ToLoveaLady (22 page)

Charles’s momentum took him to the edge of the desk, where he froze as if he’d run into a wall. He stared down at Hattie’s flushed face and reddened eyes, taking in the sodden handkerchief and the open copy of the
Sentinel
. His eyes fell on the
British Beauty
headline, the words beneath blurred by drops of water that had fallen on the paper – tears?

He’d caused those tears, as surely as he was standing here. At that moment, if someone had come along and offered to shoot him, he would have gladly gone with them. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said softly, knowing no apology would ever be adequate for the hurt he’d caused this innocent woman with his not-entirely innocent flirtation.

“You’ve n. . . nothing to apologize a. . .about.” She sniffed and tried vainly to find some dry corner on the handkerchief.

“Allow me, miss.” Gordon stepped up and offered a square of snowy linen from his own pocket.

“Thank you.” Hattie looked up, seemingly seeing him for the first time. “Thank you, Mr.?”

“Gordon.” He bowed. “Lord Silsbee’s valet.”

The name drew her gaze back to Charles. As their eyes met, he hastened to stave off a fresh flood of tears. “Hattie, please believe me when I say I never meant to encourage your feelings for me.”

She raised her head, chin high. “What makes you think I have feelings for you?”

It was a question which could not be diplomatically answered. Well-schooled in diplomacy, Charles chose to ignore it. “I’m afraid I have developed a habit of flirting with lovely women. People who know me well have come to expect it, and it seemed harmless enough.” He leaned closer, entreating her understanding. “It pains me to think my thoughtlessness has caused you hurt.”

She sniffed again and dabbed at her eyes. “I must remember that your ways are foreign to us. And I was brought up to have a more serious nature than some.” Her gaze dropped once more to the newspaper story. “Congratulations to you and to Lady Cecily. I. . . I genuinely like her, and I hope she doesn’t think ill of me for any. . . any misleading messages I may have given.”

“I assure you, Lady Cecily thinks very highly of you.”

Hattie nodded. “She struck me as a very forgiving person.”

Would Cecily be so forgiving if she could see Hattie now, reduced to tears by Charles’s thoughtless games? “Again, I apologize.”

“And I told you, I accept.” She refolded the handkerchief and offered it to Gordon.

“Oh no, miss. You keep it.” A slight smile relaxed his normally stolid features. “Perhaps I may return for it at a later date.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I think you had both better go now.”

They made their way silently back to their horses. Charles automatically returned the greetings of all they passed, but did not stop for conversation. He wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. From long experience, Gordon did not intrude.

When they arrived home and he’d seen to his horse, he went in search of Cecily. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe the time had come to offer the truth in black and white and ask her to relieve him of the obligation to marry. The idea of dealing with two crying women in one afternoon made his stomach clench and his head pound, but best not to delay any longer.

The parlor was empty, as was Cecily’s room. He called for Alice, but received no answer. Perhaps they were on the back porch. On the way downstairs again, he met Madame LeFleur. “Have you seen Cecily?” he asked.

“I believe she is riding with Alice and young Bainbridge.” He nodded and started to walk past, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “I know you will be pleased to hear that my girls and I will be leaving you next week. Our new house is finished and we will be moving in as soon as we are able.” She smiled, an expression that gave a hint of the beauty she must have been in her younger days. “We are most grateful for all your hospitality.”

“No need to thank me, Madam. I was glad to be of assistance.” The words were a formality, but no less true. If nothing else, Madame and the others’ stay with him had been a great annoyance to Sheriff Grady, and thus a source of satisfaction for Charles. “If you like, I can have a couple of my men help you with the move.”

“That would be most kind. And much appreciated.”

“I’ll ask Gordon to find some to help you.” He doubted he’d have any trouble lining up volunteers to move the women into the new whorehouse.

He decided to ask someone at the barn if they knew what time Cecily and the others had left, and perhaps what time they intended to return. But before he was halfway across the yard, a commotion by the corral distracted him. With much whooping and hollering, a half-dozen men had gathered around what at first appeared to be a rolling cloud of dust. As Charles raced toward the scene, he could make out a horse and rider. Closer still, he could see a half-grown cow stumbling along behind on the end of a lead. The dust cloud was explained by the balky way the cow held back.

“Did you see it, m’lord? Can you believe she caught it by herself?”

The dust cloud parted to reveal Nick Bainbridge astride a second horse. Charles glanced back at the first rider and the flash of recognition shook him. “Cecily, what are you doing?” he bellowed over the clamor of the cowboys.

Face dusty, hair tumbling from its pins, she looked up at him, grinning like a street urchin. “It’s a maverick, Charles. That’s what they tell me they call a cow that hasn’t yet been branded.”

“I can see that.” He pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing beside her. The velvet of her riding habit was streaked with dirt, the hem torn, yet she sat as regally as if she’d merely enjoyed a Sunday ride through Hyde Park. “What are you doing with it in the first place?”

“I lassoed it.” A cheer went up from the cowboys at this announcement and Cecily’s grin broadened. “I intend to keep it and start my own herd.”

She looked so pleased, Charles didn’t know whether to scold or laugh. He thought he knew her well enough to realize neither response would be appreciated. “What use do you have for a herd of cattle?” he asked instead.

Her smile dissolved, and her expression turned to one of disdain. “Your trouble, Charles, is that you don’t believe I have the fortitude necessary to be a rancher’s wife. Well, you’re wrong, and this cow proves it.”

Some of the men chuckled. Their laughter irked. “How does this overgrown calf prove anything?” he demanded.

“You think the only things I’m capable of doing are pouring tea and planning parties.” She raised her head, regal even with unbound hair and dirty face. “I’m capable of so much more, Charles. I want you to see that.”

“You tell him, ma’am!” someone shouted, and others murmured agreement.
 

Charles scowled at them. He and Cecily should be having this conversation in a parlor, not out here in front of God and everyone. “Don’t you men have work to do?” he asked.

Some of them grumbled, but eventually they drifted away. “Nick, take this calf and put it in one of the sick pens,” he ordered. “Alice, go to the house and draw Lady Cecily’s bath.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Cecily asked when Nick tried to take the rope that held the calf.

“Once you’ve picked out a brand, we’ll mark it and record it.” Charles tried to sound more patient than he felt. In all probability, he’d talk Cecily out of this idea altogether and they’d brand the calf with the Double Crown. But time enough to deal with that later.

She surrendered the calf and at last they were alone. “Get down off that horse and come inside and get cleaned up,” he said, reaching up to help her down.

She kept her seat. “Why does it bother you so much to see me like this, Charles? Do you think I’m only suited to life as a china doll, decorating dinner tables and embroidering pillow slips?”

“I think you are a woman of refinement, deserving of the most gracious kind of life,” he said, with more forbearance than he felt.

“What I may deserve and what I want may be two different things.”

What about what you need?
He reached for her once more and this time she allowed him to help her down. He wanted nothing more than to crush her to him, to assure her that everything would be all right. But he was done with misleading women. Despite her fascination with the adventurous life, he knew she was destined for different things. She’d been bred to embroider pillow slips and marshal drives for charity and dance at balls, to add beauty and grace to all she touched. She deserved a man who would be content with the kind of life at which she would excel.

He was determined not to be that man. “Cecily why did you come here?” he asked, abruptly. “Did my father send you? Or your father?”

She looked puzzled. “They had nothing to do with it. I came because I knew you needed me.”

There was that phrase again, the one she’d used that first day, at the jail. It exasperated him as much now as it did then. “How could you know I needed you? You knew nothing about my life here.”

She smiled, a look as soft and warm as the touch of her gloved hand on his arm. “I knew, Charles.”

Why did she keep saying that? The words made him feel light-headed, and afraid. She hadn’t come to manipulate him or force him to return home. How much easier it would have been to send her away if she had.
 

No, she had come because she believed she loved him. And that was the most damning reason of all.

Chapter Thirteen

Three days later, Charles paid a call on his neighbor, Bryce Mitchell. “What’s this I hear about you serving on the Fairview Academy’s Board of Directors?” Charles had scarcely dismounted before Bryce fired this question at him.

Long practice kept Charles from showing his annoyance. “I’m quite flattered I was selected, though I’m not sure I was the best choice.”

“I know I wouldn’t want the job.” The proprietor of the A7 ranch had the erect posture and keen gaze of a younger man, though his thick thatch of hair was more silver than blond. Twenty years in the Texas panhandle had carved permanent lines in his bronzed face, like gullies worn into sandstone. He looked sharply at Charles. “You know what will happen, don’t you?”

He eyed Mitchell cautiously. “No.”

“Every mama in the county will be after you to get their daughter in. Teachers will be pestering you for jobs and town folks will be after you for other favors.” He shook his head. “Politics – even small potatoes like this — is nothing but a headache. I wouldn’t have none of it.”

Charles wanted to laugh. He’d had years of practice at placating his cantankerous father and pouring oil on the troubled waters of one petty crisis after another. A small town school would be little challenge after coping with his father’s convoluted affairs. “For some reason, Harold Simms thinks I’d be perfect for the job.”

Mitchell laughed. “Simms probably had you picked out to marry his girl, Hattie. It’s no secret she thought pretty highly of you.”

Guilt stabbed at Charles. He wouldn’t soon forget the sight of Hattie’s anguished face at the news of his engagement.

 
“I reckon it’s about time the gal gave up hope,” Bryce continued. “I read where you’ve got a pretty English fiancé staying at your place.”

Charles stifled a groan.
Was
he still engaged to Cecily? Their conversation since the day she’d lassoed the maverick had been less than satisfying. After she’d restated her conviction that he needed her, she’d swept into the house and up to her room. She hadn’t even come down for supper, instead sending Alice to fetch a tray, declaring she was too exhausted to dress for dinner. Since then, he’d been preoccupied with arranging the transfer of Madame LeFleur and her girls from his ranch to their new home.

He knew he’d have to come to terms with Cecily, but for now, the less said on the subject, the better. “I stopped by to arrange transfer of the calves I bought last month.”

The furrows on either side of Mitchell’s mouth deepened as his expression sobered. “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you about that.” He turned toward the house. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss it.”

He followed Mitchell across the porch into the house. The A7 headquarters was built on the same rugged scale as the father and son who lived there. Fashioned of rough-hewn logs, it featured large, open rooms with scuffed wood floors, stone fireplaces large enough to roast a calf, unadorned walls and massive leather furniture. Even a casual visitor would know right away that no woman lived here; if one ever had, all traces of her softening touch had long since vanished under the accumulation of worn saddles, old boots, broken harness and at least ten years worth of stock magazines.

Charles followed Mitchell into the front room that served as the ranch office. “I can send some men over next week to get them.” he said.

Bryce sat on the corner of the desk and contemplated the floor. “That’s just the problem. They aren’t here. At least most of them aren’t.”

Charles wasn’t sure he’d heard the man correctly. “Aren’t here? Where are they?”

Bryce shook his head. “I don’t know. I rode over to check on them day before yesterday. After the sale, we moved them up to the south end of our land, over towards the Rocking W.” He looked out the window, as if he might see all the way to the section in question. “Figured as long as there was good water and grass over there, they wouldn’t drift back this way. When time came to move them to your place, they’d be easier to separate out and herd over to your land. Only thing is, they’re gone.”