did she vent her misery. She wept bitter tears until she didn’t think she could stop. Her throat ached and her sobs were dry; her eyes burned, and there were no more tears left to shed. She had hoped to build a firm foundation for this marriage and had ruined any chance. Glenn had every reason to be angry. She had deceived him, hurt him, invaded his privacy.

  The room was dark and the night half spent when Glenn came to bed. His movements sounded heavy and vaguely out of order. The dresser drawer was jerk
ed open, then almost immediately slammed shut. He stumbled over something and cursed impatiently under his breath as he staggered to the far side of the bedroom.

  Remaining motionless, Maggie listened to his movements and was shocked to realize that he was drunk. Glenn had always been so sensible about alcohol. He rarely had more than one drink. Maggie bit into her lower lip as he jerked back the covers and fell onto the mattress. She braced herself, wondering what she’d do if he tried to make love to her. But either he was too drunk or he couldn’t tolerate the thought of touching her.

  She woke in the morning to the sounds of Glenn moving around the room. Her first thought was that she should pretend to be asleep until he’d left, but she couldn’t bear to leave things unsettled any longer.

  “Glenn,” she spoke softly, rolling onto her back. At the sight of his suitcase she bolted upright. “Glenn,” she said again, her voice shaking and urgent. “What are you doing?”

  “Packing.” His face, devoid of expression, told her nothing.

  He didn’t look at her. With an economy of movement, he emptied one drawer into a suitcase and returned to the dresser for another armload.

  Maggie was shocked into speechlessness.

  “You’re leaving me?” she finally choked out. He wouldn’t … couldn’t. Hadn’t they agreed about the sanctity of marriage? Hadn’t Glenn told her that he felt divorce was wrong and people should work things out no matter what their problems?

  Glenn didn’t answer her; apparently, his actions were enough for her to realize exactly what he was doing.

  “Glenn,” she said, her eyes pleading with him. “Please don’t do this.”

  He paused midstride between the suitcase and the dresser. “Trust is vital in a relationship,” he said, and laid a fresh layer of clothes on top of the open suitcase.