Mary Minds Her Business by George Weston
Mary Minds Her Business by George Weston
"Patty," said Miss Cordelia one morning, "have you noticed Josiah lately?"
"Yes," nodded Miss Patricia, her eyes a little brighter than they should have been.
"Do you know," continued the other, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm afraid-if he keeps on-the way he is-"
"Oh, no, Cordelia! You know as well as I do-there has never been anything like that in our family."
Nevertheless the two sisters looked at each other with awe-stricken eyes, and then their arms went around each other and they eased their hearts in the immemorial manner.
"You know, he worries because we are the last of the Spencers," said Cordelia, "and the family dies with us. Even if you or I had children, I don't think he would take it so hard-"
A wistful look passed over their faces, such as you might expect to see on those who had repented too late and stood looking through St. Peter's gate at scenes in which they knew they could never take a part.
"But I am forty-eight," sighed Cordelia.
"And I-I am fifty-"
The two sisters had been writing when this conversation started. They were busy on a new generation of the Spencer-Spicer genealogy, and if you have ever engaged on a task like that, you will know the correspondence it requires. But now for a time their pens were forgotten and they sat looking at each other over the gatelegged table which served as desk. They were still both remarkably good-looking, though marked with that delicacy of material and workmanship-reminiscent of old china-which seems to indicate the perfect type of spinster-hood. Here and there in their hair gleamed touches of silver, and their cheeks might have reminded you of tinted apples which had lightly been kissed with the frost.
And so they sat looking at each other, intently, almost breathlessly, each suddenly moved by the same question and each wishing that the other would speak.
For the second time it was Cordelia who broke the silence.
"Patty-!"
"Yes, dear?" breathed Patty, and left her lips slightly parted.
"I wonder if Josiah-is too old-to marry again! Of course," she hurriedly added, "he is fifty-two-but it seems to me that one of the Spicers-I think it was Captain Abner Spicer-had children until he was sixty-although by a younger wife, of course."
They looked it up and in so doing they came across an Ezra Babcock, father-in-law of the Third Josiah Spencer, who had had a son proudly born to him in his sixty-fourth year.
They gazed at each other then, those two maiden sisters, like two conspirators in their precious innocence.
"If we could find Josiah a young wife-" said the elder at last.
"Oh, Cordelia!" breathed Patty, "if, indeed, we only could!"
Which was really how it started.
As I think you will realize, it would be a story in itself to describe the progress of that gentle intrigue-the consultations, the gradual eliminations, the search, the abandonment of the search-(which came immediately after learning of two elderly gentlemen with young wives-but no children!)-the almost immediate resumption of the quest because of Josiah's failing health-and finally then the reward of patience, the pious nudge one Sunday morning in church, the whispered "Look, Cordelia, that strange girl with the Pearsons-no, the one with the red cheeks-yes, that one!"-the exchange of significant glances, the introduction, the invitation and last, but least, the verification of the fruitfulness of the vine.
The girl's name was Martha Berger and her home was in California. She had come east to attend the wedding of her brother and was now staying with the Pearsons a few weeks before returning west. Her age was twenty-six. She had no parents, very little money, and taught French, English and Science in the high school back home.
"Have you any brothers or sisters!" asked Miss Cordelia, with a side glance toward Miss Patty.
"Only five brothers and five sisters," laughed Martha.
For a moment it might be said that Miss Cordelia purred.
"Any of them married?" she continued.
"All but me."
"My dear! ... You don't mean to say that they have made you an aunt already?"
Martha paused with that inward look which generally accompanies mental arithmetic.
"Only about seventeen times," she finally laughed again.
When their guest had gone, the two sisters fairly danced around each other.
"Oh, Patty!" exulted Miss Cordelia, "I'm sure she's a fruitful vine!"
Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.
"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.
When her half-sister stole her fiancé, scarred her face, and threw her from a skyscraper, Amelia thought it was the end-until fate gave her a second chance. Reborn with bitter clarity, she vowed not to repeat the same mistakes. In her past life, she had been kind to a fault; now, she would wear a mask of innocence to outmaneuver every snake in the grass. One by one, she tore down their schemes-leaving her treacherous sister begging, her stepmother pleading, her worthless father groveling, and her ex-fiancé crawling back. Her response was a cold smirk and two words: "Get lost." But the one thing she never anticipated was crossing paths with Damien Taylor-the most powerful and untouchable man in the capital-on the very first day of her new life. They said he was ruthless, ice-cold, immune to any woman's charm. Amelia believed it. until she learned the truth: the man was dangerously cunning. "Miss Johnson, I saved you. How about dinner?" "Miss Johnson, I helped you. Don't you owe me a favor?" Backed against the wall, Amelia felt his low voice vibrate through her: "You owe me too much, Amelia. It's time to pay up-starting with you." Only much later would she realize. she'd been owing him all along.
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift—a way to protect me from a worse fate. Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes." My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life. They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous. They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word. It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash. That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."
I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.
Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.
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