Regency Romance: A Duchess in Disguise (Historical 19th Century Victorian Romance) (Duke Fantasy Billionaire Romance) (16 page)

Chapter 1

When I was fourteen, I was certain that my life would be an Eliza Doolittle. I had just begun my first year of high school. My overalls were pressed. My braces were set. I had become increasingly more conscious about my freckles and the impossible knots that my bushy brown hair got itself into. Eliza and I, while we had our differences, were in similar straights. I was just another country girl waiting for a handsome, high-society man to pamper me with things and teach me some class. Further down the line, I jokingly figured I’d settle for a Julia Roberts from
Pretty Woman
. But, being a romantic and a girl longing for adventure never really worked out in the small town of Gordonsville, Montana: population two thousand.

In a small pond like that, I quickly realized my path was never meant to be quite so serendipitous. I wanted to travel the world, live in a big city, eat sushi, ride a subway for the first time... So in my twenty-second year, that’s exactly what I did. I left town for big dreams, and had no intention of returning. Five years passed, and I got everything I ever wanted. But there were some parts about Gordonsville that never quite left…

Well, I did manage to live out a Julia Roberts scenario like I always wanted, though not at all like I had planned. Welcome to the life of me, Erin McGarity, Gordonville’s very own Runaway Bride.

“Zelda!” I called, weaving through piles of clutter and stacks of boxes. It was an early Tuesday morning, and the apartment was in utter disarray. Unpacked boxes were scattered about, clothes still piled in hangers and some half-folded into suitcases.

At this rate, we’re never going to catch our flight in time.

I chided myself for thinking that I had enough time to finish everything. It wouldn’t have been too bad, but Mr. Kinney begged me to take on one more account before I left and it completely tied me up for the weekend.

“Zelda!” I bent to peer beneath the living room coffee table. I sighed, resting my hand underneath my chin, and slumped over the table.

In the corner of my eye, I spotted a small, white ball dart toward the fireplace.

“Philip,” I called. “She’s in the fireplace!”

The sound of pattering feet became louder as he neared.

“Where is she? Where is she?” Philip’s loud squeal echoed across the apartment. He ran into the room and dove to the floor, crouching on his hands and knees, his head peering at the fireplace. He wore his dinosaur pajamas, his blonde hair whirred into messy tufts from tossing in his sleep.

“You have to be very quiet,” he said in a whisper. I sat with my arms folded, silently laughing to myself at Philip’s serious nature.

“If you’re quiet,” he said, “she won’t be scared. And if she’s not scared, then she trusts you.”

For a moment, Philip cooed toward the logs that sat in the fireplace. He reached into his pajama shirt pocket, and began piling sunflower seeds on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, Philip…” I sighed. “You shouldn’t put--”

“Look, look!”

A little white head peeked out from behind the logs. Zelda’s little ears twitched, and her tiny pink paws skittered toward the pile of seeds that Philip left. Soon, she was climbing on his shoulder, twitching her little whiskers at Philip’s face as he giggled.

Of all the animals my son could have possibly chosen to love, it had to be a rat.

At least he seems to be taking the move well
, I thought. Perhaps Zelda’s presence helped with that. I was thankful for any relief I could get. I knew it would get much harder in the days to come.
But, for now
, I reminded myself,
it’s time to pack!

“The prodigal daughter returns,” a familiar old face met with us outside of the airport. Leaning against his dusty, blue pick-up, was Peter Hargrave, Gordonville’s very own carpenter, welder, and plumber extraordinaire. To me, however, he was an old family friend, the uncle I never had. He stretched out his arms for a hug, his rosy cheeks beaming under his silvery-white beard.

“You’re all grown up now,” he rested his hands on my shoulders.

“It’s only been six years,” I said. “I’ve been grown up for a while, Pete.”

“But your hair--how’d you get it so straight?--and your clothes--why, I remember when you were just a little bony thing, always gettin’ tears in your dresses from playing with the boys.”

My cheeks grew warm. “Well, a lot has changed.”

A small hand pulled at my jacket.

Pete’s eyes widened. “A lot indeed!”

He bent down to meet Philip. Philip hugged at Zelda’s carry-box close.

“You must be Philip,” Pete sent him a wink.

“You must be Uncle Pete,” Philip said.

Pete stood up and chuckled.

“I am indeed.”

“This is Zelda,” Philip held up the little carry-box. “She’s shy at first, but if you’re nice to her, she will be nice to you. Also, she loves sunflower seeds.”

Pete smiled and fished into his front flannel pocket for some sunflower seeds. One, he bit into himself, prying out the seed from inside the shell. The other he gave to Philip, whose face lit up. Pete tousled Philip’s hair.

“Well then,” he chuckled. “I think Zelda an’ I will get along just fine.”

It was a two hour drive to Gordonville from the small airport that we flew into. Going from New York time to Montana was rough. Philip had already fallen asleep in the back seat shortly after we set off, and even I had trouble keeping wake. I leaned against the passenger door. Outside, endless fields of grasses filled the landscape, some early spring flowers already began to peak out. Mountains and trees scattered in the distance, the melting snowy peaks visible in the clear air. It was quiet out here. I had almost forgotten the sound of silence.

Pete filled the emptiness. “When I heard from Rick that you were comin’ back to take over the farm, why, I about jumped out of my seat.”

I sat up.

“Whoa, whoa--wait a minute,” I said.

Philip shifted in the back and I let my voice down.

“Look, I don’t know what my dad told you, but I don’t have any intention of taking over the farm.”

Pete’s smile left, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, well, I guess I must have misheard--it sounded to me like Rick thought you were comin’ back to help out, an’--”

“Yes--to
help
. I’m coming back because I heard he was having a hard time, and I know he won’t admit it. I’m not planning anything permanent. I’m going to see what I can do. Honestly,” I folded my arms. “I keep telling dad to come move in with me. He knows he’s just not able to do it all by himself anymore. But he’s too stubborn to listen.”

“Your father’s a proud man,” Pete said. “But this is his home. You can’t just expect him to give it up so easily.”

“He’s worked himself too much ever since mom passed,” I said.

Pete let out a sigh.

“It seems to run in the family.”

“Pete,” I was already getting agitated.

“Sorry, Erin.”

We continued in silence for a moment.

“By the way,” Pete cleared his throat. “I know I’m on shaky ground as it is, but...”

I turned to Pete. “Hmm?”

“You know, Matty Gordon’s still nearby. He’s a real man of the town nowadays. Got a real head on his shoulders. Really taken after his family business. You plannin’ on speaking with him at some point?”

I looked out toward the side of the road once again. Until that moment, I hadn’t really thought much further. My sights were set on taking care of things with my father, settling the business with the farm, convincing him to move back with me and Philip, and then,
maybe
, I would find enough courage to talk to
him
.
No,
I knew I had to talk to him at some point.

“First things first,” I said. “At least let me get settled in. When, and
if
I speak with Matthew Gordon, it’s going to be a thought-out, civil conversation for mature adults who’ve moved on.”

“You do know that everyone’s already talkin’ about it? I bet he already knows himself when you’re comin’ in. I’d just be ready for the audience, if I were you.”

I sighed and leaned myself on the armrest of the door.

“Perfect. Everyone’s ready for the sequel. Let’s see how Erin McGarity can embarrass herself in front of everyone--again!”

Chapter 2

Driving through downtown Gordonville was like staring at a foggy, old mirror. Everything was just as I had left it, and yet it seemed entirely foreign to me. The main street buildings huddled together, with the rustic charm of an old Western outpost. Antique shops, a corner cafe, a drugstore, and an assortment of fancier specialty shops lined the strip.

In just a few moments, we had already ridden past the heart of Gordonville. The McGarity farm lay almost thirty minutes toward the outskirts of town.

It was a bright day that seemed the first to really feel like spring after a harsh winter. A slight chill still hung in the air. As the small plots of neighborhoods and farm became scarcer, the scenery once again became the familiar roll of yellow green hills, wet with melting slush.

After several moments, I began to spot large cows grazing in the distance, and a tall, meshed, wooden fence trailing far along the roadside.

“Whose land is this? I don’t remember this belonging to anyone before.”

“This here’s all part of the expansion by the Gordon ranch. Apparently, Matty’s had a lot of success since he took over. Made a few deals with some buyers in Texas. Got some big shot investors to oversee everything.”

“So he’s just been buying out the whole county?”

Pete didn’t respond at first.

“Matty’s a good kid,” he said. “And times have been rough for a lot of folk out here. He makes his living--”

“By selling the town out to some corporate money bank?”

Pete sighed, “By givin’ folks a second chance.”

“Right,” I folded my arms and sighed. “A second chance.”

“Philip,” I cooed toward the backseat. “Philip, we’re here.”

Philip peeked out from the blanket draped over him, his bright blue eyes blinking the sleep away. He brought Zelda’s box close to him as he leaned toward the window.

“It’s so big!”

He marveled at the old farm house, the yellow-white paint peeling off, the shriveled shrubs overgrown against the porch railing that wrapped around the house. Smoke puffed out of the blackened chimney.

As we walked to the house, Philip pointed in the distance to the large red barn, though it looked more brown now, fading into disrepair.

“Are there cows in there?” He found everything around something to marvel at. “Look, look!” He giggled at the chickens that ran about his feet, pointed excitedly at a large willow in the front yard sporting a large tire swing, and hugged tight to Zelda’s box when a bright orange farm cat settled atop the wooden fence-post nearby, coolly watching us with his gaze.

“Erin!” The green screen door banged to a close as my father came out to greet us. His flannel shirt was dirtied, the sleeves rolled up. His heavy boots thundered as he bumbled down from the wooden porch.

“You came much earlier than I thought you would,” he said as we pulled away from a hug. He turned his sights to Philip, rustling at his hair with his large, worked hands.

“Hey there, Philip! It’s been a while. You were just this big when I last saw you,” he held his hands apart from one another.

“We made pretty good time,” I said, ushering Philip toward the door. “We’re tired, but we made it.”

Pete began unloading the truck. I held my hand out toward the door when a large hand closed in before mine, my father grasping onto it before me.

I stood back.

“I really didn’t expect you so early,” he said, shifting.

“Well, we’re here now…” I tried to skirt around him toward the door, but he stepped in front of me.

“You have to understand, Erin,” he said. “It’s a man’s duty to see through all his options.”

“Options? Duty? What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner…”

I began to grow impatient. I was tired and jet lagged, and the last thing I needed was my father presenting me with games.

“Dad, please, just let me--”

“Momma, who is that man?”

Philip pointed toward the front living room window. A shadow moved from inside, the curtain swaying as if they had been peeking out at us.

“Who was that?”

My father shifted his gaze from me and sighed.

“Dad…” the impatience in my voice must have caused him to resign, and he stepped aside.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing he said.

I walked into the house, the wood below creaking as I entered the breezeway. I could smell the warm fire burning in the living room fireplace.