Wildblossom

by Wright, Cynthia

  It made Shelby happy that her uncle was home where he belonged, and she grinned at the sight of Jimmy back among his fellow ranch hands, but when Geoff brought up the rear and their eyes met, Shelby's heart began to skip. Her palms and the soles of her feet broke out in a sweat. She was giddy and shaky, but she loved each palpitation.

  Geoff's spell on her seemed to be more potent than ever. A shaft of morning sunlight followed him through the door, bathing his tanned face in a golden haze. His smile of greeting to Titus was magically friendly, and the body Shelby had learned so well during the past night now wore khaki pants and a freshly laundered white shirt.

  "How did you get outside?" she asked, helpless to stop herself from gazing at him, longing to go into his arms. "I mean—Uncle Ben said you were still getting dressed...."

  His smile lit her heart. "I slipped out the front door while you were doing a one-woman pantomime of the blizzard for Mr. Pym. I felt guilty for not having a look at the animals this morning."

  "How are they?"

  Before Geoff could reply, Ben pushed between them and grabbed for the spatula. "For Pete's sake, Shel, the pancakes are burning! What's wrong with you, anyway?"

  "My fault." Geoff rushed to the burly fellow's aid, adding, "I distracted her."

  Shelby removed herself from the fray by setting the table, a and soon they all were seated together, eating with gusto and all talking at once. The journey to Billings had apparently been a success. Some of the new horses had come south with Titus, Ben, and Jimmy; the others would arrive with friends who were coming this way. Most of the new farming equipment they'd purchased was already in Cody, waiting to be picked up; the rest would be delivered on the next train.

  Titus urged Shelby to finish the story about the stolen cattle. Sitting side by side, she and Geoff took turns filling them in on Bart Croll and the previous night's great adventure. The men were shocked to hear of Shelby's direct involvement in such a dangerous undertaking, but she was quick to defend Geoff's decision to let her participate.

  "You both know me too well to think I'd have stayed behind, and Geoff knows that I would have sneaked after them if I'd had to! It was easier to agree from the beginning—"

  Gruffly, Ben interjected, "Sounds to me like I need to give our friend here some lessons on teachin' you to behave, Shel."

  "Oh, don't be a pompous ass, Benjamin," Titus scoffed, stirring sugar into his coffee. "You can't control her any better than the rest of us."

  "In my own defense," Geoff said, "I will say that I might have tried chaining her to the fireplace if not for the fact that only Shelby could identify our eight steers with certainty. Since they weren't branded yet, we couldn't afford to make a mistake, especially given the handicap of darkness." He exchanged a look with Shelby and caught her fingers under the table for a moment. "It was a risky venture, no doubt about that, but Shelby was determined, and very brave. I suppose one could conclude, 'All's well that ends well.' "

  "I hope I don't see my niece's face on Wanted posters the next time I go into Cody," Ben grumbled. Then, perhaps a bit too casually, he exclaimed, "Geez, whats the matter with me? Almost forgot, Weston—you had a letter at the post office! Looks pretty important." He waggled his brows while reaching inside his denim jacket. Holding the envelope out so that Shelby could see it clearly, he slowly turned it over as he passed the letter across the table to Geoff.

  She recognized immediately that the impeccable handwriting was a woman's. It was addressed:

  Geoffrey Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst

  Cody Township. The State of Wyoming.

  The United States of America.

  * * *

  Shelby didn't want to look at the back, where another name was engraved on the flap, above the broken wax seal, but she couldn't help herself. Lady Clementine Beech, it proclaimed. Shelby thought, It's probably his old maiden aunt, or better yet, his nanny! She might have been able to convince herself of this if it hadn't been for Geoff's face. He colored guiltily at the sight of the letter, and next to him, Manypenny lifted one meaningful brow. It all lasted perhaps five seconds, then Geoff got the creamy envelope out of sight and regained his composure. No one else would guess a thing—except Shelby, who now was privy to the cadence of his heart, the green flecks in the depths of his eyes, and the taste of his sweat.

  Lady Clementine Beech was a key player in Geoff's life in England! Her feminine instincts proclaimed this as fact and she knew then that her happiness must be too good to be true.

  * * *

  Shelby was possessed with curiosity about the letter—and despised herself for it. Deep inside, she could already envision herself sneaking into Geoff's room, rifling through his things, and reading the letter, and she was revolted by the scenario. Her faults might be numerous, but dishonesty, skulking, and violating the privacy of another person were not among them.

  Yet she knew she would sink to that level, because she had to know. It occurred to her to simply ask Geoff, but she sensed that some defense mechanism in him would compel him to blur the truth. Clearly, if he were truly in love with Lady Clementine Beech, he would be in London rather than Cody—or he'd at least be talking about her. Geoff wasn't dishonorable, Shelby reflected, but he was a nobleman—the Marquess of Sandhurst, her subconscious kept trumpeting—and everyone knew that titled people had to live their lives according to other people's expectations.

  She just had to know the truth—not Geoff's truth, but Clementine's. She'd given herself to him willingly (had she thrown herself at him?), and had no regrets, but something had happened to her. She had feelings for Geoff that were powerful and tender, and they wouldn't leave her alone.

  So, later that afternoon, when everyone was out working with the new horses, Shelby slipped away. Just in case anyone asked, she mentioned to Lucius that she needed to wash the breakfast dishes and would be right back.

  Approaching the house, she suddenly remembered Mr. Manypenny. He was sitting in his favorite wicker chair on the veranda, reading another volume of Trollope: Phineas Redux. In the sunlight, it was all the more apparent that he was thinner and, if possible, paler, but the smile he bestowed upon her was quite cheerful.

  "Mr. Manypenny, may I ask you something?" Shelby inquired playfully as she stepped onto the porch.

  "Of course."

  "Do you remember any of the things you said to me during your illness?"

  "A lady would not remind a gentleman of such lapses," he remonstrated with mock solemnity, eyes twinkling. "However, if you are referring to my insistence that you address me as 'Percy,' my reply is affirmative."

  Shelby wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss the top of his bald head, but refrained, beaming instead. She giggled. "Geoff went absolutely wild every time I said 'Percy' to him."

  "No doubt. I should enjoy that spectacle myself. I suggest that you say it to my face when he is present."

  Laughing, Shelby agreed, then remarked that she was going to tidy up inside. A bad liar, she could feel the heat in her face the very instant she spoke the words, but hoped that the brevity of her deceit prevented Manypenny from noticing.

  Miserably, she thought that she was a terrible person. Her heart was pounding as she crept down the hallway to Geoffrey's room, clutching a silly-looking feather duster in one hand. The door was ajar. Shelby stepped in, nearly sick with anxiety, and inhaled Geoff's faint, appealing scent. It clung lightly to everything he touched; it was still on her other pillow. Geoff's pillow, she thought, welcoming the giddy tide of emotion. Anything to distract her from the self-loathing that kept rising in her throat.

  It was the first time in her life she'd done such a thing; she'd had always been honest to a fault.

  Shelby looked around the room with a lover's fascination. The quilts on Geoff's bed were smoothed and folded back to reveal two snowy pillows. Tasteful ivory-handled grooming implements were arranged in a row on the bureau: a brush and a comb, a small mirror, and a razor. Nearby were a tin of after-shave alum an
d a blue and white mug containing a cake of shaving soap. Shelby lifted the cup and smelled it, analyzing Geoff's own scent—part fresh "gentleman of quality" soap from Trumper's of London, part Wyoming sunshine and mountain breezes, and part horses and sweat and a touch of smoke. It was a highly appealing combination.

  Steeling herself then, she began to search. She opened his drawers, where underclothes and handkerchiefs were neatly arranged. There was a book in the drawer. Thumbing through it, she discovered that Geoff kept a journal, writing sporadically rather than daily. Because the letter wasn't in the journal, she replaced it.

  Other drawers held clothing purchased in Cody: trousers of khaki and denim, union suits in soft gray, cotton shirts, heavy socks, kerchiefs. No letter.

  A sudden noise set Shelby's heart thundering again. She tiptoed to the hallway and listened, but the house was quiet. Hurrying back, she lifted the lid of the canvas-covered trunk at the foot of the bed and rifled through the books she and Geoff had shared. Just the sight of the leather-bound, gold-stamped volumes of Tennyson and the Rubaiyat made her eyes sting.

  Memories, but no letter.

  Short of looking under his mattress, Shelby could only turn to the one other trunk that Geoff still kept in his bedroom, for the others were stored now in the barn loft. This was a magnificent wardrobe trunk, standing on end in the corner by the bureau, and it was open a few inches... beckoning her to explore. Tentatively, she pushed the two sides farther apart, awed by the Louis Vuitton trunk's expensive interior.

  One side featured a brass bar on which were hung clothes she'd never seen: tweed suits, jodhpurs for riding, and handsome gabardine trousers and wool jackets. The rest of the wardrobe trunk was made up of compartments for such necessities as hats, handmade shoes, and accessories including braces, collars and cuffs, ties, gloves, and driving goggles with glass lenses.

  Shelby's palms were damp with anxiety. She was ready to give up when she pulled open a last built-in drawer and discovered stacks of personal items. There was jewelry: a gold watch and cuff links, and a signet ring engraved with the Marquess of Sandhurst's crest. A slate-gray ribbon bound photographs of people whom Shelby assumed were family members, and letters. One had come to him a few days ago in Cody, and the paper was engraved with the crest of the Duke of Aylesbury. She saw only that the brief missive was tersely signed, "Your Father."

  Shelby was just about to run out of the room to safety when she glimpsed, stuck in the side of the compartment, the ivory envelope from that morning. Realizing that it was going to change everything, she freed the heavy pieces of paper and unfolded them with shaking fingers.

  My dear Sandhurst,

  I find it impossibly dreary that you've gone to that place at the end of the world, but I suppose I shall have to adjust. What do you do there all day? The one comfort is that there are doubtless plenty of horses. If you find one to bring me as a wedding gift, I imagine it would be a tremendous conversation piece. Perhaps we could have it properly trained and race it at Ascot...

  The rest of the letter blurred before Shelby's eyes as one word rang in her mind: wedding. But no—Clementine Beech hadn't named her future bridegroom, had she? Clinging to a thin reed of hope, Shelby read on:

  I'm wretched at letter-writing, darling, but I saw your mother yesterday and she urged me to dash off a note. It wouldn't do for you to forget me, would it? At least I am consoled by the fact that there are more horses than females in Wyoming, hmm? I've no doubt that you'll come home to me, and sooner than you think. You're an Englishman, Geoffrey dear, and a nobleman, and you belong here. Mummy longs to begin planning a Christmas wedding. I must dash. We're trying a new course for field trials this afternoon and I've a new stallion to ride. Gloucestershire is lovelier than ever...

  Your own Clementine

  "Damn!" Shelby whispered as she digested the harsh facts dished out by Lady Clementine Beech. A heavy weight of despair pressed her heart. And yet, in spite of the bitter disappointment, she was grateful for the truth. If she kept trying not to think about the real life that was waiting for Geoff back in England, she'd only be more devastated in the end.

  After all, it couldn't really be possible that her recent bliss could be pure and unfettered, could it? She had been a practical person since babyhood. Perhaps it was better to know how matters really stood, and then she could guard herself a bit more carefully against the day when Geoff would go away.

  Still, it hurt. Tears burned Shelby's throat and her thoughts tangled in confusion. Could real love be turned off like a faucet?

  "Ah-hemm!" The sound of Manypenny loudly clearing his throat rumbled from the hallway, jolting Shelby back to reality. It almost seemed that he was warning her of his approach, and she barely had time to stuff the pages back into the envelope and push it into the wardrobe compartment. Flushed with panic, she looked around for the feather duster and grabbed it just as the elderly manservant appeared in the doorway. He merely regarded her, tilting his big head slightly to one side—knowingly, Shelby thought.

  "I—I was just—dusting!" she exclaimed, and flicked the feather duster to and fro over Geoff's trunk with exaggerated vigor. But the room was already spotless.

  "Miss Matthews," he intoned, each weighted word bone-dry, "if you felt that it was necessary to make a special effort to put my master's bedchamber... in order, then I can only hope that you accomplished your objective."

  She scurried past him, cheeks burning, and paused to dust the door frame. "Every now and then I feel the urge to do something domestic...."

  "Of course you do. And that is your right." After a moment's effective silence, Manypenny added, "I came to tell you that we appear to have a visitor. He won't come down from his conveyance, but he is making a great deal of noise, and I thought you should be informed." The Englishman watched the blood drain from Shelby's cheeks before he added, "Although I have not been formally introduced, my powers of deduction suggest that our caller is the knavish Mr. Croll."

  * * *

  "I'd like to know where you was last night, Limey!" Bart Croll was shouting at Geoff as Shelby came running out of the house. When he gestured with a fist, he nearly struck his wife, who cowered beside him on the buckboard seat.

  "Are you accusing Mr. Weston of a crime?" countered Titus, who had just come from the corral to join Geoff and Ben on the ground. "If so, why not come to the point? Make your charges and state your proof."

  The weather-beaten old man narrowed his eyes. "I don't got proof, I got suspicions." He looked at Geoff again. "Why didn't you come t'the poker game in Cody?"

  "Me an' Titus got home from Billings last night," Ben put in. "Geoff was ready to go, but he gave it up when we came."

  "You should be glad, Mr. Croll!" Shelby said, laughing. "After all, the last time Geoff played poker in Cody, he won half our ranch! He's dangerously good." As she spoke she glanced over at Vivian Croll, who couldn't take her eyes off her. "I don't believe we've met, Mrs. Croll." Warmly, Shelby reached up to clasp the older woman's hand. "My name is Shelby Matthews and it's a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

  "No!" her husband barked, and Vivian flinched. "She don't need any of your goldurned fancy tea!"

  Geoff spoke at last. "Mr. Croll, I'm curious to know what exactly it is you suspect me of doing last night...?"

  "I—well—" he muttered, eyes darting furtively, "I'm missin' some cattle."

  "Really! Then we share that problem! Perhaps there's a rustler at work in the area. Will you inform Marshal Burns?"

  "Nah. Can't prove nothin'. I, uh, hadn't branded 'em yet."

  "Were they calves, then?"

  "I gotta get home now. Viv's got chores t'do." Bart Croll slapped the reins on the horses' backs and they lurched forward, circling the yard and starting back down the drive toward the road.

  "Good-bye!" Shelby, Geoff, Ben, and Titus called in unison.

  Only Vivian Croll turned back, daring to raise a hand to wave farewell. Even from a distance her
expression was tragic, and Shelby understood why Geoff had been so moved by her plight. She looked up at him now, Clementine Beech forgotten in the midst this present drama, and saw that his brown eyes were agleam with emotion.

  "She didn't tell him," Geoff said softly to no one in particular. "Last night, Vivian came out—virtually caught me on their land—and I told her the truth. She even had a gun, but when she heard my story, she agreed that we were right. She hates him." He sighed. "I was afraid that he would break her with his threats, or worse, but she must be stronger than she looks."

  "It's more than just hatred that Vivian feels," Shelby cried, seizing on this distraction from her own heartache. "She's afraid! We'll have to find a way to help her."

  "Yeah, right, and probably get ourselves killed for tryin'!" Ben said with a derisive snort. "Bart Croll and his cousin Ted don't give a damn about killin' folks who step on their toes. I should of known that you'd find a way to get on his bad side while my back was turned! If there's trouble, you find it, and now you're takin' Geoff with you." He shook his head of sandy hair. "I'm tellin' you, Shel, you can't mess with that man's wife. He lives by the laws of the West, an' he'll shoot you as soon as look at you."

  Ben turned and stalked off toward the barn and Titus followed. Geoff remained with Shelby. Without a word, he led her to the veranda and they sat down together on a wicker settee.

  Quickly it came to her that it was the first time they'd been alone since their interlude in bed. "My heart aches for Vivan," she said.

  Geoff nodded, reaching for her slim hand. Tenderly, he traced the outline of her palm with a tanned finger, longing to kiss it instead. "I know. And what else does your heart feel today?"