Stupidly, Charlotte nodded.
“You must carry delicate flowers en masse, Lily of the valley or something equally fragile. Not those god-awful calla lilies that are so popular with brides these days.”
“Uh huh.”
Wicked, Martha continued, “And of course you must ride an elephant through town while men dance naked before you.”
Charlie muttered, nodding, “Whatever you say.”
Martha and the attendant burst out laughing.
Confused, Charlie glared over her shoulder. “What?”
Martha eased up behind the bride and met the attendant’s eyes in the mirror. “We’ll take the dress.”
Easter came. At the Radcliffe’s estate, Matthew sat puffing a cigar beside Beaumont—Martha and Charlotte chattering like magpies across the room.
Beaumont seemed to find his guest’s behavior, the way Matthew stared at his woman, rather funny. “You been enjoying your time in town?”
Matthew bit down on his cigar, unhappy to look away from Charlotte, and less than happy to feign small talk. “Listen, we can cut the chit-chat bullshit.”
Beaumont reached for a bottle of nearby whiskey, laughing under his breath. “I like you, Matthew. Straight to the point.” He poured them both a measure, glancing towards the scowling visitor in the lush chair at his elbow. “So, I’ll return the favor. The man you been looking for, I got a few of my boys with their ear on the rail.” Beaumont offered the glass and took a hearty gulp of his own. “But no word yet.”
Evaluating the offered liquor, Matthew studied the quality, unsurprised it was superb. “Is that so?”
“In my humble opinion, whoever hired him wasn’t too pleased with the outcome—cleaned up the mess, so to speak. Your man is probably lying in an unmarked grave.”
Matthew frowned.
Loud laughter, Martha and Charlotte beyond caring what the men were up to, made a ruckus across the room.
“Look at them.” Radcliffe cocked his chin. “Happy as two parakeets.”
Charlie did look damn happy, leaving Matthew a little jealous.
Martha seemed to sense they had an audience, capitalizing on the opportunity by raising her voice enough the men might hear. “What do you mean you won’t have a housemaid?”
“Okay, my cooking might be terrible, but,” Charlie, full of pride, glanced at her man, “Matthew is teaching me.”
“But who will do the wash and tend babies?” The hostess turned to her husband. “Tell her, Beau.”
The look the gangster gave his wife was dismally sarcastic. But he acquiesced and followed Martha’s lead. “Lottie is not the domestic type, if you get my drift, Matthew. For your own sanity, hire a maid.”
Charlotte snorted, offended, “I can learn.”
Of course she could, but Charlie wouldn’t like being tied to a kitchen or being made to sweep floors all day. Also, Matthew would be damned if he couldn’t make her a lady of standing in their county. Speaking above his normal drawl, he spoke his piece, “When the house is finished, plenty of Monroe women will come knockin’ looking for work. Hire whoever you like.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and dragged down her brow. “My cooking really that bad?”
The smallest of smirks and Matthew smoothed it all over. “No.”
The topic was dropped, Martha far more intrigued with what she’d heard. “You’re building her a house?”
“Actually,” Charlie beamed, squaring her shoulders, “we’re renovating a house I found in the woods. Well, it needs a lot of work, but by the end of the year, it should be a grand ol’ manse by the lake.” Clearly excited, she took Martha’s hand. “Once it’s done, I think it just might be up to your standards.”
Martha pouted. “You make me sound so spoiled.”
“You are,” Beaumont stated dryly.