Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage AgreementCowgirl for KeepsThe Lawman's RedemptionCaptive on the High Seas

by Renee Ryan

  “Come on, then.” Beryl grasped Rosamond’s arm and tugged her away from the school.

  As they walked, she couldn’t keep her pulse from racing in her eagerness to see Garrick. Then she had a bold thought of her own, one that might help her friend. “Do you suppose Garrick and Percy will go to dinner with us at Williams’s Café?” That was, if Percy remained in town. He might be away searching for the elusive Mr. Starling.

  “We can only hope.” Beryl’s pace picked up, and Rosamond hurried to catch her.

  Her heart skipped when she caught sight of Garrick. Dressed, as always, in his black linen suit, he stood with Mr. Frisk beside the south wall, which was set back some ten feet from Main Street. Garrick raised his hand in a salute, and his smile promised a warm welcome. Had he watched them approach? Did he admire her as she admired him? Oh, my, these silly thoughts would never do. If his eyes spoke the truth, Garrick clearly did admire her appearance, but he just as clearly didn’t want their friendship to grow into something more. Nor did she wish to give her heart to a man who would keep Beryl and Percy apart for no good reason, or a man whom Tolley so strongly disliked.

  Once again, she lassoed her maverick heart and tied it firmly in place. Even there, however, the closer she came to Garrick, the more she felt it struggle to get free.

  *

  Garrick’s heart tripped all over itself as he watched Rosamond approach. She was, without doubt, the most exquisite young lady he’d ever met, carrying herself with the grace and dignity befitting a duchess even when walking along this dusty roadway. If not for his obligation to secure Helena’s future, he could permit himself to imagine strolling beside Rosamond along the Serpentine River in London’s Hyde Park. Every gentleman would envy him. Every lady would seek to emulate her style.

  Beside Rosamond, Beryl walked with the more boyish gait he’d noticed in all of her sisters, although she’d been far more graceful a mere six weeks ago. How easily she’d fallen back into her Western ways—all the more reason for Percy not to pursue and marry her. After love’s first bloom faded, how would his cousin bear to watch his wife swagger across an elegant London drawing room? She’d hold back his every chance at social advancement. Garrick had the unpleasant duty of preventing that, but he felt assured that once they returned home, Percy would recover from his ill-advised attachment to the girl.

  As they drew near, Garrick and the master stonemason tipped their hats and bowed.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Garrick said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “Would you give us a tour of the hotel?” Rosamond’s lovely smile redirected his thoughts. He could easily love her entirely. If he surrendered his heart to her, would she wait for him to take care of family responsibilities? Or would that stuffy banker or enterprising newspaperman win her hand while he was away?

  “Is Percy here?” Beryl approached the side of the hotel and peered beneath the balcony through a large opening soon to hold a glass display window for a shop, one of six set in the hotel’s west side along Main Street.

  “Ah. Well. No.” Garrick felt an odd pang of regret when the girl’s pretty smile disappeared. She truly was a gentle creature, far less boisterous than her sisters. He had no wish to cause her pain. “He’s found a man who worked on the crew laying railroad track from here to Del Norte and who recalled our Bob Starling. The fellow said Starling later joined the crew on the southern arm of the Denver and Rio Grande line. Percy, Richards and the Northams’ man, Pete, left yesterday morning to ‘hunt ’im down,’ as Pete said.” Garrick added a humorous tone to his words in hopes of cheering the dear girl.

  She rewarded him with a sweet, sad smile. “Well, if he’s there to be found, I’m sure they’ll find him.” She turned away and appeared to be studying the unfinished storefronts along the side of the building, but he could hear her soft sigh.

  “Shall we have that tour of the inside?” Rosamond stepped closer and eyed Garrick’s arm as if expecting him to comply.

  This was a bad idea, but he couldn’t deny her request. Coward that he was, he turned to Mr. Frisk. “Sir, what do you advise?”

  “Ma’am, I can’t rightly say it’s a good idea. Won’t be safe for anybody but workmen to go inside for another six or seven weeks.” The stocky, middle-aged man shook his head for emphasis. “The men are busy putting up the wood framing for the staircases and inside walls. There’s building supplies all over the place.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Garrick gave Rosamond an apologetic shrug, grateful to Frisk for voicing his own concerns.

  “May we peek in the front door?” Her question was amiably delivered, one any passing stranger might ask.

  “Of course.” At least he could grant her this request.

  Mr. Frisk excused himself to see to other matters, and Garrick held out an arm to each lady. They trod through the dust around the corner to the front of the building.

  “The boardwalk will extend along these two sides of the hotel. Those partitioned spaces you saw will house businesses, of course.” Did he sound proprietary, as if this were his project, not a shared effort? That wouldn’t do at all. “Rosamond, have you heard from the milliner in Saint Louis?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Ryan will arrive in September to open her millinery shop.” She granted him one of her lovely smiles, perhaps a reward for his including her. “What other businesses have applied for space?”

  “A Swiss watchmaker. A hatmaker. A tailor.” He ticked the list off on his fingers. “Many of the necessary services a hotel should make available for its guests.”

  “Very good.” Rosamond was all business now, staring into the cavernous insides of the work in progress. She and Beryl pointed at various things and shared a few whispered remarks. “I see the braces for the lobby chandelier, but can you move it to the center?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” He knew he must grant her some authority in these matters, even though she appeared to have abdicated her position. Had she completely given up? That didn’t please him. He missed the spirited lady who’d fought him on the hotel’s every detail.

  Was this the moment to tell her that the Palladian facade wouldn’t be possible? Frisk had explained to Garrick that when the builders had laid the borders of the foundation, they’d set it too close to the street to accommodate a portico. Once laid, the foundation couldn’t be changed, nor the street narrowed. Frisk had noticed the misplacement only two days ago and had informed Garrick. Now only the boardwalk would separate the hotel from the street. Would that please her?

  No, he wouldn’t tell her but instead let her see the actuality. Her idea had prevailed without even the slightest ado. Of course, he wasn’t at all pleased, but he was no stranger to such disappointments. Life rarely gave him what he expected, what he hoped for. Why should the front of the hotel, one he could be proud of, be any different? He wouldn’t even bother to write to Uncle to explain how the approved designs hadn’t been followed. Photographs of the completed hotel would tell the tale.

  “Garrick, come to dinner with us,” Rosamond said.

  It was a command sweetly delivered, and although he knew of the danger of spending too much time in her company, he could only obey. Soon the three of them were seated around a table in Williams’s Café.

  After they’d ordered their meals, Rosamond removed her white lace gloves, laid them in her lap and sipped the coffee the waitress brought. “Did you receive a response from Chef Henri?”

  “I did. He’ll be most pleased to come to America. One of his ancestors fought under Lafayette’s command in your rebellion against the Crown, and the family’s been keen to immigrate since then.” He chuckled, expecting his remark to bring a laugh. Everyone at home laughed at the French, despite preferring their cuisine. But Rosamond and Beryl nodded solemnly.

  “Considering all the conflicts France has endured since our Revolution, with an outcome so different from ours,” Rosamond said, “I believe he’s made a wise decision.”

  “Oh, yes,�
� Beryl echoed. “Too bad he won’t be here in time for next Wednesday’s celebration.”

  Garrick blinked. What had he missed? “Celebration? For what?”

  The ladies traded a look and giggled.

  “Why, the Fourth of July, of course.” Rosamond’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. “To celebrate the signing of our Declaration of Independence and our first victory over the British.”

  “First victory?” Garrick’s defensive pride in his home country welled up in his chest. “Whatever are you talking about? I’ll grant that you won your independence, but what other victory are you claiming?”

  “Oh, please.” Rosamond stiffened her spine and gave him that look his governess had always used to set him straight. “Beginning in 1812, while your Wellington was busy fighting Napoleon, we successfully resisted the attempts of other British military to reclaim their former colonies.”

  “Reclaim—”

  “What else would you call your navy’s impressment of American seamen, completely ignoring their citizenship papers? Your disregard for our borders? Your blocking of our trade with other countries?” To her credit, Rosamond’s voice didn’t increase in volume, although her eyes held a fiery pride. “But by 1815, once again, ordinary Americans banded together to drive the mighty British army and navy back to the other side of the Atlantic, where they belonged.” She lifted her chin proudly as though she’d won the war herself.

  The waitress chose that moment to bring their meals, a welcome distraction. After a prayer of thanks, he considered how to return to the subject about which Rosamond felt so passionate. This was the young lady he so much admired.

  He buttered a muffin and took a bite before speaking. “I must make a study of that war. It sounds…fascinating.” He was certain she spoke the truth. Odd that his own studies of British history at Oxford hadn’t informed him of that particular conflict. Did Rosamond somehow consider him one of those invading Englishmen? Perhaps the only way to overcome her obvious distaste for all things British was to acknowledge the ills of the past. After all, despite his own earlier disdain for Americans, he’d quickly learned to respect their ingenuity and courage in bringing a form of civilization to this vast wilderness.

  “You said your celebration next Wednesday has to do with your first victory over my wretched ancestors.” He grinned playfully, hoping to show his kind intentions with a bit of self-deprecating humor. “Would I be correct in assuming your activities will be something similar to our Guy Fawkes Day?”

  Rosamond laughed. He’d struck the right chord. “If you mean will we be burning King George in effigy, as you do Guy Fawkes, the answer is no. But we may have a bonfire along with our fireworks. The town council may have one planned. We always celebrate in fine style.”

  “Everyone here takes the day off,” Beryl said. “Even the ranchers and farmers. We all come to town for the Independence Day Fair. We have baking contests, shooting contests, horse races.”

  “And more food than you could eat in a year.” Rosamond took a bite of her chicken sandwich and then dabbed her lips with her linen napkin.

  As always, her graceful manners held Garrick’s attention…until he realized what Beryl had said. “Take the day off? Everyone?” The men already refused to work on Saturdays so they might see to their own properties. How could the hotel be completed on time if the workers constantly took holidays?

  *

  Rosamond set Rita’s pies on the long plank dessert table outside the church and then returned to the surrey to bring her own gingerbread cookies and a cake for the cakewalk. She never entered the cooking contests because so many other ladies prepared excellent dishes. With cooks such as Mrs. Foster, Pam Williams and Rita’s mother, Angela, vying for the prizes, Rosamond knew better than to waste her efforts in the competition.

  When she was younger, however, she’d won a blue ribbon for reciting Longfellow’s poem “Paul Revere’s Ride.” She could still remember every thrilling word and planned to recite it to her students. The poem wasn’t entirely accurate, so she’d give her students a truer account of the events of April 18, 1775, when the British began their assault on their American colonies. But her former anger toward England, generated by a passionate history teacher at the academy, seemed silly now, as did her initial animosity toward Garrick simply because he was English.

  Did he find it difficult being so far from home? She could almost forgive him for separating Beryl and Percy, considering that he’d sent Percy on a truly noble mission. She lifted a silent prayer that the search for Mr. Starling would be successful. And be completed very soon.

  She scanned the busy churchyard to see if Garrick had come. Would he stay in his room at Mrs. Foster’s, finding this holiday offensive? Or had his humorous remarks last week meant he’d dismissed their countries’ former animosities, as she had? She couldn’t find him right away among the milling crowd, but she did locate her friends.

  Beryl was talking with her oldest sister, Maisie, who was married to Doc Henshaw. Maisie seemed to have put on weight since just six weeks ago, especially around the middle. Maybe after five years of marriage, she finally expected a blessed event. But Rosamond’s joy for her friend mingled with sorrow that no such event would ever happen to her.

  *

  “Please permit us to carry those, Mrs. Foster.” Garrick nudged Roberts toward one of the large hampers on their landlady’s kitchen table, and he picked up the other one. In two short months, he’d grown quite familiar with kitchens, something he’d never be able to confess to friends at home or he’d become a laughingstock.

  “Oh, thank you, dear boys.” Mrs. Foster reminded Garrick of Uncle’s housekeeper, a spritely, maternal sort who could nonetheless keep Uncle’s household running smoothly. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “What delicious dishes have you prepared for today’s party?” Garrick caught the scent of apples and cinnamon, but the apples on the tree in the yard hadn’t yet ripened.

  “Dried apple pie, lemon cookies, biscuits, chicken and dumplings, sweet potatoes.” Mrs. Foster looked around the room. “That’s everything. Shall we go?”

  They exited the house, walked through the front gate and began the two-block trek to the church. Mrs. Foster reached for Garrick’s free arm with one hand and Roberts’s free arm with the other. Over the little lady’s head, Roberts gave Garrick a worried, wide-eyed look and started to protest, but Garrick shook his head. The dear woman had no idea her friendly gesture placed master and valet on equal footing, something that would never be tolerated at home. But then, in this case the valet wore a suit and the master wore cowboy garb. Maybe Garrick should have worn something more suited to his station. Too late to change now.

  They drew near the crowded park by the church, and the aroma of roasted beef wafted through the air, further inciting Garrick’s appetite. In the center of the park stood a bandstand where a group of surprisingly talented musicians practiced their songs. The bandstand was festooned with red, white and blue bunting, as were most of the buildings in town. Across Main Street in front of the bank, a colorful banner proclaimed, Esperanza, July 4, 1883. The hubbub of music and cheerful voices stirred Garrick’s emotions unexpectedly, and he decided to surrender himself to the enjoyments of the day.

  After they deposited the hampers on the proper tables, Garrick took his leave of Mrs. Foster and dismissed Roberts to enjoy the day as he wished. Straightaway, Roberts fairly bounded over to another table where the Northams’ cook, Rita, was arranging desserts. The girl’s happy countenance upon seeing Roberts caused Garrick no small alarm. What would he do if his valet wanted to marry the girl and take her home to England? That would never do for more reasons than Garrick cared to list—not the least of which was that he couldn’t afford another servant.

  “Wakefield!” Colonel Northam hailed him from across the churchyard. Beside him, Mrs. Northam offered a smile and wave. The Colonel wore a striking brown tweed suit, with a black string tie held in place with a large silver and
turquoise tie pin. His brown boots boasted a pair of ornate silver and turquoise spurs. Mrs. Northam was resplendent in a dark green cotton gown and matching sunbonnet. With such handsome parents, no wonder Rosamond was such a beauty.

  Garrick returned their waves and strode across the space to greet them. After proper greetings, he asked, “Did Rosamond come, too?” The words were out before he could stop them. Of course she’d be here, and Mrs. Northam’s knowing smile proclaimed that she knew exactly why he’d asked. Bother. Couldn’t a chap keep his feelings hidden any better than that?

  “Yes, she’s here,” Mrs. Northam said. “She’s probably helping to organize the children’s games.” She indicated a small field beyond the church. Sure enough, the lady who too often invaded his dreams was directing a group of boys and girls in some sort of activity.

  “I see you’ve taken to wearing Western clothes.” Colonel Northam placed a hand on Garrick’s shoulder as he eyed his hat, plaid shirt and new boots. “Makes you fit right in.”

  “Thank you, sir.” A warm feeling settled in Garrick’s chest. The gentleman was the founder of this community and was respected by everyone who lived here. His public welcome to this event meant a great deal to Garrick.

  Tolley stood not ten feet away wearing his usual scowl. “Say, tenderfoot, you gonna ride in the race this morning?”

  Garrick glanced at the Colonel before answering. “Is that an invitation?” He injected as much friendliness into his tone as he could, to no avail.

  “No. It’s a challenge.” Tolley continued to scowl.

  “Bartholomew!” The Colonel growled as he sent an identical angry look in his son’s direction.

  Tolley winced and took a step back.

  Bartholomew? Garrick had wondered about Tolley’s unusual name.

  “Then I accept your challenge.” He just short of chirped his answer to try to smooth over the moment of rancor. He’d probably never understand the younger man’s resentment, but he certainly wouldn’t stand between father and son.

  “Sir, I’ll fetch your horse when it’s time.” Adam Starling appeared at Garrick’s side, as he often did at the building site, no doubt eager to learn any possible news about his father. “I’ve been exercising her every day, just like you asked.”