“After breakfast this morning, Mr. Baker asked for my permission to marry Mama. He will propose tomorrow night at the cotillion, and she will say yes. They glow when they talk about each other.” Her gaze shifted to the Exchange building then she took a step closer to him, lowering her voice. “The twelve of us girls know how you glow when you talk about Irie. You’re not interested in any of us. Why don’t you marry her? I can tell she’s in love with you.”
Duke nearly reeled from shock. Irie in love with him? If that was true, he would have noticed. Oh, who was he fooling? He hadn’t even noticed his own father’s interest in Mrs. Rayburn. His father had been right: seeing and noticing weren’t the same thing. The awkwardness he’d sensed in Irie when they first began discussing The Twelve made sense. Images of things she had done and said flittered through his mind. His chest clenched, tightened. She did love him. He was a turkey for not noticing.
“She’s leaving next week for San Francisco,” he murmured.
Eliza nodded. “To start a future without you.”
Without him.
He felt out of breath. She had a future without him.
Which meant he had a future without her to be there to whisper in his ear a name he’d forgotten, or to have tea parties in the garden with Tabitha, or be the one every employee in his home went to when they needed help. She had even taught his chauffeur how to bake a cake. Since her return from Boston, she’d grown to be such a part of the household; he couldn’t imagine her not here. She was the closest friend he had. He needed her. He relied on her—he liked being able to rely on her. She loved him.
His heart pounded. He loved her. When it started, he had no idea.
If he was going to marry anyone, it should be her.
“Have you figured out you love her, too?” prodded Eliza. “Oh! Better hold the thought—” She grabbed his arm and turned him to the right.
There strolled Irie, in the alluring blue dress, her arm looped around Julian Parish’s, her gaze intent on her escort. Duke narrowed his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Parish looked at Irie in a way no man should look at a woman not his wife, certainly not at the woman Duke intended on marrying. Why was Irie’s smile so bright? She loved him—Duke, unless… Dread filled his belly. Irie and Parish were courting. And why not? He’d been courting The Twelve. Like a blind fool, he’d been courting The Twelve instead of the one God had given him to love.
He slapped his Stetson back on his head. He wasn’t about to lose Irie to Parish.
Eliza waved frantically. “Irie,” she yelled, “what a surprise!”
Irie’s head jerked toward them. Her beautiful eyes widened, and the color in her cheeks paled as if she were a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar.
Duke knew, for the first time ever, she wasn’t happy to see him. Didn’t Parish have a fiancée? He could have sworn the man was engaged. Or had been. With his jaw clamped in a vise, he watched as she and Julian Parish neared.
Eliza eased closer and whispered, “I’ll distract the fireman. This is your moment, soon-to-be-brother-of-mine. She may not be in love with Parish yet, but if they keep courting like they’ve been…” She sighed. “Don’t be a turkey and drown.”
“I have this all under control.”
This was all Eliza’s doing.
Irie kept her hand light on Julian’s arm lest he sense her tension. Why did she feel guilty? She had nothing to feel guilty about. She’d done nothing wrong. She wasn’t beholden to Duke.
They stopped next to Duke and Eliza, whose eyelids fluttered.
Irie kept her gaze on Eliza as Duke made introductions.
Eliza gave Duke’s arm a playful slap. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’ve met Mr. Parish before,” she said in a coy tone. Her lashes fluttered again.
Julian looked confused yet had the good grace not to contradict a lady. “What brings you two to the stockyards?” he said, more to Duke.
“Lunch,” Duke answered. “We have reservations—”
Eliza gasped. “Mr. Parish, you don’t believe we’ve met! Pardon me, Irie.” She stepped in between Irie and Julian, grabbing his arm, pulling. “Follow me, and I’ll show you exactly where we first met. Last June. This’ll take but a moment.”
Julian allowed Eliza to drag him away, but not without an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
Irie twisted her gloved hands together, her gaze on the departing pair. She had nothing to say. Certainly wasn’t going to apologize. From what she could see out of the corner of her eye, Duke seemed stiff, jaw tight. The last time she’d seen him this way he had defended her against his father’s reproach.
“When did you two start courting?” he ground out.
She stayed focused on Eliza leading Julian through the maze of cattle pens. “I hardly think that’s any of your business.”
“It’s not?” he demanded.
“No, it’s not,” she said, sweeter than she felt. She kept her voice lower than the nearby cattlemen bartering deals. “I’m not one of your twelve cattle to choose from, Duke. I have a life outside of yours.”
“You don’t have to.”
Something in his voice—pain, maybe—caused her to turn.
Duke was staring at her with an almost pleading expression. “If you’re going to marry someone, marry me.”
“What?” He couldn’t be serious.
He removed his Stetson and knelt before her. “Irie LaCroix, will you marry me?”
Irie glanced at the dozen or so nearby cattlemen now silent and watching them. Duke reached for her hand, and she took a step back. “No.”
“What?”
“I said no.”
He stood and dusted his knee with his hat. “Why not? It makes sense if you think about it. Our lives wouldn’t have to change. We can keep going as we’ve been.”
Irie stared at him. Stared. This was not the proposal she’d yearned twelve years to hear. Maybe he wasn’t the man she wanted to hear it from anymore. She had options. She didn’t have to settle. She was worth more than an ‘If you’re going to marry someone, marry me,’ and that’s what she wanted.
“I want more,” she whispered.
His eyebrows rose. “More?”
Irie drew in a deep breath. “I want a man who invests in me, not spends money on me in expectation I’ll do his bidding. I want one who views me as a helpmate, not a slave. I want a man who believes I am a gift from God to him, not that I’m lucky to have him.” Her voice tightened. “The first time I married was for the wrong reason—because I was desperate to be loved. The next time I marry it will be because I know I am loved. As Christ loved the Church and willingly sacrificed Himself—His wants, His desires—for her. That’s the type of man I can honor and respect. That’s the type of man I will say yes to.”
Duke opened his mouth.
“Shh.” She took a step closer until they were a hand’s breadth apart, lowering her voice. “You once asked me why girls kiss frogs. It’s because we believe in the power of love, and if a man loves us enough to change, then it’s a magical thing. But—” Without speaking or thinking about the eyes watching, she closed the gap between them, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him. She kissed him as she’d dreamed for the last dozen years. She kissed him not to keep the taste of his lips on hers forever, but long enough to let go of the foolish girl she’d been. She kissed him to prove her point.
The moment his hands clenched her waist and his lips became possessive, she drew back. “Nothing’s changed, Duke. The truth is, no woman can change a man. Not with a kiss. Not with love. Not with persistence. That’s only something God can do because the man has a willing heart.”
His expression turned to stone. He stared at her as if he was at a loss for words, which she, for once, quite appreciated.
“Good-bye, Duke,” she whispered. Her heart didn’t ache as much as she’d expected.
With her head held high and without a backward glance, Irie left him standing on the dirt road separating the cattle pens from the Exchange building.
Automobiles and horse-drawn buggies passed by, continuing on their journeys despite the oddity of a lady walking alone down the avenue toward the trolley stop. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d shed enough tears over him.
Julian would find her before she stepped onto the trolley. If he didn’t, that would be all right, too. It had taken her twelve years to go from being a young girl experiencing first love, to a whirlwind romance with an abusive man who used flattery and money to lure her in, to a godly man who treated her with gentlemanliness. Neither childish infatuation nor blind belief in a “soul mate” was true love. Who knew if she had a future with Julian? What she did know was he deserved to be loved.
And she did, too.
Chapter 8
Day of the Harvest Cotillion
Baker House garden
This is the last one.” Irie handed Tabitha a shortbread cookie, which the girl snatched and dunked in the last bit of milk in her china teacup. She turned to her mother, who was enjoying an hour’s break from cotillion preparations. “Would you like one, too?”
Mama shook her head before taking another sip of coffee.
A cool midafternoon breeze blew a leaf onto the table. Autumn was upon them. Soon it would be winter.
As they sat at the cast-iron table Irie had moved into the gazebo for her tea parties with Tabitha, Irie looked at the rose vines growing on the trellis and circling the octagon-shaped structure. Help the Bakers, then leave. Three weeks ago it had been a simple plan. Now? She had the money Mr. Baker had agreed to. She didn’t need to go to San Francisco for her heart to heal.
It had already begun.
She could open a cooking school here. She had endorsements from twelve prestigious families, well, thirteen including Mr. Baker’s. Eliza and Linny had found a building down on Commerce Street for her to rent, two blocks from the Natatorium, where she could take an apartment. Nothing stood in the way of her happiness, except her indecisiveness about Julian.
Tabitha laid her napkin on the table. “Misery, can I go see my frogs?”
Irie took her own napkin and wiped Tabitha’s milk-and-cookie-crusted mouth. “Off with you, but no more kissing.” She folded the napkin and laid it in the lap of her simple gray skirt.
“I won’t. Promise.” Tabitha scrambled out of her chair and across the gazebo’s planked floor.
“You’re good for her,” Mama said.
“You think I should have said yes to Duke for Tabitha’s sake?”
“What I think is my baby is all grown up.” With a sigh, Mama placed her cup in the saucer. “I’ve accepted Mr. Joe Leonard’s marriage proposal.”
“The grocer? The one who sits behind us at church?”
Mama actually rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to sound so shocked.”
Irie slapped her hand down on the table. “Mama! Can you blame me? I just found out my forty-nine-year-old mother has had a suitor for who knows how long, and I don’t find out about it until after he proposes.”
“He proposed a week before you returned from Boston.”
Four months ago! Irie gulped the last of her lukewarm coffee. She put the cup down and rested her hands in her lap. With more calm than she felt, she managed to say, “How long have you and Mr. Leonard been courting?”
“Eleven months.” Mama touched Irie’s hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you were ready to hear it, and you needed the hope of us having a life in San Francisco. You needed to hope for something besides Duke.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I want my happily-ever-after. As much as I love you, I don’t want to leave my life here.”
“You could have remarried years ago.”
“Yes, but I never found a man I wanted to change my life for, until Joe.” Mama’s grip tightened around Irie’s hand. “Is Julian Parish that kind of man for you?”
Irie paused. Would she give up her plans for a life with Julian? After many hours in Bible study and prayer, she’d had no answer, but now it seemed clear. Julian was a good man, despite his own share of relationship wounds. As hard as she’d tried to fall in love, she hadn’t been able to see him as more than a friend, because she hadn’t been courting him for the right reason. Duke would always be her first love. He didn’t have to be her last. And it was all right if Julian wasn’t her second.
Irie nipped her bottom lip as realization grew. She smiled. “I wouldn’t change my plans for Julian, but I will change my plans. I love Fort Worth. I love being able to see my mother whenever I want.”
Mama gasped. “You aren’t leaving?”
“I’m staying for you and for me.” Irie winked. “Besides as the daughter of the bride, I have a wedding to plan.”
Duke walked Linny Cartwright onto the ballroom floor for the first dance. As they waltzed in time to the music, Irie was nowhere to be seen.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. His tuxedo had too many layers. His shoe-clad feet missed his broken-in boots. Over a hundred people filled the ballroom, stuffy despite the open windows. Talkative mothers. Proud fathers. Doting couples. Bachelors on the hunt and young women looking to be swept off their feet. With all the music and talking, he wanted nothing more than to sit in a far corner, away from all the attention. He would have chosen not to dance at all, were it not for Linny putting him on the spot this morning.
Duke focused his attention on the young woman waltzing with him. Like Eliza, the dainty redhead in her virginal white gown no longer wore the “When You Want to Be Kissed” perfume. She smelled of gardenias and had a look of serenity, like a garden fairy from one of Tabitha’s books. She was opposite Eliza Rayburn in every possible way.
“Delightful evening, isn’t it?” he said to fill the awkward silence between them.
“Oh yes,” she said in her soft-spoken voice. She smiled. “No lady yearns to be proposed to while she’s standing next to a pile of manure.”
Duke stumbled but quickly recovered his steps. “What?”
Linny and her smile remained unfazed. “I said, no lady desires to be proposed to while she’s on a date with another man.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
“I am honored by your attentiveness.”
Duke felt his jaw set in an angry line. He hadn’t come to the cotillion to be condescended to, especially by one of The Twelve. “If you wanted to lecture me, why rope me into dancing with you?”
She blinked, yet her expression remained as tranquil as ever. “Where else would I have your undivided attention?” Her fingers tightened around his. “As I said, no lady dreams of being proposed to by a man who has not properly courted her. If you’d had it all under control, Duke Baker, you wouldn’t have butchered the proposal.”
“Ahh. You’ve been talking to Eliza.” He glanced around the room. “Where is she?”
“Calf-roping, I believe.”
“Calf-roping? At this time of night?”
Linny nodded, and petals from the white gardenias in her hair fluttered to her shoulder. “Her actions stem from our desire to help you and Irie. You’re a good man, Duke Baker. You merely are not the man I want to marry. As is the case with my new friend Eliza, I am helping you because doing so benefits me. My mother will believe my very-soon-to-be devastation stemming from your rejection, and she will insist upon a European holiday, the very trip she’s refused to take me on for nine years.” Her melodic voice sped up as the music began to wind down. “Fortunately for you, Eliza and I are here to save your sorry hide. Women like grand romantic gestures. If you wish to repair what you’ve destroyed with Irie, you will think of something.”
“Julian Parish is courting her.”
“Oh yes, the handsome fireman.” She sighed, smiling still. The music stopped, and she stepped out of his hold. “Oh, the tangled webs we weave…. Alas, he is unable to attend the cotillion. Now get to work, cowboy.” She broke into tears and fled the ballroom with a swirl of white skirts. Her mother pushed through the crowd to run after her.
The r
oom silenced, the floor emptied.
Realizing the number of gazes on him, Duke adjusted his sleeves. He squared his shoulders, headed to the refreshment table near the entrance, and grabbed the first crystal cup he could reach. He downed the slushy peach liquid. Despite the sweetness, he drank another. Not the most enjoyable way to begin the evening.
“You aren’t looking well,” Dad said, walking up to him. He stopped next to Duke, who set the empty cup on the end of the table, next to a dozen other used cups.
“I’m not feeling well.”
“What did you say to Linny?”
“Enough.”
As the music began for another dance, Dad grabbed Duke’s elbow and pulled him off to an empty, shadowed corner. “Son, I love you, and I wasn’t going to marry Alice Rayburn until you were settled. What you do with your life is your decision. I’ve decided not to put my life on hold anymore. I’m marrying Alice at the end of the month and will live at her house.”
“Isn’t that quick?”
“At our ages, we see no reason for a lengthy engagement or grand wedding. You can stay here with Tabitha.” He paused. “Also, Mrs. LaCroix has accepted Joe Leonard’s proposal.”
“The grocer?”
“They attend the same church.”
Duke gave his head a little shake. He hadn’t known Irie’s mother was being courted by anyone. Not to say Leonard wasn’t an upright citizen. “Does Irie know?”
“Yes.” Dad’s gaze shifted from him to the crowded ballroom, likely looking for his intended. “Mrs. LaCroix is stepping down as housekeeper after Alice and I marry.” Duke stared absently at the wall behind his father. With Mrs. LaCroix not working at Baker House, Irie had no reason to come back to the house to visit.
Dad clenched Duke’s arm. “I am sorry I put you through this rigmarole of a courtship. Tell me there’s at least one of The Twelve you could consider marrying.”
“I love Irie.”
Dad’s eyes widened as quickly as his mouth gaped and his grip lowered.
“You don’t have to look so shocked,” Duke said grimly. “I do still have a heart.”
The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons Page 51