ToLoveaLady (20 page)

She suppressed a smile. As if such childishness would convince her to renounce her feelings for him. Well, two could play at that game. She turned to Mr. Simms. “It must be very lonely for you, living by yourself all these years.”

“Hattie has been good company.”

Lacking a fan, she lowered her eyelids in a coquettish look. “But not the sort of company a man truly needs.”

Simms looked alarmed, and a red flush crept up from his collar. He flinched when Mrs. Bridges rang the bell for dinner, but quickly recovered and offered Cecily his arm. She smiled and fit her hand into the crook of his elbow. In the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder to see Charles staring at her. For a moment, he even forgot to smile at his dinner companion.

* * *

By the time the second course arrived, Charles’s head was pounding. Had Hattie always chattered on like this? How had he failed to notice it before? He assumed an expression he hoped conveyed attention and nodded. He probably shouldn’t encourage her, but he was in too deep to back out now. Anything to send Cecily safely on her way back home, leaving him to the peace and freedom Texas offered.

He glanced across the table at the woman in question. She looked positively radiant. He swore his heart had stopped for a moment when she’d first walked into the room. It had been all he could do not to pull her into his arms and march up the stairs with her when she’d touched him. To hell with the Simmses and propriety.

But of course, he couldn’t treat Cecily that way. She’d be shocked by such behavior. Besides, his goal was to send her away, not keep her here with him.

“I understand you had a little run-in with the sheriff the other day.” Simms’s comment distracted Charles from thoughts of Cecily.
 

Charles kept his expression bland. “A misunderstanding. Grady had mistaken Lady Thorndale’s footman for a cattle thief.”

Simms nodded. “I reckon Grady’s anxious to put the real thief behind bars. I hear tell he’s suffered some of the biggest losses.”

“Do you mean that Sheriff Grady has a ranch also?” Cecily looked up from her plate.
 

“Not much of one.” Simms sliced into his steak. “I’m afraid our sheriff has even less talent for ranching than he does for tracking down criminals. The Ace of Clubs hasn’t shown a profit since he took over the place two years ago. These thefts haven’t helped matters any.”

“I understand his father was the sheriff here several years ago,” Charles said.

Simms nodded. “Ben Grady was a good lawman. One of the best. We didn’t even know he had a son until John showed up for the funeral.” He shook his head. “I don’t think John will ever be the sheriff his father was.”

Charles felt a twinge of sympathy for the sheriff. How many men suffered from the curse of trying to live up to their father’s reputations — or expectations?

“Who do you think is stealing the cattle, Mr. Simms?” Cecily asked.

The banker dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and appeared to consider the question. “Since only a few turn up missing at a time, I’d say it was a small operator. Probably somebody local.” He nodded. “Maybe somebody like that no-good Danny Fells. He always seems to have money, but I can’t tell that he does anything to earn it.”

“Danny Fells?” Charles refilled his wine glass from the decanter on the table. “I can’t say I’m familiar with the name.”

“He’s a young man who fancies himself something of a tough,” Simms said.

“I’ve seen him several times lately with Caroline Allen,”
 

Hattie added.

“Caroline Allen — that’s the young woman we met in town the other day, running out of that store, isn’t it?” Cecily looked to Charles for confirmation.

He nodded. “Fells was probably the man she was chasing after.”

Simms shook his head. “Pete Allen won’t like that when he hears of it.” He glanced at Hattie. “Seeing the trouble Caroline gives her father makes me thankful I was blessed with a daughter like Hattie.”

This praise reminded Charles of his purposes this evening. He turned his most charming smile on Hattie. “I daresay any man privileged enough to know you would sing your praises, Miss Simms.”

“Why, Lord Worthington, how kind you are.” From there, she launched into some empty chatter about his own skills and talents. Charles had difficulty concentrating on her words. His attention continually returned to Cecily, who was once more deep in conversation with Simms.

Simms laughed at something Cecily said. Charles frowned. The old man was certainly enjoying himself. If he didn’t watch it, he was going to suffer from eye strain from trying to see down the neck of Cecily’s dress. What had she been thinking, wearing such a revealing outfit?

As for Simms, he was old enough to be Cecily’s father. He obviously suffered from the delusion that Cecily encouraged his attentions. Of course, that was nonsense!
 
Cecily was merely being polite. He ground his teeth together. Was it really necessary for her to lean over so far toward Simms?

“Don’t you think so, Charles?” Hattie’s voice penetrated the fog of his mind. Years of practiced glibness came to his rescue. He smiled and said, “I haven’t formed an opinion yet on the matter. What do you think?”
 

The smile had the intended effect. Hattie flushed and fumbled for words. “Why, I’ve just told you what I think.” She composed herself and nodded. “It’s important to have the most prominent members of the community on our side.”

He nodded, trying to appear in agreement. What had she been nattering on about?

“I’m glad you agree.” The adoring look she gave him made him want to squirm in his chair. “That’s why I’ve nominated you for one of the positions on our board,” she added.

He blinked. “What board did you say?”

“Why the board of directors for the Fairweather Academy.” Hattie’s smile broadened. “We’ll benefit enormously from the leadership of a man of your abilities.”

His stomach clenched. This whole charade was getting out of hand. He’d only meant to indulge in a little harmless flirting with Hattie, and now she was involving him in local politics. As if he couldn’t get enough of that sort of manipulation from his father. “I don’t think –”

“What an excellent idea!” Cecily cut short his protest. “I’m sure Charles is quite honored.” Her expression was demure enough, but he didn’t miss the twinkle in her eye. Was she pleased Hattie had managed to trap him in this distasteful position?

“Yes, quite honored.” Searching for a safe topic of conversation, he addressed Simms. “Construction on the Academy seems to be progressing well.”

“Yes indeed.” Simms drained his wine glass. “Everything will be ready for the opening this spring.”

“We’re going to start interviewing teachers in a few weeks,” Hattie said. “We’ve already posted advertisements in all the major papers in Texas and the east.”

“What are the qualifications for teaching at the Academy?” Cecily asked.

“Teachers must be of good moral character, have a familiarity with the subjects they teach, and a desire to lead young people by example.” Hattie ticked off the requirements. “We’re asking them also to provide at least two letters of recommendation.”

 
Cecily looked thoughtful.

“We’re hoping to attract only the best young women to our faculty,” Hattie added.

Simms laughed. “Any young women you attract will be a welcome addition to the population. I daresay when word gets out there are unattached females in the area, you’ll have cowboys lined up to take classes, followed shortly thereafter by a spate of weddings.”

“A wealth of single men will no doubt be an inducement for many of the women to come here as well,” Cecily said.

Simms shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. Ranching’s a hard life. A great many women don’t fancy it.”

Was that a frown marring Cecily’s pretty brow? Charles seized upon this. Instead of making her jealous of Hattie, which didn’t appear to be working anyway, maybe he should try to convince Cecily that she wasn’t the sort of rough and tumble wife a rancher needed. “I’ve heard many women can’t endure the loneliness and hard work involved in ranching,” he said.

“Surely cowboys do most of the work,” Cecily said.

Charles assumed a suitably grave expression. “A ranch wife is expected to do her part. When there’s work to be done, every hand is needed.”

“That’s right,” Hattie said. “I’ve seen women heating the branding irons and other dirty jobs at round-up. And there’s always the cooking, washing, and veterinary work that never seems to stop.” She gave a dainty shrug. “It’s a very different life than you’re used to back in England, but I’ve always taken it for granted that, when the time came, I could do whatever needed to be done.”

Hattie smiled at Charles. He looked away. Deuces, was she saying all this for his benefit? The last thing he needed was
two
women setting their caps for him.

“I’m perfectly capable of hard work.” Cecily sat stiffly in her chair, her mouth pursed as if she’d swallowed something distasteful. So Hattie’s remark had made a dint in her ladylike armor? Time to drive the point home.

“I don’t think anyone would deny that you are as capable and competent a woman as a man could want to run his household,” he said. “Still, you must admit you’ve been trained very differently from the average western woman. Where she might be out roping and riding the range from the time she can toddle, you have been brought up to master finer graces — to be a social ornament.” Except for Abbie Waters, he didn’t actually know any women who roped and rode alongside the cowboys, but it wouldn’t hurt to make the role seem even further out of Cecily’s reach.

“And a lovely ornament she is indeed!” Simms raised his wine glass. “I propose a toast. To the two lovely women who grace our table this evening.” He saluted Cecily. “To Lady Cecily, a rare English rose. And to Hattie,” He turned to his daughter. “A hardy Texas wildflower. Each blossom has its beauty and purpose in life, and both bring pleasure to those around them.”

Charles joined in the toast, watching Cecily over the rim of his glass as he drank. She looked none too happy with Simms’s praise. He had a feeling this was one English rose with particularly sharp thorns. He’d do well to stand clear.

His head could heed that warning; if only he could get his body, and his heart, to do so as well.

Chapter Twelve

By the time she arose the next morning, if there had been any crockery within reach, Cecily would have thrown it. After a night spent reviewing the dinner-table conversation, she was angry enough to break more than a few dishes. She had to settle for pitching a shoe across the room and slamming things around on her dressing table until Alice retreated in alarm.

Alone again, Cecily sank down onto the edge of the bed. What was the use of working herself into the vapors if there was no one around to appreciate it? Besides, the person she most wanted to upset, the way he had upset her, wasn’t around to acknowledge her anger.

So Charles thought she was too much of a lady to make a good ranch wife, did he? She crossed her arms under her chest and huffed. He wanted a hard ranch woman instead, a Texas wildflower who could rope and ride and cook and clean and no doubt bear a house full of sons without so much as perspiring.

A woman like Hattie Simms?

“Hah!” She jumped up from the bed and snatched her bonnet from the stand on her dressing table. “As if a man like Charles could ever be happy with a fussy little thing like her.” Even as she said the words, she knew she was being petty. There was nothing wrong with Hattie, as long as she stayed away from Charles.

She tied the ribbons of the bonnet in a bow under one ear, then pulled on a pair of gray kid gloves. She’d show Charles a well-bred Englishwoman could be as tough and tenacious as any Texas ‘wildflower.’

Ignoring the breakfast cooling on the sideboard, she swept through the dining room and out the front door, straight to the barn. A trio of cowboys gathered near the corral stared at her, but when she turned toward them, they developed an abiding interest in the toes of their boots. “Have you seen Nick Bainbridge?” she asked the oldest of the men.

“He’s in the barn yonder, ma’am.” The cowboy who spoke tugged his hat down tighter over his forehead and nodded in the general direction of the barn.
 

“Uh, can we help you with something, miss?” The tallest of the three men, dressed in a bright red shirt, addressed her.

“No thank you.” She nodded and started to turn away, then stopped. “Do you know where Lord Silsbee is this morning?”

The tall man rubbed the back of his neck. “If you mean Charlie Worthington, I reckon he’s gone into town.”

Good. She’d have plenty of time alone to do what she had to do.

She found Nick in a stall at the far end of the barn. He was grooming a chestnut gelding with a white blaze. Except for the ink-black hair curling at the back of his neck, she might not have recognized her footman. He had traded his cap for a broad-brimmed, high-crowned western hat, and discarded his jacket in favor of shirt sleeves and waistcoat. The legs of his trousers were stuffed into ornately-tooled leather boots, with high canted heels that made him a good inch taller. “My goodness, Nick, you’ve become a regular cowboy, haven’t you?”