by Renee Ryan
As he walked down the hallway to the front staircase, he heard girlish giggles coming through the closed door of her bedroom. Giggles just like his sister’s. How would Rosamond and Helena get on? Would they like each other? But they’d never meet, so he shrugged off the thought. Another thought took its place. Rosamond and Beryl were obviously in the midst of a hen party. Would Rosamond even bother to keep their nine o’clock appointment?
Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. Reverend Thomas, referencing Spurgeon’s sermon, reminded the congregation that this Scripture verse was a command from the Lord. Garrick must demonstrate God’s love to the young lady by thinking well of her rather than assuming some fault on her part. After all, her care for her friend indicated a nurturing spirit, as did her desire to establish an upper school in this wilderness. In any event, he must work with her, so he’d do well to develop a positive outlook.
As instructed, he made the Colonel’s office his own, spreading out his carefully made plans on the large exquisite oak desk. He’d worked with an architect in London before coming to America and knew exactly what to build. Uncle insisted he spare no expense, but of course Garrick wouldn’t misuse his generosity.
“Good morning.” Rosamond entered the room carrying a tray laden with beverages and fruit tarts.
Garrick’s heart seemed to stop. Her gown was the color of daffodils, a shade of yellow few ladies wore well, yet it warmed her complexion to a lovely glow. How beautiful she was, especially when she smiled. Even her eyes shone with enthusiasm, a good sign this meeting would go well.
His heart hammering with this unexpected admiration for her, he stood and walked around the desk. “Permit me?” He took the tray and set it on a side table. Should he compliment her? Tell her she was beautiful? No, of course not. This was a business meeting, not a party. “I don’t suppose this is tea?” Oh, bother. That surely sounded like a complaint.
She laughed. He sighed with relief.
“If you recall—” she poured steaming black coffee from the elegant porcelain pot into matching cups “—our two countries don’t share a good history in regards to tea.”
“No, but—” the twinkle in her eyes alerted him that she meant the remark to be humorous “—if I’m not mistaken, the relationship between our governments has changed considerably since 1773. After the passing of more than a century, surely we’ve managed to persuade you as to the superiority of tea over coffee.”
She handed him a cup, leaving him to add his own cream and sugar. He added considerable amounts of both to minimize the brew’s bitter taste.
“I’ll admit an occasional cup of tea makes a nice change. Many Americans prefer it.” She took a sip and eyed him over the porcelain rim. “In my opinion, nothing beats coffee to help get the day going.”
“Ah, well. To each his own. Or her own.” This was hardly a matter to argue over. “I brought some gifts for your parents but haven’t yet presented them. Among them is a tin of Earl Grey tea, which has become a favorite among—” he started to say “the British aristocracy,” but an inner voice stopped him “—many of my friends.”
“I heard of Earl Grey tea at finishing school.” She appeared to pucker away a smile. “You know the earl, of course?”
“Of course.” The words were out before he could stop them. She’d baited him, and he’d bitten. Now he must try to fix the damage. “Not well, though. And he’s the third Lord Grey. The tea is named for the second Lord Grey.”
“Be sure to tell Mother when you give her the tea.” She stepped behind the desk and began to study the drafts. “She always enjoys little tidbits of history like that.” She spoke absently, as if finished with the topic. Or perhaps the drawings distracted her. “So you think the Palladian style is appropriate for our hotel?” Disapproval colored her words.
While impressed by her knowledge of the architectural style, Garrick suddenly felt defensive. She’d learned of the hotel only three days ago, yet she would criticize his many months of hard work? Disparage a building design by London’s finest architects?
“Of course. What could draw travelers from Europe to this wilderness better than a hotel built in the grand style to which they’re accustomed?” Bother! That definitely sounded arrogant. He was tempted to bite his tongue. No matter what she said, he must be a gentleman.
She eyed him and smirked. “Oh, maybe something different. Something more in keeping with the wilderness they’ve come to see.”
The steel-like tone in her voice set his nerves on edge and fortified his defenses. Was this a trick? A test? Or did she actually mean to sabotage the one project upon which his entire future rested?
*
The steely glint in Garrick’s eyes signaled war, and she would gladly cross swords with him. These past few days, she’d come up with her own plans for the hotel. Some of the girls at the academy swooned over all things English, but no Englishman was going to try to reconquer her part of America while she could prevent it.
Love thy neighbor as thyself. The inner voice was soft but persistent. She knew the imprudence of failing to listen to it.
With a sigh, she dropped down into Father’s chair. “I can see you’ve been working for some time on these plans. Why don’t you show me what you’ve done?”
He tilted his head as if uncertain he’d heard her correctly. She swallowed a laugh. Apparently he’d expected a conflict as much as she.
“Well, um…” He came around the desk to stand beside her and shuffled through the papers as if looking for something. As he bent over her shoulder, the scent of bergamot filled her senses in a very pleasant way. Bergamot, the essence that flavored Earl Grey tea. Maybe she’d like the beverage more than expected. “It’s true that I’ve envisioned a grand hotel in the European tradition, but when you hear everything, I believe you’ll approve.” At last he pulled out a crisp white page. “Here is a list of my plans.”
She didn’t correct his word plans, but in her mind, she translated it to ideas.
“Lord Westbourne has been very generous with the funds allotted for the project because he hopes the hotel will draw the most august guests from among Europe’s aristocracy and nobility, perhaps even royalty.”
“Hmm.” Rosamond wouldn’t let herself say more. He didn’t know how much she disdained those very people. If they’d had their way in the past century, the United States wouldn’t even exist, would still be colonies enslaved to the whims of a ruthless monarch and the unfeeling nobility in the House of Lords. And now that America was a prosperous country, many titled men came over here to marry heiresses, wealthy girls who coveted those titles and forgot what this country was all about. Rosamond didn’t care about drawing European aristocrats to the hotel. Wealthy Americans from the East would come by the droves to experience what the Wild West offered.
“If you will notice—” his voice filled with enthusiasm, Garrick pointed to names at the bottom of the draft “—the hotel was designed by Messrs. Henman and Harrison, the architectural firm that designed the National Penny Bank in London. I’ve contacted Messrs. Aitohison and Walker, who built that very bank just three years ago. They await my wire and, upon receiving it, will send a team to execute the construction of the building.”
Rosamond looked up at him. “Anything else?” She might as well hear everything before unfolding her own plans.
His eyes sparkled, and for the first time, she noticed they were brown. A very nice brown with flecks of amber to catch the light shining through the west window. “The guest rooms will of course be furnished with the finest oak and mahogany furniture from English carpenters and velvet drapes from France. Again, I have simply to wire the firms I’ve engaged, and they’ll ship the items at once or build them to suit.” He questioned her with one raised eyebrow, and she nodded for him to continue. “I’ve also engaged a French chef and a staff of English waiters. And of course a sommelier.”
If he said “of course” one more time, she wouldn’t be able to contain her annoyance. Whi
le he stood back, pride and satisfaction beaming across that well-formed face, she prayed for guidance as to how she might answer each of his ideas. As with her support of Beryl yesterday, maybe she should face this disagreement head-on.
“As generous as Westbourne is—” she refused to call any man lord “—his funds will go further if we make a few simple changes.”
Garrick stiffened, and his chin hiked up considerably. “What changes?”
In light of all his work, she tried to put herself in his place but couldn’t manage it. He had been reared in a culture that still believed in the Great Chain of Being, a view of mankind in which only people born into wealth and aristocracy mattered, only their plans and ideas were worthy of consideration. How could he comprehend American democracy, as imperfect as it was, where any person could rise above humble beginnings to accomplish whatever he or she dreamed of?
“A massive Palladian style hotel is all well and good in the proper setting, but not here. Never mind what your European aristocracy is used to. Americans visiting from the East can see such hotels in their own cities. Out here, they’ll want to see something different, something out of the dime novels they love to read so much. So we don’t need to import architects and workers from Europe. Not when any man in the San Luis Valley can build a two-story house. The hotel will simply be a bigger house. And, as my father said the other night, plenty of local men need work now that the railroad is completed. Our local carpenter can craft the woodwork, as he did in our ballroom. I saw you admiring it, so you know to what I refer.”
The enthusiastic gleam in his eyes turned steely again, but she wouldn’t stop until she’d said it all. “The rooms should be decorated in a Western theme, with furniture made by local craftsmen and drapes by our own very talented town seamstress. I envision antlers on the walls beside paintings of our mountain scenery. For the bed coverings, woolen blankets woven by Indian artisans.”
What had she left out? Ah, yes. The restaurant. “As you may have noticed, we have excellent cooks in Esperanza. I’ll take you to Miss Pam’s café so you can taste her Western fare. She’d be the perfect manager for the hotel kitchen. As for waiters, we have many local young people who can learn quickly how to serve, and others who can clean the rooms. Mr. Chen’s Chinese laundry should have our business.”
She sat back and gave him the most sympathetic smile she could muster until she noticed the look of sheer resentment on his face. But his misbegotten ideas weren’t her fault.
“I suppose,” he said in a clipped tone, “that you simply forgot about the sommelier. Please don’t tell me the bartender in your town saloon is the local wine expert.”
“Not at all.” She stood and walked toward the door feeling anything but a sense of victory. “We won’t need a sommelier because Esperanza has no saloon. By agreement and vote of all of our citizens, we also have a no-alcohol ordinance. No wine will be served in our hotel.”
A sommelier, indeed! Exiting Father’s office, she felt the need to enlist an ally in this disagreement with Garrick. Mother would understand, but with her health still a concern, Rosamond couldn’t burden her.
With each step she climbed up the stairs, her temper rose another degree, along with frustration and annoyance and several other unidentifiable emotions. She hoped Beryl was still settling in so she could get some support, some reassurance. Before she could enter her bedroom, Father emerged from his room dressed for travel.
“That was a mighty short meeting.” He tugged at the sleeves of his frock coat. “How did it go?”
She reluctantly faced him. “I thought you left early.” She really needed time to sort things out before telling him what had happened. “You shouldn’t ride in the heat of the day, especially not while wearing that long jacket and high collar.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t change the subject.” The scolding fondness in his eyes chastened her. “You may have been away for a while, but I can still read you like a book.”
“Well.” She sighed with resignation. “Your Englishman has some mighty highfalutin ideas for our humble little Valley. Palladian architecture, French chef. Really, Father, you didn’t need to import a foreigner. I can supervise building the hotel by myself.”
“And build your high school?” His thick, graying eyebrows arched in a challenge.
He’d hit a sore spot, but she wouldn’t back down. “You won’t be surprised to know I consider the school my highest priority.”
He studied her briefly. “No reason the two projects can’t be done at the same time, but one person can’t do all of the planning and execution. I have a business arrangement with Westbourne. That’s why Garrick’s here. His involvement is essential.” He moved toward the stairs again. “I must be on my way. The army’s closing Fort Garland, and I want to keep my connections with the officers and soldiers so they’ll recommend our beef for their next posts.” He paused two steps down and stared back up at her with his no-nonsense Colonel face, the one she and her brothers knew better than to challenge. “I’m too busy to be pestered by every detail. That’s why I assigned the hotel to you. You go work things out with the Englishman. Today.”
“But—”
He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to hear about it.” He continued down the stairs. “You two are adults. Find a way to work together.”
She ground her teeth briefly, but concern for him overrode her problems with Garrick. She knew better than to stop Father now, but she’d discuss his health with Mother at the first opportunity. Both of her parents needed to slow down, so she’d also need to speak to her brothers about them.
In her room, she found Beryl primping before her vanity table, her eyes bright with excitement. “Percy wants a tour of the ranch. Do you mind if I take him?”
“But—” Rosamond clamped down on her disappointment. She wouldn’t spoil Beryl’s happiness with her own troubles. “Not at all. You know Northam land as well as your own.”
Beryl bit her lower lip. “Do you think I should ask Consuela to accompany us? For propriety’s sake, I mean?”
“That’s a good idea.”
Once Beryl left, Rosamond sat in her favorite spot by the window. After Father’s scolding, she needed to think, to pray about how to approach this difficult situation. In spite of his orders to work with Garrick, she simply couldn’t dislodge her antagonism toward him.
Lord, how can I develop kinder feelings toward a stubborn man with whom I have nothing in common?
*
Garrick waited until Rosamond left the room and closed the door before he slumped down in the chair she’d just vacated. He rested his elbows on the desktop and put his head in his hands.
“Now what, Lord?” No answer came, as usual. The Lord had been silent from the moment Uncle announced his plans for this hotel. From the beginning, Garrick had doubted these Americans would appreciate finer living.
No, that wasn’t fair. The Northams owned a charming house, quite pleasant in this setting. But Rosamond, for all of her talk of simpler ideas, was nothing short of a spoiled princess used to having her own way. Whereas an English lady would state her ideas and then politely acquiesce to his superior plans, Rosamond seemed to enjoy cutting down his every proposal in both her tone of voice and the determination on her pretty face. How could he give over control to her? Uncle would be horrified to learn the plans he’d approved had been rejected. But there was nothing to do for it.
Despite the roiling sea in his chest and belly, he retrieved stationery from the drawer and penned a letter to Uncle calmly stating why the project wouldn’t work and requesting permission to return home. He’d post it this afternoon before his appointment with Reverend Thomas. Then perhaps he could seek the minister’s counsel about how to recover from this disaster.
The possibility of speaking with a reasonable person served as an impetus to leave straightaway. Garrick went upstairs to change into something more suitable for riding, but Roberts was nowhere to be found, and this house had no b
ell pulls to summon servants. A search out the window revealed his valet working in the back garden alongside Mrs. Northam and, of course, Rita. Garrick put his hands on the window to raise it so he could call for Roberts but changed his mind after picturing how undignified that would be.
Instead, he searched through the wardrobe and found his riding breeches and boots and quickly made the change by himself. While the completed ensemble wouldn’t be approved in London, these people wouldn’t know that he should have changed his shirt and waistcoat. If he could have managed to tie on a different cravat, he would have. As it was, this one was only slightly askew. He fussed with it for a moment before going downstairs to inform his hostess of his plans. In the garden, he approached Mrs. Northam, who knelt beside a rosebush with pruning shears.
“Sir?” Roberts hurried over from the next flowerbed and eyed him up and down, his mouth briefly agape. “May I help you?” He held up hands covered with sandy gray soil. “It’ll just take me a moment to wash…”
Garrick waved away the idea. “Don’t bother.” To Mrs. Northam, he said, “With your permission, I’m riding into town. May I bring you anything?”
Her plump cheeks rosy from exertion, Mrs. Northam stood. “My, you look so handsome, Garrick.” She brushed the back of her hand over her forehead and looked beyond him. “Isn’t Rosamond going with you?”
His throat suddenly closed, and he cleared it with a cough. “No, madam. She, um—” How should he finish the sentence when he didn’t know where Rosamond had gone after she left the office?
“Hmm.” Mrs. Northam tilted her head and gazed at him thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t need anything, but thank you for asking. You go on now and enjoy your ride. Pete’s out in the stables, and he’ll saddle a horse for you.”
“Thank you, madam.” Garrick strode across the barnyard. By the time he reached the barn, his shiny black Hessians sported a coat of fine gray dust. Inside the building, the smells of fresh hay and discarded muck collided, making him dizzy for a moment.