Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  Pamela slid through a trio of elderly gentlemen until she was close to the couple. The gaslight gleamed over Elizabeth’s golden hair and sparkled on the diamonds around her neck and on her ears and wrists. Tonight was the first time her twenty-year-old friend had worn the Hamilton diamonds since her mother passed away two years ago during the influenza epidemic that had also claimed Elizabeth’s father and fiancé. Her gown of ice blue satin and peach lace enhanced the blue of her eyes, and the exercise flushed her cheeks a becoming shade of pink.

  Elizabeth laughed and chatted with Gregory, free of the constraint she’d have with most other men. Gregory was no longer a potential suitor, for he’d recently become engaged to their friend Sylvia Jordan.

  Although she wouldn’t mind dancing with Gregory, Pamela didn’t like balls. She disliked the press of people, the watchful stares of the matrons who were quick to pounce on any behavior of which they disapproved, and the effort to make conversation with eligible men. Most of all, she hated being a wallflower except for when one of her brothers’ friends would ask her to dance, or one of Elizabeth’s rejected suitors solicited her hand because she was the nearest woman in the vicinity after her friend was led onto the dance floor by a triumphant swain.

  Even worse was when two men approached Elizabeth, obviously scheming to dance with her. But since she often turned down male requests to remain talking with Pamela, her suitors had learned a good strategy was for them to ask both ladies, and after the dance was over, to switch partners, so each had a chance with the beautiful heiress.

  “Pamela.” Roly-poly, Henry Felton, a friend of her brother’s, planted himself in front of her, forcing her away from her ruminations. “Mother is insisting I dance tonight.”

  The expression on his round face was so miserable that Pamela couldn’t help but laugh. “Your mother has decided it’s time for you to marry, Henry. She told us so at the last society tea.”

  “Take pity on me, Pamela,” he begged, addressing her with the familiarity of friends who’d known each other from the time they’d sported gaps in their front teeth.

  She suppressed an inner sigh. Dancing with Henry, who had two left feet, could be a trying and sometimes embarrassing ordeal.

  “Please?” He made puppy dog eyes at her, but since the orbs in question were green and protruding, he looked more like a frog.

  The thought made her hold in a chuckle.

  The next dance started, a Strauss quadrille. Not able to actually say yes to his invitation because she felt the no so strongly, Pamela just held out a gloved hand and forced a weak smile.

  He gave a jerky bow and led them to their places. For the first slow measures, Henry was almost able to stay on the beat, and Pamela began to relax.

  Then the tempo changed. In the next move, Henry stepped on her toes.

  Pamela winced. She pulled him to the right before they collided with an elderly couple. He steered her in the wrong direction twice, trod on her other foot, and spun her entirely too fast one time, and too slow several others. The floor around them cleared as couples headed for safer ground.

  Her cheeks heated at the spectacle they must be making, and Pamela prayed for the music to end. With the close of the final measure, she couldn’t rush off the dance floor fast enough. At the edge, she turned to give Henry a polite goodbye smile.

  With a grateful glance, Henry thanked her, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration off his face. “Mother was watching us.”

  During an awkward turn, Pamela had seen Mrs. Felton wince and shake her head, a pained expression on her face. “You should go talk to your mother. Tell her you’re going to seek out ladies and converse instead of dance. Perhaps now, she’ll be more receptive of the idea.”

  “Excellent plan. Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “She’s bound to have witnessed the debacle I almost made, probably would have if you hadn’t pointed me in the right direction a time or two.”

  More than a time or two. But she didn’t say so. Henry was a good-natured sort, and she’d practically known him her whole life, so she couldn’t be annoyed with him. But she decided to come up with an excuse if he ever approached her for another dance. With a farewell flip of her hand, she took a few steps toward a chair and had to bite back a grimace of pain from her bruised feet, and tried not to limp. Hopefully the soreness would soon wear off.

  An elderly lady took a seat in the chair Pamela was aiming for, so she headed for an alcove, where she could sit in peace. Once there, she unfurled her fan and waved it so the moving air would cool her cheeks, grateful to rest her aching feet and catch her breath.

  With a flurry of blue silk skirts and the scent of roses, Elizabeth sat down beside her and let out a happy breath. “Good thing I spotted you heading here, else I would have searched for ages.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  Elizabeth laughed and patted her hand. “You’re right. I would have known you were hiding and tracked you down by peering into the alcoves and behind the palms or Doric columns.”

  As if I could fit behind a Doric column. Although Pamela had long since lost the childhood pudginess that had earned her the nickname of Piggy from her brothers, she still hadn’t slimmed down enough to display a fashionably small waist. “The best place to find me is in the library,” she strove for a light tone.

  “As well I know. I will make you sit with me where everyone can see you,” Elizabeth said, a good-natured warning.

  “It won’t do any good. You’ll be gone in a minute, dancing with some man, and I’ll sneak away again and hide.”

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “We have such a crush here. Just think of the women and children we’ll be able to help!” Her eyes sparkled as she scanned the ballroom.

  “We can take on new families, perhaps as many as twenty,” Pamela joined in her enthusiasm.

  “Pay school fees for the older children!”

  Pamela snapped her fan closed, relieved to see Elizabeth’s eyes were free of sorrow, at least for a few minutes. Balls were especially hard on her. She and her fiancé Richard had met at one, and her friend had too many memories of laughing and dancing in his arms—of romantic happiness.

  Richard’s death, as well as the loss of Elizabeth’s parents, had devastated her, causing a dark painful time. Because she was in mourning, she missed the social season two years ago, had barely participated last year, and had struggled through the first parties of this season. Tonight was the first occasion where Pamela had seen a return of Elizabeth’s former liveliness.

  Pamela wished a new man was the cause for her friend’s good spirits. But she suspected Elizabeth was enjoying the success of the evening they’d both worked so hard to achieve.

  “I thought you and Henry were going to collide with the second row of dancers.”

  “I declare, next time I dance with Henry…if I ever dance with Henry again…I’m going to lead.”

  Elizabeth let out a peal of laughter. “I don’t think he would mind, poor dear.”

  Pamela chuckled. “He’s such a good man as long as he’s not on the dance floor.”

  Leaning close, Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. “You’re using a very fond tone. After a dance like that, I would have been so exasperated. Have you decided to set your cap for Henry? He would make an amiable husband.”

  Pamela’s good spirits deflated. If Elizabeth, the friend who knew the wishes of her heart, was urging her toward Henry, she must think that Pamela was on her last hope. I’m already twenty-one, practically on the shelf. “I’m fated to become an old maid.”

  “Nonsense!” Elizabeth straightened and shot a stern look at Pamela. Pink flooded her friend’s cheeks, making her look even more striking.

  “It’s no use, Beth. I’m not beautiful and vivacious like you. Men don’t see me. And with the setbacks to Papa’s business and the loss of my dowry, no incentive exists for them to try.”

  “Stop that!” Elizabeth hissed. “Don’t you dare disparage yourself in such
a way!”

  Pamela was taken aback by Elizabeth’s unusual vehemence.

  “Plenty of women aren’t ‘beautiful and vivacious.’ They still find husbands. And that means you can too!”

  “I’m not like you, Beth,” Pamela repeated, her fingers running over the edge of her fan.

  “You don’t have to be like me,” Elizabeth said with an edge in her tone. “Be yourself. The person you are when we’re together. When you are animated, Pam, you have your own prettiness. You just lack assurance of your worth. You must overcome your shyness. You need to smile more and talk with prospective suitors.” Her tone softened. “Please, Pam, won’t you at least try? Let them see your goodness, your intelligence, your many accomplishments.”

  “I have many?” Pamela asked in a joking tone.

  Elizabeth refused to be sidetracked. “I know you want to fall in love and marry.” The sadness returned to her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. “At least one of us needs to marry and have babies.”

  Guilt flooded Pamela for reminding Elizabeth of her loss. “Oh, no,” she protested, taking her friend’s hand and squeezing. After Richard’s death from influenza, everyone had rushed to reassure the grief-stricken young woman that she’d love again, as if her fiancé were someone she could just replace. Their comments, no matter how well meaning, had caused deep pain. But two years had passed. Now, Pamela dared to make the suggestion. “You’ll fall in love again, Beth.” She held her breath for her friend’s reaction.

  “I’ve had my chance,” Elizabeth said with false gaiety. “The kind of love Richard and I shared comes once in a lifetime.” She touched her chest, to the locket with his picture that she wore under her dress, and stroked a finger over the shape. “Now I will be an aunt to your children. Playing with your babies will make me happy.”

  Pamela wanted to cry at the thought. Elizabeth would make a wonderful wife and mother. But she held in the emotion. Too many tears had fallen over the last few years—from both of them.

  “So, you must stop holding yourself back, Pam. Promise?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I know about how you try, Pamela Marie Burke-Smythe. That’s not good enough.”

  Relieved to hear Elizabeth sounding more like herself, Pamela hastened to agree. “I will do so.” If only for your sake.

  Thomas Fyffe, tall and thin like a stork, came up to where they sat. He bobbed a bow, politely greeting both women.

  With stiff lips, Pamela practiced turning up her lips and tried to think of something to say. Normally, she wouldn’t have any problems with smiling at the scholarly man, but the pressure of the promise she’d just made seemed to stifle her thoughts and curb her tongue.

  Gesturing to the floor, he solicited Elizabeth for the next dance.

  Her friend agreed and, as he whisked her away, she glanced over her shoulder at Pamela and gave her a speaking glance.

  Pamela watched the couple waltz. She saw how Elizabeth stayed in serious conversation with Mr. Fyffe throughout the dance. The two were probably discussing Ancient Greece, a passion of his, even though Elizabeth didn’t share the same interests.

  Conversing with a man is difficult enough. Dancing and talking at the same time seems an impossible task.

  Shame tightened her stomach. Despite her promise to Elizabeth, Pamela realized, I can’t do it.

  * * *

  Standing in the foyer of the ballroom, John tugged at his collar, uncomfortable in his new evening clothes.

  Regal Hester Burton, beauty still showing in the bones of her face, a tiara glittering on her snowy hair, reached up and touched his hand, exerting unspoken pressure for him to leave his collar alone. “You look very handsome, John.”

  “I don’t know that you’ve put enough spit-and-polish on the cowboy.”

  “You are a gentleman, John,” Great-Aunt Hester reproved. “You might not have the polish of the men here tonight, but I think that’s all to the good.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question.

  She patted his shoulder. “You’re a western rancher, my dear boy. You need to look like who you are. For a young woman to make a transition from Boston to the new life you offer in the West will be difficult enough, worse if you misrepresent yourself.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Come.” She took his arm. “Time to meet the eligible young ladies of Boston.”

  Together, they walked into the ballroom. John’s first impression was of warm, perfumed air, beautiful women in a rainbow of elegant gowns, and music from many instruments that enticed him into the enormous white room, bigger than his whole ranch house, which was probably the largest in Sweetwater Springs. He tried to hide his fascination with the carved panels, two-story arched windows with golden silk draperies, several marble fireplaces, the lofty gilded and carved ceiling.

  John thought he’d been awestruck by Hester’s mansion, but the Sofit mansion stunned him with the size and opulence of the ballroom.

  Apparently taking the splendor in stride, his great-aunt steered him toward a couple and began introductions.

  Before too long, John became overwhelmed in his attempt to juggle names and faces. The sophistication of the guests made him feel as if he didn’t belong in their presence. No one discussed the breeding weight of their bulls, or the price of beef on the hoof, or that their horse needed shoeing. Fashion trends and gossip about people he didn’t know seemed to be the topics at hand.

  In the beginning of the evening, a few pretty women caught his attention, and he noticed a beautiful blonde in pale blue…until he saw three more young blondes in a similar color. Only moments later, he no longer recalled enough about the first one to describe her to Hester.

  Soon the people began to blur together, and John gave up even trying to remember names. A quick glance around the crowded ballroom showed more people in one room than he suspected lived in the entire vicinity of Sweetwater Springs.

  Hester had drifted a few feet away and looked to be discreetly flirting with a gentleman about her age.

  John looked around for a place he could escape to for a few minutes. A curving staircase on one side of the room led to a balcony. No one stood at the railing, so he figured he might have the space to himself. On higher ground, he could do some reconnaissance, find his feet again before descending back into the fray.

  Skirting the edge of the crowd, he moved to the stairway and began to climb. He reached the top and stood at the rail looking down. Away from the herd of people, he could enjoy the patterns of color the couples made as they twirled around the floor. Hester had hired a dancing instructor yesterday to give him some pointers, and he’d practiced with his great-aunt. But he’d rather plunge headfirst into an icy lake, face a grizzly bare-handed, or wrestle a panther to the ground than lead a young lady out on that dance floor and make a spectacle of himself for all eyes to see.

  Soft footsteps, the rustle of skirts, and the scent of Lily of the Valley told him his great-aunt had followed him upstairs. “You’ve found a good observation post. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

  “Reconnaissance,” he spoke aloud his earlier thought.

  She laughed in delight. “Then by all means, we’ll take advantage of our viewpoint.” Her tone turned serious. “Let me give you some advice, my dear.” Hester discretely gestured with her furled fan at one slender woman in a white gown. “Not her. She’ll be charming to your face and catty behind your back. That one—” she indicated a pale redhead with a lift of her chin “—poor health.” A shift of a shoulder directed his attention to a blonde in a green dress. “Empty-headed. You’ll be bored in a week.”

  John let his gaze rove, stopping at another blonde.

  Hester followed his glance. “No. She’s a widow. I’ve nothing against a widow. But she never had children in two years of marriage. No sense taking the risk.” She discreetly gestured toward another woman. “Mary is also a widow with a young daughter. I don’t think you want to take on a little girl rig
ht now.”

  No, I already have my hands full with a grieving boy. I’d like my wife to concentrate solely on him. Thinking of Nick made John remember the urgency of his mission—of his need to find a bride and return home to the boy and his ranch.

  “I’m not familiar with that clump of young ladies. Of course I know their names, but not their characters. I can make inquiries if one catches your attention.”

  None of the ladies stood out to him. “As you wish.”

  “Now there’s whom I had in mind for you.” Hester tipped her head toward a blonde in a pale blue dress. “Elizabeth Hamilton.”

  With a quickening of interest, he recognized the lady he’d admired earlier.

  “A lovely woman, good family, intelligent, with quite a substantial dowry.”

  As owner of the largest ranch near Sweetwater Springs, John had thought he had plenty to offer a woman. But that was before he’d found out what Boston was really like. John doubted he had enough to entice such a woman.

  “I do charity work with Miss Hamilton. Her parents died two years ago, leaving her and her brother a considerable fortune. He also has the business of course. Her fiancé also died at that time. No man has interested her since, although plenty have tried. Her face and fortune attract many.”

  Even as his gaze lingered on the beauty, John shook his head.

  “Miss Hamilton would certainly understand your godson’s pain. She has suffered similar losses, even though she was older at the time of her parents and fiancé’s deaths.”

  “That is true, but I wouldn’t want to compete with a former love. I want someone whose heart is open.”

  Hester gave him a sad smile. “I’m proof that a woman can love a second time after she loses her first husband.” Her eyes took on a reminiscing glow. “After Albert died, I thought I’d take a broken heart to my grave. Edward taught me to love again. He was a completely different man, and we had a very different, but no less deeply loving, marriage.”