LEIGH
GREENWOOD
Texas Loving
Finding Paradise
“If anyone here has a right to be angry, I do,” Edward declared. “I’m not the one who divulged a secret that had been kept for a quarter of a century.”
“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” Eden insisted. “You were miserable. Your father was forcing you into a marriage you didn’t want and making you feel responsible for Worlege, all in the name of duty. I figured if you knew you weren’t really his son, you wouldn’t feel duty bound to do everything he wanted. I had no idea you’d disappear.”
“What did you think I’d do?” Did she have no idea what she’d done, how it had affected him? “Did you think I’m the kind of man who would cling to a title that wasn’t mine? Did you think I could live with myself knowing I’d cheated Patrick of his birthright?”
Eden bit her lip. “I didn’t think of that at all. I was just thinking of you. I never said…” She turned her back to him. “I wouldn’t have said a word if I’d thought anything like this would happen.”
Edward didn’t know what got into him, but the next thing he knew, he’d taken Eden in his arms and was kissing her.
Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Finding Paradise
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Davenport Family Genealogy
Maxwell Family Genealogy
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Copyright
Chapter One
Texas Hill Country, 1889
It would have been difficult to ignore the rider if he had been riding through the streets of San Antonio or Galveston. That he should be riding up to the Broken Circle Ranch made his appearance even more surprising . . . and intriguing. He was ancient. Well, maybe not exactly ancient, but certainly too old to be riding a horse alone through the Texas Hill Country on a horse at least two hands taller than the average cow pony. But it wasn’t the size of the horse or even the age of the man that drew Eden Maxwell’s attention. It was his clothes. Used to men who dressed in scuffed boots, Levi’s, a cotton shirt and vest, and a battered Stetson hat, she wasn’t prepared to see a horseman who wore a coat with tails, a white shirt and a tie when riding a horse. He was actually wearing a top hat. She had seen such hats in pictures, but she’d never seen one on a man’s head. The man’s pants were skin-tight and pale tan. Even at a distance, she could see the light reflected off the high gloss of his boots. Set against a background of scantly forested hills and rocky outcroppings, he looked like a character out of a storybook.
Eden’s first instinct was to rush inside and tell her mother, but Isabelle was visiting Luke’s wife, Valeria, who had given birth to Valentine six weeks ago. Pete’s wife, Anne, had presented him with twin boys, Kane and Kent, only last week. Now everyone was awaiting the birth of Will and Idalou’s second child. Jake, Eden’s father, said the county was turning into a big nursery.
“Who is that man?” Junie Mae had come out on the porch to bring Eden some lemonade. It was a warm afternoon and the cool drink was welcome.
Eden’s parents had given Junie Mae refuge when she found herself pregnant without a husband. Though several men had shown an interest in courting the beautiful young woman, she had been content to stay at the ranch, cooking and taking care of the house. Isabelle was delighted because it gave her more time to visit her grandchildren.
“I don’t know.” Eden looked to see if Scotty had followed his mother before remembering he’d begged to accompany Isabelle. Junie Mae’s son was best friends with Will and Idalou’s son, Riley. The boys played together whenever they could.
“Do you think he’s coming here?” Junie Mae asked. “I mean, dressed the way he is, maybe he’s lost.”
That thought had occurred to Eden, but the rider didn’t look like a man who would get lost. It wasn’t just the horse or the clothes. It was the way he rode, tall and straight in the saddle despite his age, the way his gaze seemed to miss nothing of the countryside as he passed. No, he wasn’t lost, but Eden had no idea what he could want with anybody on the ranch. Or the surrounding ranches of her brothers and sister.
“Do we have any lemonade to offer him if he wants to stay to talk to Mama or Dad?” Eden couldn’t imagine what this dandified old codger would possibly have to say to her cowboy father.
“Your father won’t be back for hours,” Junie Mae said, “and when your mother gets near a baby, she loses all sense of time.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to entertain him.” Eden glanced back at the man, who was now less than a hundred yards from the house. “I get the feeling he might be a lively old gentleman who’d appreciate the company of two young women.”
Junie Mae giggled. “He looks old enough to be your grandfather.”
Eden’s smile faded. Except for a brief visit to her father’s mother in Santa Fe, she’d never known her grandparents. “He shouldn’t be out here by himself. It could be dangerous.”
“Do you think he’ll want to stay overnight?”
“From the size of his saddlebags, it looks like he’s planning to stay for weeks.”
Eden was looking forward to meeting this man. Maybe it was that he represented something new and different. Maybe she was a trifle bored with her life now that she was out of college. For the past year she’d attempted to stuff some of her acquired knowledge into the heads of nearly two dozen children, many of them nieces and nephews, who’d rather be riding pell-mell over the countryside or swimming in a river than sitting in a schoolroom. She was proud to be a schoolteacher like her mother had once been, but something was missing. She just hadn’t figured out what it was.
“I’d better get the guest room ready.”
Eden put a hand out to stop Junie Mae. “There’s no point in putting on fresh sheets until we know they’ll be used.” The man was looking at her with intense interest even though he was still fifty yards away. When he finally came to a stop at the foot of the steps, his face relaxed into a broad smile. Age had been kind to him. It was easy to see he’d once been a handsome man.
“Welcome to the Broken Circle Ranch,” Eden said. “I’m Eden Maxwell. If you’ll tell me who you’re looking for, maybe I can help you find them.”
The man’s smile grew broader even though he looked tired and a little sad. “I’ve found who I’m looking for.”
“How do you know?”
“You look just like your grandmother did the first time I saw her fifty years ago.”
Eden had spent the last two hours answering so many questions about life at the ranch that she was tired and a little edgy. No detail seemed too small to be interesting. The man said his name was Alastair Davenport, that he was from England, and that he was a relative of her mother. Beyond that he wouldn’t say anything, preferring to wait until Isabel
le came home. He was clearly disappointed Eden didn’t know much about her great-aunt Deirdre, who’d died before she was born. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard her mother enter the kitchen.
“I apologize for being away from home when you arrived,” Isabelle said when she’d been introduced to the visitor. “I was visiting my newest grandbabies.”
Isabelle didn’t sit down until she was certain her visitor had been well taken care of. They were in the front parlor, a retreat for the adults when the families converged on the ranch for their periodic get-togethers. The sofas were dark brown leather, the chairs covered in bright florals, the walls hung with pictures of the family, and the floors softened by hand-braided rugs that could be washed when they got muddy. Isabelle refused to have a room that wasn’t made to live in.
“Your lovely daughter has been telling me about the family you’ve made,” Mr. Davenport said. “Now I’m going to tell you something about the family you come from.”
“Aunt Deirdre would never talk about them,” Isabelle said. “She said there was some sort of scandal.”
“There was no scandal,” Mr. Davenport said. “Deirdre made certain of that.”
“Oh?”
“Deirdre didn’t exactly tell you the truth,” Mr. Davenport said to Isabelle. “She wasn’t your aunt. She was your mother.”
“That can’t be true,” Isabelle said. “She told me—”
Mr. Davenport held up his hand to stop her. “She fell in love with the younger brother of the Earl of Southampton. About the time she became pregnant with you, the earl died. The younger brother succeeded to the title and wanted to marry her, but she said she wasn’t a suitable wife for an earl. Despite the new earl’s pleading, despite his wish to give up his title, she moved to America, where she gave birth to a daughter. Where she gave birth to you.”
If anyone else had told such a fantastic tale, Eden wouldn’t have believed it, but there was an earnestness about Mr. Davenport that didn’t allow disbelief.
Isabelle sat up ramrod straight in her chair. “Are you saying I’m illegitimate?” she asked, fire in her eyes.
“I’m saying you’re the daughter of the Earl of Southampton,” Mr. Davenport stated, his eyes glistening with moisture. “I’m saying you’re my daughter.”
For the first time in her life, Isabelle Davenport Maxwell fainted.
“Are you sure you and Scotty wouldn’t be happier staying with Will and Idalou?” Isabelle asked Junie Mae. “It’ll be awfully lonely when we’re gone.”
“Idalou has enough on her hands with the new baby,” Junie Mae said.
Isabelle Haskins, “Belle” to the family, had been born eight days ago. With no more births imminent, Isabelle had accepted the earl’s invitation for her, Jake, and Eden to spend the summer in England. He said he was an old man and wanted to get to know his only child and only grandchild before he died.
Eden practically trembled from excitement. The little she knew about society and London made her curious to learn more. She loved the Broken Circle Ranch and Texas, but she wondered what it was like to live in the middle of the largest city in the world. Isabelle had almost refused because she said she and Eden didn’t have anything suitable to wear. The earl said they could take care of that after they reached London. Jake had balked when he found out he would be expected to dress in a tie and tails for dinner. Only the prospect of being separated from Isabelle for four months had convinced him to change his mind, though he stated that he intended to eat in the kitchen with people who dressed sensibly. He wasn’t at all happy when Alastair told him the servants were even more punctilious about their dress than the aristocrats.
Mr. Davenport was such a kind, energetic, happy old man, Eden couldn’t think of him as some snobbish peer who would look down on her. He was just Mr. Davenport, an unlikely conjurer who’d appeared out of nowhere to turn their lives into make-believe. The orphans—Eden’s brothers and sisters all adopted by the Maxwells—thought it was a hoot Isabelle was aristocracy. They said she’d been ordering them about all their lives as if she were a duchess. Jake didn’t like it, said ragtag cowboys didn’t go around hitching themselves to daughters of earls. He stopped complaining after Isabelle told him she wouldn’t be too good for him if she’d been the daughter of a king.
“Just think of all the new clothes you can buy when you get to London.” Junie Mae had worked in her aunt’s dress shop for years and had never lost her interest in clothes.
“Clothes I won’t have any use for when I return,” Isabelle said.
“Maybe you’ll want to stay,” Junie Mae said. “Your father keeps asking me if I think you might.”
“It doesn’t matter who my father is,” Isabelle said. “I’m a Texas rancher’s wife. That’s all I want to be.”
But Eden wondered about herself. She looked forward to the chance to visit England, to meet her new family, to experience the world of the truly privileged. After such an experience, she wondered if she’d be content to be a rancher’s wife.
Worlege Manor, England
The two horsemen leaned forward in the stirrups, driving their laboring mounts forward with strong hands and shouts of encouragement. The horses thundered up the incline, neck and neck, their nostrils distended, flecks of sweat whipped from their straining bodies by the breeze that cut across the freshly mowed meadow. The two riders laughed and whooped as they drove toward a towering oak of enormous girth. They shot past the ancient tree, the dark bay a neck in front of the chestnut. The heavily muscled man riding the bay pushed his raven hair out of his eyes and twisted in the saddle to face his slim, auburn-haired companion. “That was a damned good ride, Patrick. You’re going to beat me one of these days.”
Patrick patted the neck of the sweating chestnut. “I expect I will if you keep giving me the faster horse. When did you buy this one?”
Edward Davenport burst out laughing. “I won him on a bet. That fool Evelyn Montgomery thought the horse was faster than Crusader. He’s such a terrible horseman, I gave him fifteen pounds and a head start, and still beat him.” The laughter left his eyes. “Your father tried to make me give it back.”
“He’s your father, too.”
“You could never tell it by the way he treats me.” The half brothers dismounted and led their tired mounts toward the stable. “Sometimes I think he must have hated my mother for dying, but if she hadn’t, he couldn’t have married your mother and had you.” Edward could remember when his father loved him, when he felt wanted, but that started to change after the two boys grew up to be so different. Now it was painfully obvious the viscount adored Patrick and would have put him in Edward’s place if there had been any way to do it.
“He doesn’t hate you,” Patrick said. “He just doesn’t understand why you don’t see things the same way he does.”
“Then why did he never take me to London? I was left here to be brought up by my nurse and that thieving estate manager.” It was an old story, one he couldn’t change, so there was no point in getting upset over it. “I wouldn’t care if he’d just leave me to manage Worlege. If he’d follow the budget I gave him, I could get the estate back on its feet.”
“I expect that’s why he gets so irritated with you.”
“No, he gets irritated because I’m not the perfect son like you. He’s particularly irritated right now because I haven’t asked Daphne to marry me.”
“Why haven’t you? She’s a wonderful girl.”
“Then you marry her.”
“I’m not the heir,” Patrick said, “the complete horseman, the smartest estate manager in England, the best brother anyone could have.”
The admiration in Patrick’s eyes made Edward feel uncomfortable. He was taller than his brother, bigger, almost rawboned, with the broad shoulders and powerful calves of a man who enjoyed physical sports as well as physically demanding work. He was perfectly coordinated on horseback and could shoot better than anyone in the county, but he couldn’t remember the rules of eti
quette, was a complete failure at clever conversation, felt uncomfortable in anything but work clothes, and had two left feet on the dance floor.
Patrick, on the other hand, was suitably tall, elegantly slim, with flawless features, and a body perfectly suited for any style of dress. He rode and shot well, but he handled social etiquette perfectly, could converse with anyone on any subject, and danced beautifully. He liked London, parties, and women who were so quiet and well behaved, Edward sometimes wondered if they were fully awake. Yet as different as they were, they’d always been each other’s best friend.
Edward gave his brother an affectionate shove. “If I’d known you were going to grow up to be perfect, I’d have drowned you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d have made sure I got to shore even if you didn’t.”
“At least Father would have been happy then.”
Patrick’s grin faded. “He just hates being on an allowance.” He sighed. “He swears Great-uncle Alastair is going to live forever.”
“I hope he does. I like the old buzzard. It was just like him to head off to America to find his only child. I thought Father would have a stroke when he told us.”
“He’s afraid Uncle Alastair might decide to give to the child everything that isn’t entailed.”
“That child would have to be forty-five by now. He or she is probably married with a large and hopeful family who would like nothing better than to batten on to an English earl gone sentimental in his old age.”
“That’s what Father said when he heard Uncle Alastair was bringing his daughter and part of her family to London.”
Puzzled, Edward asked, “Why is he bringing them to England?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s bringing back a beautiful heiress for me.”
Edward laughed. “Then you go meet them. I’ll stay here.”
“You can’t. You have to be in London to propose to Daphne.”
Texas Loving (The Cowboys) Page 1