Wildblossom

by Wright, Cynthia

  "I imagine you're right... although even that's changed now that I've lost Old Pop, my faithful horse. This replacement just isn't the same." He sighed, drew off his hat, and ran a hand through his long, snowy locks. "You know, I'd like to cut my hair, but I'm not sure if it would hurt business. Do you suppose the public would stand for it?"

  Shelby sensed what he really wanted to hear. "I believe, sir, that it's reassuring to people to see you looking the same, year in and year out. You're a living legend." She looked to her uncle. "Don't you think, Ben?"

  "Yeah, I do. Listen, I'm ready for some lunch. What do you say we take an hour's break, then meet back here to keep working on the mirror trick?"

  "Missie was shooting while looking into a mirror years ago," Cody informed them.

  "I can only hope that the audience will allow for the fact that I'm new, and younger, and not expect as much of me," Shelby said honestly.

  "You're prettier, too, little girl. And you're saucy. Missie liked to play to the audience and make them laugh. If you can do that, it won't matter if you miss a shot or two, or leave out some of the harder tricks." He gave her a smile so charming that it nearly restored her spirits, then tipped his hat to them and went off to confer with a group of blanket-clad Indians waiting at the edge of the field.

  The weather was frigid and dank, causing Shelby to turn up the collar on her coat. "Perhaps I'll take Gadabout for a ride around the ring while it's quiet here. I feel badly that we brought the horses over and haven't more time with them."

  "I still say you oughta give Charlie back to Geoff," Ben said. "You want me to do it?"

  "No!" Her cheeks flamed. "No. If he had wanted Charlie, he would have said so when he left Wyoming."

  "Did you see the newspaper I put in your tent this morning? Viv said she'd give it to you."

  "I didn't have time to loll around reading the Times. I was out here before you were! And what on earth does the newspaper have to do with Geoff's horse?"

  "Not the horse—Geoff." Sensing that this wasn't a subject to make light of, he softened his tone. "Did you ever see anything printed about his father's death?" When Shelby didn't reply, but continued to wait with a wary expression, Ben continued, "Well, today's article said that he died the day after Christmas. Geoff's the Duke of something-or-other now, and him and some Lady Whoosit are gettin' married in a few weeks. They had a small reception last night just to announce the wedding date, and the new king and queen showed up to congratulate them."

  "Oh." Shelby heard herself speak; felt her head nod. "I see."

  Ben's heart went out to her, but he could tell she didn't want to be hugged, which was just as well because he wasn't any good at that. "Who can figure out men? I'm one myself, and even I get confused. We all know how Geoff felt about you, Shel, but I guess that over here duty is more important than just about anything else. It seems like it doesn't count that he was happy on the Sunshine Ranch, with you and Charlie and the rest of us."

  "I'm hungry," Shelby said abruptly. "I'll see you after lunch." She gathered up the shotgun, revolver, and converted rifle she'd been practicing with, and trudged back to the camp village.

  Vivian was emerging from their tent just as Shelby arrived. She wore her best clothes: a dove-gray skirt with a white, lace-trimmed blouse that Shelby had purchased for her in New York City as a surprise. Viv's protection from the elements was a three-quarter-length blue wool coat that had belonged to Madeleine Matthews, and she wore a matching feather-trimmed hat that made her hold herself a little straighter.

  "Oh, Shelby—I'm surprised to see you!"

  "Why, Viv, you look as if you're rushing off to an assignation!"

  "No! I'm... just going out for a bit. I've just grown tired of the same surroundings."

  "Good for you. I wish I could go along!" Shelby saw the flicker of panic in her friend's eyes, but was too preoccupied to wonder what it meant. "I'm just going to get a bite of lunch, then go back to practice some more. And by the way, Uncle Ben said that he gave you the London Times this morning. Is it inside?"

  Her cheeks turned even pinker. "Let me check." Viv rushed back into the tent and rifled through the wire wastebasket, plucking out the newspaper just as Shelby came in herself. "There's really not much worth reading—"

  "I've already heard about Geoff, if that's what you're intent on keeping from me."

  "I can see that you'd rather I let you alone." She handed over the Times and gave her friend a long look. "I'll see you later."

  Alone in the tent, which was quite cozy now, with a Persian rug on the floor, books and china and pieces of furniture, and the stove going constantly to keep the girls warm, Shelby took the newspaper and sat down with it on the edge of her cot. Dry-eyed, she read the article through about Geoffrey Weston, Duke of Aylesbury, who was such a great support to his mother, the dowager duchess, in the wake of the old duke's sudden death.

  "Friends of the family have remarked on the impeccable behavior exhibited by not only the new duke, but also his betrothed, Lady Clementine Beech. She has been a tremendous support to one and all." The writer, having long since abandoned any pretense of impartiality, went on to predict that "the wedding, on April the fourth, of the Duke of Aylesbury and Lady Clementine Beech, will be the crowning event of the spring of 1903. These young nobles are shining examples of the newly begun Edwardian Age, already marked by the welcome return of royalty to London."

  Shelby hurt terribly. Why had she ever come to London at all? Looking back, she felt foolish to have imagined for one moment that there was a possibility that Geoff would have second thoughts and choose her over the life to which he had been born. There did not seem to have been even a hint of indecision when the time came for him to leave the Sunshine Ranch. Shelby had been told all her life that she must learn to take no for an answer, and now, for the first time, she was prepared to accept that advice. She wished she were back home in her own bed, tucked in, with her mother smoothing the hair back from her brow with cool fingers.

  Tears splashed onto the newspaper. Shelby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then reached around under the front of her cot and drew out a violet-papered hatbox. Inside were little reminders of Geoff: the horsetail mustache she'd worn as Coyote Matt, a box from the Mexican Headache Cure he'd mocked so charmingly, the slim volume of Tennyson that he'd left behind, a blue bandanna that she'd borrowed from him, the recording of "In the Good Old Summertime," the soft-ribbed vest she'd worn that night in bed, the goodbye letter he'd written her, and the pillowcase from his bed.

  So many things, like the bicycle and the gramophone and Geoff's smile and his touch and the sound of his voice, wouldn't fit in the box, but it comforted her to have even a few mementoes of the most truly happy time of her life.

  Everything that happened to her from now on would be measured against those few achingly sweet months.

  As tears slipped down her cheeks, Shelby opened the volume of Tennyson and looked at the poem Geoff had read aloud to her that night of their first kiss. "How dull it is to pause, to make an end/ To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use... 'tis not too late to seek a newer world... To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield..."

  Deep in Shelby's soul, she felt a faint quiver of hope. If she wanted it, life would go on.

  * * *

  The last time Vivian had gone for a walk alone, she'd run back to Earl's Court after ten minutes because she'd caught a glimpse of a man looking out at her from a closed carriage—a man with burning eyes who seemed to look exactly like Bart Croll. Vivian told herself it was impossible; no one could have survived the amount of rat poison she'd put in his potatoes. He'd writhed so much that she couldn't watch, couldn't bear the cursing and accusations that marked his death throes, so she'd said she was going for the doctor and had never come back.

  Everyone might agree that he was a horrible person and deserved to die, but what did God say? Even Shelby had been shocked that she had really killed another human being, no matter what he might hav
e done to her first. Had Bart's ghost come to haunt her, to get her to confess her terrible crime to the police, to accept the punishment?

  Today, when Vivian was tempted to glance back to see if Bart was watching her, she tried instead to concentrate on the importance of her errand. It was nearly noon when she reached the Strand, emerged from a hansom cab, and hurried down a cobbled alleyway that led to a great house built of white stone. One side faced the River Thames, affording its occupants a magnificent view of all manner of activity on the water.

  Were those footsteps she heard coming from behind? Vivian was rounding the corner of a black iron fence as she allowed herself a backward glance, and then collided with a strange man. Nerves overcame her and she let out a scream as she tumbled backward toward the pavement.

  "I say! I'm dreadfully sorry, miss!"

  The fellow who had frightened her now looked perfectly gallant, reaching out to help her up, smiling with the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. "Thank you, sir." She smiled in return. "It was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going."

  "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Charles Lipton-Lyons, a childhood friend of the new Duke of Aylesbury. Do you know His Grace?" Intrigued by her American accent, Charles set her on her feet and found that she was much smaller than he. There was something fragile and vulnerable about this mysterious young woman.

  "Actually, I do, sir, but you mustn't tell him you've met me!" Her eyes were big as she lay a finger over her lips. "It's a secret! I've come to see Mr. Manypenny, not Mr. Weston."

  "Then, let me take you to Manypenny. Geoff's right in the morning room in front of the house, trapped with his mother, so I'll sneak you in the back, all right?" He took her tiny hand and noted the flush that crept into her pale cheeks. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

  "Promise not to tell?"

  "If you'll call me Charles."

  "All right, Charles." She leaned forward, feeling coquettish for the first time in her life. "My name is Vivian."

  Powerfully relieved to find that this wasn't Shelby the ranch girl, Charles beamed at her. "Good enough. You can tell me the rest of your name the next time we meet." They started toward the servants' entrance to Sandhurst House. "Are you going to be in London very long? I would be delighted to show you the sights!"

  "That would be very nice." They lingered outside the door for a moment, shivering in the wintry wind that blew up from the Thames. "But Charles, I'll have to send word to you... and first you must promise again that you won't breathe a word to your friend about me."

  "I do promise, and I'm becoming quite fed up with saying so! In any case, Geoff has so much on his mind right now that he doubtless wouldn't register—"

  This time Viv lay a finger over Charles's mouth, then drew back as she realized how daring she'd been. With his neat dark hair, mustache, and ruddy complexion, he seemed kind and sweetly earnest. "Just promise."

  "I bloody do." His heart was thudding with excitement as he reached into his breast pocket and took a calling card from a silver case. "You can reach me anytime. Would you like to have dinner, and then perhaps go with me to the Hippodrome?"

  "I have to go now. Mr. Manypenny is waiting for me." With that, Vivian slipped through the door and left Charles Lipton-Lyons wondering if he'd been conversing with a fairy. Vivian was the most ethereal woman he'd ever met.

  * * *

  "If not for your approaching nuptials, my dear Geoffrey, I would have returned to Yorkshire within the week of your father's passing." Edith Weston, Dowager Duchess of Aylesbury, sat stiffly on a gold gilt chair in the pristine morning room. Still beautiful at sixty, she wore her widow's black as if it were a fashion statement; a stunning contrast with her upswept mass of snow-white hair. "I would much prefer to spend the winter at Aylesbury Castle, where I might grieve in private. Now I understand why Queen Victoria stayed at Windsor Castle, removed from London, after she lost Prince Albert."

  Geoff poured milk into his tea. "For God's sake, Mother, I hope you don't hold the queen up as your model for widowhood. She was in mourning for forty years!"

  "I will not allow you to make clever remarks on this subject."

  He took a breath before replying, "You might save yourself aggravation if you could accept the fact that you are not able to control the words I speak."

  "If only fate had not decreed that you would be the only child born to us, I might place less importance on your behavior. As it is, all the world is focused on you, Geoffrey. Everyone is watching, waiting to discover if the new Duke of Aylesbury is half the man his father was." She paused, pursed her lips slightly, then added, "Don't gulp your tea, dear boy. One must sip."

  Rising, Geoff walked to the windows facing the Strand and suppressed an urge to claw the glass. How could this be happening? How could she say such asinine things?

  "Mother, I realize that you are having a difficult time of it, and I do sympathize. After all, I have lost my father, so I'm grieving as well."

  "Are you?" Edith parried in acid tones.

  "I am not going to apologize to you for refusing to be molded like a lump of clay," Geoff said coldly. "I won't pretend that I'm enjoying my life here, but I am trying to cultivate the sense of obligation that Father believed to be so crucial to a worthwhile existence. I am aware that I have certain duties simply because I am the sole heir."

  "This privileged life is a blessing, not a curse, dear boy."

  He walked back to stand before her, impeccably turned out in riding clothes, a white four-in-hand tie, and gleaming black boots. "I wish I believed that; it would make everything so much easier."

  "Well, at least you look like a duke! I couldn't wish for a handsomer son. And we've found you a bride who understands the noble life, so one can only hope that it will all work out in the end, hmm?"

  "I wish I could stay and continue this thought-provoking conversation, but I must exercise Thor. May I see you out, Mother?"

  The dowager duchess gave him a bored smile that was eerily like his own. "I'm not going just yet. Our wonderful Clementine is arriving momentarily, and we are going to sort through your china, crystal, and linens to see how much will have to be discarded. Your bachelor things simply won't do for your married household, Geoffrey."

  It felt to Geoff as if a vise were tightening around his chest. From the doorway, he turned to deliver a subtle counterattack. "Oh, by the way—did I tell you that I'm dismissing the estate manager at Sandhurst Manor?"

  Her Grace gasped. "Is this your notion of a jest?"

  "Not at all. I'm going to begin looking after the estates myself, not only because the work will do me good, but also because we can do with a bit of economy. Have you any idea how large a death duty we must pay?" His brows arched slightly. "Times are changing and I intend to face reality."

  "Why... this is simply shocking, Geoffrey!" She sank back in the chair, her hand to her heart. "Managing one's own estate would be so... undignified!"

  "I mean to do it anyway. Good-bye, Mother." He strode out of the morning room and left the house by the front door, nodding to the servants.

  Outside, Geoff noticed a tall, bald-headed man resembling Manypenny. The fellow was on the other side of the fence, handing a thin young woman with pale hair and a blue hat into a hansom cab. Geoff was about to dismiss the two strangers and turn toward the stables when the cab set off briskly and the bald man started back toward Sandhurst House.

  "Gad! It is you!" Geoff couldn't help laughing as he walked up the drive to meet Manypenny. "I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."

  The old gentleman was decidedly uncomfortable. "No, Your Grace, they were not... playing tricks."

  "How many times have I asked you not to call me that?"

  "More than I can count... sir."

  "Then unless you've gone soft in the head, I see no reason for you to persist in using that ridiculously exalted form of address!" Geoff scowled, then a twinkle returned to his eyes as he remembered the spectacle of his manservant skulking about w
ith a fair-haired girl young enough to be his granddaughter. "Now then, you must tell me what you were up to with that pretty young lady I glimpsed. You aren't carrying on some sort of love affair in secret...?"

  "Certainly not, sir!" Manypenny spluttered. He then had a thought that caused him to recover his composure. "Am I not entitled to a bit of privacy? Yes? I thought so. If you'll pardon me, sir, I must return to my duties."

  He left Geoff staring after him in consternation. Walking back to the house, Manypenny dipped his head, not only to avoid the wind, but also to hide the smile he could no longer suppress. How smashing it had been to see Vivian Croll, and to know that Shelby and Benjamin and even the horses, Gadabout and Charlie, were right here in London! It would be hard to refrain from seeking Shelby out, for Manypenny truly adored her, but Mrs. Croll had convinced him that they must work together to bring off a grander scheme. Since neither His Grace nor Shelby seemed to know what they must do, it was left to others to intervene....

  * * *

  Shelby had been practicing relaxation exercises for two weeks preceding her debut with the Wild West Show, and now, on March 14, 1903, she lay on her cot with her eyes closed just an hour before the performance was scheduled to begin.

  "I can't believe you're this composed," Vivian exclaimed as she burst into the tent. "Ben is shaking, and his part is nearly all behind the scenes!"

  "Well, you know me." Slowly, Shelby sat up and smiled at her friend. "If I'd been left to my own devices, I would have been a bundle of nerves by today, and then I'd've shot someone's head off! It was Chief Iron Tail who explained that I could train myself to be calm. He's a wonderful, wise man."

  "Are you going to get dressed now?" Vivian opened the beautiful trunk that Buffalo Bill had given Shelby when she joined the Wild West Show. A near duplicate of the one Annie Oakley traveled with, it unfolded to reveal drawers that held her costumes, and boasted a dresser top with a mirror built in.

  "I've never seen you so excited, Viv!" Laughing, Shelby put her arm around her as she was swept by a wave of affection. "Have I told you that I couldn't manage without you? Even Colonel Cody is grateful to you for persuading him to invite King Edward and Queen Alexandra to attend today. He had been uncertain, but now that they're coming, he's convinced that this is the event that will turn things around for the tour."