by Reina Torres
“It’s not,” he shook his head, “but if someone is looking for the signs…” his voice trailed off. “Just as I know that you were genuinely shocked that your father brought you here without an invitation.”
Her middle ached again. “I am still so sorry about that.” She winced and reached out, laying her hand on top of his. “I hope you won’t have any lingering ill-feelings.”
She sat back when the Captain looked down at her hand.
“Goodness,” she sighed, “I’m just making a mess out of everything.”
His expression was easy, his eyes warm. Captain Merrick certainly was a strong and handsome man, but being close to him, touching his hand, didn’t have the same effect on her as when she was near Wyeth.
“Miss Weston, I doubt you could do anything that would cause me to have ill-feelings toward you.”
She smiled in relief and struggled to keep her eyes focused in his direction. The midday sunlight cast through the window illuminated the chess set placed on a side table.
She heard a soft chuckle in her ear. “Have I lost your attention so soon?”
Coloring again, she darted a glance at his face. He was wearing a bemused expression that made his eyes quite handsome indeed.
“I am sorry,” she sighed. “It has been quite a while since I’ve had the opportunity to play a game.”
“You like chess?”
She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “Grandfather Weston enjoys the game, and none of his sons ever showed an interest in learning, so he taught me how to play just to spite them.”
“I bet you’re quite a competitive player.”
She nodded, proud of the answer. “Grandfather would expect nothing but my best effort, and I was nearly able to beat him before we left Boston after our last visit.”
Captain Merrick stood and picked up the elegant board and its exquisite pieces made of exotic woods. “Would you care to play a game?”
Mr. Weston took notice and stood from his seat at the other end of the room. “You don’t want to waste your time playing a silly game.”
“Nonsense, sir.” Captain Merrick gave him a grin. “This is the game of kings.”
Sitting back down with Tillie, he set the game on the settee cushion between them. “Would you like to start?”
“Why yes,” she reached for a pawn and then changed her mind, reaching for the knight. She set it on the board and looked up at him. “Your move.”
He looked from her to the board and back again. “This is going to be quite interesting.”
“Really?” Mr. Weston stood with a huff. “Merrick? I trust one of your men will show me around?”
“Just ask any of the men; they know you’re here.”
When her father left, the captain moved a pawn, opening his knight. “Would you like me to call the housekeeper in to sit in the room? If my mother and sister hadn’t gone to visit my aunt, they would be here to keep you,” he cleared his throat, “properly chaperoned.”
She laughed. “I’m fairly sure my father would have brought Mademoiselle with us if he was concerned about a chaperone.”
The game occupied their time for a bit, and then the captain looked up and caught her eye. “So, you understand what your father has planned for us?”
“I thought,” she moved another pawn and smiled when he groaned, “we were paying a call on your family. It wasn’t until we arrived and I saw how shocked you were. I am so sorry-”
“Check.” The captain smiled again. “Stop apologizing. I could tell by your expression that you didn’t know what your father had planned. I am sorry if this has all made you uncomfortable.”
Tillie looked away from him down on the board and then moved her queen. “Check.”
He nodded. “I like that. You’re a smart young woman, Miss Weston.”
“And you are hard to surprise, Captain Merrick.”
He moved his king and looked back up at her. “So, this young man of yours.”
Her hand faltered a bit as she reached for the bishop. “I wouldn’t say he’s ‘my’ young man.”
“Has he not said anything?” He moved another piece. “Oh, that’s right. You have your companion with you constantly.”
She blushed. “We hardly know each other really.”
He looked at her again. “My father exchanged three letters with my mother before they married, and they were happily married for nearly twenty years before he passed on. There’s nothing wrong with finding the person you were meant to love.” He moved another piece on the board, but she couldn’t seem to decide what piece to take next. “Your father,” he chuckled, “reminded me, ever so kindly, that there is a social on Saturday. Has your young man asked to escort you?”
Tillie dropped the piece she had just picked up, and the rook toppled over, knocking two pawns to the board. “Oh, goodness! I am sorry.”
She looked up at him, realizing that she had just apologized. She picked it up and reset the pieces. “I did it again.”
Captain Merrick gave her a chuckle and moved his queen across the board. “I don’t think you’ll stop any time soon. Check.” He watched her move her king and give him a little frown. “I think I can offer you an option.”
“An option?” She watched him move another piece and tried to hide her smile.
“If your young man doesn’t escort you to the dance, I will.”
Tillie paused, her hand hovering over a bishop. “You’ll take me to the dance?”
“If you’d like.” He watched her move the bishop. “It would certainly ease your father’s mind.”
She laughed when his bishop claimed hers. “I am as out of practice with chess as I am inexperienced with the idea of courting any man.”
Tillie claimed his bishop with a pawn and laughed at his muttered curse.
“Sorry. Now you have me apologizing.” He laughed in return. “And the men are supposed to court you. That is usually how it works.”
“And yet my father brought me to your door.”
Captain Merrick chuckled. “That is true. Check.” He saw her frown. “I will send one of my men to the boarding house on Friday morning. Send word to me if you’d like me to escort you to the dance.”
She thought about it for a moment and then picked up a pawn from the board and moved it one space further. “Checkmate.”
When the knock came at the front door of the boarding house, Mr. Poston got up and stomped to the door, muttering under his voice. Swinging open the door, he barked out a question. “Who are you here to see?”
“Is Mademoiselle-”
“You’ve got a man at the door!”
Rising from her chair, Mademoiselle stood and made her way to the foyer and was surprised to see the man on the front step.
He swept the hat from his head with one hand. “Ma’am. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to speak with me.”
She gestured toward the stairs. “Miss Weston is out with her father.”
His broad smile matched the dark twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t come for the young lady. Like I said, I was hoping you might have a few minutes to speak with me. Do you?”
“I have some time. At least until Miss Weston returns to town.”
He nodded with his lips pursed together for a moment. “All right then, I’ll take whatever time you can give me.” Reaching into his vest he pulled out a beautiful fabric pouch and held it out to her. “Here.”
She looked at the pouch in the driver’s hands and then back up into his face, noting the ruddy color on the parts of his cheeks visible above his bushy beard. “What is this?”
“It’s a present.” He reached it out further, making the fabric pouch bob where it hung from his hand.
“For whom?” Her eyebrow rose as a punctuation to her question.
His expression went from confused to stunned to a hearty smile. “For you, you frustrating woman.”
Those words shocked her to the soles of her narrow boots. “Pour moi?”
“Goodness me,” he chuckled and stepped a little closer, “I sure do like the way you say things, but I dare say you’ve had a piteous few gifts in your life if you keep questioning so much.” He lowered the pouch and she reached out her hand to hold it gently as he let it go.
“I did not expect another gift.”
“Well,” he gave her a pleased smile that showed a good number of teeth beneath his mustache, “that’s why it’s called a surprise. I sure hope it might get me a smile from you.”
The corners of her mouth turned up, unbidden, and she felt heat creep up the sides of her neck. “Merci. Thank you, for the gift.”
There was a quiet moment between them, and the driver looked from her face to the pouch in her hand. “Um,” his eyes narrowed a little as his shoulders rose in a question, “you gonna open it?”
“Oh,” she started a bit, still shocked that someone had brought her a gift, “open it. Yes.” Heat prickled along her arms as she transferred the pouch to her left palm to tug gently at the ribbon around the pouch, and when it fell open the soft fabric revealed a pale glass perfume bottle.
“I know it may seem a little personal,” his voice scratched from his throat, and she saw him reach up and tug at his collar, “but the man in San Francisco said it came straight from Paris, France.”
She turned the bottle on its side and sure enough, the words printed on the label mentioned Paris, but the shop it heralded was not familiar to her.
“The man even let me take a sniff of the scent, and I don’t know enough to say how good it is, but the price was certainly dear. Still, I thought you’d take comfort in something that comes from your home.”
To say that she was stunned would be an understatement. The only other person who had thought to gift anything to her was Ottille, but this man had ventured all the way to the coast to bring her a gift. The thought alone was priceless. She opened her mouth to speak.
“I’m sure I don’t have much of a nose for perfume, but to me, it smelled a little like the liniment I rub into the horses’ hindquarters when they get a little achy, but it seems to make ‘em feel better… and it keeps the flies at bay.”
She was struck by a very unfamiliar feeling. It felt like a little burst of something within her chest and a tickle of something in her throat. Before she could stop it, it bubbled up from her lips and became a laugh. “Then I’m sure,” she laughed again and reached for the stopper, “I will enjoy it. No one wants to attract the flies.” She pulled the stopper and leaned closer to draw in the scent. It certainly wasn’t a heavenly scent by any means, but the scent was pleasant enough with its clean lavender notes, but it was the fact that it was a gift freely given by a man who had endured her temper and remained kind that endeared it to her. It was, in a word, stunning. “Thank you, Mister-”
“Clement,” he replied. “Saul Clement, but I’d be mighty pleased if you’d see fit to call me Saul.”
“Saul,” she tried out the sound on her lips and found it agreeable, “thank you.”
He blushed, toeing the ground beneath his feet like a younger man. “If it’s not too much,” he swallowed, “could you say it in French?”
Her heart fluttered from behind the hard wall of her corset. “Merci,” she managed to push the words free from her lips, “merci beaucoup.”
She watched his throat work a little before he managed a reply. “That sounded so pretty, Mademoiselle. I really like hearin’ you speak your language.”
“Saul?”
His gaze snapped up to her face, his eyes rounding a little in anticipation. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“You may call me Margeux.”
He was silent for a moment before lifting his hand from his side to cover his heart “Margeux, I would consider it an honor.”
She lifted the stopper from the bottle and touched it behind one ear and then the other, smiling as she replaced the stopper. “I should apologize to you,” she explained, “for my behavior on our journey here.”
He held up his hand to stop her. “Ma’am… er, Margeux. I understand how trying a stage ride can be. You were worried about Miss Weston and handled yourselves better than some seasoned travelers.” He smiled at her again. “And I was wondering…”
She looked up at him with a curious expression.
“Would you allow me to escort you to the upcoming social here in town?”
Margeux flushed at the thought. “Will there be dancing?”
He grinned back at her. “That’s what I’m bettin’ on.”
“Then, I shall attend with you, Saul.”
“That,” he assured her, “is music to my ears.”
Chapter 8
Wyeth waited patiently at the bottom of the steps at the Hawkins House. He was there to offer a hand to Mrs. Hawkins as she stepped down in a lovely dark blue dress which was one of her favorites. Her parlor had been abuzz with activity earlier in the day. Besides ironing her dress and Anna’s, she allowed the boys to go in and press their shirts and anything else they’d like to press and make themselves more presentable.
It could have been done throughout the day, but as all things with the riders, it ended up being a mad rush at the end.
The only two who didn’t push and shove their way out the door toward the house were Wyeth and Stone. Stone had left earlier to help move furniture in the Crystal Dawn out onto the porch and the grass along the roads, but Wyeth was on the clock of one Anna Hawkins who rushed down the stairs with all the energy and excitement of a girl with long braids, but was dressed in a lovely brick-red dress and a grown-up knot of braids at the crown of her head. “Whoa, slow down, miss.”
She jumped down beside him and nudged him in the side, pushing the air from his lungs. “Slow down? No! We need to go. This is my first social where I don’t have to stand at mother’s side and dance only with my brother and father. So yes, we need to go. Now, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He offered her his arm and they stepped away from the stairs.
She laughed up at him, “You’re being so agreeable now.” She gave him a little look. “Does that mean that you’re finally going to answer me?”
He felt his smile pull tight across his lips. “No.”
“I’m going to get an answer one way or another, Wyeth.” She walked along with him. “I’ll just keep at it all night long.”
Wyeth muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?” Anna’s tone was full of laughter.
“I said this is what I must have put my sister through while she was courting.” He looked up to the sky. “I owe her a big apology.”
“And you owe me an answer,” she reminded him. “Why didn’t you ask Tillie to come with you? I could have wrangled one of the others to take me.”
He knew that he wasn’t going to get a reprieve. Anna was truly the daughter of both Levi and Olivia Hawkins. They got their answers and Anna would likely become even more skillful than her parents and it seemed just easier to explain and then try to enjoy the night. “Her companion explained that Tillie’s father expects the Captain to marry his daughter, and I can see why a father would want his daughter to marry a man who can make her life comfortable and happy.” The words were very nearly choking the air from his throat. “I wanted to make it easier on Tillie. She deserves a good and easy life, and I want to make her happy.”
“Well, Wyeth Bowles, if that isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
His steps came to an abrupt stop, stopping Anna short as well. “Anna Hawkins, you’re just tryin’ to hurt my feelings.”
She wouldn’t budge in her thoughts. “There’s one little thing missing in your rationale, Wyeth.”
His mouth twisted up at one corner, wondering at how the younger woman was taking him to task. “Really now? What’s that?”
Her face lost some of its youthful humor and her eyes looked back at him with the depths of her mother’s heart. “You say you’ve done this for her, but you haven’t asked her what she wants.”
&nbs
p; Pulling her arm from the protective crook of his, she started to walk on without him, leaving him to jog a bit and rush to catch up. He took a gentle hold on her elbow and pulled her to a stop.
“I saved her from an uncomfortable situation, Anna. I want to be able to see her at socials like this and not feel like she has anything to worry about from me. She deserves a man like Captain Merrick. He’s a rich man, and he can give her the kind of life she should have, the life that she’s grown up with. Pretty dresses and big houses, private carriages, travel if she wants to.”
“But she likes you, Wyeth.”
His laughter felt just a little forced. “Everyone likes me, Anna. I smile, I laugh, I joke, and folks find me charming. Charming isn’t enough for a fine woman like Tillie.”
She pouted a little more. “The least you could do is give her a choice.”
Wyeth reached for one of her braids before he remembered that Olivia had put her hair up, pinned at the nape of her neck in a becoming fashion. He mourned the loss of the familiar tug of her braids just as much as he missed the easy manner between them.
All he could do is remind himself that Tillie would be cared for by a man like the Captain. She would have the best of everything. She wouldn’t know struggles. Not like his mother had known when she married a man who could make her dance and laugh like a young girl from the time that she met him until the day he passed away.
“Just think about it, Anna. Imagine how easy her life would be if she marries the Captain, and he would be the luckiest man alive if she agreed to be his.”
He offered Anna his arm again, but she shook her head and walked around him, still heading in the direction of the Crystal Dawn Saloon. “It would serve you right if she did, Wyeth. You’re not just stubborn,” she sighed and cast him a look over her shoulder, “you’re a fool.”
Wyeth shook his head as he watched her go, letting her get a few steps before he jogged after her, mumbling under his breath. “I’m just a fool in love.”
Tillie sat on the settee in the front room of the boarding house, listening to her father’s instructions for the social. By now she could recite them from memory without much prompting. Her father had drilled the requirements into her head since she’d explained that the Captain had asked to escort her to the event.