Rexanne Becnel (9 page)

With a disconsolate sigh she raised her eyes to Mrs. Gunter’s grandmotherly face.

“I—I was up early. I couldn’t sleep,” she explained weakly.

“So you went out to feed those chickens of yours,” Mrs. Gunter prompted with a fond smile. “You know, if it weren’t for you, I would have cooked that crippled bird long ago. You’ve seen to it that she’s by far the fattest of that lazy lot.”

Lacie smiled. “She’s far too old now. She’d be too tough to eat.”

“
Ja
, that is very likely so. But Lacie, it is not the chickens that have you trembling. And your hair! No shoes either!” The cook gave her a mock frown and shook her head in feigned disapproval. “I’ve not seen you look so since
you
were one of the students here.”

At her kindly scolding, all of Lacie’s reserve broke down. “Oh, Mrs. Gunter, I don’t know what to do!” she cried. She rose and nervously began to pace the floor.

That the normally composed Lacie appeared so agitated made Mrs. Gunter frown in earnest.

“Now, now,
Liebchen
, don’t get yourself all in a state. There’s nothing can be so bad that we can’t find a solution. Why, look at how well you’ve handled everything since poor Mr. Frederick—I mean, since your husband—died.”

Lacie looked up swiftly at Mrs. Gunter’s odd inflection. “What do you mean?” she asked warily.

Mrs. Gunter smiled broadly. “I mean that you’ve proven yourself to be a very—what is the word?—
ach
, a very enterprising young lady.” She cocked her head knowingly. “I think Mr. Frederick would have been very pleased.”

Once more Lacie sat down, staring at Mrs. Gunter in agitation. Did she know? Did everyone know? Oh, how stupid she’d been! she thought when Mrs. Gunter nodded reassuringly. Why had she thought she could ever pull off such a deception?

“Have I been so obvious then? Is that why that man is plaguing me so?” she asked defeatedly.

“
Ach
, now I see the problem. It is Mr. Frederick’s brother. Such a handsome man. Doesn’t he believe you are a grieving widow?”

Lacie shook her head forlornly. “Not one word of it. But then, why should he? I’ve been a fool. He’s determined to prove me a liar and get back the school for himself. But I know he’s going to close it, and I can’t let him do that. I must find a way to save Sparrow Hill!”

Mrs. Gunter did not reply right away. Instead, she filled a pot from the water keg and placed it on the iron stove. Then she began to build a fire from the embers that were banked from the night before.

“He does not believe you,” she mused aloud. Then she looked over at Lacie. “I never see you without your hair up and neatly bound.” She chuckled as Lacie tried futilely to twist her disheveled locks into an orderly bun.

“Tell me,
Liebchen
, was this brother of Frederick’s also about this morning? Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

At that grudging admission Mrs. Gunter laughed out loud. “So. You do not like him, but perhaps—perhaps he likes you?”

Lacie straightened up and stared in surprise at the now-beaming older woman. “I would hardly say he likes me except…”

“
Ja?
Tell me the rest of it.”

“He doesn’t like
me
,” Lacie protested as her cheeks turned a bright pink. She wanted to be sure Mrs. Gunter understood things correctly. “He just wants to…” she faltered, not sure herself precisely what he wanted of her. “He just wants to convince me to trust him. But as soon as I do, I know he’ll use whatever he finds out to prove his claim to Sparrow Hill. So you see, he is really quite a cruel-hearted cad.”

“Did he try to kiss you?”

At Lacie’s look of horror mingled nonetheless with guilt, the stout cook chuckled. “So, he kissed you. Well, that may solve all of your woes.” The woman sat down across the table from Lacie and placed both of her hands flat on the smooth worn surface. “I tell you,
Liebchen
, listen to an old woman’s advice. Marry him and everything will be fine.”

M
ARRY HIM!

Lacie grimaced in disgust every time she thought of Mrs. Gunter’s ridiculous solution. As if that would help anything!

As if she would even consider marrying such a bounder!

As if anything as honorable as marriage were what he had in mind!

With a yank she tugged her wooden hairbrush through the tangled length of her sable-brown hair. He was a complete oaf, with the manners of a barbarian. A heathen, with no sense of decency whatsoever. A cad completely lacking in moral values.

But oh my, he certainly knew how to kiss!

At that aberrant thought, she tugged so hard at a particularly difficult tangle that tears sprang to her eyes.

“Ouch! Oh, damn!” she muttered furiously. Then she cast a guilty eye around the room. Thank goodness Nina had gone downstairs and wasn’t here to see such an unladylike display of temper.

But that, too, Lacie laid at Dillon Lockwood’s door. Never had anyone made her angry enough to lose her temper and actually utter a profanity. Yet he’d done it twice now, and she’d met him only the previous day!

Sighing in frustration, she smoothed her hair back as best she could, then caught it up in one hand and twisted it around and around. Once it was tightly wrapped upon itself, she looped it about her hand three times. Then, using an old-fashioned wooden hairpin, she deftly caught the underneath hairs and pinned the entire bun neatly in place at her nape. She then donned a fresh muslin blouse and stepped into a slip and petticoat before pulling on a black skirt of plain goods, adorned only with a triple row of tucks near the hem. Last, she hooked a plain black collar of severe design around her neck. Then she eyed herself speculatively in her small mirror.

Just as a widow would dress at home, she thought approvingly. Neat and simple and most respectable. There was no need in this heat to wear a black bodice over her blouse. No jewelry was necessary either, for a widow wouldn’t wear anything—

Except a wedding ring!

Lacie’s mouth gaped open at the thought of how stupid she’d been. Surely Frederick would have given his wife a ring, yet she’d not sported any such symbol of marriage. What should she do? Although he’d apparently not noticed her mistake yet, Dillon was sure to notice eventually.

There was only one thing to do, she decided nervously. She must slip into Frederick’s rooms, find his mother’s jewelry, and pick an appropriate ring. It would only be a loan, of course. She had no intention of using Amelia Allen Kimbell’s jewelry any longer than she had to. Once Dillon was gone the ring would go right back where she’d found it.

All was quiet as she stealthily crossed the vast second-floor hall. No one saw her enter Frederick’s apartments, but that only made her feel more like a thief. Skulking about in her own home, indeed!

Yet that was just what she did. She quietly searched Frederick’s desk and his armoire and found a small intricately inlaid rosewood box in the bottom drawer of his tall mahogany dresser. A myriad of keepsakes and family mementoes crowded the drawer, but only the octagon-shaped box interested her, and within that, only the rings.

Most of them were too big, she realized as she slipped on an elegant pearl creation, then a garnet-studded band, and finally a dainty filigree piece with a pale emerald set up on six slender tines.

None of them would do, she fretted as she dug frantically through the chains and bangles. She was becoming positively desperate before she discovered a plain gold band stuck in a crevice at the bottom. Orange blossoms twined simply between narrow edgings in a classical motif. Although it was loose on her ring finger, it fit her middle finger perfectly.

Enormously relieved, Lacie quickly restored the other pieces to the box, stuffed the box into the drawer, and slammed it closed. Then she held out her hand to admire the ring.

It felt odd on her finger, strange and out of place. But she firmly buried that idea. It might feel odd, but it looked just right, and that was all that mattered.

She looked around Frederick’s room then, wondering if she should move her things into it. She and Ada had discussed that subject at length after Frederick died. It certainly might be perceived as odd that she still stayed in her old teacher’s quarters when such a fine apartment as this was available to her. But she had simply not been able to force herself to do it. It was stupid, and now that Dillon Lockwood was here, it was probably dangerous for her pose. It would only feed his suspicions if he found out.

But then, what did that really matter? she told herself bravely. He already believed she was a liar and a thief. He’d said so outright! Where she slept would hardly affect his opinion one way or the other. Still, perhaps it might be best if she did take over Frederick’s suite. After all, it couldn’t hurt. And it didn’t have to be permanent.

She quietly let herself out of the room, then took a slow steadying breath. She felt as if she’d already gone through a long, harrowing day although the morning had scarcely begun. Despite her decision to skip breakfast, she knew she could not long avoid another confrontation with that man. What he would try next was difficult to predict; so far, he’d taken a different tack each time they’d met. Still, she was learning more about him—all of it, unfortunately, bad.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned and proceeded toward the broad stairs.

It was then that she saw him.

He was sitting in a high-backed chair, a comfortable piece upholstered in wine-colored velvet. It had been Frederick’s favorite for those evenings when he’d gathered the younger girls around him for readings or storytelling. But Dillon in the chair was a far cry from the comforting presence of Frederick.

He was holding a book, a volume dealing with the spread of railroads, she noted obliquely. But she was sure it was for show. He was waiting for her, and to her dismay, there was no way for her to avoid him.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly when she only stood there staring at him.

Lacie nodded curtly. She couldn’t even pretend to be civil as she sent him a stormy look. But that only seemed to please him, for one side of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. Then he stood up and replaced the book on the dark-stained wooden shelf and turned to face her.

“Now that you’re finally properly dressed”—he paused just long enough to drive home his little barb—“perhaps we can get on with the business at hand.”

“Which is?” Lacie asked coolly, lifting her brows in a show of vague disinterest.

“Why, to prove that you’re a liar, of course.”

“What!” All her hard-won aplomb came crashing down at his deliberate taunt. “You are positively the crudest person ever to set foot in these halls!” she hissed. Then she forcibly calmed herself. “I am no liar, as you will eventually be forced to admit.”

His grin became more a smirk at her words, and he rubbed his chin almost ruefully.

“Yes, looking at you now, all prim and proper, laced up with your hair pulled back so tightly it must hurt, I can almost believe you are Frederick’s widow.

“But Lacie,” he said more softly. “You forget that I’ve also seen you with your hair down.” He walked toward her in slow, stalking steps. “I’ve seen you soft. I’ve seen you fiery. Why, I bet in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve seen more of you”—one of his eyebrows quirked up—“and learned more about you—the real you—than Frederick ever did.”

Lacie could have cried. This wasn’t fair! she thought frantically, trying to find some defense against his unsettling words. Even though a part of her could admit that he spoke no more than the truth, it was a truth that should never be revealed in polite society. He fought dirty, just as he had warned.

“You may bet on anything you like,” she snapped in what she hoped was her most cutting tone. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you would confine your comments to more pertinent matters.”

“More pertinent matters?” His grin became truly wicked. “Tell me, Lacie, what could possibly be more pertinent to a man than having a soft, delectable woman in his arms?”

“Oh! You are truly despicable!” With that she whirled away, fully intending to flee down the stairs. Anything to get away from him and the awkward truth of his words.

But Dillon easily blocked her escape. Against her will, he took one of her arms and firmly hooked it in his, in what would appear to be the most companionable of manners.

“Once I settle down with Frederick’s papers you may scamper off to whatever task it is that calls to you now. Until then, however, you’ll have to stick right by my side.”

So saying, he forced her to accompany him back into Frederick’s suite of rooms.

Lacie was appalled at his nerve and aghast at his gall. Yet it was not that shock which struck her speechless. It was, rather, the firm pressure of his arm against hers, holding it so warmly to his side. Then his free hand covered hers, and she was completely undone.

It was all she could do to maintain her composure and keep pace with his slow, unhurried stride. Once they were in Frederick’s office she did find the presence of mind to tug her arm free of his disturbing grasp. But she had to turn toward the desk before she could find the wherewithal to address him again.

“Mr. Lockwood,” she began in her iciest tone. “I would prefer that you not presume to touch my person—”

“To touch your person?” he mimicked. “And all along I thought it was your arm I had. Of course, this morning it was your lips—”

Lacie whirled around to confront his laughing expression. He thought it all a huge joke, but she was far from amused.

“This is obviously a frivolous matter to you,” she said with much heat. “You neither need nor truly want anything Frederick left behind. Yet you do not hesitate to trample on all of us, to threaten us and insult us and—and make fun of us.”

“I want and need my rightful inheritance much more than you’ll ever know. Don’t delude yourself on that score. As for your other accusation”—his voice grew cooler—“it is only you I’m threatening, only you whom I’m ‘insulting,’ as you term it. So leave off your pose of innocence. We both know that this manufactured scheme of yours is the only reason I came back to this miserable place. The sooner I find the proof I seek, the sooner I’ll be gone.”