He firmed his hold as Camy tried to pull away. “I assure you that is not the case,” he said to the crowd. Then he lowered his voice and looked into Levina’s cold, calculating blue eyes as his wife’s breaths became shallow and ragged, and he said, “I would ask you not to speak ill of my wife, as I have great affection for her. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I would have a private word with my wife.”
He guided her through a sea of suits and expensive gowns and noticed many of the folks weren’t from Rusa Valley, but rather hobnobs he recognized from social gatherings in Topeka. Some had propositioned him for business deals, many of which he’d turned down. Several of the long faces greeting them as they passed through were those of mamas who’d tried to pawn their daughters on his bank account. Perhaps Weston’s appearance at Mrs. Smith’s gathering was nothing more than a coincidence. However, the niggling at the back of his neck told him otherwise.
Stepping out onto the porch, he tugged her along a cobblestone path lined with budding shrubs until they came to a raised limestone structure with a roof overlooking the river. He released her, giving her space to breathe.
“I should have been more prepared. I thought you would be among friends, not...” He didn’t know what to say, given her earlier “poor orphaned farm girl” comment. He didn’t see her as such, and didn’t want her to think he did. He’d rather spend an hour arguing with her than playing niceties with a false smile and batting lashes. At least with Camy’s expressive eyes he knew exactly where he stood with her. Most of the time.
“Rich city folks?” she tossed out, and then her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Smith’s events are rarely pleasant, and even though I was surprised at her throwing an engagement party, I should have known she intended to impress your circle, not celebrate with Rusa Valley.”
Leaning against a post, he drank in the sight of his wife. The setting sun made it seem as though strands of her hair were on fire. Her complexion glowed and her eyes were a deep gold, instead of the honeyed coffee. The affection bursting in his heart for her grew by the moment. He probably even loved her. He was quite certain he did. “Camy, I won’t tolerate disrespect of my wife from anyone.” His father had disrespected his mother in private and public. “Not even from myself.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Th-thank you,” she said, laughing. “I thought we would have to retrieve the smelling salts for poor Levina. Oh dear.” She paled. “Mrs. Smith is not too happy about our nuptials. I’m certain she’d already had her sights set on you for one of her daughters, probably even Levina. Most assuredly, she had hoped for time to break our engagement.”
He strode across the stones and swept a curl behind her ear. His gaze holding hers, he smiled. “Even if we weren’t already married, that never would have happened, as I find I’d rather spend time beating you at chess than playing court to a spoiled young woman.” Duncan caught sight of Nate Cooper standing at a distance and he tucked Camy’s arm in his and walked her toward the house. He hated sending her in to face Mrs. Smith and the socialites without him. However, Duncan didn’t want to subject her to any unsavory news concerning Miller’s involvement in the attacks on her land. “I have business to tend to,” he said, assisting her up the stairs. “I don’t intend to be heavy-handed in our marriage, but I’m asking of you two things. Do not leave this house, and please stay away from Mrs. Smith’s gentleman friend until I return.”
She gave him a quizzical look, her mouth twisting as if she wanted to argue.
“Please,” he said. “Trust me.”
She nodded, then disappeared through the open door and a bevy of chatter and a haze of cigar smoke. Retracing his steps, Duncan found Nate hovering where he left him. “I hope you have good news for me, my friend.”
Nate scrubbed his hand over his bearded chin. “I’m not sure what I have. I checked with the railroad committee about the property in question. Seems there was a recent request for a survey to be done.”
Duncan crossed his arms in front of him wondering how it had passed by him without notice. “What for?”
“Coal beds.”
“Hamish didn’t mention coal,” Duncan mused aloud. “Sure makes sense for someone greedy enough to go to great lengths to gain that property, especially with the railroad looking for a place to build.” He mentally ran numbers in his head and calculated a raw estimate of what the railroad would pay if coal lay beneath the surface.
“The other thing, the day before you sent your message to me, Mrs. Williamson sent for the sheriff. Upon returning from the mercantile, she found two young men ransacking your room at the boardinghouse.”
“I figured as much.” Duncan told him about the three men tearing up the field, finding his pocket watch, the cigarettes and Miller’s beaten body. In return, Nate told him about the two men Mrs. Williamson had described, both fitting Miller’s friends. “I’ve only seen one man smoke this brand, and that’s Weston.”
Nate whistled between his teeth. “I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t think it mattered, but Weston requested the survey. There’s some talk around town too. He owes a lot of money to some unsavory folks.”
“Do you think it’s possible these unsavory folks believed Miller worked for Weston?”
“I don’t think so. These men wouldn’t have bothered with a hired man, they’d come straight for Weston.” Nate shifted his weight. “Do you think Weston could have been involved in Miller’s beating? Our office has had several complaints of Weston roughing up the doves.”
Duncan gave himself a mental kick for not seeing beyond Weston’s facade. If Duncan ever took on another partner, he’d have him thoroughly investigated. “Weston is inside playing court to the hostess.” He glanced toward the house, wondering how it all fit together. Wondering how his partner was involved. Thankful he’d warned his wife to keep her distance from Weston.
“What are you thinking, Duncan?”
“I don’t know. My gut tells me Weston is involved. I’ve never had reason to distrust him, but I kept my caution where he was concerned.” Had Weston simply been seeking to purchase the land, or did he hire these young men to terrorize the Simses? He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I fear I’m no closer to any answers.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could have done more.” Nate adjusted his hat and they began walking toward the house. “I never thought I’d say this, but congratulations on your bride. She’s lovely.”
“Thank you. I’m a blessed man,” he said, longing to return to Camy’s side.
Benjamin Northrop rode into the yard, his horse heaving as if he’d raced the beast across the county, and jumped to the ground.
“Northrop,” Duncan called, catching his attention. “Is everything okay?”
The doctor lengthened his stride. “Miller woke up,” he said in between hard breaths. “He’d gotten in trouble gambling.”
“The mark on his cheek?” Duncan asked.
“Yes,” Northrop said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Said he’d been drinking one night near a year ago and bragged about how he’d be the richest man in the county once he got one of the Sims girls to marry him. He chased Camy thinking she’d be the easiest.”
Duncan nearly laughed, knowing how easily she’d seen through Miller’s ruse.
“We’ve known for years about the feud between our families. My father bought land from Camy’s father thinking he was purchasing Sims Creek, which belonged to Hamish, instead of what we own now. For years, Father has been obsessed with Sims Creek, especially given that he owns the land on the other side of Sims too. I broke things off with Ellie because of it. Miller thought if he could gain the land he’d make Father happy, and when he discovered a journal entry of my father’s declaring a prospector had found coal on Sims land in Father’s office, he tried to trap Camy into compromising situations. None of which worked.”
Northr
op shook his head and continued. “How Miller tells it, he’d become drunk after one of her rebuffs. He lost money he didn’t have and promised Sims Creek once he married her. The fires weren’t set by him, but he knew about them.”
“Who did he owe money to?” Duncan asked, already knowing the answer.
“Mr. Weston. When Weston found out you were engaged to Camy, he threatened Miller if he didn’t kidnap Camy and force her to marry him. You saw what happened.”
“Weston is responsible for cutting up Miller?” Nate asked.
Northrop nodded. “I believe Miller is telling the truth. He said the two men who were with him on the field are Weston’s nephews.”
“Did you see them inside?” Nate looked through the open door.
“No, I didn’t see them, but I also didn’t get a good look at them when I chased them down. I’m not certain I would recognize them. However, if they’re not in there, they’re close by,” Duncan responded as he climbed the steps. “Northrop, find Ellie and Mara and keep them with you. If you see Hamish tell him what’s going on.”
“Where are you going?” Benjamin asked, fast on his heels.
“To find my wife.” Hopefully before it was too late. If Weston had been desperate enough to manipulate Miller into criminal activities and then leave him for dead, Duncan was afraid of what he’d do now the possibility of gaining Sims Creek was out of his hands. Fortunately all of his dealings with Weston were through the railroad and approved by the committee, giving the bounder no rights to Sims Creek.
* * *
As Camy wound her way through the party, smiling and nodding and stopping here and there to accept congratulations on her marriage, she saw Ellie helping serve dessert and Mara holding court among the young people. Her sisters had always loved social gatherings, even under Mrs. Smith’s critical eye. Yet Camy needed a quiet corner and found one in Mrs. Smith’s extravagant library, full of rarely used tomes. The waning daylight left the east-facing morning room in nothing more than shadows beneath the lanterns. Camy often sought out the peace and solitude of this room. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books, admiring their binding and gold-foiled letters. She’d longed to pull one from its position, to look inside and feel the paper and see the printed words, to smell the pages, but she never dared lest she disturbed the quietness of the room.
“There you are,” Mrs. Smith said, sweeping in, her dark blue skirts brushing against the doorway. “I have someone who would like to formally meet you.”
Mr. Weston, dressed in a black frock suit and gray vest, came in behind her. Smoke from his cigarette danced into the air. Even though he wore a suit similar to Duncan’s, he didn’t look as distinguished or as handsome. Of course, he was a head shorter, and his shoulders weren’t nearly as wide. His blond hair was slicked against his head, a stark difference to Duncan’s chestnut curls, and the penciled mustache beneath his hawklike nose reminded her of a mangy coyote slinking around the farm last winter frothing at the mouth. How could she not have noticed the coyotelike demeanor when he’d approached her last year about Sims Creek?
“Of course, we’ve already met before,” Mr. Weston said as he took her hand in his. She quickly pulled away when he leaned forward to kiss the back of her hand.
“Darling,” Mrs. Smith purred, her blue eyes feigning kindness when in reality they were cold. The woman didn’t like her plans to be usurped, and that was exactly what had happened when Duncan chose for them to marry when they did. “If you’re going to be a successful wife in your husband’s circles, you must learn not to be so rude to your betters.”
Camy flinched as if she’d been slapped.
“My apologies, dear, but you should have known marrying above yourself would pose its challenges.” Mrs. Smith pretended to inspect a spot on her dress as Mr. Weston’s gaze roamed over Camy from head to toe and back again, sending a chill down her spine and a knot in her gut.
“Mrs. Smith,” he said, never taking his eyes from Camy. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”
To Mrs. Smith’s credit, she hesitated. Concern quickly replaced the facade of an uppity busybody. “Mr. Weston, I don’t think it’s proper.”
Camy’s insides roared in relief at Mrs. Smith’s intervention. For all of her pomp, Camy believed a decent lady lay beneath the powder, rouge and sharp tongue. Perhaps, Camy thought, she should get to know her more, become her friend instead of judge her.
Mr. Weston glared at Mrs. Smith and said, “I promise not to ravage her in your home.”
Mrs. Smith’s blue eyes darted between Camy and Weston. She drew in a long breath and released it. Camy silently prayed Mrs. Smith would hold her ground. Camy knew the moment she relented. “Very well, then. I’ll be outside the door if you have need of me.”
Camy put the upholstered divan between them, the wood trim biting into her fingers.
“Truly I have no wish to cause you harm, Miss Sims.”
“Murray, Mrs. Murray,” she reminded him. The words solidifying in her heart. It felt good to know she had the covering of his name, no matter what anyone said about marrying above her social status.
“I suppose you no longer want to sell your property.”
“I never did, Mr. Weston, as it was never mine to begin with, but rather my uncle’s. And now it belongs to my husband.” She realized then that all the stress and anxiety she’d experienced over the last months had left. The burden had disappeared with her knowing it was no longer hers to bear alone, that she had a husband with broad shoulders to share the burden.
He drew closer, his hand next to hers on the divan, his cigarette smoke tickling her nose as he puffed and released. The corner of his mouth turned upward into a smirk, and then he bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes hard, deadly. “I believe I can convince my business partner to come to some sort of agreement.”
Camy felt her heart plummeting to her toes, uncertain of whom he spoke of, but something told her she didn’t want to know. She looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” He puffed. “Your husband didn’t tell you about me?”
Camy swallowed past the knot forming in her throat.
“I’m on the committee for the railroad, as is your husband, and of course, he happens to be an investor. I convince him of our need for money and he provides the funds.”
Head spinning, she rocked back on her heels. “Mr. Henry?” She knew the man had claimed to be with the railroad before the attacks began happening at the farm. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited for his answer.
“That would be my beloved nephew, an associate of mine.”
Of Duncan’s too? Did that mean he had something to do with Miller being left for dead? Her husband? Trust me.
“Excuse me.” Camy started to run out the door.
“Mrs. Murray,” he said, halting her. “I do get what I want.”
She ran out of the library and bumped into Mrs. Smith. The concern etched in the lines of her face hadn’t left. “Are you all right, Cameron?”
Camy shook her head and ran up the back stairs and to the room given to her to use for the evening. She slid against the closed door, crumpling into a heap of silk on the floor. How could she have been so foolish? After years of protecting her heart, after years of thinking that all men thought about was chasing two bits and nothing more, how could she have given her heart to the first handsome man who broke through her defenses? Trust me. “God, what did I do? I gave my heart to a man and he betrayed me. Betrayed my sisters. Miller.” She sobbed, images of Miller lifeless and scarred ambushing her mind. “Poor Miller, and all because I fancied myself in love. How could I have married a man who would do something like that to another human being?”
Because he’d shown her kindness and tenderness. He’d wooed her by caring for the farm. Wooed her by challenging her
at chess, reading scripture and praying. Wooed her with kisses. Trust me. She thought she knew him, knew his heart. Even though they’d had an understanding between them, a marriage in name only, she had still hoped... Her hopes fell, like a branch struck by lightning, to the ground. Blackened and charred.
She picked herself up off the floor and took off her mother’s wedding gown, laid it on the bed and changed into the lavender one she’d been married in. Finding writing supplies in the desk, she left a note for her sisters and slipped off her wedding ring. She’d signed an agreement, even if Mr. Murray hadn’t intended to keep his word. She was a Sims, and a Sims did, no matter what. Hamish had given him the land in exchange for her taking his name, but it didn’t mean she had to keep it.
She laid the missive and the ring on top of her mama’s wedding gown and then slipped out the door. She nearly tripped down the stairs as she rushed out the back door in her haste to get as far away from Duncan Murray as possible. The stables would offer a horse. She could have it returned. She came to an abrupt halt, halfway between the house and stables. Doubling over, she clasped her hand over her mouth to quiet her sobs and collapsed to the ground. She didn’t even know how to ride a horse.
“God, why did Duncan have to be so kind and capture my heart?”
A small voice niggled in her head. Because he is kind and his actions prove it. “And worthy of my trust,” she said to herself, knowing that even if Duncan hadn’t revealed his connection to the railroad to her, his character should speak louder than Mr. Weston’s accusations.
Drawing in several long breaths of air, she wiped her eyes and climbed to her feet. Her gown, wet and splotched with mud, hung heavy against the back of her legs, reminding her that a soiled gown didn’t necessarily mean a ruined gown. Just like her heart, it might feel bruised, crumbling like clods of dirt, but it wasn’t beyond repair, especially if the bruising was due to her own wayward thoughts.
Duncan deserved the opportunity to explain. She owed it to him, and she owed it to herself to move beyond her fear of rejection and give Duncan a chance, if he was willing to forgive her for doubting him. He deserved that she honor the vows spoken before Pastor Hammond, her family, and God.
The Negotiated Marriage Page 21