“Adella, such a shame to see you again,” Warren murmured in his cultured voice. “I’m certain you are deliriously anxious to make the acquaintance of my wife, Helen.” He motioned for her to follow him, frowning when she stayed rooted in place.
Adella forced a smile, as she stared at her husband’s cousin. “Warren, always a pleasure. I can’t believe it’s been so long since I saw you at the cultured soirees in Philadelphia.”
“Yes, in the true viper’s den,” he murmured. “Tell me. I’m curious to understand. How did you come to learn that my good friend, Dalton, was to marry before he did?”
Adella faltered for only a moment. “Of course that is what he’d claim. I have it on good authority that this entire charade was planned. From the moment she”—Adella waved in Charlotte’s direction, ignoring her ashen countenance—“wrote, informing me of her plan to find a man to ensnare.”
“Lies,” Charlotte whispered. “I never wrote you.” When Warren glared her into silence, she bit her lip, silencing any protestation of her innocence.
“I presume you’d travel with such incriminating evidence. Surely you’d understand that one such as I would demand to see the proof of what you claim,” Warren said. He smiled ferally as Adella paled. “Your tricks worked in Philadelphia because those in the drawing rooms cared what you said. They relished in destroying young women’s futures because it brought them entertainment in a world devoid of purpose.” He shook his head. “We have purpose here. And little patience for intrigue or lies.”
“What man wants to marry a woman who’s shown such poor judgment that she throws away her virtue on a married man?” Adella smiled as she saw Charlotte flinch at that comment. “I’d think she would reconsider her choice in him. He’ll only see her as a drudge and second best. She’ll wonder, forever, if he is perpetually disappointed that he didn’t wait for someone better.”
“You spiteful bi—” Dalton broke off what he would have said when he looked at Charlotte’s devastated gaze. “I’ve had enough. You have no right to speak such malicious lies. You have no right to hurt Miss Ingram.” He wrapped an arm around Charlotte and moved into the tight circle of MacKinnons and friends awaiting them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Warren speaking in an intense low voice to the interloper. “Lottie,” Dalton murmured to her.
“Shh,” she murmured. “Just hold me. Please.”
He enfolded her in his arms, wishing he were a poet and had the words to soothe the pain Adella provoked.
“That woman’s nothin’ but trouble,” Harold murmured to Dalton, his gaze flitting from Warren to Dalton. He nodded with approval to see Dalton soothing a trembling Charlotte. “I hope you have sense and keep your intended away from her.”
* * *
A few hours later the long Montana evening was finally turning toward twilight, and the dance was on the verge of breaking up. However, Harold marched up to the small stage area, where the fiddlers played, and whistled to gain everyone’s attention. “I know you’ll think I’m impertinent, but by now you know that’s my nature.” He laughed as the townsfolk heckled him. “I have a surprise for you, and now seems the appropriate time, as the evening cools and we’re all stuffed to the gills after the delicious food.”
“Get on with it, old man!” Irene called out.
He puffed out his chest, hooking his hands through his suspenders, as he tilted his head up. “I would, Ireney, if you’d let me.” He chuckled along with the townsfolk. “Now you might not be aware, but, in my family, we have two of the best singers in the Territory. I’ve convinced them to serenade us, and, if we’re lucky, they’ll sing more than one song.”
The townsfolk murmured as Sorcha and Davina approached the stage. Sorcha whispered something to the fiddlers and then nodded. Linking hands, the two cousins closed their eyes and sang in an unknown language. Their voices were pure, harmonious, and called to Charlotte’s soul. Although she had no idea what they were saying, she sensed a deep longing, a mourning in the song, and tears welled in her eyes.
Someone nudged her shoulder, and she looked up and up into the teasing eyes of Slims. “I know you think they’re singing of a lost homeland or losing someone they love. They’re probably talking about a passionate encounter with a fairy. We’ll never be the wiser.”
She giggled and shook her head, as he winked at her and moved away to speak with Frederick. Dalton remained with her, holding her close, as he rested his chin atop her head, swaying them softly side to side.
When the first song ended, the townsfolk roared, and Sorcha and Davina agreed to sing one more. Equally transfixed during the second song, Charlotte sighed, as Dalton kissed her cheek.
At the eruption of applause, she fought clinging to him as he eased away. “I must speak with the preacher,” he murmured.
“I want to congratulate Sorcha and Davina.” She ran a hand down his arm. “I’ll meet you here in a few moments.”
“Good, for I’m certain the man will want to ensure you desire to wed me tomorrow.” He stared deeply into her gaze, unable to hide the uncertainty in his. When she cupped his cheek and nodded, he smiled fully. “Good.”
Charlotte turned to speak with Sorcha and Davina, only to find her way marred by a mob of townsfolk. As she waited on the edge of the large group, Adella sidled up to her. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“That’s fine because I have plenty to say to you,” Adella said. She leaned forward. “How dare you believe you can start over again after what you did?”
“I did nothing but believe the lies of a worthless man,” Charlotte said, taking pride that her voice only wavered a little. She hoped that weakness was concealed by the boisterous crowd noise.
“You had the opportunity to give me what I most desired. And you denied me!” Adella shook her head, as though that were inconceivable. “How could you?”
Charlotte faced her, her cheeks a mottled red. “How could you have treated me as you did? Serving me that tea?”
Staring at her in confusion, Adella said, “I always serve my guests tea. Why wouldn’t I you?” She waved away Charlotte’s complaint. “Your selfishness brought about your pain.”
“My selfishness?” Charlotte gasped. “It was my baby. Never yours.”
Adella’s eyes gleamed with a deep agony. “Yes, I know.” She closed her eyes. “You proved that I am truly the barren one in my marriage. Not my husband. Do you know what that does to a woman?” she asked, turning away.
“It doesn’t give you the right to do what you did,” Charlotte snapped.
“Asking you to give us your child was wholly appropriate.” She closed her eyes. “Coming here to beg you to reconsider was foolish.” She stared at Charlotte with loathing. “I can see you found a way to rid yourself of your bothersome problem. It took you no time to find another willing man. Did he rebel against the idea of raising another man’s bastard?”
Charlotte stared at her in horror. “How can you deny what you did?”
“How can you deny what you are?” Adella said with scorn in her gaze. “You lie and cheat and then try to blame another for what you’ve done. You think I’m vile, when you should focus on yourself.” She paused, taking a deep breath, and spat out spitefully, “You seem to have no trouble cozying up to another man so soon after you claim to have loved my husband. Are you so fickle that one man is as good as another?” She traced a finger down Charlotte’s arm in a mockery of the caresses Dalton had gifted her.
“Or are you so desperate for any man’s attention that you’ll accept anyone’s touch?” Adella smiled as Charlotte gasped in agony at her words. “Is that how you feel when he holds you in bed too? Do you compare his touch to my husband’s and long for the refined touch of a man who knows how to treat a woman?” She lowered her voice. “Or perhaps you’re stupid enough to believe your cowboy’s lies, when he tells you that you are special and unique and lovely.”
Charlotte jerked away. “I’ve heard enough.” She stumbled until she was alone at the
side of the party that was beginning to break up, her mind spinning.
* * *
Dalton approached the new pastor, feeling a trickle of sweat down his spine. He suddenly wished he’d accepted a swig from Ewan’s flask, although he knew it would have done little to help him through this interview. When the couple conversing with the new pastor and his wife departed, Dalton approached, swiping at his hair and wishing he were more polished.
“Sir. Pastor. Mr. Fitch,” he stammered, shifting from foot to foot as his words dried up.
The man, who appeared about Dalton’s age, stared at him with a benevolent smile, enhancing his rather plain features into those of an engaging and handsome man. “I’m Pastor Fitch, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Sir,” Dalton stammered. “Ma’am. It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Fitch.” He nodded to the slightly younger woman standing beside the pastor with hair that shone like the color of rich pecans. He paused, momentarily awestruck by the wondrous beauty of her eyes. Neither green nor gray, they seemed a mixture of the two. When she laughed, he flinched.
“I’m Miss Fitch, kind sir,” she said. “Pastor Fitch’s sister.”
“Oh,” Dalton said. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” He nodded again, before taking a deep breath. “You don’t know me, Pastor, but I hoped you’d be willin’ to marry me tomorrow. My fiancée and I are here in town, and we’d like a proper wedding.”
Studying Dalton, he sobered. “And you feared I’d decline,” he said in a deep, melodious voice. His brown hair blew in the breeze, and his brown eyes looked troubled as he shook his head.
“Please, Pastor,” Dalton entreated. “We don’t know when we’ll be back again, and we want a proper weddin’. I want no one to doubt the validity of our union.”
Pastor Fitch nodded. “I wasn’t denying that I’d perform the ceremony tomorrow, young man, for I don’t know your name. I’m upset you’d ever doubt I’d perform it. I fear the man who presided over the congregation before me had a different attitude over what was reasonable.”
“I’m Dalton, sir. I work on Frederick Tompkins’s ranch. The Mountain Bluebird.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “I can’t see her right now due to the crowd, but I’m to marry Miss Ingram. She’s our cook.” His eyes glowed with pleasure at the thought.
Grinning, Pastor Fitch looked at his sister. “Well, it seems he’s delighted. Let’s find the bride to determine if she’s as eager.” He held out his arm, and his sister walked beside him, as they wended their way through the crowd that had begun to disperse.
Dalton approached Frederick, who stood with Sorcha by his side. She flushed and nodded as townsfolk continued to applaud her talent. Dalton noted Davina standing beside Slims. “Miss Sorcha, have you seen Charlotte?”
Sorcha shook her head. “No, but ’tis a bit chaotic.” She focused on the man beside Dalton. “Are ye the new preacher?” She gazed at him assessingly, when he nodded. “I hope ye are more discernin’ in who ye favor an’ who ye ridicule while standin’ in yer pulpit each Sunday.”
Frederick whispered, “Hush,” in her ear, introducing himself and Sorcha to the man and his sister. “We’re delighted to meet you.”
“Aye,” Sorcha said, ignoring her husband’s warning. “But ye must ken my husband an’ his family have suffered enough pain from the lashings they’ve already received from the pulpit.”
Pastor Fitch shifted uncomfortably. “I’m a different sort of pastor. I know only time will prove that to be true.”
“Come,” Dalton said, as he spotted Charlotte. “She’s over there.”
“Be sure to come to the party tomorrow, Pastor!” Sorcha called.
“Party?” Miss Fitch asked. “Didn’t we just have one tonight?”
Dalton flushed, and his smile was embarrassed but grateful. “They are throwing another one tomorrow after our weddin’. If you refused, Warren, the lawyer, would have married us.” He approached Charlotte, becoming more grave as she had lost some of her innate vitality. “Lottie?” he whispered. “I’ve found the pastor.”
She mustered a smile and reached for his hand before snatching hers back again. She gazed at him with a confused, tormented expression. “I don’t know what to do.”
He settled his hands on her shoulder, lowering his head closer to her. His musky scent with a hint of sandalwood cologne and horses wafted over her, and it was as though the two of them were alone in a sea of people. “Lottie, what happened?”
“I fear I’ve been a fool,” she whispered. “That what I thought was true was a lie.”
He paled. “Do you want me to ask the preacher to leave?”
Her hand instinctively reached for him, and she shook her head. “No. No. I want to marry you, Dalton. But there’s so much I don’t understand. So much …” She sighed as he eased her into his arms. After standing stiffly for a moment, she relaxed, melting into his supportive embrace.
“Will you tell him that?” he whispered, his soft breath warming her neck. “You must reassure him that I’m not forcing you.”
“Forcing me?” she asked, backing up to shake her head and to stare at him as though he were acting like a ninny. “Of course you aren’t.” She craned her neck to look over Dalton’s shoulder at the pastor, waiting patiently behind her betrothed. “Of course he isn’t. I want to marry him.”
She saw the kind, rather plain man smile with relief. Wriggling, she eased from Dalton’s arms. “I am Charlotte Ingram. I am eager to marry Dalton tomorrow.”
“Miss Ingram, I am Pastor Fitch. This is my sister, Miss Fitch.”
Charlotte smiled at both of them. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Dalton held her close by his side, talking with the pastor about the time for the wedding the following day, before leading them back to introduce him and his sister to the ranch hands. The pastor had met the MacKinnons but only in a remote way. As he watched the pastor and his sister interact with the engaging group, he was unable to stop thinking about the change in Charlotte’s demeanor toward him. What had occurred? Why was she acting so differently? More important, how could he reassure her that everything would be fine and that nothing needed to change between them?
Chapter 10
Dalton stood at the front of the church near the altar, waiting for Charlotte to walk down the aisle toward him. He attempted to paste on a confident expression, but he feared Slims could see through him. He turned away from the friends and the townsfolk who had gathered to witness his union with Charlotte, resolutely ignoring Dixon’s amusement at his distress.
“Ignore him,” Slims murmured to Dalton. “Dix will have his day, and then you can remind him what an idiot he was to you.”
Dalton let out a shaky breath. “Were you this nervous?” he whispered.
Shrugging, Slims nodded. “But I’ll never admit to it if you tell anyone.” He smiled in a self-deprecating manner. “Are you afraid she won’t show up or because you doubt your decision?”
Dalton speared his friend with a tormented glance. “I’m afraid she regrets her decision. And I couldn’t live with myself if I’m binding myself to a woman who will always resent me.”
Slims stared at him with a perplexed expression. “What I’d remember is that she had no doubts, until she saw that woman last night. Perhaps something happened.” He snapped his jaw shut and looked over his shoulder as the congregation hushed.
As their wedding gift to Charlotte, Sorcha and Davina had agreed to sing again, as Charlotte walked down the aisle. The duo sang an uplifting, hopeful-sounding song as first Sorcha and then Davina walked down the aisle, holding small bouquets of the wild yellow flowers that had entranced Charlotte last week.
Dalton faced the procession, his breath catching as Charlotte slipped her arm through Warren’s. Her light-blue silk dress enhanced her natural beauty, and her hair shone in the church window’s sunlight. She carried a larger bouquet of the wild yellow flowers.
“Bears heard her story about how much she loved t
he flowers, and he walked to a mountaintop to find them for her,” Slims murmured.
Dalton made a noise, meant to acknowledge what Slims said, his whole focus on Charlotte. He gazed deeply into her beautiful sherry-colored eyes, hoping his gaze conveyed his steadfastness. His loyalty. His heart stuttered. His love. Searching her gaze for any sign she felt the same, he battled panic to see her controlled, distant demeanor. He wanted her passion. Her eager to wed him. Where was the woman from a few days ago?
When she reached his side, her hand shook as she held it out for him to clasp hers.
“Everything will be all right, love. We are together now.” Even though she acknowledged his words with a subtle nod, he yearned for a smile. For a teasing glint in her eyes. For anything other than the sense she married out of duty. Or desperation.
He turned to face the preacher’s kind countenance as the word desperation reverberated in his mind. How had it come to this? Had he been duped by a pretty face? Was he a fool to fall for the damsel in distress?
* * *
Charlotte stood surrounded by MacKinnon women, as her reception occurred around her. Even though they’d had short notice, the Odd Fellows Hall had been decorated for their wedding, and the townsfolk had been eager for another party. Charlotte forced a smile and laughter as the MacKinnon women teased her, but she saw their shared glances of concern at her feigned vivaciousness.
Resolutely refusing to answer any questions, she moved away from them to speak with a man called Bears. He had surprised her this morning with a beautiful bouquet of the yellow flowers she adored, telling her that he broke one of his rules by picking any of them just for her.
“Mr. Bears,” she said, as she approached him. He was a tall, lean man with long black hair that hung loose down his back. His brown eyes shone with a quiet intelligence, and, although he focused solely on her, she had the sense he knew everything occurring in the Hall.
Healing Montana Love: Bear Grass Springs, Book Eleven Page 12