“Miss LaCroix, what a chance meeting this is,” came a charming voice to her left.
Irie turned and, for a moment, forgot to breathe. There stood the stunning Julian Parish—the fireman who wore three-piece suits from Bond Street in London, stood a head above any crowd, and was awarded a pin last Sunday in church for perfect attendance. Upon more than one occasion, her mother had mentioned what an honorable man he was. And single, too! After he walked out of Lake Erie carrying two children who’d tipped their boat, his wet shirt soaked to his body, she and all the other ladies at the Independence Day Social had experienced a moment of appreciation for his selfless actions.
Save for Mr. Duke Baker himself, there wasn’t a more eligible bachelor in Fort Worth than Julian Parish. His beautiful smile could blindside a girl. If she wasn’t moving to San Francisco, she would entertain her mother’s wishful matchmaking. Something about him made her feel utterly, utterly feminine.
“How do you do, Mr. Parish?” she said with a smile.
His heavily lashed gray eyes took on a merry glint. “Very well, now that I see you.” He drew her to the side of the elevator. “I intended to speak to you Sunday, but…” Redness crept from under the collar of his white shirt and rose to his well-sculpted cheeks. He clenched the brim of his black Stetson with both hands. “Would, uhh, would you be interested in having dinner with me tonight at the Westbrook?”
Her heart warmed at her first dinner invitation since returning to Fort Worth. And to the new hotel to boot! If he knew about her past (considering the gossips, how could he not?), he clearly didn’t care. But tonight? She grimaced. She had to discuss The Twelve with Duke.
“I can’t.”
His shoulders drooped. “Sorry to have bothered you. Good day.”
She grabbed his arm, stopping him from leaving. “I meant I can’t tonight.” Oh, why not. I’m stuck here for another month. “I would be delighted to have lunch with you tomorrow.”
For a moment she thought he was about to swoop his hat into the air. “Excellent. Noon?”
“Eleven?”
“Even better.” With another blinding smile, he offered her his arm. “Here, let me walk you to the trolley.”
As they walked out of the bank lobby, with Mr. Parish chatting up a storm, Irie counted the number of female gazes turned their way, their attention, she knew, not on her chic albeit simple costume. Who knows, perhaps a spontaneous lunch date would lead to a forever love. Who was to say she couldn’t open her cooking school here in Fort Worth.
She gave him a once-over.
She could certainly do worse than Julian Parish.
Chapter 4
Four days later
The setting sun painted an array of pinks and oranges she would have found romantic at any other time. Not tonight. Irie stared wide-eyed at the back of Duke’s perfectly tailored suit coat. Why had she never seen his flaws before? They were myriad. Why was she still helping him, even after vowing to stop every day since meeting with Mr. Baker?
Fifty thousand reasons why.
She slapped her file down on the whitewashed gazebo bench. “Fillies? Really, Duke? They aren’t horses.”
Duke continued to watch his daughter toss what looked to be—from what Irie could see through the roses growing on the gazebo—flower petals into the pond. “I believe I said if they were fillies, they would all be thoroughbreds. A metaphor, not an insult. Dad chose well.”
“First of all,” Irie instructed, “you will always refer to them as ladies, metaphorically or otherwise. Second, when you are in a conversation with a lady, you will speak to her face-to-face, because doing so says to her you are interested in the conversation. Ladies like that.” Including me. She waited.
He didn’t turn around.
Irie tapped her fingers on the file. Whatever Duke was putting into this courting, it wasn’t his heart. Most of their discussion tonight was spent with him watching Tabitha run about the yard.
Something consumed his thoughts. She’d wager it wasn’t The Twelve. After having spent the last four evenings quizzing him on the information Mrs. Norris had compiled on The Twelve and their families, she was tired and wanted nothing more than to shed her white blouse, gray linen skirt, and stockings for a soak in a warm bath. Baking pies for tomorrow’s charity auction would have to wait until morning. Maybe she would bake an extra one for Mr. Parish and take it to the fire station along with her acceptance of his invitation to attend the opera tomorrow night.
Pro: He was an honorable deputy, as good looking as most men.
Pro: He looked at her when they spoke.
Pro: He wasn’t Duke.
Con: He wasn’t Duke.
Irie sighed. Time and distance were what she—what her heart—needed.
She scooped up her file. “We should call it a night.”
As she approached the gazebo step, Duke spoke in a soft voice. “Why do girls kiss frogs?”
She jolted to a stop.
He turned to face her, leaning back against a gazebo beam. Her breath caught. For a moment all she could do was stare because his heavily lashed blue eyes were focused on hers, looking for what, she couldn’t imagine nor would she have the courage to ask. A wrinkle deepened between his brows. Two feet separated them. She couldn’t remember a time they’d stood this close and actually talked to each other. He smelled of peppercorn and leather, his cologne taking her back to the days when he tutored her in algebra. Her toes itched to move forward, to move closer. None of The Twelve would love him like she would—
Stop. Stop this now. These feelings—this pathetic desire—for him, she refused to let it control her. Not again.
She’d agreed to help him find a wife. She wasn’t one of his choices.
She would never be his choice.
Irie gave him a confused look to hide the tumult inside. “Why do you ask?”
“Tabitha has been kissing the frogs in the pond,” he groused.
She covered her mouth with the folder to hide a smile while she gained control over the brimming laughter. Duke clearly didn’t find this humorous.
“She says it’s how you find a prince,” he added. “Her imaginary friend Misery gave her the idea.”
No, it’d come from the fairy tale book Irie had been reading to her.
A five-year-old kissing frogs was as ridiculous as an eighteen-year-old doing it. Love made a girl do stupid things. So did unrequited love. And when the girl woke up to see the prince wasn’t so charming after all, she realized how stupid she’d been pinning all her hopes and dreams and plans on the happily-ever-after. The embarrassing truth of it all hurt and made her fear—after eight years of being alone—she would never find real love.
“Duke, has it never dawned on you that your daughter’s imaginary friend is a real person?”
He gave her a blank look. Then his eyes widened. “Misery—she’s you. Miss Irie. Well then, Misery, tell me what women think.”
Her heart pounded, pulse raced. She didn’t have to answer Duke. She could walk away. But by the way he looked at her, she knew he needed an answer.
Maybe she needed to be the one to tell him.
Unable to bear his scrutiny, she looked to where Tabitha sat on the plush green lawn removing her shoes and stockings. “I think God made girls to yearn for romance more than boys do, although I’m not sure why. We want the perfect prince. We want the happily-ever-after. We want—” To be seen.
Duke waited for her to finish.
Her eyes were shiny, her chin trembled, and all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and tell her it would be all right. But the sun was setting. Even though she wasn’t dolled up as she had been that day in his office, the sunset added a glow to her expressive face.
She drew in a breath. Her voice held a renewed strength. “You men don’t realize the power you have over us. Nothing—nothing can make us feel more joy, passion, doubt, and insecurity than a man. We kiss frogs because we want to believe falling in love is the answer to our
problems. Life will now be wonderful because we found someone to take care of us.”
“Is that why you married the salesman?”
Her lips tightened at the corners. “Yes.”
“If my parents hadn’t removed you from him, would you have stayed?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He wanted to ask more. He wanted to know the reason for her divorce that no one had ever shared, the reason he hadn’t cared to know until now. But she turned to where he could only see her exquisite profile. She was hurting, and he was to blame. He’d married Janet, and all had been well in his world until she died. True loves weren’t supposed to die young. His did. He wasn’t enjoying a happily-ever-after any more than Irie was.
“Duke,” she blurted, “you need to consider the ladies’ feelings.”
“I am.”
“Really?” She nodded to his left hand. “No woman wants to feel like she’s competing with the memory of a dead wife.”
He slid the silver band off his finger. “There.” He pocketed it and ignored how odd his hand felt.
She sighed. “Remember not to act like you still wear it around your heart.”
Her words weren’t intended to hurt. Irie had not a mean bone in her body, but Duke hurt. The ring weighed him down. Figuratively. Emotionally. He didn’t want a woman to replace Janet in his heart, but maybe he did need one to fill the empty places, to remind him how to love and be loved. Time had come for him to pack his wedding ring away with the rest of the treasures he’d saved for Tabitha to someday have.
He pushed off the gazebo support beam. “I don’t want Tabitha knowing why The Twelve are here. I want to protect her from this circus.”
Irie’s gaze flew to his. “She is bound to overhear something.”
This was why Tabitha needed a mother—to have someone think of the things a father didn’t.
“Duke, you need to be the one to tell her.”
She was right; he knew it. “You’re going to make my life miserable until I do.”
The left corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“All right. Tabitha, come here.” Duke grabbed Irie’s wrist as she started to leave the gazebo. “Oh no, you’re not fleeing this ball, Cinderella. You are my Moral Support.”
Irie grumbled under her breath, and Duke grinned. He liked her lack of pretense. He nudged her to sit next to him on the gazebo step as Tabitha stopped before them. All the running had reddened her cheeks. More hair was out of braids than in. She smelled of sweat, pond water, and childhood fun.
“Yes, Daddy?”
Duke loosened his tie and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We are having a house party for a few weeks.”
Her face brightened. “Will any children be here?”
His mind went blank. He couldn’t remember reading that any of The Twelve would have younger siblings joining them. He should have studied the information in the folders, or at least paid more attention to Irie’s four nights of discourse. The number of awards some Austin socialite earned playing the violin didn’t interest him, not like Irie did. Looking at her made him remember how he’d felt seeing her in that blue dress. Remembering then led his mind into wondering. The only way to keep him from wondering things he shouldn’t be wondering about Irie was to not look at her.
He sat up straight. “Children? Uhh, there may—”
“No,” Irie put in. “Only adults will be visiting. All ladies.”
Tabitha promptly responded with, “Why are they coming?”
“For the Harvest—” Duke grunted at the elbow housed in his side. “It’s time I married again. You need a mother.”
Irie grasped Tabitha’s hands. “Your grandfather has selected twelve delightful women for your daddy to meet,” she said in a tone reminding him of his own mother. “After he does, he will choose the one he favors most.”
Tabitha’s face showed no emotion, which surprised Duke.
Irie let go of Tabitha’s hands.
Tabitha lifted one grass-stained foot then the other. She plucked a rose off the gazebo trellis. Then she looked at him with a toothy smile so much like Janet’s. “All right.”
“All right?” he and Irie said in unison.
Tabitha nodded. “I’d like to have a mother. Can I have ice cream?”
“We have ice cream?” Duke exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” In one fell swoop, he grabbed her waist, stood, and flung her over his shoulder, which sent her into a fit of giggles as he expected.
“Daddy, stop,” she said between squeals.
He shifted her onto his back, and she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Duke stretched a hand out to Irie. “You don’t think I’d eat ice cream and leave my Conscience behind.”
For a second, he thought he saw panic in her eyes. She had no reason not to want to continue the evening with them. They were all like family.
Her brow furrowed then smoothed again. She placed her hand in his. “I thought I was Moral Support.”
He pulled her to her feet. He should have released her hand, but something in her smile made him want to keep her close. While he wasn’t ready to let go, she did.
Tabitha squeezed his neck. “Ice cream!”
“Of course, of course.”
The next afternoon
“How was the charity auction, dear? Did your pies sell for much?”
Irie leaned back against the Pink Room’s damask-papered wall as her mother ensured the bulb in the bedside lamp worked. It did. Everything in the mansion was in working order because Guadalupe LaCroix—the daughter of impoverished Mexican immigrants—had been raised to do more than she was asked. To work as if she was serving the Lord.
Mama pulled the chain to turn off the Tiffany lamp Irie had helped Mrs. Baker order years ago. The gracious lady never saw the extravagant Quality Hill home her beloved husband had built for her. Polio ensured it. Yet Mama had ensured Mrs. Baker’s decorations were hung and placed in the rooms she’d chosen before her passing.
“Mama, why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
A curve appeared on Mama’s lips, a sparkle in her dark eyes. “You’re wearing the Irish lace gown you save for special days, and you are smiling. Thus, I know you were hoping to see him and he fulfilled the hope. You like our handsome fireman. How many of your pies did he buy?” Mama claimed her clipboard from off the bed. As she walked to the bathroom en suite, she withdrew a pencil from the pocket of the apron she wore over her black dress. She wrote something on the top page. “Well?” she prodded from inside the bathroom.
“He only bought one, and there isn’t a female in Tarrant County—married or single—who doesn’t like him.” Irie chuckled. “If you combined all of Jane Austen’s heroes into one man, Julian Parish would be him. I’m convinced he has no flaws.”
“He will make me beautiful grandbabies,” Mama called out.
“Mama!” Mortified, Irie closed the door to the bedroom lest one of the maids on the third floor walk by and hear their conversation.
Mama exited the bathroom, walking directly to Irie, her expression filled with delight and hope. “Tell me you agreed to go to the opera with him tonight.”
Irie’s amusement died. “I did.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I do like Julian. I do. It’s just—” She gave her head a little shake. She was making falling in love harder than it had to be.
Mama ran the back of her fingers down Irie’s cheek. “But he isn’t the man you wish to be going to the opera with.”
Ah, the heart of her problem. For a woman with just six years of schoolroom education, Mama was quite smart. “When I am with Julian, I enjoy our time together. He is a man with strong moral qualities. We have common interests, shared values, and similar tastes. When we talk—and he is not shy about talking—I feel like we understand each other.” She sighed. “He’s almost too beautiful to look at.”
“But Duke.”
“
Yes, but Duke.”
“Your feelings for him cloud your heart and your judgment.”
Irie raised her brows, nodding at Mama’s understatement. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. He was so oblivious to her; it had never crossed his mind his daughter’s not-so-imaginary friend, Misery, had been her. Miss Irie. Not until she told him.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“You look like it.”
“I feel like it,” Irie said with another sigh. “Oh, Mama, I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I’ve pleaded with God, yet the feelings remain. I need to escape Fort Worth.”
Mama drew Irie close. “I told Mr. Baker not to involve you. He refused to listen. If he knew how you felt about his son—”
“Please,” Irie begged, “don’t tell him. I couldn’t bear the mortification of him knowing. If Duke doesn’t choose one of The Twelve, Mr. Baker may think I sabotaged the courtship out of jealousy.”
This time Mama sighed. “I will say nothing, but if you truly want your feelings for Duke to end, you need to be open to falling in love with our handsome fireman.”
“I will. I am,” she corrected.
“Good.” Mama kissed her forehead. “A man like Julian Parish will give my baby a reason not to leave her mama.”
Irie drew back. “I thought you wanted to move to San Francisco with me.”
“Fort Worth is my home.”
“But you wouldn’t have to work again. We could have a future together.”
“Contrary to what you believe, my life did not stop when you left for Boston. I have a life here I don’t want to leave.”
“Like what?”
Mama’s look signaled the end of the conversation. She opened the guest room door. “I must get back to work, and you need to change into an even prettier gown. Shoo, Irie. You have a fireman to catch.”
Irie watched Mama exit the Pink Room and turn down the hall to the Gold Room. The news her mother didn’t want to leave Fort Worth stunned her. Mama kept house for the Bakers. She attended church and her knitting club. What life could she have here that Irie didn’t know about? Mama was keeping something from her. Had to be.
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 48