The Sisters of Bethlehem Springs Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “There was no time to alert you to our travel plans. We left Dunacombe as soon as we could after receiving your letter. What is this about you wanting to propose to some American girl?”

  Woody glanced over his shoulder at Cleo before facing his father again. “I must assume then that you didn’t receive my second letter. It is no longer my intent to propose. I have asked Miss Arlington to marry me. She has agreed, and the wedding is set for later this month.”

  “The devil you say! Have you lost your senses, boy? I didn’t send you to America to let some female ensnare you. Who is she? Who is her family?”

  With a sinking heart, Cleo moved across the barnyard until she arrived at Woody’s side. The duke gave her only a cursory glance, no doubt irritated that a stranger would intrude upon his conversation with his son.

  “Sir. Mother.” Woody put his arm behind Cleo, his hand in the small of her back. “I’d like you to meet Cleo Arlington, the woman I’m going to marry. My dear, may I introduce my parents, the Duke and Duchess of Dunacombe.”

  The duke uttered an oath as he stared at her, disbelief in his eyes.

  Cleo swallowed hard. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She nodded to Woody’s mother. “Your grace.” Then to his father. “Your grace.” At least she’d remembered how they were to be addressed. “Welcome to the Arlington Ranch. Won’t you come inside? My father isn’t here right now but…but my mother is.” She realized it must sound as if this was her parents’ home, but she didn’t know how to correct that impression.

  “Excuse me.” The driver of the automobile raised himself up to look over the glass. “Will you folks be needing a ride back to the hotel anytime soon?”

  Woody answered him. “You needn’t wait. I will see my parents back to town when they’re ready to leave.”

  The duke looked none too thrilled to have his son speaking for him.

  Cleo turned to Woody’s mother. “Please come inside, your grace. You must be thirsty. It’s a dusty drive from town.”

  “Thank you, Miss Arlington. I would appreciate something to drink.” The duchess fell in beside Cleo as they walked to the house, climbing the steps onto the veranda, and then going inside.

  “Are you mad?” the duke said the instant the women were out of sight. “You cannot possibly go through with this.”

  “I am in love with Cleo, sir, and we will marry at the end of August. All the arrangements have been made.”

  “Great Scot, Sherwood! You can’t bring that…that woman back to England as your wife.”

  “I don’t intend to leave my wife in America when I return home, and she will be my wife.”

  “How do you intend to keep a household, to support a wife? You’ll find no help from me.”

  “I’m not sure, sir. I am praying about it, but God hasn’t revealed the answer to me as yet.”

  “Praying about it?” His father’s words dripped with sarcasm.

  “Yes, sir. Praying about it. I’m trusting that God will guide me in this as in all future decisions.”

  Sherwood couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood up to his father. Had he ever? He’d always found it easier to avoid the duke rather than endure confrontations with him. And when confrontation hadn’t been avoidable, it had been easier to acquiesce and take the path of least resistance. But he wasn’t the same person who’d left England four months earlier. He had much in his past to atone for—including his own part in the difficult relationship he had with his father—but from now on he meant to be true to himself, true to the man he’d become, true to the man Cleo saw when she looked at him, and true to the God who had made him a new creation.

  “Let’s go inside, sir.” He motioned toward the front door. “Mother and Cleo must be wondering what is keeping us.”

  He didn’t wait to see if the duke followed. He walked as he’d learned to walk, with only a minimal limp, back straight, head held high in confidence rather than cockiness. He walked like a man who had learned to lean into God for whatever strength he needed.

  Inside, he saw that the women, including his future mother-in-law, Elizabeth Arlington, had taken seats in the parlor. He moved to stand beside Cleo’s chair and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

  “Lord Sherwood,” Elizabeth said, “I was just telling your mother what a wonderful surprise this is. You told us you didn’t expect your parents to come for the wedding, but here they are, several weeks beforehand. We shall be hard pressed to find enough ways to entertain them. Bethlehem Springs is so wanting in refined society.”

  Softly, Cleo said, “Mother, I believe Morgan offered a suite at the resort for the duke and duchess.”

  “Well, of course. That would be much better than for them to continue to stay in town at the Washington Hotel.” Elizabeth turned toward Sherwood’s mother again. “I believe my son-in-law Morgan is the reason Lord Sherwood came to Idaho in the first place. Isn’t that right?”

  His mother didn’t answer. Her gaze had remained on Sherwood from the moment he entered the parlor. Now a small smile played upon her lips. “You look well, Sherwood.”

  “I am well.”

  “You look stronger.”

  “I am stronger.” He glanced briefly at Cleo. “In many ways.”

  “When you walked into the room just now—” His mother broke off as tears filled her eyes, and several moments passed before she could speak again. “Your leg is much improved.”

  “Yes.”

  His mother finally turned her gaze upon Cleo. “And I believe I must have you to thank for the wonderful changes I see in my son.”

  Cleo shook her head. “No, ma’am. Woody’s gotten there by his own hard work.”

  Sherwood saw his mother’s eyes widen at the nickname, but the return of her smile told him she was amused rather than offended by it.

  “Cleo’s being modest. She and her family deserve all the credit.”

  Before his mother could reply, the duke entered the house and stopped in the parlor doorway. His expression was dour, his discomfort in his surroundings obvious.

  “Sherwood,” he said, “you told our driver that you would see us back to our lodgings. I believe now is the time to do so.”

  Elizabeth exclaimed, “Oh, but surely not! You have only just arrived.”

  The duke looked at Cleo’s mother as if she were a bothersome insect. With his eyes, he demanded to know how she dared to address him in such a fashion.

  Hoping to avoid any additional unpleasantness even as he dreaded the trip into Bethlehem Springs, Sherwood said, “I will hitch the horse to the buggy now, sir. It won’t take me long.”

  “No.” Cleo grabbed his hand before he could move away. “I’ll do it. You stay with your parents.” She was gone from the room in an instant.

  If only she’d been wearing a dress for this first meeting. If only she’d followed her mother’s advice to practice walking in those miserable satin shoes. If only she’d been upstairs. If only…

  Well, there was no use crying over spilt milk. They’d seen her the same way Woody had seen her the first time, the way she really was. They might as well know the worst. Maybe then they would be pleased with whatever progress she made by the time she got to England in the spring.

  THIRTY

  The Duke and Duchess of Dunacombe moved from the Washington Hotel to the New Hope Health Spa the next day, and two days later, Cleo, Woody, and her father drove the buggy up to the resort to dine with them, joined by Cleo’s mother, sister, and Morgan. Unlike her first meeting with Woody’s parents, Cleo wore one of the new dresses from her trousseau.

  “Relax.” Woody patted her knee.

  “I can’t”.

  “It will be all right.”

  Cleo found that hard to believe but hoped he told the truth. He had paid visits to his parents twice since their move to New Hope, and he’d told her they were growing used to the idea of having an American daughter-in-law. But there was much he hadn’t said to her. She could tell it i
n his manner and read it in his eyes.

  The nervous feeling in her stomach worsened when the lodge came into view. Silently, she prayed that she wouldn’t make too many horrid gaffes before the evening was over.

  Woody stopped the buggy, got down, then offered Cleo his hand. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d ignored his proffered assistance. She wouldn’t do so tonight. She welcomed his steady grip more than he could know.

  “Stop worrying.” Woody slipped Cleo’s hand into the crook of his arm. “You look beautiful.”

  They walked toward the lodge, her father following right behind them. Inside, they found their party awaiting them in the sitting area. Like Woody and her father, the duke and Morgan wore black suits. The women, however, were dressed in an array of colors—Gwen in her signature pink, their mother in soft lavender, and the duchess in a gown of gold.

  “Sir,” Woody said to his father, “may I introduce Cleo’s father, Griff Arlington. Griff, this is my father and mother, the Duke and Duchess of Dunacombe.”

  Her father gave a slight bow toward Jane Statham and, after doing the same toward Dagwood Statham, he offered his hand to the duke. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  The duke shook her father’s hand and responded with a “Likewise” that sounded anything but.

  “And,” Woody continued, “I’m sure you remember Miss Arlington.”

  There went those nerves in her belly again.

  “My dear,” the duchess said, “you look lovely. What a charming gown.”

  “Thank you, your grace.”

  Morgan stepped forward and suggested they go in to dinner. With Gwen on his arm, he led the way to a private dining room. Cleo was thankful for that. If she embarrassed herself, at least it wouldn’t be in front of every guest in the lodge, only a duke and duchess.

  Heaven help me.

  The table in the private dining room was the perfect size for a party of eight, one chair at the head and the foot, three chairs on either side. The white tablecloth had been set with fine china trimmed in gold that reflected the light from the chandelier overhead. This was the kind of setting where a duke’s son would always feel at home, and where Cleo, she feared, would never feel at home.

  They settled into their places—Woody and Cleo opposite each other in the middle side chairs—and several waiters arrived to fill their glasses and serve two platters of hors d’oeuvres. Cleo shook her head when the appetizers were offered to her. She doubted she would be able to swallow just yet.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the ranch to greet you the other day,” Cleo’s father said to the duke. “I hope you’ll return soon and allow me to show you around. We’ve got over thirty thousand acres of prime grazing land with about four thousand head of cattle on it right now. Your son has been a huge help to us, and we’ve increased our hay production thanks to suggestions he made in the spring.”

  The duke looked down the table at Woody but said nothing.

  Her father continued, “When I was down with the influenza, Sherwood took over managing things for me and did such a fine job, I’ve left that responsibility to him. I’m not sure what I’ll do without him when he and Cleo leave.”

  Her heart ached at the thought.

  The duchess turned toward her. “My son tells me that you help your father with the horses.”

  “Yes, your grace. I’ve been the ranch wrangler since I was sixteen. Working with horses is my favorite thing.”

  Woody said, “Cleo has a gift with all animals but especially with horses. You should see her ride a wild mustang. It’s unforgettable. ” The last words were spoken in a low, intimate tone as he leaned closer to her.

  Cleo blushed with pleasure, feeling good for the first time this evening.

  “Young lady,” the duke said, “I trust you know there are no wild mustangs to be ridden in England.”

  The good feeling departed. “Yes, your grace. I know.”

  “And do you think if you two wed that you’ll make my son a proper wife?”

  His use of the word “if” did not go unnoticed, but Cleo chose to ignore it. “A proper wife? No, I don’t reckon I’ll make him a proper wife. But I love Woo—” She stopped herself, squared her shoulders, and then started again. “I love Lord Sherwood, your grace, and I’ll do everything I can to make him happy.”

  Sherwood admired Cleo more in that moment than ever before. He knew she was nervous and unsure of herself and that she felt outside of her element. Yet she had answered his father with her usual directness and honesty.

  It was fortunate Elizabeth Arlington was unaware of her daughter’s discomfort or the duke’s attempt to bully her. The woman was quick to fill the ensuing silence with her own voice. “Oh, your grace, you can be assured that I will do all in my power to prepare Cleo for her role in English society. I’m sure my wonderful son-in-law—” She smiled at Morgan. “—will help us. He has traveled extensively and knows many of your customs. You will help us, won’t you, dear boy?”

  Morgan answered, “I believe Lord Sherwood, as her husband and an Englishman, will be of more help than I could be.”

  “But of course.” Elizabeth colored. “How silly of me. Lord Sherwood will instruct my daughter. But even so, she’ll need all the help she can get. I have often despaired for her.”

  Sherwood looked across the table at his fiancée and saw an emotion in her eyes that he could not read. If he were sitting beside her he could take her hand in his beneath the table and squeeze it.

  Thankfully, Gwen turned the subject from Cleo to the play the sisters had seen when in Boise. From there, with a skill and finesse the likes of which Sherwood had seldom seen, she guided the conversation from one topic to another, none of them about Cleo, Sherwood, or the upcoming wedding.

  After a restless night, Cleo arose early on Saturday, washed, and donned her work clothes, eager to be busy with something. Busy with anything that would take her mind off of the previous night.

  The evening at the resort had been excruciating. Between her mother and the duke, she’d wondered why on earth Woody wanted to marry her. If she were in his shoes, she wouldn’t. A time or two during the wee hours of the morning, she’d even wondered if it would be best for all concerned if she called off the wedding, if she told Woody—Lord Sherwood—that she couldn’t marry him, that she couldn’t be his wife. But the thought was unbearable. Imagining her future without him was physically painful. She would rather walk through fire than give him up. Making herself over as a proper wife, as the duke had put it, must surely be better than walking through fire.

  As she left the house to take care of her morning chores, she remembered a conversation about men and marriage that she’d had with her sister over a year ago. “I reckon if God had wanted me to change, I would have done it by now. I sure won’t change to hide the real me any more than you would.”

  But how could she have known that she would fall in love with an Englishman, with a nobleman? How could she have pictured herself living anywhere else but Idaho, let alone moving half a world away from it?

  Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts. Change me in good ways. Make me into the kind of person I’ll need to be when I get to my husband’s homeland.

  She’d told Gwen that she wanted a man whose heart would leap for her just the way she was. That was true of Woody. He loved her right now—unruly short hair, dusty Levi’s, battered hat, worn boots, and all. Knowing Woody loved her as she was gave her courage enough to face the rest.

  “Sherwood,” she reminded herself. “I must start calling him Sherwood.”

  In the barn, she entered the stall of a two-year-old colt that had tangled with some barbed wire a few days before. It wasn’t too serious, but she preferred to keep a close eye on him, make sure the wounds didn’t become infected. After brushing him, she put ointment on the wounds on his chest and legs, then led him into the paddock so he could run off some of his stored energy.

  Her father and the han
ds would be up soon. Cookie was probably about ready to start breakfast. She should go back to the house and wash up. Instead, she decided to go for a ride. She wanted the wind on her face. Hopefully it would blow away her troubled thoughts.

  It didn’t take her long to saddle and bridle Domino, and when she was done, she swung onto his back and rode away from the barn as fast as the pinto could carry her.

  Griff saw his daughter gallop her horse through the pasture, scattering cows that grazed near the ranch complex. His heart ached for her. He felt helpless. What words of advice could he give her now? He believed God had brought these young people together. He believed Cleo and Sherwood were truly in love. He no longer feared that they would wind up like him and Elizabeth. But the path Cleo would walk in the future wouldn’t be an easy one for her. He’d never had a moment’s worry about Gwen fitting into Morgan’s way of life. But Cleo? She might as well be moving to another planet. She was strong willed, but she had an equally tender heart.

  Did I do wrong, Lord? Did I allow her to grow up too wild and free? Perhaps Elizabeth was right. Perhaps I should have sent her to stay in the East and be raised like her sister. But I couldn’t part with them both. I was too selfish.

  In marriage, he would have to part with Cleo. She would belong with her husband. She would belong to Sherwood’s world.

  Sherwood spent several anxious hours that morning, waiting for Cleo to return from her ride. He hoped they could talk before his parents arrived. He hoped that he could find some way to reassure her that all would be well. At least, he thought all would be well. He’d certainly prayed for it to be so.

  Cleo rode into the barnyard only moments before the approaching automobile was heard. Eyes wide, she said, “It’s your parents. I must change.”

  Stitch was nearby. “I’ll take care of Domino. You git on with yourself.”

  “Thanks, Stitch. I’ll hurry, Sherwood. I promise.”

  He barely had a chance to realize she’d called him “Sherwood” instead of “Woody” before she dashed toward the house. She disappeared inside seconds before the motorcar, chauffeured by an employee of the resort, rolled to a halt near the house. Sherwood went to greet his parents.