A Most Peculiar Circumstance (4 page)

“Miss James, forgive me, but if he doesn’t let go of your hand soon, I’m afraid I really am going to have to shoot him, and then that lovely gown of yours will sport more than just a smidgen of blood.”

Miss James withdrew her hand from Deputy Hansen’s grasp so fast that Theodore felt the distinct urge to laugh.

“You, sir, are despicable,” Deputy Hansen spat as he stepped away from the cell and glared at Theodore. “My mother brought me up to respect ladies and to cater to their delicate sensibilities. Poor Miss James, from what I’ve learned, is completely innocent of all the wrongdoings that transpired today. I was simply trying to reassure her that all will be well in the end.”

“Oh, that was lovely,” Miss James cooed.

Theodore resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Lovely or not, Miss James, I’m afraid you’re going to have to bid Deputy Hansen goodbye now. Sheriff Dawson has agreed to release
you and Miss Beckett into my custody, and we really do need to take our leave.”

Deputy Hansen took a step forward and jerked his head toward Arabella. “But she shot a man.”

Sheriff Dawson cleared his throat. “That’s enough, Deputy Hansen. Mr. Wilder is now responsible for these ladies, and I say good riddance.” He turned and nodded to the two deputies who were still standing with their pistols at the ready. “All of you may go. I’ll meet up with you in my office momentarily.”

“But . . . you can’t just let Miss Beckett go,” Deputy Hansen argued. “Justice has not been served.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Sheriff Dawson snapped.

Deputy Hansen spun around and, without speaking another word, stalked down the narrow hallway and disappeared from sight, the other two deputies following him a moment later.

“Well, that was interesting,” Arabella said before she waved the sheriff forward. “If I’m to assume that we really are going to be freed, don’t you think it might be prudent to unlock this cell?”

Sheriff Dawson eyed the slimy money Theodore still held in his hand. “I really should demand you give me that for all the aggravation this lady has caused.”

“But since you and I both know she didn’t do anything to warrant arrest, I think I’ll give it back to her,” Theodore said as he handed Miss Beckett her money through the bars and watched as she stuffed it down her bodice.

Was she opposed to carrying the always-present female accessory of a reticule, or did she simply find it more convenient to keep her money close at hand at all times?

“Come, Miss James,” Arabella said as Sheriff Dawson stepped to the cell door, pushed the key into the lock, and pulled the door open. “We must get you home.” She took
hold of Miss James’s arm, but then dropped it a second later when the young lady refused to budge.

“You didn’t say anything about returning me to Chicago,” Miss James said with a sniff.

“Chicago is your home,” Miss Beckett pointed out.

“But . . . what about my husband?” Miss James wailed.

Miss Beckett muttered something under her breath before she took hold of Miss James’s arm once again and tugged the lady out of the cell and into the hallway. She let out a grunt when Miss James dug in her heels and stopped moving.

“I’m not going back to Chicago without a husband by my side.”

To Theodore’s surprise, Miss Beckett gave Miss James an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“I don’t mean to distress you, but that advertisement you answered was simply a ploy to get you down here. Those two men from the farmhouse had nefarious plans for you, and I’m afraid there was
never
a husband to be had.” She gave Miss James another pat. “You’re a lovely young lady, one I’m certain any gentleman would be proud to call his own. I’m quite certain if you put your mind to it, you’ll be able to secure the attention of some nice gentleman back in Chicago. Then you won’t need to worry about becoming a spinster.” She looked at him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Wilder?”

He blinked. “Ah, of course. Why, I would be astonished if Miss James wasn’t happily married within the year.”

Miss James’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “Are you married, Mr. Wilder?”

Before he could address that piece of nonsense, Miss Beckett grabbed Miss James’s arm and began pulling her down the hallway, and something that sounded very much like “Set your sights a little higher dear,” drifted back to his ears.

Honestly, Miss Beckett was a nuisance. There was no other way to describe her.

“We should probably follow them,” Sheriff Dawson said, prompting Theodore to grimace even as he began to trudge up the steps after the ladies.

He reached the top and moved to where Miss Beckett was whispering something to Miss James, stopping when she caught sight of him. She straightened, sent Miss James a look that clearly stated she was beginning to lose patience with the lady, and then opened her mouth. “You’ve neglected to mention what our plans are from here, so Miss James and I were uncertain how to proceed.” She let out a breath. “Miss James believes we should scurry over to the hotel and get a restful night’s sleep, but I was hoping you have a carriage at your disposal, which would allow us to depart from this pleasant town immediately.”

“I’m afraid I have no carriage at my disposal, I learned this afternoon that the hotel has no vacancies, and I’m quite certain we’ll have to spend the night at the train station, since no trains run through Gilman this time of night.”

“My mother would never approve of me spending the night in a train station with a gentleman,” Miss James proclaimed.

Miss Beckett narrowed her eyes. “Miss James, forgive me, but you ran away from home to rendezvous with some unknown man whom you apparently were convinced you would marry. I don’t believe your mother will care if you accompany Mr. Wilder and me to the train station because, again, it’s a train station. Mr. Wilder is a well-respected private investigator, and I’m certain he’s spent more than a few nights guarding his clients in unusual places.”

“Oh, private investigators are so . . . compelling,” Miss James breathed.

Here was a reminder of why he was not getting married anytime in the near future. Ladies were trouble wrapped up in pretty packages, or in Miss Beckett’s case, wrapped up in clothing that could most likely walk on its own.

“Tell me, Sheriff,” Arabella said, causing Theodore to blink back to the conversation at hand, “what happened to the two men who were back at the farmhouse?”

With all the intrigue swirling around, he’d completely neglected to ask that pertinent question, which certainly didn’t say much about his investigating skills at the moment.

Sheriff Dawson turned rather red. “I’m afraid those men have disappeared.”

Miss Beckett’s expression turned formidable. “Surely you’re not suggesting they escaped, are you?”

Sheriff Dawson’s color increased. “They took off on Mr. Brown’s horse, and no one has seen them since.”

Miss Beckett crossed her arms over her chest. “If those men took Mr. Brown’s horse, explain to me why I’m being charged with its theft?”

“Someone had to be held accountable.”

It really was somewhat impressive how the lady could make everyone aware of her displeasure without speaking a single word. Sparks were literally spewing from her eyes, her lips were pinched, and annoyance radiated from her every pore.

“I’ll need your gun,” Miss Beckett said as she held out her hand to Theodore.

“My gun?”

“Yes, that object you have clenched in your hand.”

“I don’t think that would be wise, and besides, this isn’t actually my gun. I took it from Sheriff Dawson’s desk.”

Miss Beckett’s gaze locked on the gun in his hand, and she suddenly released a snort. “That’s my gun, and I’ll have it back, if you please.”

Sheriff Dawson stepped forward and shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Beckett. You did use that weapon to shoot a man, so I’m going to need to enter it into evidence.”

“Since the man I shot is nowhere to be found, you have no witness to the shooting,” Miss Beckett snapped.

“I saw you shoot that man,” Miss James said.

Miss Beckett turned ever so slowly and cocked a brow at Miss James, who flinched and retreated rapidly back into silence.

Theodore tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers, believing it would be the safest place for it, before he extended his arm to Miss Beckett. “I’ll return your gun once we get on a train and once the temptation of shooting Sheriff Dawson is removed.”

“Thank you for that,” Sheriff Dawson muttered.

“You’re welcome,” he replied before he looked at his arm and then to Miss Beckett. “Shall we go?”

She refused the offer of his arm and stuck her nose in the air. “What about my hair?”

Of course she would turn difficult. He blew out a breath. “While I would adore nothing more than to return your hair to your head, I do believe you are going to have to accept the fact that it’s gone for good.”

“I don’t want it back. I want the sheriff to apologize.”

For a split second, Theodore thought Sheriff Dawson was going to refuse, but then the sheriff sent Miss Beckett a glare even as he inclined his head. “My apologies, ma’am.”

Her nose went further up in the air. “Come, Miss James, it is past time we took our leave of this horrible place.” She grabbed Miss James’s hand and towed her toward the door.

“I can’t say I’ll be upset to see the last of her, and you for that matter,” Sheriff Dawson mumbled.

“Who said you’ve seen the last of me?” Theodore asked as he pulled his gaze away from the ladies and settled it on the sheriff.

“I gave you what you wanted.”

“Did you?”

“I’m letting you take Miss Beckett.”

“Only because she’s annoying and you don’t want to deal with her any longer.”

The sheriff opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut before a sliver of a grin crossed his face. “Speaking of annoying, she just left the building without you.”

She was going to be the death of him.

“Until we meet again,” he said to the sheriff before he turned and strode out of the jail. Temper stole over him when he caught sight of Miss Beckett limping down the road, apparently oblivious to the danger that stalked her every uneven step.

“Miss Beckett, stop right there, if you please,” he called, somewhat amazed when she actually tottered to a stop and turned.

“Mr. Wilder, we cannot dawdle in the middle of the street. If you’ve forgotten, there are real criminals on the loose.”

He broke into a slow run, caught up to them, took a firm grip on her arm, and hustled her back into motion, their rapid pace causing Miss James to begin to whine.

“I’m perfectly aware of the danger, Miss Beckett, although I cannot say the same for you,” he said, steering her toward the train station while ignoring the overly dramatic breaths Miss James was now expelling.

He was forced to stop when Miss Beckett ceased moving. He assumed what he hoped was a somewhat pleasant expression. “Yes?”

“If your attitude is going to continue to be disagreeable, Mr. Wilder, we should part ways right now.”

“If only that were a viable choice.”

Miss Beckett assumed an expression that was downright alarming. She shook off his arm and pulled Miss James into motion. “Come, Miss James. The train station is just in sight, and I for one am desperate to use their washroom.” She didn’t
bother to see if he was following her but began to stomp away on her one remaining shoe.

She was beyond aggravating, a nightmare of a lady with a pushy attitude that was certain to haunt him for quite some time.

Why then did he feel compelled to go after her?

 4 

I
t had been one of the strangest weeks of Arabella’s life.

Not only had she almost been forced into a life of ill repute and been arrested, she’d also been forced to spend five days with the most unpleasant Mr. Wilder. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d been left to deal with a disheartened Miss James after the young lady had fallen head over heels in infatuation with Mr. Wilder on their long train ride to Chicago.

To give Mr. Wilder his due, he had not actually encouraged Miss James, but there just seemed to be something about him that made him irresistible to most ladies.

She did not see his appeal.

He was very set in his way of thinking, especially in regard to women, and although he’d been completely charming, in a rather distant way, to Miss James, he’d been abrupt and downright cantankerous with her.

He’d also expected her to deal with Miss James once they’d returned the lady to her parents. She’d been required to listen as the lady bemoaned the sad state of affairs resulting from Mr. Wilder
not
returning her affections. She’d tried to
be sympathetic, but after an hour of sobbing, pleading, and downright silliness, she’d finally lost patience. She’d told Miss James in no uncertain terms that she needed to reevaluate her priorities, bid a very appreciative Mrs. James goodbye, and then made a mad dash for the door. She’d been less than amused when she’d found Mr. Wilder sleeping in the carriage as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Once she’d shaken him awake, the irritating gentleman had not even given her a thank-you for extracting him from Miss James’s misplaced affections. He seemed to take it for granted that she’d deal with what he’d called “lady business” and had even had the audacity to suggest that Miss James’s infatuation had been Arabella’s fault in the first place.

The quality of their time together since then had rapidly gone downhill.

They couldn’t seem to spend five minutes in each other’s company without trading barbs, and quite frankly she was relieved they were almost to New York. She knew it was only a matter of time until the gentleman said something that would send her over the edge, and she was rather afraid that when he did, she might be tempted to do something to him that would put her back behind bars.

Arabella lowered the newspaper she’d been attempting to read and rolled her eyes at the sight of Theodore sleeping soundly once again, his head lolling against the window of the train car as his mouth gaped open.

She hated to admit it, but he was actually somewhat appealing when he was asleep . . . mostly because he wasn’t speaking.

That thought had a grin teasing her lips.

It really was rather unfortunate that he was a gentleman who held such archaic views. He did seem to be intelligent, if misguided, and it would be interesting, if he would engage in conversation with her, to see if she could change some of his less-than-acceptable ideas.

She glanced at the small watch she’d attached to her reticule, saw that they still had at least an hour until they reached New York, and felt her grin widen. There was still time to change him, but she would need him to wake up.

She rattled the newspaper, and then rattled it again when he didn’t budge, reluctantly admitting defeat after the third rattle. One would think, given his profession, that he would be a gentleman who slept lightly.

She raised the newspaper and scanned the articles, her attention soon caught by an announcement pertaining to a suffrage rally that was to be held in Central Park the following week. Deciding that would be the perfect opportunity to return to something normal, she set the newspaper aside and pulled her reticule into her lap. She rooted around in the bag, pulled out the pistol Theodore had finally returned to her, pushed aside a few forgotten sweets, and finally located a small pad of paper.

“You do realize it’s not exactly honorable to shoot a man while he’s sleeping, don’t you?”

She lifted her head and found him watching her warily. “Since it would seem you are no longer asleep, it wouldn’t be exactly dishonorable.” She patted her gun, stuffed it back into the reticule, and narrowed her eyes when he surprised her with a laugh.

He normally woke up surly.

“May I dare hope we’re almost to New York?”

Before she could answer, he stretched his arms over his head, the motion causing her to notice the muscles she’d been trying to ignore for days strain against his shirt.

It was beyond irritating, the fact that the gentleman was so intriguingly put together. Not once had he failed to attract the attention of every lady in his vicinity, and now 
she
was gawking at him just like everyone else.

The effects of the past week’s events must finally be catching up with her.

She jerked her gaze away from his chest and looked out the window, trying to hide the fact her cheeks had taken to heating.

What had he asked her again?

Oh yes, something about New York.

“It looks as if nasty weather is preceding our arrival into the city, but yes, we shouldn’t have much longer until we arrive.”

“Ah, lovely, nasty weather. Just what I was hoping for, and quite a safe topic for us to discuss, I might add.”

Annoyance slid over her. “Would you prefer I discuss something besides the weather?”

“No, the weather is a fine topic of conversation, much more preferable than the suffrage movement.” He shuddered. “I must say I’ve heard enough about that to last me a lifetime.”

He really was insufferable.

“Do you think it will begin to snow before we reach our respective homes?” he asked.

He really was going to continue discussing the weather.

“Ah, well . . . perhaps” was all she could think to reply.

“Well, that topic didn’t occupy us for long, did it?” Theodore gestured to her dress. “May I remark that the gown you’re wearing today is quite lovely? I must admit that purple certainly does seem to bring out the blue of your eyes, and your matching hat does wonders in hiding the deplorable state of your hair.”

She blinked. Not once in the entire time they’d spent together had he ever given her a compliment. Granted, he hadn’t seemed able to resist pointing out the condition of her hair, but still . . .

Maybe he was coming down with something.

“I wore this gown two days ago.”

“Did you? Then I must apologize for not speaking up then and telling you how delightful it looks on you.”

“Two days ago, you barely spoke a word to me, except to tell me I was taking too long with the newspaper.”

“I escorted you to that general store when the train made a stop.”

“True, but you didn’t actually speak while you escorted me.”

Theodore looked at her for a long moment and then leaned forward. “Miss Beckett, I do beg your pardon if you found me a less-than-pleasant traveling companion. I readily admit my mind has been occupied with other matters, namely what is transpiring in Gilman. Throw in the nasty business of fending off Miss James’s advances, and I probably have not been at my best. Allow me to make up for my disgraceful lack of attention toward you. I promise to discuss anything within reason that you care to discuss during the time we have left together.”

He really must be coming down with something.

She felt her lips twitch. “You would discuss the suffrage movement with me?”

“I would much rather discuss ladies’ fashions, the ingredients for assembling a cake, or even the many ailments that plague people, but since you do
not
seem to like conversing on subjects the majority of ladies enjoy, then yes, I will discuss, or at least listen to, your views on the suffrage movement once again.”

His words stung.

She enjoyed the latest fashions as much as the next lady, and while she was not overly proficient in the kitchen, she did know how to bake a cake.

Yet he did have a point. Every single time they’d attempted to converse, she’d brought up her cause and . . . good heavens, she’d somehow managed to become a bore.

It was little wonder he hadn’t wanted to engage in conversation with her during the past few days. He’d probably
been lulled almost to the point of slumber, which certainly would explain all the naps he’d taken.

She needed to bring up a topic for conversation they both would enjoy, but her mind was a complete blank.

“Tell me, Miss Beckett,” Theodore began, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “I noticed you carry a yellow parasol with you quite often, and that parasol, interestingly enough, is trimmed in pink. May I assume it was a gift, and that you hold it dear to your heart?”

For some reason, she got the impression he found it odd that she would own anything with pink on it.

She reached down and plucked up the parasol in question. “I purchased this adorable parasol in a small shop while I was staying in California. The reason I carry it so often is because I absolutely adore the color pink.” She twirled the closed parasol around for a second and frowned. “I had a gown made up to complement this parasol, but alas it was destroyed by my encounter with that dastardly pig.”

“Very good, Miss Beckett, that was a subject of conversation that any normal young lady would have brought up, except for the ‘dastardly pig’ part, that is.”

She eyed the parasol and couldn’t help but wonder if it would survive intact if she used it to give Mr. Wilder a good wallop.

“I must admit that you’ve taken me by surprise with your admission that you enjoy pink,” Theodore continued, completely oblivious to the fact she was longing to do him bodily harm. “Pink is not a color I would normally associate with you.”

She laid the parasol back on the floor, just far enough away from her that it wouldn’t be a temptation. “And exactly what colors do you associate with me?”

“I think bold colors suit you, like red or . . . black.”

She tilted her chin. “Black is not a color.”

“But it suits you.”

“I’ve never worn black in your presence, something you would know if you’d actually been paying attention to me. What color did I wear yesterday?”

“Yellow.”

She bit her lip. He was right, she had worn yellow yesterday. She tilted her chin. “What about the day we met?”

He laughed. “Miss Beckett, surely you realize that given the fact you were covered in mud, I can’t really say what color you were wearing.” He grinned. “But since it appears we have descended into bickering over what I thought would be a safe subject, may I suggest we move on to discuss anything of note you read in the paper?”

She lifted her chin. “I did read about a rally that is to be held in Central Park, but I wouldn’t want to bore you with the pesky details.” She gritted her teeth when he had the audacity to send her a charming and all-too-attractive grin. “However,” she said, reaching for the newspaper and shaking it open to page three, “I must admit I found this article on the clothing mills extremely well-written. It’s by a Mr. Alfred Wallenstate, and he has a wonderful way with words.”

Theodore’s grin disappeared in a split second. “May I see that?”

Arabella handed him the paper and watched as he disappeared behind it, reappearing a moment later with a frown on his face.

“Did you not appreciate the story?” she asked.

“It is well-written.”

“And that disappoints you?”

“It does,” Theodore admitted. “If you must know, Mr. Wallenstate is actually Miss Agatha Watson, and I readily admit I did not realize she possessed so much talent.”

“May I assume you are known to this Miss Watson?”

“She is a dear friend of your new sister-in-law, Eliza, and
I must tell you now, she is trouble. I encouraged her to abandon her quest to become a journalist, but as you can see, she didn’t heed my advice. I wonder what her father makes of the fact his daughter is behaving in a manner hardly suitable to her social status.”

“I would hope her father is proud of her. She has a true gift.”

“She is taking a job away from a man who could have penned just that article. Miss Watson has no need to earn funds. She has a wealthy father to provide for her, and besides that, she is an attractive woman and holds an enviable position in society. She would have no difficulty finding a husband if she would only put aside her strange notions regarding a profession and behave in a more ladylike manner.”