“But Father, I don’t want to use a man’s dirty water.” She shuddered. “You two have been clutching udders.”
The color of Father’s face heightened with the strain of stifled laughter. He turned aside, but his shaking shoulders gave him away.
Chuckling, Hiram lifted her shiny blond curls. “Hold still and let me see.”
“See what?” Beaming, she bunched her shoulders. “Stop, that tickles.”
“I’m searching for pointed ears,” Hiram said. “You’re an elf, aren’t you?”
“I am not!” Her delicate complexion clouded pink, and she yanked her hair from his grasp. “You’re being silly.”
An unfamiliar sensation tugged at Noela, but she shoved it away. Heaven forbid she be jealous of her own sister.
Furious with herself, she scowled. “Beatrice, do as you’re told and move away from the washstand.”
Hiram turned with a grin. “Let her go ahead of me. I don’t mind. How dirty could one little pixie be?”
Beatrice clasped her hands under her chin and awaited Father’s answer. He nodded at the washstand. “Go on then.”
Beatrice curtsied for Hiram, her lively curls bouncing. “You have my utmost appreciation, kind sir.” Noela smelled the delightful fragrance of the Macassar Oil from where she stood.
Hiram bowed. “Anything for you, milady.”
Spinning, Noela busied herself at the sink. She smelled of raw meat and potato peels and couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely or felt lighthearted.
She pulled a lock of dry, stringy hair over her shoulder to examine it. How long since she’d cared how it looked?
Her gaze slid to the hand clutching the wispy strands of hair. The red, chafed fingers with brittle nails couldn’t possibly be hers.
She swiped her lips with her tongue. Cracked and crusted skin met its touch.
Beatrice looked like the whimsical creature Hiram had called her, a delicate, fresh-faced sprite. Noela resembled a troll.
Blast Medora’s dry wind and weather! Dash the work and worry of Vine House!
As if he’d read her mind, Hiram brought up the subject of their home while finishing the last few bites of his meal. “There’s an upside to living in a soddie. Like I told you once before, they stay cool in the summer, warm in the winter. In case of a prairie fire, you can bring your livestock and anything else of value inside with you and keep it safe.”
“Fire?” Beatrice’s mind appeared to be whirling.
He patted her hand. “Don’t fret, honey. We don’t see them often.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled up at him. “Is it always so dreadfully cold here?”
“Patience, little elf,” Hiram said. “Medora thaws out and comes to life in the springtime. These cliffs and gullies teem with wildlife. Prairie grass comes up in a dozen shades of green as far as the eye can see.”
He pointed at the low ceiling. “Including the patch over your head. Some folks sow flower seeds on the roof. The colorful blooms really perk up the place.”
A dreamy daze settled over Beatrice. She propped her chin and stared in the distance. “Like an enchanted cottage. May we plant flowers on the roof, Father?”
Forking a chunk of potato, he grinned. “If it makes you happy, love.”
Noela refilled their coffee mugs. “What sort of wildlife, Hiram?”
“Well, let’s see… There are bobcats, coyotes, elk, prairie dogs, and badgers.” He paused, staring as if he saw them in his mind. “Mustangs and bison roam in herds across the plain, and eagles soar over skies so blue they bring a man to tears.”
He drew a shaky breath and shook his head. “There’s no place on earth like Medora in the spring.”
Noela marveled at his glowing eyes and quavering voice. How could the harsh, frozen ground outside her door ever inspire such devotion in a man? She’d have to see Medora the way he described with her own eyes before she’d believe it.
Moonstruck, Beatrice gazed at him. “You make it sound so nice. Back home we just have roos and wallabies. And eucalyptus trees.”
He cut his eyes to Noela and winked. “Just kangaroos? Imagine that.”
Father cleared his throat. “Girls, let the poor bloke eat in peace. You’ve about talked his ear off.”
Hiram nudged his plate aside. “I couldn’t hold another bite, sir. Mighty fine meal though.”
Noela smiled. She’d discovered a hidden talent in cooking. It pleased her that he noticed.
Pushing away from the table, Hiram stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles. “If you don’t mind, Noela, there’s a matter we need to discuss.”
She settled back in her chair twisting her napkin. “All right.”
“There’s a dinner party on Christmas Eve at the Chateau de Mores. I’m acquainted with the marquis and his wife through Mr. Roosevelt, so they’ve asked me to come.” His eyes flickered toward her father. “With your pa’s permission, I’d like you to go with me.”
Noela pulled her chafed hands off the table and tucked them in the folds of her skirt. “Oh Hiram. I don’t know…”
Father’s bulging cheeks lifted in a smile. “You should go,” he mumbled around a mouthful of venison.
She fingered her brittle hair. “I couldn’t possibly.”
Beatrice shot straight up in her chair. “I’ll go.”
“There’s little chance of that,” Father said. “Besides, Noela is going. A night out will do her good.”
“I think so, too,” Hiram said softly.
Noela shook her head. “I don’t have a proper dress to wear.”
Certain she could influence a swift return to New York, she’d defiantly gone against Father’s edict to pack plenty of clothing. She’d left most of her best things, along with the lovely gown she commissioned to wear to Mrs. Baumann’s Christmas gala, hanging in her dressing chamber in the brownstone. How she wished she had it now.
Father raised an expectant brow. “Can’t you make something?”
How like a man. If she could sew that fast, she didn’t own a machine.
Beatrice pouted her mouth. “I did so want to meet the marquis’s wife.”
“Madame de Mores?” Hiram’s features softened. “She’s a wonderful lady. You’d like her, Bea. She was Medora von Hoffman when the marquis met her. The daughter of a wealthy American banker, though you’d never know. She’s as comfortable on a game hunt as any man. The marquis claims she’s a better shot than he is.”
Her sulk fading like a puff of smoke, Beatrice leaned in. “She sounds wonderful. Tell me more.”
Hiram pressed his knuckles to his lips “Let me see, what else? Ah yes, she speaks seven languages.”
“All at once?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “No, one at a time. She’s also an accomplished pianist and a fine artist. She paints in watercolor.”
“Is she pretty?”
Rubbing his chin, Hiram considered the question then nodded. “She cleans up nice.”
Father’s hand shot up to block the next question. “Give us a turn, girl. Hiram, will Mr. Roosevelt be at this do?”
“Yes sir. He and the marquis quarreled awhile back. A misunderstanding over a cattle deal followed by some ugly business that nearly led to a duel. Both men are eager to prove they’ve mended fences.”
Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “Who cares about quarrels and duels? Tell us about the chateau.”
“That’s actually a name given by the locals in jest.” He grinned. “The marquis calls it a hunting cabin.”
Noela gasped. “A twenty-seven-room hunting cabin?”
He chuckled. “With ten bedrooms.”
She stared wistfully out the window. “I would dearly love to see it.”
Hiram perked up. “So you’ll go?”
A vision of the only nice dress she still owned flashed in her mind. A beige off-the-shoulder with an empire waistline. She could reposition the bow and add a few well-placed tucks in the bodice. Madame de M
ores would recognize it as last year’s fashion, and Noela would burn with shame, but…
“I’d love to go, Hiram. I couldn’t bear to miss it.”
Beatrice cheered, and Father gave a satisfied nod.
Hiram’s smile alone made her hasty decision worthwhile.
Chapter 10
Noela’s first glimpse of the Chateau de Mores would stay with her for the rest of her life. The lone structure, backed by rocky crags and a soaring flat plateau, took her breath. The claret-red roof, matching shutters, and pale gray coat of paint stood out on the surrounding ocean of snow like piping on a cake.
There might be grander homes back East, but after weeks of staring at dirt walls, none could be more welcome to Noela’s eager eyes. “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”
Seated next to her in the wagon, Hiram watched her with a tender smile. “That she is.”
Her brows rose to peaks. “I’m referring to the chateau.”
His smile deepened. “The chateau’s nice, but I’d rather look at you.”
Speechless, Noela squeezed his hand. She’d felt like a maiden aunt for so long, Hiram’s attentive stares felt wonderful.
Judging by her reflection in the mirror at home, his reaction held the slightest merit. Since the invitation, she’d worked to repair the consequences of neglect. Beatrice helped, along with her bottle of Rowlands’ Macassar Oil. Now Noela’s hands and shoulders were supple, her hair silky soft and glowing.
Hiram stopped in front of the house and set the brake. Hurrying around, he helped her down, a proud, eager smile on his face. Taking her arm, he escorted her onto the porch. A servant opened the door at their knock and held it wide for them to enter.
A fair-skinned, doe-eyed woman stood behind him smiling a welcome. Her light brown hair, artfully pinned and laced with ribbons, had a reddish cast. The marquise did, in fact, clean up nice.
“Come inside, you two. Out of the dreadful cold.”
She leaned to kiss Hiram on the cheek. “Dear boy, where has Theodore kept you hidden?”
Hiram laughed and took her hand. “You’re one of the few in town he allows the liberty of that name. To the rest of us, he’s Mr. Roosevelt.”
He winked at Noela. “Madame de Mores, may I present Miss Noela Nancarrow of New York City? By way of Queensland, Australia, of course.”
Noela was gripped with a sudden fear that he would mention Vine House. Then a sinking realization hit. The people of Medora were certain to know of her plight.
Madame de Mores took her hand. “Noela. A beautiful name for a lovely young woman.”
“Thank you, madame. I’m honored to meet you.”
Another servant appeared and collected their wraps. Noela breathed a sigh of relief that she’d packed Mother’s sable. The lovely coat was the only proof left of the life she’d once lived.
The marquise led them down the hall. On the way, Noela stole a peek inside several rooms. Unlike dismal Vine House, where the days passed in dreary sameness, the Christmas season was evident in the festive decorations. Her heart ached with sudden longing for her brownstone in the city.
Madame had an affinity for jewel tones. Royal blue dominated the sitting room on the left, from the upholstered couch to the fringed scarf over the mantelpiece. She’d chosen red as her accent color—no surprise considering the red roof and shutters of the house.
In a corner of the formal living room stood a box grand piano, the top adorned with family photographs and sheet music. Hiram had mentioned that the lady played.
Noela’s heart leaped painfully at the reminder. She’d never see her mum’s piano again.
Their hostess glanced over her shoulder as she walked. “The silly men in the parlor are determined to ruin our evening with talk of a blizzard, but pay them no mind. It wouldn’t dare snow on our party.”
“I’m going to agree with them this time,” Hiram said. “The signs are clear. Bad weather is on the way.”
“Don’t you turn traitor on me, Hiram McGregor. I won’t have it.”
She laughed and waved for them to cross the next threshold. “Go through to the dining room then, and let’s get you fed in a timely fashion.” She winked. “Just in case you’re right.”
Sensing Noela’s hesitation, she patted her arm. “Sit where you like, dear. Wherever you feel most comfortable. We don’t stand on formalities in Medora.”
Before Hiram could escort her inside, a tall, slender man strolled toward them at a leisurely pace. “Mais non. We happily left ceremony behind us in France. A refreshing change, n’est-ce pas?”
Madame de Mores swung around to greet him. “Perfect timing. You’ve saved me a trip to collect you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and introduced him to Noela as her husband, the Marquis de More.
Haunting eyes in an angular yet handsome face appraised her carefully. His full mouth seemed to pout beneath a thin, waxed moustache. “I am pleased to meet you, mademoiselle.” He bowed slightly. “Welcome to our home.”
Several men approached from behind the marquis, one vaguely familiar. In his midto late twenties perhaps, the dapper gentleman sported a slim build and full moustache. Intelligent eyes peered from behind large round spectacles.
Curiosity dancing in his eyes, he reached for Noela’s hand. “I beg your pardon. Have we met?”
His strong, commanding voice jarred her memory. “We have indeed, Mr. Roosevelt. At the home of Edith Baumann of New York. I’m Noela, the daughter of Jonathan Nancarrow.”
“Of course. The masquerade ball. You were standing beneath an Impressionist painting mounted over the fireplace. A Degas, I believe.” He winked at Hiram. “As I recall, I couldn’t decide which work of art to study.”
The marquis reared back his head and laughed. “Pay him no mind, my dear. He’s harmless.”
A servant appeared at the head of the table, his manner aloof, his face expressionless.
The marquis smiled. “I believe the staff is ready to serve. Shall we be seated, s’il vous plaît?”
The lavish meal, served in endless courses by black-tied waiters and sober kitchen servants, consisted of fish prepared three ways, a savory roast, wild game, several salads, roasted vegetables, and a fruit platter, followed by a delectable French dessert. The proprietress of Medora’s largest hunting cabin seemed overjoyed to pamper her guests.
For those few minutes, seated at a grand table, surrounded by well-dressed people engaged in lively discussion, Noela felt as if she’d returned to New York City. Better yet, gone home to Coolangatta.
The marquis smiled from his place at the head of the table. “Noela, how fitting you should grace our table on la veille de Noël—Christmas Eve in français. In France we call Christmas Noël. The word comes from the phrase ‘les bonnes nouvelles.’ It means ‘the good news’ and is referring to the Gospel.”
“How lovely. I didn’t know.” A touch of shame pierced her heart. Lately she’d been anything but good news.
Madame blotted pastry cream from her mouth with a lace napkin. “What sort of celebration have you planned for tomorrow, my dear? A nice dinner perhaps?”
Noela nearly choked on her bite of pastry, the flaky crust turning to dust in her mouth. How could she admit to this woman, who heaped bountiful food and gracious good cheer on a stranger, that she had no plans at all for her loved ones?
Floundering for words, she panted and stared like the frightened little mouse Hiram had plucked from her hair.
He sat forward and cleared his throat. “Her family will dine with us, madame. I’m preparing the Christmas meal this year.”
Noela flashed him a grateful smile.
The marquise nodded. “How good of you, Hiram. This time of year, it’s nice to gather with family and friends.” She leaned across the table and widened her eyes. “A man who can cook, Noela. A rare specimen, don’t you think?”
The waiters removed the last empty dessert plate, and the marquis pushed back his chair. “Gentlemen? I don’t want any of you caught in a
blizzard, so I won’t be offended if you must take your leave. For those who would partake, please join me in the parlor for a cordial and a cigar.”
After-dinner drinks and pleasant conversation while Father braves the cold alone to do the evening chores.
Standing, the marquis bowed to his wife and kissed the tips of his fingers. “A wonderful meal, ma chère.”
Noela cringed. A wonderful meal indeed while her sister dined on leftovers.
Guilt sickened her. When had she become shortsighted and self-focused? Her family circumstances were a tragedy that affected them all. Not just her.
“Hiram?”
He paused half out of his chair. “Are you all right? You’re pale as a sheet.”
“I’d like to leave now, if you don’t mind.”
Madame de Mores clucked her tongue. “You men have frightened her with your dire predictions.” She hurried around the table to help Noela stand. “Someone fetch her wrap.”
Mr. Roosevelt pushed away from the table. “I’ll go have their wagon brought around.”
Hiram reached her side and took her elbow. She tried to blink away her tears, but his strained expression meant she’d failed. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you home.”
Chapter 11
An ominous haze met Noela outside, so dense it blotted out the horizon. Silent lightning laced the sky, and storm clouds dragged their bloated bellies over the prairie. Hiram took one look, gripped her elbow, and rushed her down the steps to the wagon.
Neither of them spoke as they pulled away from the chateau. Noela feared she’d burst into tears if she opened her mouth. Hiram chewed his lip and cast anxious glances her way.
A few miles out, the wind picked up, and a heavy snow began to fall. After a few false starts, Hiram cleared his throat and blurted the question he must have been building the courage to ask. “What happened back there?”
She shrugged and pulled her coat tighter.
“I know it had nothing to do with the weather.”
She longed to explain, but he was the last person she dared to confide in. Confessing her faults would make him think the worst of her. More than anything, she hoped he didn’t already see her in a bad light.
A Pioneer Christmas Collection Page 42