Warmth poured from the cast iron stove, and Rowena took off her gloves, held both hands toward the heat. “I came to get Lizza. Blair invited her to stay at Fairhaven to recuperate and be safe from that bully of a husband of hers.”
“He did? Blair? Are you sure you understood him correctly?”
Rowena laughed. “Yes, it was in one of his more mellow moments.” She stopped before actually revealing Blair’s recent moments of tenderness and his proposal. “What I wanted is to buy Lizza a simple frock. She has nothing but a bloodied dress, poor girl.”
Marguerite cupped her own cheeks. “Mercy me, how dreadful.” She went into the confines of the shop to a rack of dresses and began to search through them. “She’s not as big as you, is she?”
Rowena joined her. “No. A wee bit smaller.”
For a few minutes they took turns pulling out a dress, checking it closely, then choosing another. They finally agreed on a simple afternoon frock with a tiny blue print that matched the girl’s eyes. Marguerite selected undergarments, stockings, and slippers. “I’ll treat her to these,” she said. “We’ll let Blair pay for the dress.”
Rowena waited while Marguerite bundled up the purchases, tied the it with a string, and handed it to her. “Will you stay for tea?”
“Oh, not today. Oh, by the way, I’m thinking about having a small party out at Fairhaven. Just you and the Weatherbys, and perhaps another person or two. Now I need to get back and take Lizza out to Fairhaven before this storm hits. Maybe I can stay longer the next time. You haven’t seen Tyra, have you?”
Marguerite smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I saw her riding down the street with a tall, handsome westerner just yesterday evening. I didn’t recognize him. Definitely not a Victorian lad. A party? In mid-winter? What are we celebrating?”
“Hmm, well I hope Tyra takes care of herself. There is no doing it for her. We’ll discuss the party the next time I am in town.”
Marguerite nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about that girl, dear. One thing she does is handle herself well. She’s not delicate.”
“No, I suppose not. But this is such wild country, I can’t help but be concerned.”
Marguerite patted her arm. “Well, you always were the worrier of the lot. I suppose it’s just your duty. Uh, Rowena? What are you up to with this party? Does Blair know about it?”
“Not yet.” The question made Rowena remember her reason for coming to town in the first place. “I almost forgot. You wouldn’t know of a phrenologist in Victoria, would you?”
Marguerite rubbed her head. “You mean one of those?”
Rowena nodded.
“Why on earth would you want—?”
“I was hoping I could convince Blair to consult him. It’s said they often help people with his kind of problems.”
“And Blair is agreeable to this?”
“Well, not yet he isn’t. But I’m hoping to convince him.”
“Ah, the party. Do you plan on inviting the phrenologist, as well? You are a conniving woman, and it could get you in trouble. You might do well to stay away from Blair’s particular quandary and out of his business, before you get hurt.” The sharp tone came and went, and Marguerite studied her closely. “Child, I do hope you’re not getting involved with him. It would not be wise at all. I’ve seen men like that go quite off the rails and hurt someone.”
Rowena sucked in a deep breath. Marguerite seemed particularly judgmental about her relationship with Blair. “I really thought you cared for him.”
“Oh, I do, but I also know to mind my own business.” Marguerite’s slitted gaze bored into Rowena, and she flushed. “I care for you, as well. Oh, please, dear child, don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with Blair Prescott.”
Rowena met the steely-eyed glare without flinching. “You were perfectly willing to have him choose one of us to marry, if I recall.”
“At the time, I was not aware of the severity of his condition. And he has deteriorated since that time. Oh, my dear. Please do be careful. War does terrible things to men like Blair.”
Tightening her lips, Rowena said, “Do you know of a phrenologist or not?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. She came in on the second ship, the one on which Blair returned to Victoria, as a matter of fact.”
“What is her name?”
“Hildegarde Smythe. She has set up a practice not far from Dr. Weatherby’s surgery. Near the millinery. I believe she’s connected to the Windsors, if I’m not mistaken. Second or third cousin.”
“Isn’t everybody?” Rowena asked in an attempt at levity.
Marguerite kept her lips clamped shut.
“Well, I’m off then.” Rowena hurried out before Marguerite could begin another harangue about her staying out of Blair’s business.
The woman scolded at her back. “Do hurry and get back to Fairhaven. This may be a bad storm. I wouldn’t want you stranded.”
Inside the buggy and protected from the wind, Rowena blew out a breath. Grady climbed up on the seat, his handsome features red from the cold, then followed her directions to the millinery. A door next to the entrance had the name Smythe painted on its brown surface.
“I won’t be but a moment, I am sure,” she told Brady.
“Best make it less than that. We gotta start for home, and soon.”
Buildings along the alley blocked the wind, and she drew a sigh of relief when the knob turned easily and she stumbled inside. A bell above her head dinged, and she closed the door. The dark windowless room was lit by a pair of lamps with delicate hand-painted rose globes.
“Just one moment,” an incredibly high voice called. Soon, a woman bustled into the room. Her gray hair hung loose down her back, held off her pleasant face by a red scarf. She wore a full skirt without hoops and a blue shirt belted with another scarf, this one purple. Above her ample right breast was pinned a gold watch, upside down so she could read it.
“Yes, may I help you?” She squinted at Rowena, wrinkles crawling from the corners of her eyes.
“I hope so. My name is Rowena Duncan. I live at Fairhaven, and I would like to arrange a reading, or whatever you call it, for my…uh, my friend.”
“This friend. Why doesn’t he come in himself?”
Odd that the woman knew she spoke of a man. “Well, I need to speak to him about this, but since I was in town I wanted to find out how you proceed with these readings. Would he come to you or would you come to him?”
Hildegarde Smythe tilted her head, a quizzical expression on her face. “I would do neither until he contacts me and makes the appointment. Would you set a doctor’s appointment for this gentleman without consulting him? What are you, his secretary, his assistant?”
“I…well, no. Neither. I’m a friend. I’ve planned a little party and will invite Doctor Weatherby and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Chesshire, and yourself. It would give you the opportunity to get acquainted with Lord Prescott.”
“An interesting ploy, which might work. We shall see if I can attend. Lord Prescott, hmm? I’ve heard of his troubles.”
“Do you think—?”
“I cannot discuss it with you, only him. We shall see. Now, if there is nothing else, I’m quite busy.”
Temples throbbing, Rowena held her head high and left the small office. She wanted to shake the woman. Yet she sounded as if she might attend the party, if nothing more.
Bits of ice gnawed her cheeks and the wind sent her stumbling. Grady hopped down from the buggy and grabbed her arm.
“It’s snowing. We need to head for home before it gets any worse.”
She clung to him, and he handed her up into the buggy. “As soon as we pick up Lizza.”
“We’d best hurry. I’ve seen these storms dump a foot of snow in no time.”
“She’ll be ready. Let’s go.”
She draped the blanket over her lap, still fuming about the attitude of the phrenologist. There was nothing for it but to plan the party and hope for the best. She would not let
this go. Could not.
The buggy rocked in the wind, to the accompaniment of the rattle of icy crystals hitting its hood.
Some minutes later they were on their way, heading into a blizzard that cut visibility to nothing. She and Lizza, huddled together inside beneath two heavy lap rugs.
The buggy lurched along the ice-coated road. They’d have been home by now if she hadn’t taken the time to speak to that Smythe woman.
****
The approaching storm chased Blair back to Fairhaven. He had no desire to be caught out in one of those famous Kansas snowstorms. He might have a death wish, but that sort of suffering held no appeal. Too much time to ruminate on the past before death finally arrived. When the day came that he wished to end it, he would put a gun to his head and get it over quickly and efficiently. Perhaps in the barn or in the woods. Didn’t want to leave a mess in the house for someone to have to clean up.
After seeing to Sarge, he left the Morgan in the barn and hurried inside, literally carried up the path and through the door by the vicious wind. The buggy hadn’t been in the barn, so after hanging his coat, he hunted down Simmons and was told that Rowena had gone to Victoria and hadn’t as yet returned.
“Dear God, why did you let her do that?”
Simmons shrugged. “That young woman is beyond my control, and I might say beyond yours, as well.”
That was no doubt true of all three women he had brought from England, but he ignored it and said, “Then you should have accompanied her.”
The man puffed up, but made no reply.
“Well, I’m sure she and Grady will have the good sense to be on their way back by now. It’s already snowing, and the sky has the look of an ash pit.” Blair shivered and hugged himself.
“Would you like some tea, sir?” Simmons peered down his nose.
“Yes, thank you. And some whiskey too, if you don’t mind.” Sooner or later he must speak to Simmons about the marriage, but not yet.
Simmons gave him one of his scolding gazes, but retreated in silence to do his bidding. Everyone was critical of his bad habits. He feared Rowena would soon be of like mind. Marriage often made people unhappy. Worse, people who cared for him would only get hurt. Had he been a fool to propose such a thing? Possibly, but dear God, how he wanted her. How selfish of him.
He shrugged the thoughts away and went into the study, where Simmons had built a fire, and stood near the flames, rubbing his hands and warming himself until a soft rap sounded on the door. Simmons entered with a tray containing Blair’s afternoon tea and an unopened bottle. He placed the whiskey on the sideboard with the glasses and set the tray on the table near Blair’s chair. Without speaking, he collected two empty whiskey bottles and took them away, closing the door a bit harder than was necessary.
Blair had to smile. It was like having a displeased wife. Not a pleasant thought, yet Rowena knew he drank and never mentioned it.
Where had she gotten to? Why had she gone out into the teeth of a storm?
He sat for a long while near the window, watching the sleet turn to huge flakes that blew across the plains and created a blanket of white. He rushed through his tea and biscuits, then downed another healthy shot while standing at the window, peering into the gale.
Where in hell was that woman, anyway? She should have come straight back when this storm first began. There had been time for her to return, yet there was no sign of the buggy. Damn that Grady. What was he thinking? If anything happened to Rowena he’d have the man’s hide.
He glanced at the grandfather clock. Nearly 4:30. With those black clouds, it wouldn’t be long before dark. Give them ten more minutes, and if they hadn’t returned, he’d go after them.
The ten minutes dragged by with no sign of the buggy, the snowfall increasing in density. He stopped pacing to go once more to the window. The lamp’s glow fell out onto the snow, golden on the accumulating drifts. Damn! He hated to go out in the weather again, but he could not let Rowena get trapped in this. He strode into the hallway, gathered his long coat and muffler from the hanger, and opened the door. The wind hit him full in the face, sucking the breath right out of his lungs. He staggered, then leaned into it.
Bloody Kansas weather. Worse than living next door to hell.
A horse neighed, and someone shouted. Through slitted eyes he stared in the direction of the sound. From out of the wall of snow, Grady appeared, leading two ponies, and behind them the buggy. Before he could reach them, a horse and rider appeared like an apparition. Might be one of his visitors from the dead, but on second look he saw Tyra on her spotted horse.
“What in the everloving hell?” Blair shouted, his words carried away into the ferocity of the storm.
Grady went to the buggy and lifted someone out. Blair stumbled to his side. Rowena gazed down at him. With a loud grumble, he caught her around the waist and lifted her down and into his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder.
“What in God’s name were you thinking?” He put his cheek against hers. “You’re so cold. Let’s get you inside.”
He followed Grady, who tromped across the wind-blown portico, a small bundle in his arms. The opened door let out a welcoming light. Inside, Grady deposited a young woman in a chair in the sitting room.
“I’ll help Tyra take care of the ponies.” Grady opened the door and hunched his shoulders against the bitter cold.
“You do that. And when you get back, you’re fired.”
Annie trotted into the room, a lamp in one hand, and Simmons appeared from upstairs.
Ever the organized one, he took charge. “Take this little one into the blue room. I’ve lit the lamps and built a fire.”
“Fine, yes. Annie, if you could bring these ladies some warm soup, and perhaps some tea, that would be wonderful.” Nestled against Blair’s chest, his familiar voice rumbled in Rowena’s ear and sent comfort to her exhausted body.
Simmons bustled about, gathering discarded coats. “Oh, I’m so happy to see everyone is safe. I feared the worst, cold as it is. I had a fire built in Miss Rowena’s room, as well as in your study. Would you like a fire in your bedroom?”
“Thank you, Simmons. Annie, would you see to the soup and tea?”
“I, uh, yes, sir.” The girl moved off, clearly amazed at the master’s self assurance.
His strong arms held Rowena, his kind but firm voice reassured her and Annie. He had taken charge of a bad situation.
He carried her upstairs and placed her on the bed. “When Annie returns, she can help you remove your clothing. I do believe that dress is ruined. The hem is torn and covered in dirty snow.”
“If I ever get out of this corset, I’m ripping it to pieces.”
Blair rubbed his knuckles over her cheek and laughed, changing his expression from stern to charming. In that moment, weary as she was, she wanted to ask him to remove the corset for her, and to do anything else he might want, as well. His eyes sparked, gaze darting to the top of her dress, where her breasts spilled out. The look of desire that crossed his features raised goose bumps on her cold arms.
Without saying anything, he dropped to his knees beside the bed and buried his face against her waist. A shudder ran through him. She tangled her fingers in his hair, still wet from melting snow. Leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Blair, it is I who should thank you.” This wasn’t the first time he had thanked her for no apparent reason. The thought came and went. He turned his face up. She kissed each of his eyes, then his cheeks, rough with stubble, then his lips. Her mouth lingered over his for a long while, his hand caressing her throat. The nuns’ punishments had almost driven her from ever wanting the love of a man. The touch of a man. But something about this one made her forget all their dire warnings. Though he was badly damaged, broken, as someone had put it, there lived inside him a man well worth saving, worth loving. But would he ever see her in the same light?
She moved his hand over her heart, held it
there. His breath came in short gasps. Oh, how she wanted his mouth against her flesh. A small cry escaped her lips.
“Have I hurt you?” he asked, removing his hand.
“No, you have not hurt me.”
One night they had pleasured each other by touch only, and she wanted that again. Wanted more, but was so very tired and cold, her dress wet and clinging to her legs. This was not the time, but soon. Soon they could be together.
When he kissed her on the forehead, she sighed. He rose and started for the door. “Annie will be here soon with food. Good night, Rowena.”
“Blair?”
He paused in the door, outlined there by the hall light. “I know, I know. Get some rest.”
Don’t drink, please. Don’t hide out down there in a bottle to escape your demons. Come to me, and I’ll help you. Why couldn’t she simply say those things to him? Let him know she cared enough to stand with him and fight for him?
When Annie slipped into the room, carrying a tray, she was almost asleep. Grady followed with hot water. He poured the china bowl full, steam rising into the cooler air. Before he left, he threw a long gaze at Annie but said nothing.
“Would you like to eat first, or have a wash?” Annie asked.
“Eat. I’m starved. Did Grady get something to eat? Blair didn’t really mean it. About his being fired.”
Annie blushed and began to fuss about with the pillows. “He knows. He's eating some soup now.”
Even as tired as she was, Rowena recognized the attraction between the two.
After Annie helped her remove her soiled clothing, including the hated corset, she handed her a robe. Grateful, she slipped her arms into the warm soft fabric, dropped into the upholstered chair near the south window, and Annie placed the tray on her lap. The aroma of chicken broth sent a rush of saliva into her mouth. She lifted the bowl between both palms and took several sips. “Oh, goodness, that’s delicious.”
“Go slowly. it’s very rich.”
After she’d finished the soup, Annie took away the tray. “Do you need help with your wash?”
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