Grady nodded. “Good day to you, Miss Linden. And to you too . . . Miss Belle.”
Uncle Bob’s gaze followed him as he left. “I ain’t one to question why General Harding do what he do,” he said beneath his breath. “But that man there—” He huffed. “Grady Matthews’s papa was a friend of the general’s in the war. But I swear, there gonna come a day when even that ain’t gonna be ’nough to keep Grady this job. The fool does more jawin’ ’round here than workin’.”
Hearing Uncle Bob’s opinion of the man, Maggie quickly decided hers wasn’t needed.
The two of them worked in companionable silence.
After a while she laid aside her brush and walked to where Uncle Bob was grooming one of the mares. She watched him, still learning.
“Sure is good seein’ you and Miss Mary talkin’ more these days, Miss Margaret. Like you used to.”
“I’m glad, too, Uncle Bob. It simply felt . . . odd sometimes, coming here to Belle Meade over the past two years. General Harding had purchased all of our horses, for which Papa and I were, and are still, grateful. But seeing them here, with all of this”—she looked around—“only reminds me of what I don’t have anymore. I know that must sound very selfish to you.”
“Sounds like you’s human to me, Miss Margaret.” Kindness softened his expression. “It’s hard lettin’ go of things that was ours. And people, ’specially. You know that well as most, I reckon. After Missus Harding passed, God rest her, Miss Mary kinda closed up tight. Then when Miss Selene wed Mister Jackson, I think Miss Mary done went into hidin’ even more. But you comin’ ’round again’s helped her.”
Maggie smiled. “She’s helped me too.”
Through one of the open windows she spotted Jimmy, a young boy who lived at Belle Meade, riding one of the thoroughbreds. “Is he training to be a jockey?”
Uncle Bob trailed her gaze. “Sure is. He gonna be a good one too. The general gonna let him start racin’ next spring.” He paused from his work. “Sorry you ain’t gonna be racin’ Belle in the heat this week. I done heard about Willie and his family.”
Maggie nodded. “I’m sorry too. And I hate what happened to them.”
“Lotta meanness in this world, Miss Margaret. But there be lots of good too.”
She hesitated. “You wouldn’t know of any jockeys looking for work right now, would you?”
He looked over. “General already come to me askin’ that question for you.”
Maggie’s face must have shown her surprise.
Uncle Bob returned the curry brush to the shelf. “The general, he likes to win, ma’am. Mmm hmm. That’s for sure. But it don’t sit too well with him that there’s a horse right here in this county that could beat his best mare, if only there was a jockey to ride her. No ma’am. The general, he cares as much about the racin’ as he does the winnin’.”
Hearing that about General Harding softened Maggie toward the man, even though she still wasn’t eager to speak with him. Not considering his outstanding request to meet Cullen McGrath.
Checking the time and finding it later than she thought, Maggie saddled Bourbon Belle then peered out the stable door, aware of Uncle Bob’s soft laughter behind her. Seeing no sign of General Harding, she thanked Uncle Bob, climbed into the saddle, and urged Belle toward home.
Nearly across the meadow to the woodsy path connecting Belle Meade to Linden Downs, a path used only by the families, she heard her name and turned.
“Maggie!” Mary was running toward her. With Savannah. Their smiles bright. And Maggie’s heart fell.
Savannah waved. “You’ll never guess what we just heard!”
But Maggie didn’t have to guess. She knew. And now, apparently, so did they.
Chapter
THIRTEEN
Wishing she had cause to encourage her friends’ excitement, Maggie accepted their hugs. Oh, how she loved these women. They’d grown up together. They’d laughed and dreamed. Not until this moment did she realize how much she dreaded telling them what she’d done.
They’d held such high hopes for marriage, each of them. They’d been taught to esteem the relationship between a husband and a wife. And even though Maggie could defend why she’d done what she had, she still felt as though she was letting them down.
“I can’t believe we weren’t the first to know!” Savannah tweaked her arm.
Mary squeezed Maggie’s hand. “And you didn’t so much as hint at it over lunch today.”
Maggie did her best to curb the urge to cry. “I wanted to tell you both. And planned to, but”—she lifted a shoulder and let it fall—“I simply didn’t know how.”
Savannah took her gently by the shoulders. Her eyes grew watery. “I want you to know, Maggie, how truly happy I am for you.” Savannah’s voice softened. “No matter that it didn’t work out for me and my family.”
Maggie looked at her, not quite following Savannah’s final comment.
“And I’m equally grateful that we’re going to remain neighbors.” Mary slipped an arm through Maggie’s. “It just wouldn’t be right for someone else to live at Linden Downs.” She scoffed. “All the carpetbaggers moving in here, buying up estates at auctions and taking over family farms, acting like they belong here.”
Savannah nodded. “When the only place they belong is back North where they came from.”
Mary nodded firmly. And that’s when Maggie realized . . . They knew about her not moving from Linden Downs, but apparently hadn’t heard about the marriage.
“So tell us all the details. All the newspaper reported was that Linden Downs had been removed from auction.” Savannah scrunched her shoulders. “But tell us quickly, because I have to be at Miss Hattie’s in about an hour.”
Aware that her friends knew only half the truth, Maggie took a steadying breath. They would learn the rest soon enough. Best they hear it from her. “Thank you both for . . . being such good friends to me.”
Mary and Savannah beamed.
“But there’s something else I need to tell you, and this part is especially hard.” Maggie tried to smile and failed. “The reason I’m still at Linden Downs, that my father and I are still there, is because I agreed to—”
In the distance she saw a rider coming up the road to Belle Meade, and her breath locked in her throat. Her throat conspired with her lungs, and her chest squeezed tight. What was Cullen doing here? Further, what was she going to do now that he was?
“Please excuse me,” she said quickly, reaching for Belle’s reins. “There’s something I need to do.”
“But, Maggie, we want hear all about how—”
Maggie was astride the mare before Savannah could finish her thought. As if sensing her rider’s urgency, Belle responded to her command and crossed the meadow in a flash. Cullen McGrath was halfway up the drive to the mansion when Maggie caught up with him from behind.
Apparently hearing her approach, he reined in.
“Mr. McGrath!” Winded, she urged Bourbon Belle to the forefront, effectively situating herself between him and her pending ruination. “W-what are you doing here?”
A roguish smile turned his mouth. “Nice to see you, too, Miss Linden. And to be on speakin’ terms again.”
In no mood for his taunting, Maggie realized she was also in no position to demand. “So tell me . . .” She hoped her smile didn’t look as fabricated as it felt. “What brings you to Belle Meade?”
His eyes narrowed as he watched her. His dark hair looked freshly washed, but his stubbled jawline heralded the man’s obvious disdain for the razor.
He leaned forward in the saddle. “Is there a reason you would prefer me not to be here?”
“Of course not.” She laughed, the sound unnaturally high. “I’m simply surprised to see you, that’s all.”
He nodded. “Well, if we’re bein’ truthful”—his look told her he clearly thought she wasn’t—“I really don’t want to be here. But this General Harding sent a note to Linden Downs this mornin’ requestin’ a mee
tin’ with me.”
“But how did he—” Maggie caught herself. “How does he know who you are?”
He laughed. “What you mean is, does he know yet that I’m your husband?”
Hearing him state it so plainly, without hesitation, Maggie broke out in a cool sweat. It didn’t help that Savannah and Mary were walking in their general direction, though still some distance away.
“And no, I don’t think he does,” he continued. “Your father said the general stopped by a few days ago to see him. While we were in town, I guess. General Harding wants to thank me for somethin’.” He gave a little shrug. “When the note arrived earlier, your father encouraged me to come. Well, he challenged me, actually. Said it would be the neighborly thing to do. So . . . here I am.”
Maggie could well imagine Papa doing just that, in his gentle but insistent manner. She hadn’t forgotten the general’s account of how Mr. McGrath had saved his new blood horse, as well as his investment, nor how the general had asked to meet him.
But there was no way General Harding and Cullen McGrath could meet and not discuss horses, and she hadn’t had time yet to broach with him the subject of racing Bourbon Belle. Nor was she eager to do so. Not with knowing how Mr. McGrath felt about horse racing and gambling.
And her, at the moment.
But what would she do if he did decide to sell Bourbon Belle? Or decided, for whatever reason, not to allow her to race Belle anymore? If she could find another jockey.
Seeing the space between her two worlds—the one before Cullen McGrath, and the one after—swiftly shrinking, and feeling helpless to do anything about it, Maggie accepted her options for what they were.
“If you truly don’t want to meet with him . . . Cullen,” she offered, using his first name as an olive branch, and taking his smile as a sign it had worked, “then I suppose I could meet with him for you. If you want me to.”
His laughter was immediate, and his gaze far too discerning. “I’m almost tempted to clap . . . Margaret. That was quite good.”
Maggie’s face went hot.
“Now my obvious question . . .” He studied her. “Why don’t you want me to meet General Harding? Instinct tells me it goes beyond revealin’ that there’s an us.”
The heat in her face fanned out through her chest. “All of this may seem funny to you, Mr. McGrath. But I had a life here before you came.”
“A life you were about to lose.”
“A life that I’ve worked hard for. As my father has, too, and his father before him. And for you to waltz in and start dictating how we do things is—”
“Name one thing I’ve dictated for you to do, Miss Linden. Just one.”
Emotion tightened Maggie’s throat.
“Or for your father. What have I demanded of him?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of a single thing. Her eyes stung and her pride burned. It didn’t help when the frustration began to drain from his face. Nor when she remembered how much her father had laughed in recent days.
Every evening Papa and Cullen sat outside on the front porch discussing planting and farming, the workers to be hired and where they would start, while she sat alone in the sitting room, listening. Cullen would never replace the sons Papa lost, she knew. But he was swiftly taking her place in her father’s life.
Or at least that’s what it felt like.
She clenched her jaw to keep from crying. Not this time. Not again.
“I’m weary of arguin’ with you, ma’am.” His deep voice went tender. “Do you think there’s the least bit of a chance we could talk to each other anytime soon without comin’ to blows? Because if there is, I’d give much to see that come about . . . Margaret.”
He said her name softly this time, with a sweetness, not a hint of sarcasm, and Maggie felt the faintest unfurling inside her, even as she resisted it.
Seeing her friends coming closer—and seeing their stares—she thought of the boardinghouse where Savannah and her younger brother and sister lived in a not-so-good part of town. Their parents and older brothers gone now, taken by the war, and Savannah sewing oftentimes seven days a week to provide for their needs. At times her knuckles swelled to twice their size, but Maggie had never once heard her complain.
“Yes,” Maggie heard herself whisper, partly from shame, partly in an effort to end the conversation before Savannah and Mary came within earshot. “There is . . . Cullen.”
He smiled, but sincerely this time. “I’m mighty glad to hear it.” He glanced behind him, then back at her. “Friends of yours, I take it?”
She nodded, preparing for the introductions he likely wanted her to make.
“Perhaps I could meet them.” He gripped the reins then gave her a wink. “Some other time.”
He prodded his horse on toward the mansion, and the tangle of emotions pulled taut inside her as she watched him go. Such an . . . unusual man. Maddening, certainly. Frustrating, without question. But also . . . kind, in his own way. Add to that odd. Most men in Nashville would have done almost anything to have General William Giles Harding beholden to them. Yet Cullen McGrath seemed nonplussed by it. Even . . . disinterested. She sighed.
“Who was that?”
Maggie turned at Savannah’s question and saw curiosity plastered on her friends’ faces. But also a funny sort of wariness in Savannah’s.
Maggie dismounted and took a deep breath, then gave it measured release. “That, though I realize this will be hard to believe”—she trailed their gazes up the path, bracing herself—“is my husband.”
Chapter
FOURTEEN
Say that again, please?” Savannah’s tone mirrored a countenance of shock and disbelief.
Mary shook her head. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” Maggie whispered, her face going warm. “It all happened rather quickly. Last week.”
The curiosity in her friends’ eyes narrowed, and Maggie read their identical, unspoken question.
“No!” she said quickly, scoffing as she did. “It’s nothing of the sort. You know me better than that.” Seeing relief in their subtle smiles encouraged one of her own. “It’s more of a . . .” She gave an embarrassed shrug, recalling another conversation similar to this one. “A business arrangement.”
“A business arrangement?” Mary repeated.
Now confusion muddled her friends’ expressions.
“He wanted to buy the farm, and Papa didn’t want to see the land auctioned off, so—”
“Your father forced you to marry?” Mary’s tone leaned toward incredulity.
“No, Papa didn’t force me. He wanted to make certain I was well taken care of and that we could keep the land, but . . . it was my choice.” She stood a little straighter as she said it.
In the distance, Cullen dismounted as the three of them watched. He took the steps to the mansion in twos then knocked on the door.
“Is he kind?” Savannah’s voice was soft.
“Yes.” Maggie nodded. “He is.”
“And from what I saw,” Mary said, glancing back, “he’s handsome too.”
Maggie felt an odd sort of pride in the compliment. And possessiveness too. Yet she hoped against hope they wouldn’t ask anything related to intimate details, or pointed questions about him. Including his name. One step at a time. She’d told them she was married. She didn’t have to tell them he was Irish. Not yet, at least.
“So.” Savannah turned to look at her, a shadow—barely there, then gone—eclipsing her smooth ivory complexion. “You not only get to keep your land, but you’re married as well.” She smiled. “That’s wonderful, Maggie. I’m so happy for you.” She drew Maggie into a quick hug then stepped back, her eyes unnaturally bright.
Maggie’s heart squeezed tight. “Savannah, I—”
“I need to be on my way.” Savannah hugged Mary. “I’m going to be late to Miss Hattie’s if I don’t leave now.” She turned to go.
“Savannah . . .” Mary gestured to th
e carriage pulling up in front of the mansion. “Selene asked me to accompany her into town. We’d be happy to give you a ride if you’d—”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Savannah’s smile was tight, like her voice. “I prefer to walk.”
Watching the dust swirling about Savannah’s skirt hem, Maggie felt Mary’s arm come around her shoulders.
“I’m truly happy for you, too, Maggie. I can’t wait to meet him.” Mary’s face lit with mischief. “And to see him closer up once I’m inside!”
Standing alone in the center of the long drive leading to the mansion, Maggie watched her friends walk away. One to wealth and to the certainty of marriage and a bright future. The other to the life that—if not for Cullen McGrath—would have been her destiny as well.
A quarter past nine and still Cullen hadn’t returned.
Maggie peered out the window past the darkened front porch into the night. Surely the meeting with General Harding hadn’t lasted this long. Not knowing the outcome of the conversation between the men and what had been said—specifically about Bourbon Belle—had worn on her throughout the evening.
Had Cullen learned about how they raced Belle? Did he realize how valuable the mare was? And might knowing that somehow alter his aversion to the sport? She sighed. Thinking of racing Belle made her think of Willie, and she pictured the scene the boy’s tragic account had painted in her mind that day.
She briefly closed her eyes, trying to erase the images, and prayed that Willie and his family were safe, wherever they were.
Peering out the window one last time, she buoyed her spirits with the hope that General Harding hadn’t said anything about Belle. Or racing. Perhaps he and Cullen had spoken only of cultural events and the weather.
What were the chances . . .
At least she’d managed to tell the two people she cared about most, besides her father, about the changes in her life. Reliving the hurt in Savannah’s expression this morning wounded Maggie all over again. Savannah was the kindest person she knew, which made her friend’s pain at the news that much tougher to bear.
To Win Her Favor Page 14