Lost Lady (21 page)

“Regan!” they read as one. “Will” came next, then “You.” Each word got louder and louder, and finally, when Travis stood at the opposite platform, they reread all of it together. If they'd worked for weeks they couldn't have orchestrated it better. “Regan, will you marry me?”

Regan's body turned red from her toes to her hair roots and possibly spread to the tips of her hair; it certainly felt as if it did.

“What does it say, Mommie?” Jennifer demanded as everyone around her began to laugh.

Regan was afraid to speak for fear of what she might say. She absolutely refused to look at Travis, who was climbing down the rope ladder amidst great cheering, clapping, and general hilarity.

“I'm going home,” Regan finally whispered. “Please see to Jennifer,” she said, and, her head held high, she left the ribboned seat and walked in front of the crowd and out of the canvas-wrapped enclosure. People were calling things to her, but she ignored them as she started the long walk back to the inn.

Using her key, she went inside her own apartment and thought perhaps she'd never leave it again, except maybe to sneak away one night so that she would never again look at a person from Scarlet Springs.

It came as no surprise to her that propped against her pillow was a note on heavy ivory paper. It was an engraved invitation, exquisite, costly, for her to join Travis Stanford for supper that night at nine o'clock. A handwritten message was at the bottom, saying he'd pick her up at the door to her apartment at eight-forty-five.

Feeling completely defeated, she knew there was nothing else she could do but meet him. If she refused, would he perhaps have his elephant knock her door down, or maybe he'd arrive riding it? She was ready for anything even Travis could imagine.

No one bothered her all the rest of the evening, and she was grateful to whoever had arranged such a phenomenon. She'd had more than enough of everyone's attentions.

At exactly eight-forty-five, a knock sounded on her door, and Travis stood there, dressed elegantly in a dark green coat and lighter green pants. He smiled at her and glanced at the pretty apricot silk dress she wore.

“You are prettier than ever,” he said, offering her his arm.

The moment she touched him she forgave him. She wished she could have kicked herself for doing it, but all her anger and frustration, all her desire to shoot him, left her instantly.

Swaying, she leaned against him for just a second, and as she did so he took her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. Searching her face, his eyes holding hers, he bent and kissed her gently, sweetly. “I've missed you,” he whispered, before smiling and leading her toward a handsome two-seater buggy.

“Oh Travis,” was all she could manage as he settled beside her, to which he laughed in a seductive way and clicked for the horse to move.

It was a clear, warm, moonlit night, heavenly fragrant and still. It was almost as if Travis ordered just such a night. After the last few days she had no idea what she'd been expecting from him, but what she saw when he halted the buggy was not it.

A quilt of patches of velvet tied with gold threads was spread on the grass beside the stream, and set on it were many cushions of midnight blue and gold. Crystal glassware, porcelain, and delicious-smelling food were laid out, all of it surrounded by candles whose sharp glare was shrouded by globes of pink frosted glass. It was a heavenly, unreal scene.

“Travis,” she began as he lifted her from the wagon. “It's lovely.”

He led her to the cushions and helped her into a comfortable reclining position before he opened a cold bottle of champagne. When she held a glass, he gingerly lowered himself to cushions opposite her.

“Travis, are you hurt?” she asked.

“Every damn bone in my body is hurt,” he said with half a groan. “I've never worked so hard in my life as I have in the last few days. I hope you don't need any more courting.”

She gasped as she started to speak but instead filled her mouth with champagne, working at not choking. “No, I think I've been courted enough,” she said in all seriousness. “In fact, no one in town may ever need any more courting,” she added.

“Don't press the issue,” he said in warning, easing his back to a better position, grimacing at the ache. “Fix me something to eat, would you?”

Orders, Regan thought, but smiled as she heaped a plate full of hot chicken, cold roast beef, chutney, and a mixture of rice and carrots. “Was it difficult to learn to walk that rope?”

“In three days it was. Another couple of days, and I could have done it without the pole.”

“You could have taken another day,” she said sweetly.

“And give you time with that snob of an Englishman, Batsford? What's he been doing lately, anyway?”

“I'm afraid I've been a little too busy to notice, actually.”

At that Travis smiled smugly and leaned back against the cushions, giving his attention to his food. “I'll be glad when you get home with me and I can get regular meals. Lately I've been eating with one hand, writing with the other.”

“Writing? Oh yes, I wondered if the notes had been written by you. Personally, I mean.”

“Who the hell else would ask you to marry him? Oh well,” he smiled at her look. “I didn't mean that, and you know it. You think Jennifer liked the circus?”

“She adored it. Between the pony and the roses, I think you made her the happiest little girl alive.”

The look on Travis's face was angelic. “I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get that damn elephant here on time or not. That's some animal! I'll wager it left enough manure behind for six acres of corn. I was thinking about taking a wagonload home with me to see how good it is. Chicken manure is, of course, the best, but you can't get much of that. Maybe this elephant—.”

He stopped because of an explosion of laughter from Regan. Narrowing his eyes at her once, he looked away, ignoring her totally.

“Oh Travis, has there ever been anyone else like you on earth?”

With a wink, he grinned at her. “I did do well on that little rope, didn't I? Now give me some of that pie. You think Brandy'd like to come back and cook for us?”

Regan paused for a moment as she cut the pie. He'd asked her to marry him a few thousand times in the last few days, but never once face to face, and he'd never bothered to wait for an answer. And never had he said he loved her.

Handing him the pie, she spoke. “I think Brandy has other things she wants to do, but I am sure I can find a better cook than your Malvina.”

Chuckling, Travis took a bite of the pie. “She gave you a hard time, didn't she? Our old family cook died six years ago, and Margo found Malvina for us. She never gave me any trouble, but she and Wes have had a few spats. You could have gotten rid of her, you know.”

“I shall,” she said, eyes glittering. “I look forward to doing it.”

Travis was so quiet for so long that she glanced at him. In the moonlight, surely it was a trick, but his soft eyes looked almost wet. It couldn't be, because in essence she'd just said she was returning with him, could it?

“I am glad to hear that,” he said quietly, then smiled to himself and returned to his pie. “Wes can help you with whatever you need while I'm in the fields.”

“I think I'll be able to manage. What's Wes like? Does he spend most of his time in the house?”

“He's a good sort, sometimes a little headstrong, and I have to take him down a peg or two, but in general he helps me.”

Regan tried not to smile. “You mean he voices his opinion and dares to differ with you, and you…do you come to fisticuffs?”

“See that?” Travis said defensively, pointing to a tiny scar on his chin. “My little brother gave me that, so there's no need for you to act like he's the injured party.”

“And will you raise your fist to me when I dare to disagree with you?” she taunted.

“You've disagreed with me on every word I've ever said, and I've not hit you yet. You keep giving me children like Jennifer, and you'll always please me. Now let's go back. I need some sleep.”

“Are you only interested in the children I give you?” she asked seriously.

Travis's groan, from her question or his sore muscles, was his only answer. “Leave it,” he said as she started to clear away the food. “Someone will come later and pack it all.” He propelled her toward the buggy.

“How many people have you hired in the last few days? And how did you get into my safe?”

Unceremoniously, he lifted and dropped her onto the buggy seat. “A man should always have some secrets. I'll tell you on our fiftieth wedding anniversary. We'll gather all twelve of our children and tell them the story of the world's most enterprising, creative, most romantic courtship ever.”

Shall we mention the elephant manure? she thought, but didn't say anything as they drove back to town.

A
T HER DOOR,
T
RAVIS GAVE A BONE-POPPING YAWN, KISSED
her hand as though it were an afterthought, walked through her bedroom and out the door leading into the interior of the inn, and started up the back stairs to, she assumed, his own room. Stunned, surprised, bewildered, Regan stood by her bed and stared at the closed door.

After all he'd put her through, after all the proposals of marriage, he takes her out to a moonlight picnic, never once mentions marriage but instead talks mostly about elephant manure, and afterward leaves her in her bedroom without so much as a goodnight kiss. All evening he hadn't touched her, hadn't even seemed to be aware that she was near him and so very hungry for him. Of course, she'd concealed her feelings quite well, she knew that, but surely he must have been feeling some passion or at least a longing himself. Maybe making love once in four years was enough for him. After all, Travis was getting on in years; he was about thirty-eight years old now. Perhaps at that age a man….

Her thoughts trailed off as she began to undress. When she'd put the dress on she'd unconsciously imagined Travis taking it off her. Maybe he didn't want a wanton for a wife, she thought. Yes! That must be it. He'd always thought they were married, and now that they weren't…. No, they weren't married all that time they were on board ship.

Sitting down on the bed, she pulled off her slippers and stockings. It could just be that Travis was tired, just as he'd said, and didn't have the energy for rolling around with her tonight.

She slipped into a plain white cotton nightgown, checked on her sleeping daughter, and climbed into her big, cold, empty bed. An hour later she was still wide awake and knew she'd never sleep tonight, not as long as she was in one bed and Travis in another.

“Damn his tiredness!” she said aloud, throwing back the light cover.

In her wardrobe was something she'd never worn, a gift from Brandy. It was a white silk negligee, soft, almost transparent, and so low-cut it left little to the imagination. There were only inches of bodice above a white satin ribbon, and those two inches were very tight, pushing Regan's breasts high above the fabric.

“He may be tired, but I doubt if he's dead,” she smiled as she looked into a mirror. Flinging a cloak about herself, she went up the stairs toward Travis's room.

 

Travis was standing in the center of his room, smiling to himself, a glass of port in his hand, when Margo slammed into his room. His smile vanished immediately. “Get out,” he said flatly. “I'm expecting Regan any minute.”

“That trollop!” Margo hissed. “Travis, you make me sick! Do you know how you've looked the last few days? Everyone, this entire town, is laughing at you. They've never seen any man make such a complete ass of himself.”

“You've had your say. Now get out,” he said coldly.

“I haven't said half of what should be said. I've been asking a lot of questions in the last few days, and from what I gather you don't even know who this woman is. Why should she marry you, a big, dumb, crude American? You're so proud of that plantation of yours, but did you know your little Regan could buy it and not even miss the money?” She waited, watching to see how Travis was taking this news. He didn't pause or blink an eye, just looked at her with faint distaste.

“She's worth millions,” Margo breathed. “And next week it comes to her. She can have any man she wants, so why would she want an American farmer?”

Still Travis didn't speak.

“Maybe you did know,” Margo said. “Maybe you've known all along and that's why you're willing to make such a complete fool of yourself to get her. A man'll do a lot to possess that kind of money.”

She didn't say another word as Travis's hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head backward. “Get out,” he said, his voice low. “And may you hope I never see you again.” With that he gave her a push that sent her slamming against the door.

She recovered almost instantly. “Travis,” she said, throwing herself at him, her arms around his chest. “Don't you know how much I love you? I have always loved you, ever since we were children. You've always been mine. Every day I've died a little more since you brought her home and said she was your wife, and now this—all this idiocy over her, and I don't understand why. She's never loved you. She left you, but I've always been near, always close when you need me. I can't compete with her money, but I can give you love if you'll just let me. Open your eyes, Travis, and look at me. See how much I love you.”

Peeling her arms away from him, Travis held her at arm's length. “You have never loved me. All you ever wanted was my plantation. I've known for years that you're in debt. I helped you often, but I'll not help you to the extent of marrying you.” His voice was quiet, even gentle, and it was obvious he didn't like seeing her disintegrate like this.

When Regan quietly opened Travis's door, expecting him to be asleep and to slip into bed with him, she saw him holding Margo, his eyes looking down at her with gentleness, tenderness. Regan pivoted on one heel and began to run.

Travis discarded Margo onto the floor and took off after Regan.

Regan, knowing she'd never outdistance Travis to her own room, tried the door three down from Travis's, Farrell's room. Travis grabbed her cape just as she disappeared into the room, leaving him holding it as he heard the lock click in the door.

“Regan?” Farrell said, his eyes wide as he lit a candle, quickly pulled on his pants, and left the bed all in one motion. “You look terrified.”

Eyes wide, Regan leaned against the door, her breasts heaving above the low gown. “Margo and Travis,” she choked.

The next moment she sprang away from the door as something heavy hit it. At the next blow Travis's booted foot came through the wood, followed by his hand as he unlocked the door. Flinging it wide, he crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed Regan's arm.

“I've had enough games,” he said. “This time you're going to obey me whether you want to or not.”

“Now see here!” Farrell said, reaching for Travis's arm.

Travis looked him up and down, dismissed him, and turned to Regan. “You have twenty-four hours to pack, and then we're leaving. We'll be remarried at my house.”

With a quick twist, Regan moved away from him. “And will Margo be at our wedding, or maybe you'd rather she spent our wedding night with you?”

“You can have all the jealous fits you want when we get home, but right now I am sick of walking ropes and trying to find all those goddamn roses you seem to need, and I am not going to put up with this anymore. If I have to I'll chain you to my bed, but you might as well know that you and my daughter are going to live with me.”

He softened a bit. “Regan, I've done everything I know to prove to you that you love me. Haven't you realized it yet?”

“Me?” she gasped. “That I love you? I've never had any doubts. You're the one who's been unsure of himself. You've never loved me. You had to marry me the first time. You had to—.” She stopped as she looked at Travis in amazement.

He staggered backward, his hands falling to his sides limply. Blindly, his face drained of color, he began to grope for some support. He seemed to age ten years in a few seconds as he fell heavily into a chair.

“Had to marry you?” he choked, his voice weak, hoarse. “Unsure of myself? Never loved you?”

For a moment he dropped his head in his hands, and when he looked back at her his eyes were red. “I've loved you since I first met you,” he said quietly. “Why else would I have cared what happened to you? You were so young and frightened, and I was so scared of losing you.”

His voice grew stronger. “Why the hell else would I have risked my life on board ship to save that puppy Wainwright you liked so much? Do you know how much I wanted to throw him overboard? But I didn't because you wanted him. And you say I never loved you.”

He stood, his voice beginning to get angry. “And I'll have you know you aren't the first to have my baby. I did not
have
to marry you.”

“But you said you always marry the mother of your children. I thought—,” she said tearfully.

He tossed his hands in the air. “You were scared and angry, didn't even know you were going to have a baby. What was I supposed to say, that I have an illegitimate child at home, that his mother tried to sue me because I wouldn't marry her?”

“You…you could have said you loved me.”

He quietened. “I swore before witnesses to love you for the rest of my life. What more could I have done?”

She looked down at her hands. “You've never asked me to marry you, not personally.”

“Never asked you to marry me?” Travis bellowed. “Goddamn you, Regan, what more do you want from me? I've made a fool of myself in front of an entire state, and you say—.”

He broke off as he fell to his knees before her, his hands clasped. “Regan, will you marry me? Please. I love you more than I love my own life. Please marry me.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, their faces level. “What about Margo?” she whispered.

Travis gritted his teeth, but answered, “I could have married her years ago but never wanted to.”

“Why didn't you tell me that?”

“Why didn't you know without having to be told?” he shot back. “I love you,” he whispered. “Marry me?”

“Yes!” she cried, and threw her arms around his neck. “I'll marry you forever.”

Neither of them was aware of anyone or anything else on the earth, and they were shocked when the applause started.

Regan buried her face in Travis's neck. “Are there a lot of people out there?” she asked fearfully.

“ 'Fraid so,” he said. “I guess they heard the noise when you locked the door against me.”

She didn't even bother to correct him, that the noise came from his foot smashing the door and not from her locking of it. “Will you take me away from here?” she whispered. “I don't think I can face them.”

Triumphantly, Travis stood with Regan in his arms and started for the door. The townspeople and even the guests at the inn, several of whom had prolonged their stay from the first rose Travis sent, felt involved in this courtship and came running at the first sound of splintering wood.

The women, in heavy robes, curling rags in their hair, sighed heavily as Travis carried Regan away. “I knew it'd end happily,” one woman said. “How could she have turned him down?”

“My wife's never gonna believe this story,” a man said. “Maybe she'll forgive me for coming back three days late.”

“You're a fool if you tell your wife this,” snorted another man. “We ought to make a pact to keep it secret, or every woman in the country will expect the same kind of courting, and I for one am not walking any tightrope for any damn woman in the world. I'm telling my wife I spent these three days with another woman; it'll cause me less grief.” With that he turned toward the male dormitory.

Eventually the people decided to go back to bed, jumping once as Farrell slammed what was left of his door in their faces.

For several minutes Farrell's cursing of America, Americans, and women in general did not stop. The two of them had ignored him, giving each other lovesick lies as if he weren't even in the same room. As he began to think of all the money he'd spent searching for Regan, courting her, he grew more and more amgry. Yet she fell for an animal that kicked down doors, a bumbling idiot who was considered a fool by everyone who met him. The woman was insane!

And she belonged to him, to Farrell Batsford. He'd been through hell to get her money, and he wasn't going to give it up now.

Quickly, he tossed a dressing gown on and went to find Margo. He knew she wasn't a woman to take this public humiliation easily; perhaps they could work out something.

 

“Mmm, Travis,” Regan murmured, running her leg up Travis's. The early-morning sun made her skin golden.

“Don't start on me again,” he said. “You nearly wore me out last night.”

“You certainly don't feel as if
all
of you is exhausted,” she laughed, kissing his neck, wiggling against him.

“Unless you want to put on a show for your daughter, you'd better behave. Good morning, sweetheart,” he called.

Regan turned away just in time to see her daughter, who took a flying leap at them and landed on Travis's stomach.

“You're home, Daddy!” she yelled. “Can I ride my pony today? Can we go to the circus again? Will you teach me to walk on a rope?”

“Instead of a circus, how about going home with me? I don't own an elephant, but I have lots of other animals and a little brother.”

“Does Wesley know you talk about him like this?” Regan asked, but Travis ignored her.

“When can we go?” Jennifer asked her mother.