My Unfair Lady (38 page)

   Summer felt such a rush of anger that she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

   "Miss Summer, I'm so terribly sorry," said Monte.

   Something strangled in her throat. She hadn't seen him for over half a year, but he looked the same as she remembered, sounded the same as she remembered. Then why did he feel so different? She craned her head to look up at him, remembering the way her neck would get a crick in it when he kissed her. Remembering how perfectly she and Byron fit together when they kissed.

   "Your letters just reached me," he continued, "and I was also informed of your visit of a few days ago. I've let go my footman for denying you entrance into my home. I must beg your forgiveness; if I had any idea that your father was ill…"

   
He's lying,
thought Summer, seeing the sweat on his upper lip and the shiftiness of his eyes. But why? Why should he care to reconcile with her now? And who was the little old woman who kept staring at her with misty eyes?

   Monte looked down on the gray head of the woman on his arm and smiled. "I see you're wondering who I brought to convey her respects? Miss Summer, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Gertrude Tarkington, your maternal grandmother."

   Summer blinked.

   "You look just like your mother, child," sniffed Mrs. Tarkington.

   Monte patted her gloved hand. "You'll be aston ished to know, as surely as I was, that your mother comes from one of the most respectable old New York families, with a heritage that traces back to English aristocracy."

   Summer shook her head. Tarnation, was this some kind of joke? How could Monte just blurt something like this without any tact whatsoever, and at her father's funeral, no less? Lady Banfour had taught her that much about manners anyway.

   "I don't understand." Summer couldn't help glancing at Monte's cousins, the Astor family, noticing the way they kept smiling at her with such friendliness. The last time she'd seen them was at the Astor ball, and they had pulled the hems of their skirts away from her as if she had a disease.

   "Oh dear," said Mrs. Tarkington. "Monte, I told you this would be too sudden for the girl. Why, I've had days to get used to the idea, and it still seems like a miracle that we found each other." The old woman smiled, the wrinkles radiating from that expression all across her face. "You see, dear, when your mother married your father, well, needless to say your grand father was quite upset."

   
Tarnation,
thought Summer.
I have a grandfather too.

   "He swore," she continued, "that if she married that uncivilized mountain man he never wanted to have anything to do with her again. And then when he settled down and regretted his harsh words, they just seemed to have disappeared into the American wilderness."

   "But Pa and I lived in New York for two years before I left for London. Why now?"

   Mrs. Tarkington—Summer couldn't think of her as Grandmother yet—pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. "How were we supposed to know, dear? New York is a very large city. Why, if it weren't for that kind Englishman…"

   Monte stepped between them. "Don't you realize what this means, my dear Summer? We can announce our engagement now, without fear of my family opposing the match." He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Astor, who nodded her head benignly at him in agreement.

   But Summer had recovered from her shock and narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll get to you in a minute. Now, Mrs. Tarkington, what about this Englishman?"

   Monte took a step back, his eyes looking almost fearful. The old woman smiled at Summer with a dreamy look on her face. "Why, he was the kindest man, very dignified and gracious! My neighbors are in a lather of jealousy that I had an actual duke in my parlor."

   Summer felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. Byron was in New York? Why? And how would he know anything about her family? She still couldn't believe she had family… She thought she'd just buried the only family she had. She should be overjoyed, yet for some reason that weight that had lifted earlier settled back on her shoulders.

   Summer interrupted the older woman's praise of Byron. "Why did he come to see you?"

   "Well, he said that he'd come across some papers regarding a friend of his and felt it was his duty to let me know that my poor daughter had passed on, but left me a granddaughter—that's you, dear. And that this very girl lived right here in New York, and that he'd vouch for her character, and wouldn't we like to meet her? Of course, I was overjoyed at the news… It's almost as if our long-lost daughter has returned to us. Fortunately, you don't look anything like him"—and she nodded at the freshly dug grave—"so I'm sure Mr. Tarkington would have no reason to disapprove of you whatsoever."

   Summer felt the blood rush to her face.

   "Especially when you're the good friend of the Duke of Monchester. But, well, you come from royalty yourself, so it's not surprising."

   "From royalty?" Summer couldn't decide whether to be angry or burst out laughing.

   "Why, yes, dear. A fine line of lords and ladies are in your ancestral tree. And I must say, the name Tarkington is at the top of the social list here in New York—with or without that connection—but it's interesting nonetheless that the duke pointed this out."

   Summer studied the wizened old woman. Her narrow shoulders barely held up an elegant, ermine trimmed black wool cape, and next to Monte she appeared so tiny that from a distance she might be taken for a child. With a wealth of silver hair, a rather prominent nose, and eyes of brownish green, she didn't look anything like Ma. But then, memory of Ma was fuzzy anyway. She considered for a moment that Byron might have forged the documents to fulfill a sense of duty about their business arrangement. Family connections would gain her more social acceptability than meeting the Queen of England. She dismissed it with a shake of her brown hair. He was too honorable to do such a thing. Somehow he had tracked down her family for her, when she didn't even know she had any.

   With a start, Summer realized that she believed all this… but why had Monte brought the old lady to her? Why not Byron? Maybe he still didn't want anything to do with her. Maybe she'd given up her only chance with him when she'd left Cliffs Castle.

   But Monte wanted her. And the formidable Mrs. Astor obviously approved of the match now. They all kept staring at her as if they longed to welcome her back into the fold.

   Byron had given Summer everything she'd ever wanted and then some.
No,
she reminded herself. Everything Pa had wanted. Time to stop lying to herself. She didn't want to live the rest of her life with this weight back on her shoulders. It was time she confessed what she was, what she'd done, and accepted it. Summer squared her shoulders, cocked her head sideways, staring up at Mrs. Astor and an even-taller Monte. She'd been trying to be a lady, and all along she'd already been one. Did that make any sense at all?

   Snow swirled through the graveyard, the sound swishing in her ears, combining with the thunk of the dirt as it hit the coffin behind her in a sort of macabre melody. Summer refused to give herself time to think about what she was going to say. If she didn't have the courage now, she never would.

   "I killed a man."

   Old Lady Tarkington blinked, a smile still plastered on her face. Mrs. Astor and her nephew, and the girls who followed her about like ducks with their mother, gasped in unison. Monte just stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.

   "I beg your pardon?" he managed.

   "I told you that I grew up in a shack in the Arizona mountains and had an injun for my best friend. I had to learn to hunt and shoot and take care of myself, 'cause there wasn't anyone to do it for me. But… I never told you that I shot a man… a man who tried to shoot me 'cause he wanted our claim."

   One of the younger girls made as if to faint, and Monte steadied her with an iron grip. "Why are you doing this?"

   "Doing what? Telling you the truth about me? I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not, Monte. I won't do it anymore, not for you or anyone else."

   To Summer's complete astonishment, Mrs. Astor stepped forward. "If you're trying to shock us, young lady, you have succeeded admirably. However, anything you might have been forced to do in your youth because you were unjustly deprived of your proper childhood can certainly be overlooked. With the guidance of your dear grandmother, I'm sure she can mold you into a proper lady."

   Summer felt a noose tighten around her throat. Ever since she'd left Arizona, she'd felt like she'd stepped into a different world, into a role that she wasn't suited for. Into a life that shone on the surface with glitter and polish, but had no substance for her. Only with Byron had she felt like she'd become herself… when he was supposed to make her into something other than that.

   Mrs. Tarkington kept smiling and nodding her head, Monte looked at her with relief, and Mrs. Astor held out a hand. Summer stepped back as if a snake had tried to bite her. The same woman who had scorned her for being nouveau riche now held her hand out in welcome. Now that she'd been proven to be one of "them," it didn't matter what she'd done.

   Summer bit her lip. She'd been a complete fool. These people didn't care about what was inside a person, only what showed on the outside. How could she ever have desired to become one of them?

   "From now on I will do as I wish, without thought of anyone else's ideas about what a lady is or isn't. Because… because"—Summer backed away from the group—"I happen to like myself just the way I am."

   Summer turned and marched through the snow back to her waiting carriage, realizing that she'd spoken the truth, that somewhere along the way she'd come to accept herself. And she didn't really care whether she saw any one of those people ever again, even her newfound grandmother. If her family hadn't accepted her pa, well, then, they didn't need to accept her either. It would be their choice and their loss, but she wouldn't change herself to make them love her.

   A grin started at the corners of Summer's mouth. Every third step, she gave a little skip. She was Summer Wine Lee… and she could shoot the spots off a card, ride like the wind, and walk like an injun. Her grin spread into a smile. She carried a knife under her skirts and rescued critters and loved a duke named Byron. She could never pour tea properly, or get her hair to stay up in a bun, or speak in a breathless whisper—and she didn't care!

   She skipped all the way back to her carriage, the coachman giving her a frown of disapproval when she clambered up the steps laughing, because how could he understand that the saddest day of her life had turned into the happiest?

   The carriage bounced along back to the hotel, Summer plotting madly inside, oblivious to the traffic surrounding them. Fine gentlemen dashed through the snow with their top hats tilted forward against the wind, snowflakes fell on the brownstone porches, ladies in their finest browsed the upscale shops. And Summer barely noticed any of them.

   Because she had a duke to catch, and all she could see was fine gold hair, crystal blue eyes, and full lips with a small cleft in the bottom one. She'd been a fool not to realize that she could never feel inferior to him. How often had he told her that he liked her just the way she was? But she hadn't believed him, she couldn't, until she realized that she liked herself too. She was completely worthy of him… but how could she let him know that?

   She jumped out of the carriage when they reached the hotel, the doorman near breaking his arm to get the door open for her. She ignored the lift as usual and ran up the stairs, her determina tion growing with each pounding step she took. When she entered her room, Lefty did his usual three-legged leap into the air, Moo-moo sprang to her skirts and stuck there, and pony-sized Sweetie slobbered all over her face. The poor critters had missed her when she went to London, and tried to never let her forget it.

   It took a good twenty minutes of loving from her before Moo-moo launched herself to her usual perch on the draperies, and Lefty curled himself back up on her pillow, and Sweetie sprawled near her feet, seeming to take up half the room.

   Summer stared at the stationery she'd lain out on the little writing desk, the hotel name engraved in gold along the top of it. What if he didn't come? What if he ignored her messages just as Monte had? She began to write hastily. Well, then, she'd just go after him herself.

   When she delivered her envelope to the hotel clerk, he eyed it in consternation. "But, Miss, there's no address on it."

   Summer threw up her hands. "Tarnation, he's the Duke of Monchester! Are you telling me that half of New York doesn't already know where he's staying?"

   "Oh yes, of course. I… I'm sure we can locate him for you."

   Summer felt sure of it. She had a feeling that the duke would not be hiding. She ran back up the stairs and had to go through another twenty minutes of loving before her critters would settle down and she could prepare for her seduction of the Duke of Monchester. She'd decided that seducing him would be the easiest way to show him he couldn't live without her. They always seemed to be in harmony with each other when… well, when they were loving each other.