She glanced up at him, feeling a smile as wide as the moon stretch across her face. “We’re flying!”
An answering gleam of laughter sparked in his eyes, and he grinned. “Soaring, indeed.”
She liked the crinkle of laugh lines around his mouth.
The music ended with a flourish, and Pamela settled back to earth, disappointed the waltz was over—an unknown experience. In the past, she’d always been glad to escape her partner. I’ve never danced with the right man.
Pamela forced herself to set aside the surprising thought. But Mr. Carter, like every other available man at the ball, probably had his eyes set on Elizabeth. Soon this evening, and especially this dance, would only be a memory.
He grinned as he gazed downward. “I managed to protect your toes.”
“My feet and I thank you, kind sir.” Pamela smiled up at him. Did I really just use a flirtatious tone? “I’ve never enjoyed a dance more.”
Mr. Carter cocked his eyebrow. “I think you’re pulling my leg, trying to make this greenhorn feel good,” he drawled.
“No. Well, yes, of course I’d like you to feel comfortable.” Pamela’s cheeks grew hot. “But that’s not why I said so. It’s the truth.”
“That’s mighty kind of you.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I enjoyed our dance, too,” he said in a more serious tone. “You have my thanks for making me feel at ease.” He guided her back to her seat, where Elizabeth and Mrs. Burton stood in conversation.
Elizabeth beamed and leaned closer. “You looked very poised out there,” she said quietly.
“It felt so natural,” she whispered so no one else could hear. She wished she could say so out loud. But if Pamela expressed any interest in the man as a suitor, she knew Elizabeth would draw back from him, wanting to give her friend a clear field.
The music struck up for the next set. Strains of “The Blue Danube” floated to them—Richard’s favorite waltz.
Elizabeth whitened, a stricken look in her eyes. She pasted on a smile, tilted up her chin.
Seeing her friend put a brave face on her pain made Pamela’s heart ache and firmed her determination.
Elizabeth needs what Mr. Carter has to offer far more than I do.
CHAPTER FIVE
Three days later, John and Hester sat in the calèche, a fashionable open-air carriage belonging to Great-Aunt Hester, across from Miss Hamilton and Miss Burke-Smythe, taking in the sights of Boston. The day was warm and breezy for the beginning of May, with a hint of the briny ocean, which he had yet to see.
They’d driven through busy parts of the city, where he’d been dismayed by the volume of traffic—big horse-drawn omnibuses, hacks with the cabbies yelling out their availability, wagons full of merchandise, and elegant private carriages clattering over the cobbles. Men, boys, and sometimes even a woman pushed hand-held two-wheeled carts. Not even the piles of manure softened the noise of hoofbeats. Adults had to make their way more carefully around the stinking clumps.
Urchins darted across the streets through the two-way flow of vehicles, and John winced when he saw a boy almost run over by a swift hack.
He was relieved when their driver steered the horses to a quieter thoroughfare lined by brick buildings with windows trimmed in white. But as interesting as his surroundings, John was more fascinated by the young ladies in the calèche with him.
Both wore straw bonnets with silken ribbons that matched their dresses, pale blue for Miss Hamilton, buttercup yellow for Miss Burke-Smythe. If he’d driven with the three ladies down the main street of Sweetwater Springs in this equipage, he’d have been the envy of every bachelor. Even his great-aunt’s white hair wouldn’t be a deterrent to the old geezers who sought a wife.
In spite of three days of afternoon calls and nights of dinner parties, John felt he had yet to get a handle on Elizabeth Hamilton’s true character. Yes, she was beautiful, intelligent, and educated, with an outward poise and gaiety that belied the sadness he sometimes saw flash in her eyes. But he hadn’t reached an understanding of the inner woman.
This quest for a bride was proving far more difficult than he’d thought. Already a week had passed since he’d been gone. Worries about the ranch…wondering how everyone, especially Nick, fared in his absence, nagged at him. John wanted to return home. But he couldn’t possibly marry someone whose character he couldn’t discern. Even more important than his own marital contentment was Nick’s well-being, and he wanted to feel more sure of his future wife.
He hadn’t yet ventured to talk to Miss Hamilton about the death of her fiancé. Sometimes, the man’s presence seemed so strong as if he was a specter traveling with them. While John could understand and respect her grief, he didn’t want a ghost following the newlyweds to Montana.
Nor had John had a chance to tell Miss Hamilton about Nick. He hoped her losses would make her understand and empathize with Nick. Today, he promised himself. I’ll bring up the topic.
He glanced at the other young lady. Pamela Burke-Smythe was far more quiet than her friend, seldom speaking unless addressed. Yet her thoughts often flitted across her face, giving him more insight into her character than Miss Hamilton, with all her vivacity and conversation had revealed.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Christ Church, better known as the old North Church. Gazing at the Georgian style structure in awe, John was able to temporarily set aside his worries and become lost in history.
Elizabeth waved her hand at the steeple. “There you have it, Mr. Carter. The very place where the lantern was lit to signal the British were coming by land or sea.”
John shaded his eyes and glanced upward.
“The steeple was the tallest in Boston,” Elizabeth instructed. “The bells within were the first ones brought to America. Paul Revere was one of the bell ringers.”
He shook his head. “Such rich history.”
His great-aunt inclined her head in agreement. “One of our ancestors participated in the famous Boston tea party, John. I have his journal in my library. You may read it while you are here.”
“I’d heard the story, but I’d love to read the account.” When he thought of the bravery of his forefathers and of how ill-equipped the revolutionaries were to face the mighty British empire, John couldn’t help the tingle of awe racing down his spine.
“Listen, my children, and you shall hear…” Pamela Burke-Smythe quoted in a soft tone.
John looked at her with speculation. Miss Burke-Smythe seldom spoke without being asked a question or nudged by her friend, but when she did, he always found her interesting. “Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,” he added.
Miss Hamilton opened her mouth as if to join in, then pressed her lips together, a gleam in her eyes when she glanced from her friend to him.
While Great-Aunt Hester and Miss Hamilton looked on in obvious amusement, he and Miss Burke-Smythe took turns reciting the rest of Longfellow’s poem. When they finished, their eyes met and held, obviously feeling in perfect accord.
Miss Hamilton clapped her hands together. “I remember when our governess made us memorize that,” she told John. “Living next door and being friends made our parents decide Pamela and I could share a governess.” She wrinkled her nose at her friend. “You always like poetry better than I, Pam. And Mr. Carter, you seem to as well?”
“On long horseback rides mentally reciting poems passes the time or keeps me alert. Robert Burns is a particular favorite of mine. Also William Wordsworth.”
“Oh, yes! I like both of those poets,” Miss Burke-Smythe exclaimed, her hands clasped in front of her chest.
“Whom else?” he asked her.
“Emily Dickinson. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”
“She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.” As John spoke the lines, he should have looked at Miss Hamilton, who was the personification of the poet’s words. But he found himself drawn by the flush of pink in Miss Burke-Smythe’s cheeks, which gave her a quiet prettiness.
“
You quite surprise me, Mr. Carter.” Miss Hamilton raised her eyebrows. “From the stories I’ve read of the West, I never would have thought cowboys liked poetry.”
“Not all do, of course. But the scenery of Montana Territory can be the inspiration for the mind and heart…the arching blue sky, rushing rivers, forested mountains, the prairie grasses swaying in the wind. Poetry in nature.”
As she listened, Miss Burke-Smythe’s lips parted, and her brown eyes sparkled as if her imagination caught the images he described.
As much as he enjoyed the conversation about poetry, John had a mission for today. He wrenched his thoughts back to what he wanted to discuss with Miss Hamilton. This seemed like a perfect introduction to the difficult topic. “I have nine cowboys who work for me, most of them uneducated. But they like being read to. And I have one boy, my thirteen-year-old godson, who’s lately come into my charge.” He launched into an explanation about Nick. As John told the story of the Sanders’s deaths, he watched Miss Burke-Smythe’s expression softened with sympathy.
She leaned forward, and her fingers moved as if she wanted to reach out to him.
Although Miss Hamilton wore an expression of polite interest, she grew quiet. Her fingers toyed with the locket hanging from a gold chain around her neck. She held herself rigid, pressing back against the seat as if to distance herself from the conversation.
No, John realized. She was trying to escape the pain his revelation of Nick’s circumstances made her feel.
In that moment, John realized he’d been courting the wrong woman. Elizabeth Hamilton’s sadness was still too strong, her pain too raw. If hearing about the Sanders’s accident made her react in such a way, how would she respond to the reality of his grieving godson? The boy was too sensitive not to feel her withdraw around him.
Realizing he’d just lost the focus of his courtship, John floundered to silence. I’ll have to start all over. Frustration spiked through him at the thought of riding through the herd of debutantes, searching for someone special. I cannot delay my return.
Miss Burke-Smythe pressed a hand to her chest. “I feel for the poor boy. To lose his family in such a manner. I remember when my little sister died.” She glanced at Elizabeth, but her friend looked away. “She was three, almost four. We mourned…” her voice hitched, and she swallowed. “Sometimes, I think of Mary and miss her still.”
I, too, lost a younger sister. John’s throat closed on the old pain and guilt. He never spoke of Sarah.
Miss Burke-Smythe’s gaze held compassion. “How long ago did the Sanders’s accident take place?”
“Six months.”
“Not much time at all,” she commented. “You must also be mourning for them.”
“Yes.” One stark word conveyed his strong feelings.
“How is Nick doing?” Miss Burke-Smythe asked.
“He’s quiet, keeps to himself.” John shook his head in dismay.
“Boys aren’t supposed to be quiet!” Miss Burke-Smythe exchanged another glance with her friend.
This time, Miss Hamilton gave a slight nod of agreement and pulled her lips into a faint smile. “We are far too familiar with boys. Between the two of us, having four brothers, pests that they were….”
“And sometimes still are,” Miss Burke-Smythe said with humor.
A reminiscent expression crossed his great-aunt’s face. “I had pesky brothers, too. It’s something about the male species that never changes.” They all laughed, as if relieved to lighten the painful subject.
Miss Burke-Smythe reached as if to touch John’s knee but pulled back her hand. “Tell us more about Nick. What are his interests?”
As if peering through the spyglass that had belonged to a seafaring ancestor, John’s blurry focus became clear. He’d not only spent these last three days with Miss Hamilton, but also with Miss Burke-Smythe. The shy woman’s natural sympathy appealed to him, and he realized that, all along, he’d felt far more comfortable with her than with her more elegant friend.
His first reaction of overwhelming relief was soon tempered by uncertainty. John believed he had something to offer Miss Hamilton—an escape from her painful memories. With several brief glances, he studied the fine fabric of Miss Burke-Smythe’s dress, the gold cross around her neck. She also came from a wealthy family. Why would she want to leave everyone she loved and go live in the West? He struggled to remember her question. Something about Nick’s interests.
“The boy’s good with horses,” he said slowly, pondering his answer. “Has a gentle way with them.” John had to think what else. Nick had dutifully studied his lessons, but he didn’t seem to have a favorite subject in school. “He reads.”
“We have some good bookstores in Boston if you want to purchase a selection of books to take home with you,” Miss Burke-Smythe suggested.
“Good idea…” He’d almost slipped and said her given name, which is how he’d quickly come to think of her, something which had never happened with Miss Hamilton. “May I call you Pamela…” He glanced at her friend. “And Elizabeth?”
Both women smiled and nodded.
His aunt gave him a faint nod, a look of approval in her eyes. “Tell us more about what the boy might like.”
“Music,” he suddenly recalled. “One of my men has an old, battered fiddle. He let Nick play around with it. The boy’s quite gifted. Has even composed a song or two. His parents mentioned they would buy him a violin for Christmas.” John’s voice trailed off, realizing that one of the reasons for that fateful trip to town must have been to order the instrument, and his stomach knotted. He forced himself to continue talking. “Now that I think of it, Nick hasn’t picked up the fiddle since.”
“We have a superb music shop in Boston,” Pamela said, flashing a wide smile. “Instruments and sheets of music. Perhaps you should consider purchasing a violin for him.”
John slapped his leg, delighted with the idea. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“Should we stop by today?” Pamela glanced at Elizabeth. “You’re on good terms with the owner.”
Her friend nodded, seemingly relieved by the change in conversation. “I’m in that shop at least once a month, browsing for new music.”
Instinctively, John knew buying an instrument for Nick was a good decision. Some of the tight anxiety he’d carried around for months eased with the idea of doing something constructive for his godson—something he felt in his gut the boy would respond to. He smiled at the ladies who waited for his answer. “Then that’s settled. Let’s go to the music store and buy Nick a violin.”
* * *
After a day of shopping, the driver of Mrs. Burton’s calèche took them home. Pamela was saddened to have their outing come to an end. John’s appreciation for her advice about Nick had filled her with elation that made her feel more composed and confident in his presence, leading to the most enjoyable time she’d ever spent with a man.
The carriage was filled with parcels, with many more to be delivered in the next few days, and others already sent to Montana Territory. After stopping at the music shop for a violin and sheet music, they’d left Elizabeth to linger over choosing some music for herself, while Mrs. Burton, John, and Pamela had walked to the next building and into the bookstore.
There Pamela had delighted in sharing some of her favorite authors and volumes of poetry with John, as well as guiding him to some books favored by her brothers when they’d been younger. By the time they’d finished, they’d procured enough books to fill a crate. John arranged to ship them to Sweetwater Springs.
“So many presents. This will be the best homecoming.” John glanced back at the pile of books on the counter. “We’ll have enough reading material to keep us occupied for the next several winters.”
Mrs. Burton slipped her hand around her great-nephew’s arm. “The haberdashery next, my dear boy. If Nick’s wardrobe is anything like yours was….”
“Probably worse. He’s been shooting up like a weed and showing bony wrist
s under too-short sleeves.”
At the men’s emporium, they teased John into buying a new suit and several shirts for himself, as well as pants, shirts, a jacket, and undergarments for Nick. With much laughter and guesswork, John selected a new shirt for each of his cowboys. “I’m going to be the most popular boss around for miles,” he joked.
They’d retrieved Elizabeth and next ventured to the shoemaker’s, where John commissioned a pair of shoes and riding boots, as well as shoes and boots for Nick.
As they shopped, Pamela wondered if Nick would take boyish delight in his presents, or if his sadness would overshadow the gifts. Probably a bit of both.
She’d so enjoyed helping John choose his purchases. Even Elizabeth had shaken off her earlier melancholy and joined in their enthusiasm. John had no choice but to be carried along in their wake.
Before heading home, they ended up celebrating their successes at the ice cream shop.
Their driver drew the carriage to a stop between hers and Elizabeth’s houses, both large mansions that flanked each other on the street. Small front gardens led to three-story structures that were far longer than they were wide and contained formal gardens in the back.
John helped the two ladies out of the calèche. He smiled at Pamela, his gaze warm, and pressed her hand.
Her heart fluttered. Was it just her imagination, or had John lingered the slightest bit with her? She waved goodbye to her friend.
Elizabeth caught her arm to halt her. “Come inside with me for a moment.”
Curious, Pamela followed her into the house. The butler greeted them, and a maid took Elizabeth’s parcel of sheet music from her. They crossed the black-and-white tiled floor of the entryway and entered the parlor, where lilies blooming in a crystal vase perfumed the air. A few months ago, Elizabeth had redecorated the room in soothing blues and silver, claiming to want a more fashionable look, but really, Pamela suspected, attempting to erase the painful memories the parlor contained.
She waved Pamela to the sofa and took a seat in her favorite chair. “What do you think of John Carter?”
Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0) Page 4