When the Splendor Falls (85 page)

“You have everything figured out, don’t you?” Leigh said, her tone resentful.

“I always have.”

“And what of Diosa?” Leigh heard herself asking.

Neil frowned. “Diosa?”

“Yes, Diosa. She is your mistress, isn’t she?”

Neil sighed, remembering that Leigh had been at Royal Rivers for some time and would have met Diosa. And Diosa would have wasted little time in taunting Leigh about having been his mistress.

“Yes, she was,” he admitted, wondering what else Diosa had told Leigh. “That was in the past. It doesn’t concern us, Leigh.”

“Doesn’t it? She was your mistress while you were married to Serena,” Leigh reminded him. “Am I to expect the same?”

“Would it matter to you?” he asked softly, watching with interest as her face became suffused with color.

Leigh licked her dry lips. “I have my pride,” she answered, without meeting his eyes.

“Of course, your pride,” he murmured. “Well, you are not Serena, and our situation is very different.”

“I believe our situation may be very similar. I know that your first marriage was an unhappy one. And your marriage to me was to satisfy Adam’s wishes,” Leigh forced herself to say.

Neil shrugged, his strong fingers playing with the lace on her petticoat.

“A slight inconvenience, perhaps, but I’m willing to make the best of this marriage. Are you, for the sake of your sister’s daughter? Because I warn you now, there will never be a divorce between us. We are married till death do us part,” he said with a mocking smile that did nothing to soften the hardness of his face.

Suddenly Leigh was hearing again Diosa’s venomous whispers about a first wife’s tragic accident—or was it? Diosa had hinted knowingly, believing her lover might have killed for her.

“Adam wished us to marry because he was thinking of you also, Leigh. He knew you loved your sister’s daughter as if she were your own child, but he knew I was the only one who could provide for her. He gave her to me, but he wanted you to be able to remain with her. He may have been misguided in his methods, but he saw this as his only chance, and he knew he was dying and had to take the risk, and trust that his faith in us had not been misplaced. Together, he thought we might be able to succeed in providing a home and family for his daughter. Do you think we can put aside our differences and try to fulfill that wish of Adam’s?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her as she stood so proud before him, her face whitened to ivory.

Leigh swallowed the hard lump in her throat, wondering how he had managed to turn everything around, sounding so noble, while making her seem so heartless. Leigh turned away in confusion, biting her trembling lip and taking a surreptitious swipe at a hot tear about to fall.

“Leigh?” he asked, startling her when his voice sounded right behind her.

Leigh nodded her acquiescence.

“Good, then we might as well do it right,” Neil said.

Leigh jumped nervously when his hand closed over hers, and she looked up into his pale eyes as he stood just behind her shoulder.

“You’re my wife, so you’ll wear my ring, not this mockery any longer,” he said, his fingers closing over the gold and coral cameo ring she’d worn after returning Althea’s ring to her as soon as the hasty wedding ceremony had ended.

Suddenly, for a brief instant, Leigh felt a deep, instinctive fear course through her, as if in some way this symbol of their coupling was robbing her of something precious—branding her as belonging to another. She’d already lost the proud Travers name, and the home she’d been born in, and now she didn’t want to lose any more of herself than she already had. That had been her fear when engaged to Matthew Wycliffe, for she had known her life would be different in Charleston—and she would have had to change for Matthew’s sake. Leigh tried to tug her hand away, but Neil’s grip was punishingly strong as he held her hand, his fingers pulling the ring from her finger, then he tossed it onto the dresser.

“
This
is the ring my wife wears,” he said, sliding a slender gold band onto the third finger of her left hand. Then, before she could protest, he’d placed another ring on her right hand. In amazement, Leigh stared down at the single deep blue sapphire surrounded by rose-cut diamonds; it was an exquisite ring, and must have cost a fortune. “Since our engagement was unexpectedly short, I hadn’t the time to purchase the usual engagement trinkets my fiancée would quite naturally have expected to receive,” he said, the scented fragrance rising from the warmth of her body tantalizing him as he snapped a gold bangle bracelet studded with sapphires around her slender wrist, vowing he would have her love one day, perhaps not as easily as he had captured her wrist with his gift—but he would have it.

Whatever it took, she would be his, his wife in every meaning of the word. He wanted to share his life with her. And one day she would come to love him as much as he loved her. But first she would have to want him as much as he wanted her. And she would again, Neil thought, remembering her passionate response to his lovemaking. She was not indifferent to him—if he believed that, he would have nothing. But he wanted more than the physical union between them; he wanted her heart. And he wanted her to come to him willingly. It was that damned Travers pride, and the circumstances of their marriage, that he had to overcome, for there had been an attraction, an affinity, between them from the very first instant their eyes had met, and he would find it again.

Very well
, Leigh was thinking. She would stay at Royal Rivers as his wife, but she would be no fainthearted Serena, and if Neil thought he would ever be able to humiliate her by flaunting his mistress, Diosa, before her, then he was mistaken.

She had her pride. No Travers had ever given up. She had been raised to accept a challenge. Perhaps she could make Neil fall in love with her. She knew he found her physically attractive, Leigh thought, remembering his lovemaking on their wedding night. Yes, she would win Neil from Diosa. It had been too late for Serena when she had decided to fight. But she accepted Neil as her husband, and she would not share the man she loved with all her heart with another woman.

“Travers pride,” she murmured inaudibly as she glanced up into his face, her cheeks flushed delicately, her lips parting slightly as she smiled. “Thank you, the rings are exquisite.”

Neil felt his heart miss a beat as he stared down into eyes that put to shame the deep blue of the sapphire ring he’d just honored her beauty with. The heady scent of jessamine floated around him, drawing him closer to the lips parted with such sweet enticement, almost invitingly, he suddenly thought, his hand touching her silken hair as he tipped her head back against his shoulder and slowly his lips lowered to hers, touching them, clinging to them as the pressure deepened…

Leigh felt the roughness of his unshaven chin scratching the corner of her mouth, then his callused palm moving beneath the curve of her breast, his fingers sliding around the firm roundness, the fine linen of her chemise of little protection against the heat of his hand.

Neil felt her trembling body becoming pliant in his arms as he pulled her against him, his arm enfolding her waist as he began to turn her around to hold her closer…

“Told you I wouldn’t be long,” Jolie said, sending the door swinging open, certain to crash against the wall with a resounding bang, but she caught the edge with the heel of her foot as she passed through carrying a loaded tray, then kicked it shut again. Years of practice making her timing perfect. “Aren’t you dressed yet, honey? What’ve you been doin’?” Jolie demanded, placing the tray down on the dresser and pulling up a chair for Neil. “You sit down there, Mister Neil, an’ eat. Now, we’re goin’ to get you dressed before you catch your death of cold. An’ good thing, too, he’s your husband with you sashayin’ ’round in your drawers. Not that it makes it right, it just doesn’t make it so scandalous. Your papa never saw Miss Beatrice Amelia in her drawers. Not decent,” she scolded, grabbing up the petticoats. “An’ you put on your slippers this instant, y’hear?”

Leigh quickly did as Jolie bid her, leaning deep into the wardrobe, and hiding her blushing face as she took her time searching for the pair of pale blue kid slippers she intended to wear.

Neil stared in appreciation at the very feminine curve of linen-covered thigh and buttock and smiled, for although he regretted the untimely interruption, he had at least settled the question of Leigh ever leaving Royal Rivers—or him. All they needed now was time.

* * *

Leigh took Steward firmly by the hand as they walked toward the north pasture on their promised outing. Althea had already crossed the yard ahead of them, waving and blowing a kiss to them as she hurried toward the schoolhouse. Her neat, gray-suited figure had disappeared inside to the sound of young voices eagerly greeting her. An appreciative Solange had turned over all the duties of teaching the
rancho
children to an enthusiastic Althea, who welcomed each day with a new sense of purpose. Leigh knew she was preparing herself for the day when she would have to teach school in order to earn a living for her family, and not just as another of the genteel, charitable pursuits of a bored lady of leisure who might take on the challenging duties of a booth at the church bazaar, or the tiresome affair of the annual picnic at the county orphanage.

Leigh smiled thoughtfully, for yesterday she had accompanied Althea to the schoolroom, helping her with the lessons. And both she and Althea had decided there was no reason why she couldn’t assume those teaching duties when Althea left for Virginia, which, hopefully, wouldn’t be for some time, Leigh prayed. Although she knew Althea was anxious to return home and begin anew.

Leigh glanced down at Noelle. Her delicate-featured face was still turned toward the schoolhouse, where she’d last seen her mother’s figure. She was a lovely little girl with her dark hair neatly plaited into two long braids beneath her porkpie straw hat, the cluster of scarlet cherries decorating the brim bobbing up and down. Her dress was of green-checked silk worn over a white guimpe, the long-sleeved blouse fashionably trimmed, while a green satin sash had been tied around her waist, the long ends almost reaching the ruffled hem of her skirt. Her demeanor was very ladylike as she walked across the grounds in her gaitered shoes; in fact, except for her dark hair, she was a small replica of her mother, but Leigh frowned slightly as she watched Noelle hug her doll tighter against her thin chest. Her solemn face showed no sign of interest in anything around her, even as they neared the long sheds and Leigh felt Noelle’s small gloved hand grasp hers, tightening nervously as they heard the bleating growing louder and louder.

“Auntie Leigh! Auntie Leigh! Lookee, lookee!” Steward squealed excitedly as he stared at the sheep filling the pens, his brown eyes round with wonder. Jumping up and down, dressed in a brown velvet suit, his stocky, white-stockinged legs revealed beneath the short full breeches, his short-waisted jacket worn over a linen shirt with a wide, ruffled collar, he looked the perfect little gentleman. And it was about time he graduated to pantaloons, as boys his age were supposed to, but when Leigh had suggested such a change to Althea that morning, she had looked startled, saying that Steward was far too young. He was just a baby still, she’d declared, smoothing his thick dark curls with a loving hand as she’d pressed a kiss against his apple-cheeked face.

His cap was now slipping from those pretty curls, and Leigh just managed to catch it before it landed in the dust, and would, no doubt, have been sent flying across the yard by one of his stubby little boots, accompanied by naughty giggles.

Leigh placed the brown velvet cap firmly on his curls, then tightened her grip on his hand, determined no disaster would befall them, for she had promised Althea she could easily handle her niece and nephew if she took them to see the sheep—the outing just as exciting for her since this was their first spring at Royal Rivers.

For the last week and a half, day after day, a thousand head of sheep had been herded from pens into the sheds, where the shearers clipped them of their winter coats, the thick fleece piled high into mounds by each shearer, collected and tied into neat bundles to be stored until the wool could be shipped back East on the first freight wagons loaded and formed into a train. Already the teams of bull whackers were showing up at the
rancho
, along with the wagon masters and herders. The cracking of the bull whackers’ heavy, braided rawhide whips cut through the noise of braying sheep and cattle as they engaged in friendly competitions of flicking flies from fence posts while idling away their afternoons; for soon enough they would be facing the perils of the trail that lay ahead.

Leigh gave wide berth to the deep trough stretching before them, despite Steward’s tugging on her hand to move closer. She would never have been able to explain to Althea about the premature end of her son had he fallen in—which, Leigh suspected, Steward, being a Travers, was certain to have accomplished with breathtaking ease. The trough was four to five feet wide and close to twenty feet long, and filled with sheep dip, a hot, noisome mixture of sulfur, tobacco, various pungent herb extracts, and medicines, the fumes rising on an overwhelming cloud of steam. Standing on the edge, with long poles with hooks on the ends, the shepherds and ranch hands ducked the bobbing heads of the sheep swimming along the gauntlet to make certain the sheep were fully covered by the fumigating coating that would protect them from mites, ticks, and other disagreeable creatures.

Struggling from the trough at the far end, up a cleated ramp, the sheep were dried off and branded with red dye from a wooden stamp. The double
R
of Royal Rivers’ brand marking them even as their clipped woolly coats became fleecy again; and as an added protection an ear was notched for identification, the mark varying each year to identify the age of the sheep in the herd.

A few days from now, with the shearing over, the lambs would then be docked; their tails bobbed either by a knife on a chopping block, or with a docking iron hot from the fire. Then the wethering followed, with the majority of the male lambs castrated, for only prized rams were allowed to rut come fall, when the ewes were in estrus.