“I don’t understand how parents can be so careless of their children,” Edward said to Eden as they were leaving the Bald-wins’ house. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that half the time the girl’s parents can’t be bothered to know where she is. I’ve got Sam Kellaway and his wife, Ginny, as nice a pair as you’ll find anywhere and the best farmer on the estate, trying to have a baby for more than ten years. Ginny breaks into tears every time one of her friends gets in the family way. I’d like to take the girl and give her to somebody who’ll care about her.”
“You ought to talk to my mother,” Eden said. “She took on eleven orphans and convinced my father to adopt all of them.”
“Eleven!” Edward couldn’t imagine having eleven brothers and sisters.
“All declared incorrigible and unmanageable. Now they’re married and giving her all the grandchildren she could ever want.”
“I don’t know anything about children, but Edward is a genius with them,” Patrick said. “You ought to see him with the little ones in the village. They think he’s Father Christmas.”
“That’s because I give them treats,” Edward said, uncomfortable with Patrick’s praise. “The little tykes don’t have much.”
“That’s why he and Father are always fighting,” Patrick said to Eden. “Edward makes sure the tenants have enough for a decent living.”
“Why shouldn’t they?” Edward demanded. “It’s their hard work that puts money in our pockets.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Patrick said. “I was just explaining you to Eden. All she’s had a chance to see is that you’re an irascible country boy who hates London and hasn’t got the good sense to propose to a beautiful woman.”
“You don’t have to convince me Edward isn’t the misfit he’s made out to be,” Eden said. “Now, I was invited to ride with two charming gentlemen. If you two can’t stop picking at each other, I’ll ask that nice policeman to accompany me.”
They managed to have such a delightful ride, they were late for breakfast. Edward always enjoyed being with Patrick, and Eden was the kind of woman a man could relax and have fun with. She didn’t demand special treatment or that he watch his tongue or his manners. It was almost like being with another man, except she wasn’t the least bit like a man. Altogether, it was the best morning he’d spent in a long time.
Edward didn’t need to see his father’s expression to know he was in trouble. The viscount got up early for breakfast only when he was too angry to sleep, and Edward had no doubt he was the object of that anger. There were times when he was ready to give up his claim to the title, retire to some distant corner of England, and raise horses. Today was a perfect example.
“I expect you to take Daphne for a ride in the park,” Cyril announced the moment Edward walked through the door.
Edward headed for the coffee without a glance at his father. “She doesn’t ride.”
“I know that,” the viscount replied, his tone sharp and unpleasant, “but her father has bought her a splendid carriage with a matched pair of chestnuts so society can see his daughter with her future husband.”
Saying he’d lost his patience completely, Cyril demanded to know exactly when Edward intended to propose to Daphne. Every objection Edward advanced, every reason he gave to delay, was met by the flat statement that Daphne and her family had been expecting the proposal for weeks, and her father was beginning to feel ill-used. He also said the Davenports’ financial situation had reached a critical stage and if they didn’t receive an infusion of cash soon, they could all be hauled off to debtors’ prison.
“I don’t understand why you haven’t jumped at the chance to make such an advantageous marriage,” his father stated. “Her father is so rich he could have held out for a man with a title already in hand. I know she’s not of our class, but she’s been well-trained and won’t embarrass you.”
“It’s not that,” Edward had said. “We’re too different. I need time to see if we have enough in common to be man and wife.” He hadn’t intended to say that, but he couldn’t stop thinking that Eden didn’t expect anyone to sacrifice their happiness for her. His family was demanding it.
“Don’t talk rot,” the viscount had said. “You don’t have to see her any more than necessary to father children. She’s no fool. She won’t expect fidelity.”
“That’s not the kind of marriage I want.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want. It’s what the family needs. If you don’t propose immediately, I’ll ask the earl to cut off your allowance.”
Edward had very few personal needs and spent most of his allowance on the estate. But before he could take a deep breath to respond, his father delivered a devastating threat, one Edward hadn’t anticipated.
“In addition, I’ll ask the earl to bar you from having anything to do with the estate or the tenant farmers. You will not be allowed to stay at Worlege or in the village.”
Edward should have known something important had happened when Alastair spent several hours the previous day closeted with the family solicitor. Apparently, the family debts had piled up until they were out of options. His marriage to Daphne was their only means of survival.
Chapter Four
Edward hated the afternoon ritual of ladies riding through the park at a dawdling pace accompanied by brothers, admirers, or unfortunate future husbands. The heat only made it worse. At Worlege he would have enjoyed cool breezes from the forest or the river, but in London there was no breeze. He rode next to the open carriage, where Daphne and Eden had parasols to protect them from the sun. The brim of his hat wasn’t nearly as effective.
The passing of several hours hadn’t provided Edward with any solution to his problem. The heat and the walking pace just aggravated his already ragged temper. He still planned to wait until they went to Worlege to ask Daphne to marry him. His father would need time to convince his great-uncle to put pressure on him, but their worsening financial situation meant the earl would soon be willing to do whatever was necessary to force Edward to marry Daphne.
It was impossible to be angry with Daphne. It wasn’t her fault the Davenport family was far more interested in spending money than in making it. It wasn’t her fault she was very pretty and the only child of a rich and ambitious father. She’d been trained to think marriage to a title was the greatest success she could have as a woman, had been taught not to expect love from her husband, not even fidelity, possibly not even real kindness. It wasn’t her fault she’d been turned into a proud, hard woman who looked at life as a simple equation—money plus a title equaled success. It wasn’t her fault she disliked horses, was even a little afraid of them. He was glad Patrick had agreed to ride with them. His obvious enjoyment of the ride had caused Daphne to unbend a little.
“It would be impossible for us to enjoy a ride like this in Texas in July,” Eden was saying to Daphne. “You’d faint from the heat.”
“I’m feeling a little faint as it is,” Daphne said in a complaining tone. She hadn’t been any more anxious for the outing than Edward and had been a little out of temper from the moment she left the house and climbed into the oversized carriage. Edward didn’t know how she would manage at Worlege. He couldn’t face the prospect of living in a London town house for the rest of his life. Nor did he feel he could honorably ask her to marry him if he intended to spend most of the year away from her. His father might not care how he treated her once they were married, but he intended to treat her honorably.
“A slow trot,” Edward instructed the coachman, relieved to be able to move his own restive mount out of a walk. “It will create a gentle breeze to cool you off,” he said when Daphne looked uneasy.
Patrick rode on the other side of the coach, next to Eden. He gave every appearance of being content with the dawdling pace, which only made Edward feel more guilty at his own impatience. Why couldn’t he be more like Patrick?
A notion struck him. Did Patrick like Eden? Why did that thought annoy him? Eden seeme
d just as interested in Patrick. Did she think he might marry her, or was she merely engaging in an enjoyable flirtation with an attractive man? Edward didn’t care that her grandmother hadn’t married the earl, but the viscount would.
He wondered why these thoughts had popped into his head and refused to go away. He tried distracting himself by talking to Daphne, but she knew nothing about the subjects that interested him—or he the subjects that interested her. How could he spend the rest of his life married to a woman he couldn’t talk to?
“I never ride in the park,” Daphne was telling Eden. “It’s too much trouble to get the carriage and horses out. Then there’s the question of an escort. Edward is up at Worlege all the time, and Papa is too busy.”
“All I have to do at home is lasso a horse and saddle up.”
“You saddle your own horse?” Daphne asked, aghast.
Edward couldn’t tell whether she was more appalled by this unprecedented behavior or that Eden was courageous enough to get that close to a horse.
“I have since I was strong enough to handle a lasso,” Eden said.
“What’s a lasso?” Daphne asked.
“It’s a rope with a loop at the end that you throw over the horse’s head when you want to catch him.”
“Why would you need to catch a horse that’s in a stall?”
“Our horses run loose in a corral. It’s like a big pasture. When you need a horse, you have to catch it. Sometimes they’ll buck a little before they settle down.”
Edward was too entranced by the vision of Eden astride a bucking horse to give much notice to Daphne’s look of incomprehension. He found the notion of keeping horses in a corral strange, but could imagine the fun of picking out the mount he wanted before wading in among the horses to lasso it. He’d never seen a lasso, but he had no trouble visualizing one, hearing it sing through the air. It made his blood quicken just to think about it. When they got to Worlege, he’d ask Eden to show him how to handle a lasso.
“You’ll have to stop telling stories about Texas, or Edward will follow you back,” Patrick said with a laugh.
“Lassoing my own horse and having him buck a little sounds like a great way to start the day,” Edward said, uneasy that Patrick could read his mind so easily.
“Tell that to Dad when it’s winter and the horses are par ticularly fractious,” Eden said. “He’d be happy to have you lasso them for him.”
“Don’t say that,” Patrick teased. “He’ll think you’re offering him a job.”
“I couldn’t live in Texas,” Daphne said in a repressive manner. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“Patrick is only teasing me,” Edward said, ignoring Daphne’s pique. “I’d probably be as lost in Texas as you.”
“But you wouldn’t be foolish enough to go to Texas.” Daphne’s tone implied that no one of breeding would go to a place such as Texas.
Hoping to change the subject, Edward said to Eden, “I appreciate your confidence that I could lasso a horse, but I have many limits, one of which is not knowing what to do with my feet when I’m on the dance floor.”
Patrick began recounting instances when Edward’s admirable physicality failed to help him navigate the intricacies of some dance and the inevitable commentary it drew from the ranks of the dowagers. Since Edward knew he wasn’t a good dancer, and had no desire to become one, he was able to laugh along with them.
“In Texas we like our dances slow, so the man can hold the woman in his arms and she can rest her head on his chest,” Eden said.
Patrick looked surprised, Daphne horrified. “Do ladies participate in those dances?” Edward asked, intrigued.
Eden threw him a challenging look. “I participate in those dances.”
“I thought the waltz was a bold dance,” Patrick said, “but it sounds like you Americans have gotten the jump on us again.”
“We admire your traditions,” Eden said, her gaze still firmly fixed on Edward, “but we prefer less regimented lives.”
“How do you know what’s acceptable, what’s proper?” Daphne asked.
“Each person gets to decide on his—or her—own,” Eden replied.
“I can’t imagine you ever doing anything improper,” Patrick said.
But Edward could. He sensed from the beginning that Eden Maxwell had a very unusual idea of what was suitable for women in general and herself in particular. He’d never had a model of the kind of woman he wanted for a wife, but now he did. Eden cooked the food her brothers ate, rode the horses they rode, and did the work they did. She would work beside the man she married, not stand apart from him. She would expect him to earn his living, not siphon it off the work of others. She would be a partner, not a possession.
That was the kind of wife he wanted, but it was the kind of wife he would never have.
Along with the title he would inherit came the responsibility of upholding the dignity of the position as well as responsibility for the people who depended on him for their livelihood . . . his and Patrick’s future families, the families of their tenants, and the people of the village of Green Moss. It was his duty to marry Daphne Bidwell and use her fortune to insure the future of everyone who depended on him.
The taste in his mouth was bitter.
He looked at the two women in the carriage and wondered if they had anything in common other than their gender. For seventeen years Daphne had been trained to be the wife of a titled aristocrat. She knew how to dress, how to carry on a conversation, how to dance, and the rules of society.
Eden, on the other hand, had an extensive education, and was used to making her own decisions. She would never ignore the feelings of other people, but she wouldn’t allow them to dictate her actions.
It was a shock to realize she had more freedom than he did.
The sound of laughter brought him out of his brown study.
“I wish I could have seen the young man’s face,” Patrick said.
“I never could have spoken to a man like that,” Daphne said.
“You would have if you’d been brought up by my mother,” Eden said. “There’s not a man alive she’s afraid to tackle. She still lights into Dad from time to time. One minute they’re in an all-out argument, and the next they’re holding hands or kissing and hugging.”
Edward couldn’t imagine that. Though his father told people Charlotte was a perfect wife, he couldn’t recall him holding her hand except to help her into or out of a carriage. He had never seen them kiss or hug. He was certain Daphne would have a fainting spell if he tried to kiss her.
He’d never stopped to consider whether he would like it.
The idea was simply too far out of his experience to have occurred to him. Daphne made him feel that he was with a china doll, perfect in outward appearance but hard and brittle. Eden was the kind of woman who was mentally tough yet capable of being gentle. Though she’d obviously been brought up well, she wasn’t reluctant to show her feelings or deny the effects of a strong physical attraction.
The concept of a lady who was also willing to show her feelings was so new it took his breath away. He told himself to stop thinking about the absurd and the impossible and to concentrate on Daphne. She was his future.
“I hope you’re looking forward to going to Worlege,” Edward said to Daphne.
“Of course. I’m anxious to see your home.”
She said that as if she was preparing herself for an uncomfortable, possibly distasteful, duty.
“Mrs. Jessop has written down the names and addresses of all the families I should visit,” Daphne informed him. “I asked her to make up a list of historical sights, too.”
Edward felt his hope wane. He loved hunting, but Daphne said the sound of guns shattered her nerves. He cared nothing about the historical sights her companion might recommend. She said she could spend a whole afternoon wandering about an old ruin. He hated the routine social calls, small dinner parties, and impromptu dances that were the sum total of a city-bred lady’s social
calendar.
“What kind of historical sights are you talking about?” Eden asked.
“Old churches, ruined abbeys, or decaying castles. Nearly everything in London is pulled down the moment nobody wants it anymore, but Mrs. Jessop says no one bothers about ruins in the country.”
“That’s because it’s too expensive to pull them down for the little bit of land under them,” Edward explained. “We don’t have any ruins at Worlege. But if we did, I’d rather spend the money on a new stable, cow barn, or livestock pens than shifting a pile of old stones about.”
“What an unromantic attitude,” Eden exclaimed.
Edward couldn’t tell whether Eden was teasing him or was shocked by his attitude. She was the most puzzling woman he’d ever encountered.
“Mother would never have any new curtains or Father a new hunter if Edward had his way,” Patrick said with a laugh. “We’d all go threadbare so the livestock could live in luxury.”
“He sounds like my father,” Eden said. “He always has his eye on more land or a new bull. If there’s anything left over, Mama can have a new dress.”
Edward could tell from the way Eden’s mouth was curved in a grin, she was teasing him as well.
“Mrs. Jessop says the best investment a woman can make is in her clothes,” Daphne said with a seriousness that squelched the laugh in Edward’s throat.
How could anyone think clothes were that important? He never wore jewelry and thought of clothes merely as something to keep him warm or preserve his modesty. He was relieved when the drive through the park came to an end and it was time to escort Daphne home.
“Will you be at the ball tonight?” Daphne asked Edward when the coach stopped at the front door of her father’s house and the footman came out to help her down.
“I’ll make sure Edward is there even if I have to dress him myself and drag him all the way,” Patrick said.
Daphne’s smile seemed forced. “Don’t make him go if he doesn’t want to.”
Edward would be at the ball because it would be an insult to Daphne to stay away, but if he made the sacrifice of marrying her, it would be to save Worlege, not for the family.
Texas Loving (The Cowboys) Page 5