Suddenly Adelaide knew what she had to do. The only reason it had taken her so long to see the truth was because her own desire had blocked her view. Dropping her hand, she straightened and met the housekeeper’s eye. The poor woman looked quite taken aback. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Chalmers. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I know what I need to do. I’ll just explain to Isabella that I can’t—”
“Wait, dear.” Mrs. Chalmers squinted at her through her spectacles. “What is this about a wife? Mr. Westcott’s never been married.”
Lightheadedness assailed her. Adelaide blinked, trying to steady her thoughts. Never been married? “But his daughter …”
All at once the wrinkles on Mrs. Chalmers’s forehead smoothed away. “Ah, now I see. Isabella is Mr. Westcott’s ward. A child of his heart, not of his blood. I thought you’d seen the picture of Isabella’s parents that she keeps at her bedside.”
She’d noticed the photograph, and the resemblance between Isabella and the man and woman. But she’d been so certain Gideon was the girl’s natural father, she’d assumed the couple were more distant kin. An aunt and uncle, perhaps.
“So, Mr. Westcott has never been married.” Adelaide repeated the words, trying to absorb their meaning.
“That’s right.” Mrs. Chalmers picked her tea back up, hiding her burgeoning smile behind the rim of her cup. “So there’s no reason not to wear that lovely dress.”
Adelaide’s pulse began to accelerate. Gideon had never been married. There was no ghost hanging about who still held claim to his heart. No necessary mourning period. No reason not to wear the dress of her dreams for the man of her dreams.
Her cheeks stretched in a grin that could not be contained. She tried biting her lower lip, but it did no good. Pushing away from the table, Adelaide bounded to her feet.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Chalmers? I have a dress to hem.”
Chapter 16
You are cordially invited
to the parlor of Westcott Cottage
for dinner and entertainment
in celebration of a successful spring shearing.
Festivities will begin at six o’clock on Friday evening,
the fifteenth of June, 1883.
Gideon eyed the card that stood propped against his dresser mirror as he folded his white necktie. The stick-legged creatures in the picture smiled their approval of his attire. He hadn’t worn formal evening dress since leaving England, yet when Bella presented him with an invitation to her party, he knew he had to look his best.
My girls have gone to a lot of trouble.
My girls.
The thought hit him hard, causing him to fumble the end of his tie and lose the tension in the knot. When had he started thinking of Adelaide as his?
The first time she made Bella laugh? During their confrontation by the river, when she showed her mettle by standing up to him? Or in the barn last week when she wept in his arms? When had it happened?
He frowned at his reflection. Yanking the ends of the tie free, he began again.
When it had happened wasn’t as important as what he was going to do about it. And the answer to the second question was much easier to ascertain.
Nothing. He would do nothing about it.
Adelaide Proctor was a lovely woman with a cheerful disposition and a more than capable hand with children. But that was all she was—all she could be.
His parents had always encouraged their sons to marry where their heart led, but that didn’t mean there weren’t certain unspoken expectations in place. A woman of good family. Refined. Elegant. Upstanding moral character.
Adelaide clearly fulfilled the last requirement. But she was too exuberant to be considered elegant, too whimsical to be refined. And though she was schooled in Boston, her family had no connections to society, no common background that the people in his world would appreciate.
No. She was his daughter’s governess. Perhaps even a friend. To think of her as anything more would bring on a host of complications he could ill afford.
Finished with the tie, he tugged his black vest until it lay flat over his waist and adjusted his gold cuff links. Tonight was Bella’s night. He’d seen precious little of his daughter over the last few days. The shearing and dipping had consumed his daylight hours, while updating the business accounts monopolized his evenings. And thanks to his worry over how Miss Proctor was faring following the attack in the barn, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days.
Adelaide hadn’t made an appearance at the branding station or anywhere else outdoors since the incident with José. Not that he blamed her, of course. After Ramirez and his crew left, he thought she might venture out again—for a ride on Sheba, if nothing else. But she had cloistered herself in the house.
At least he now had the reassurance that she’d been working with Bella on this party instead of hiding away in a corner somewhere. He’d feel better, however, once he saw her riding again. Perhaps after the celebration tonight he would ask her to join him on a morning gallop down to the river. He could even challenge her to a race. She never turned down an opportunity to show off Sheba’s prowess. A fond smile crept onto his face. Adelaide was like a proud mother when it came to that horse. With Bella, too. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if the same loyalty extended to him.
Gideon picked up his black swallowtail coat from where it lay on the bed and pushed his arms through the sleeves. Once it settled comfortably on his shoulders, he smoothed his hair a final time and made his way downstairs.
Miguel sat on a bench in the front hall rubbing his palms along his pant legs. The way his knees jounced up and down, he looked like a skittish horse ready to bolt the instant the reins slackened.
“Steady, man,” Gideon said, his voice low. “It’s not as bad as all that.”
The vaquero lurched to his feet. “Señor Westcott, I no should be here.”
Gideon clapped him on the back. “Why not? You’re an invited guest.”
“But grand parties in the big house? They’re for fine gentlemen and fancy ladies. Not hired men who stink of sheep.”
Bending close, Gideon sniffed loud and long. “I don’t smell anything. Besides, under all these fashionable trappings, I’m nothing more than a sheepman myself. If my daughter invited the two of us, she must not care that we’re a couple of herders. Now, stand up straight.” Gideon acted as valet and tidied Miguel’s clothes. The black frock coat he had lent the smaller man hung loose, but he looked presentable. He evened out the foreman’s tie and brushed some lint off his shoulder. “There. Tonight you are in appearance what you have always been in truth—a gentleman rancher.”
“Gracias, patrón.”
Over Miguel’s head, Gideon caught sight of his cook entering from the kitchen. “Mrs. Garrett! How fetching you look.”
The woman marched in wearing a green dress that had probably been in fashion more than a dozen years ago, but she blushed like a schoolgirl at Gideon’s flattery.
“Craziest thing I ever heard of,” she said, pulling off her bonnet. “Inviting servants to a party and not even letting them set out the food. That girl of yours is gonna end up with some backward notions.”
Gideon took her hat and hung it on the hall tree, not fooled for a moment by her disgruntled manner. “I rather like the idea. Perhaps this will become a tradition at Westcott Cottage. Once a year, the people who work so hard on this ranch will be rewarded by switching roles for an evening with their employers. Only next time, I’ll be joining my daughter in serving you.”
A vision of Adelaide serving at his side flashed across his mind. He quickly banished it.
“I tell you, that Miss Proctor sure is a wonder,” Mrs. Garrett continued. “She had me fix up a mess of picnic food ahead of time, anything that could be served cold. Roast beef sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, boiled eggs and cheese, two kinds of pie, and a chocolate cake.”
Gideon smiled. “It sounds as if we are in for quite a feast.”
“I
spent the last day and a half getting everything together— then she up and tells me to take the afternoon off. She’ll set it all out, she says. I should relax and get ready for the party.” Mrs. Garrett planted a fist on her hip. “Well, when is she supposed to get ready for the party if she’s off doing my job as well as hers, I’d like to know?”
Gideon frowned. It sounded as if Adelaide had taken too much upon herself. He should be helping her instead of idly passing time with the rest of the guests.
A throat cleared behind him. “I believe our hostess has arrived,” his butler announced.
Chalmers stood at the foot of the stairs, dapper as always in his formal wear. His wife’s hand was tucked into the crook of his arm, but her gaze was locked on the small form hovering on the landing.
“She’s an angel,” the housekeeper declared, and Gideon readily agreed.
His daughter ran her hand along the railing and descended the last few steps as regal as any queen. Her pleated pink satin dress looked familiar, but he didn’t recall it having a beaded neckline or a large lacy bow at the side. Bella’s curls, usually a bit unruly, were perfectly turned out with twists of pink and white ribbons threaded throughout and gathered at the back of her head with a pretty pink bow. He strode forward to meet her, smiling all the way. When she smiled back at him, his shoulders suddenly felt a little broader, his arms a little stronger. Which was probably a good thing, for in a few years, every young buck in the county would be calling at his door.
Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, Gideon bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She giggled and blushed but bowed her head in return. Then, as every good hostess must, she left his side to welcome the rest of her guests. She curtsied to each one in turn and motioned for them to follow her into the parlor. Gideon hung back, content to watch her take charge. He fell in line behind the others. From what he could see through the doorway, the larger furniture had been moved to the walls, leaving a few chairs to rim a large area covered in quilts. An indoor picnic.
The sideboard had been moved in from the dining room and was laden with all the food Mrs. Garrett had described, artfully arranged on silver platters and in crystal bowls. China plates and glass tumblers stood ready to be filled. Adelaide had certainly set an elaborate table. But where was she? She should be here to enjoy the guests’ reactions.
A creak on the staircase drew his attention. He backed out of the parlor doorway and turned, expecting to see Miss Proctor in her bright yellow Sunday-best dress—the one that never failed to put a smile on his face when they attended services at the small church in Menardville. However, when his gaze finally found her, the smile on his face slipped. And as he stared at the riveting sight before him, he could neither move nor breathe.
Adelaide in sunshine calico was temptation enough, but Adelaide in starlight and lace devastated his senses. No elegant lady in London could compare.
Her dark chestnut hair had been piled in waves atop her head and decorated with a pearl comb that matched the string at her throat. Slippered toes peeked out from beneath her gossamer skirts as she descended, each delicate step bringing her closer to him. When she gained the floor, he couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling over the rest of her as she approached. The dress accentuated her slender waist and feminine curves in a way that inspired very husbandish ideas. He jerked his eyes back to her face and brusquely reminded himself he was a gentleman.
She halted an arm’s length away from him, her hazel eyes shuttered by shy lashes. He yearned to close the distance and gather her to him, but he remained rooted in his spot. Just when he managed to get his pulse under control, she tilted her face up and melted her gaze into his.
“Good evening, Gideon.”
Good? He doubted any could be better.
Chapter 17
Adelaide’s palms grew clammy inside her gloves. When she’d first noticed Gideon watching her, all of her feminine instincts heightened, sure of the appreciation in his gaze. Yet the nearer she came to him, the more her confidence wavered. A gentleman enamored of a lady would hurry to her side, wouldn’t he? Gideon never moved. She searched him for a smile as she crossed the floor, hoping to find some evidence of his pleasure. His face offered only a penetrating stare. Now she stood before him, her stomach fluttering, and waited for him to return her greeting. He said nothing.
What if he hadn’t been mesmerized by her appearance as she had so arrogantly concluded at first? What if he was appalled by her dressing in a manner so far above her station? What if he was searching for a polite way to ask that she change?
“Isabella insisted that I wear this dress,” she rushed to explain, shifting her gaze away from his. “It belonged to her mother. I know I shouldn’t have worn … but it was so pretty … and yellow … and she was adamant.” Adelaide sighed. What a muddle.
She couldn’t slink away and change, though. The party had begun and Isabella needed her. Adelaide mentally added some starch to her spine. Gideon would just have to ignore her gown if he didn’t like it. If he killed her fantasy in the process, well, she’d get over it. She’d worn this dress for Isabella anyway, not Gideon.
Right. Just like she’d gone to Fort Worth to hunt a new teaching position, not a husband.
Doubts continued to spiral in her head, like a whirlwind kicking up dust on the prairie. Then Gideon’s strong hand clasped hers. His thumb caressed the back of the fine silk glove she wore, sending delectable little shivers up her arm. He bowed deep and raised himself slowly, capturing her gaze as he did so.
“Miss Proctor, you are truly stunning. I’ve never been happier for Bella to have her way.”
Wanting to disguise the giddy delight that effervesced in her at his words, she tried to affect the sophisticated mien of one accustomed to such gallant compliments but failed miserably. Unable to suppress it for more than a second, she released the jubilant smile that pressed against her lips, not caring if it made her look like a naïve bumpkin. Her hero had just rescued her again. He slew her fears and restored her romantic dreams in a single breath. If that didn’t deserve a grin as wide as the Brazos, nothing did.
Gideon released her hand and offered his arm in exchange. “May I escort you in?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Adelaide curled her fingers around his bicep and allowed him to lead. She stepped cautiously, not wanting to catch her toe on the newly basted hem that tucked away the bottom flounce of her dress. However, when they entered the parlor, all thought of the lacy skirt flew out of her head. She and Gideon were the focus of everyone’s attention.
Heat crept into her cheeks, yet Adelaide held her head high. She’d never been more proud to be on a man’s arm. Gideon was dashing and handsome, considerate and kind—and British, for goodness’ sake. All those adolescent years spent sighing over Jane Austen novels, and now she was living one. What could be more delicious than that?
She drank in the moment as long as she could, then released Gideon’s arm—and with it, her sentimental fancies. The time had come to grasp her role as hostess instead. She dared not disappoint the young girl who depended on her.
Sweeping into the depths of the parlor, Adelaide smiled at each of their guests and took her place at Isabella’s side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. We are honored to have you join us for our shearing celebration. A wide variety of foods awaits your pleasure. Please fill a plate and have a seat. Or you might prefer to recline alfresco under our imaginary trees.” She winked and spread her arms up and out as far as the fabric of her dress would allow. Isabella took her cue and lay down on her side under Adelaide’s branches, propping herself up on one elbow.
High-pitched titters and muted masculine chuckles permeated the room. Isabella beamed. When she hopped back to her feet, Adelaide bent to whisper in her ear.
“Why don’t you take your father to the sideboard to get things started? I’ll direct the rest. Just remember not to help yourself to anything until all of th
e guests have been served.”
Her charge gave a tiny salute, reminiscent of their imaginary army days, and marched up to Gideon. She took his hand and yanked, setting him clumsily in motion toward the food. Adelaide bit her lip to keep her smile under control. What the child lacked in finesse, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. Gideon’s twinkling eyes met Adelaide’s from across the room, and the two shared a silent laugh. Isabella’s party was off to an auspicious beginning.
The lighthearted tone continued throughout the evening. Gideon and Miguel joined Isabella on the picnic blankets while the others perched in chairs nearby. Adelaide longed to join the alfresco crowd, but preserving her borrowed gown took precedence. So she inquired after Mabel Garrett’s coleslaw recipe and smiled at the childhood anecdotes Mrs. Chalmers told on the Westcott boys. Meanwhile, Miguel finally showed signs of relaxing as he and Gideon romped with Isabella. In less than an hour, the stiff formality that had hung over the group disappeared into a hum of friendly banter. Adelaide could not have been more pleased.
They played several rounds of charades, Isabella being by far the most accomplished actor of the bunch. In keeping with their theme, all of the words were things that could be found on the ranch. Isabella’s pecking chicken was deduced at once, thanks to her flapping elbows and telescoping neck. However, Mabel’s pitchfork proved more difficult. She stood stiff and straight with three fingers poking out from the top her head, but no one could decipher her clues. The group guessed everything from a fence post to a yucca tree. Huffing in frustration, she finally stomped over to her chair, grabbed her icing-encrusted fork from where it balanced on her plate, and held it out until someone named the utensil. Then she pitched it right at Miguel—who dodged the flying prongs yet, at the same time, successfully identified the elusive farm implement.
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