ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “There’s much good to be said for a wife and family.”

  “If that’s so, then let one of my brothers take a wife and fulfill Father’s wish for grandchildren.” He opened his heavy wool greatcoat and fished out his gold watch and consulted it. “Deuces, where has the time gone? I’ll have to hurry to avoid being late to this confounded dinner.”

  “Word among the locals is that you have been quite looking forward to this evening, m’lord. Miss Simms said you were one of the first to sign her subscription list for the Academy.”

  Charles turned up his collar against an icy gust. “Well, what was I supposed to do – refuse to make a donation after she rattled on and on about the value of higher education and the importance of this Academy of theirs to the growing families in the area? I fail to see why she and her women friends are suddenly so keen to introduce morals and higher ideals into the town. Why, I hear they’re talking of closing the saloons on Sundays.”

  “They say they don’t want Fairweather to become another Tascosa or Dodge, with shootouts every night, and new graves each week on Boot Hill. They want this to be a safe place for families.”

  Charles grimaced. “Where does that leave the rest of us morally bankrupt sinners?”

  “No doubt you’ll feel differently when you have a family of your own, m’lord.”

  “That’s just what I’m afraid of.” He had a sudden picture of himself, dressed in a sensible dark suit, his hair gray and thinning, forehead creased in a permanent frown. All around him, people clamored for his attention – clerks and tenants, half a dozen children with sticky hands, his wife nattering on about pin money or some other triviality.

  Though he couldn’t quite picture Cecily nattering. She was much too dignified for such behavior. Cecily, no doubt, would heartily approve of Miss Hattie Simms’s efforts to civilize the town.

  “Whatever your reason for donating, you’re quite the hero with the ladies,” Gordon continued. “Though I daresay, you’ve already managed to beguile the majority of women in town. Miss Simms seems particularly besotted.”

  Charles groaned. “Yes, well Miss Simms is a pleasant young lady.” A trifle too earnest perhaps, always going on about one of the many causes which she supported. This week it was the Educational Society. Next week it might be City Beautification or the Temperance Union.

  “I’m glad you approve, m’lord. I understand she’s to be your dinner partner this evening.”

  He narrowed his eyes at Gordon. “You wouldn’t!”

  Gordon looked offended. “No, I would not, m’lord. But apparently, others would.” His expression sobered. “Apparently, some of the women on the committee think it’s high time you wed. They worry you are lonely.”

  “I am not lonely.” Ah, well, there were times when he craved the sound of a woman’s soft voice, or the feel of a woman’s soft body in his bed. But what man surrounded by other men wouldn’t feel those things? That didn’t mean he was ready to settle down – not with earnest Miss Simms, and certainly not with prim and proper Lady Cecily.

  * * *

  “Madame LeFleur, what exactly is it that you do, with these men who come to your salon?” Cecily addressed the woman who sat next to her on the hard bunk in Fairweather’s city jail. Fifi and Cherie, whom she now suspected were no relation at all to their traveling companion, perched on the edge of the bunk across from them like two brightly colored, disgruntled birds. Though it was warmer within the jail, out of the wind, the women had not removed their wraps, as if to avoid any more contact than necessary with the iron-walled cell and its grim furnishings. Cecily was doing her best to keep from staring at the white porcelain chamber pot situated against the back wall. She had never seen such a personal item sitting out in plain view. Compared with that affront to her modesty, Madame’s description of the ‘gentleman’s salon’ she intended to open in Fairweather seemed almost tame.

  “Why, we provide entertainment for the clientele of our salon,” Madame said. “Estelle,” She nodded toward the ruby-haired beauty across from them, “is an accomplished chanteuse. Fifi,” She indicated the bosomy blond, “always commands an audience for her recitations.”

  Estelle and Fifi smiled demurely. Cecily leaned closer to Madame and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Yes, but is that all you do?” she asked. She felt a blush burn its way up her neck and across her cheeks as she spoke, but curiosity burned hotter within her. How was she to become a woman of the world if she did not take every opportunity to learn?

  “Oh, you are tres curieux, non?” Madame patted Cecily’s arm. “Perhaps you are wanting to please this handsome fiancé of yours come your wedding night.”

  Estelle and Fifi tittered. Madame silenced them with a stern look. “I say it is commendable that you want to know. Of course, if more young women were like you, my girls and I would have much less business.”

  Cecily’s face burned, and she wished the floor would open up to swallow her. “Oh my goodness, Madame, I never. . . “

  “There, there, mon cher,” Madame reassured her. “If you will come to see me in private when we are free of this wretched place, I will be happy to share with you the knowledge you seek.” “But the sheriff said he would not allow you to open your salon in Fairweather,” Cecily said.

  Madame gave an elegant shrug. “The sheriff does not control the land outside of town. We will find a place somewhere close by to open our salon. The men will find us no matter where we are.” She reached into the sleeve of her gown and extracted a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Take this,” she said, urging the handkerchief on Cecily. “It will help to take away the stink of this place.”

  Grateful, Cecily raised the bit of lace and dimity to her nose. The fragrance of rose petals replaced the cesspool stench of the cell. “Madame, you have been so kind,” she said. She smoothed the handkerchief in her lap and avoided the older woman’s eyes. “I’m sure you will think me terribly forward, but how can a woman such as yourself, a woman of obvious refinement, I mean, what led you. . . how can you. . .? “

  “How can I sell my body for the pleasure of strangers?” Madame’s eyes were soft with sympathy at Cecily’s startled expression. “You are shocked that I would speak so frankly, non? I do not mean to offend, dear lady. And I do not mind answering your question.” She stared out across the cell, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I was once a lady, much like yourself. Yes, I see that you have led a very proper and sheltered life. I was like you.

  “And then one day, in France, I met a handsome nobleman. He was much older than I, so very rich and so very handsome. I could not help myself. I fell in love, and allowed him to seduce me. Only later, when it was too late, I discovered the man I loved was already married to another.” She sighed. “So you see, already ruined, I had no path open to me but to become another man’s mistress. Unsatisfied with that arrangement, I decided to come to America, to go into business for myself.”

  “How terrible for you,” Cecily murmured.

  Madame smiled sadly. “I have accepted my fate. And I do not find it so terrible now. These two,” She indicated Fifi and Estelle. “These two were never ladies. When I found them, working the streets, they knew nothing, they had nothing. I have taken them and taught them everything.”

  Cecily had noticed, when it came time for the Sheriff to issue a receipt to each of them for their personal belongings, the two younger women had marked a simple X in the ledger in the space for their name. She leaned toward them, curiosity once again overwhelming her manners. “Do. . . do you enjoy your. . . your work?” she asked. “I mean, have you ever thought of doing something else?”

  “It’s not as if there are lots of jobs available for women,” Estelle said. She pulled her shawl more closely around her, a bored expression on her face. “To my way of thinking, I’ve got the best one available for a woman without an education.”

  Fifi giggled. “Why would I want to stand on my feet all day, clerking in a store, or teaching letters to a bunch of brats?”
She eyed Cecily over the top of her fan. “Of course, not all of us have a handsome Lord waiting to sweep us off our feet.”

  Madame gave Fifi a sharp look, then turned to Cecily. “Tell me, mon cher, is your fiancé, Lord Silsbee, expecting you soon? I only ask because he was not here to meet your train.”

  Cecily ducked her head and concentrated on making neat pleats in the handkerchief. “I . . . I’d intended to surprise him.”

  “You came all this long way to surprise him?” Cecily heard the doubt in Madame LeFleur’s voice.

  “Yes, well, he wrote me a letter, you see. And in the letter he sounded. . . unsure . . . of whether he still wanted to marry me.”

  “Ahh, and you decided to come and settle his mind once and for all.” Madame leaned toward her. “You are right not to let a man retreat from his obligations too readily. But I am surprised your family would agree to let you come so far unaccompanied, especially when the outcome of your journey is still uncertain.”

  Cecily shifted on the hard cot. “Yes, well, my parents did not actually see Charles’ letter. I thought it best not to worry them. I had money of my own for the fare. And I did not come entirely alone. I brought my ladies’ maid and a footman with me. Once we were aboard ship, I sent my parents a letter, telling them not to worry.”

  She lifted her head and found all three women staring at her, amazed expressions on their faces. She sat up very straight. “I am, after all, four and twenty,” she said. “It’s not as if I were a girl barely out of nursery.”

  Madame LeFleur burst out laughing. “So you are, so you are,” she said, patting her arm. “And I would venture to say you will succeed on your mission here. Your Lord Silsbee will be overcome by your beauty and your determination.”

  Cecily blushed at the compliment. In spite of Madame LeFleur’s scandalous occupation, Cecily liked her. She was even beginning to think of her as a friend. Madame appreciated Cecily for herself, not because of who her father was, or because of the parties her mother gave.

  She only hoped Madame was right about Charles. Would he welcome her with open arms, or send her home in disgrace?

  Chapter Two

  “We’re so pleased you’ve decided to help us, Lord Worthington. You’re so popular, I’m sure your support will persuade others to join us.” Hattie Simms gazed up at Charles with a serious expression that contrasted sharply with the dainty ruffles and bows festooned about her dress and hat. The dress was pink, of some unseasonably light and floaty material. This, coupled with her diminutive stature, gave Miss Simms the appearance of a Fairy Godmother in a children’s story.

  Charles suppressed a smile and nodded solemnly. “I am only too happy to assist the Educational Society in your endeavors.” He sipped from a cup of tea and surveyed the men and women seated around him in the Lloyd House’s grand ballroom. The room was filled with tables draped in white linen and arranged around a raised dais. He frowned at the dais. “How many speakers are you expecting this evening?”

  “Most of the people with banners will say a few words.” Hattie indicated the white silk banner she wore, the words “Fairweather Educational Society” worked in red embroidery down its length. The oversized strip of silk wouldn’t hang properly on her slight figure, so that right now she displayed “eather Educational Soc”.

  Charles scanned the room and groaned. Every third person seemed to be draped in one of the banners, including the woman on Miss Simms’s right, who with her husband, a newspaper editor named Adkins, made up the second couple at the table.

  Charles sighed and sat back. This promised to be a very long evening, indeed. He sent Miss Simms a pained look. “At least you might have supplied me with something stronger to drink than tea.”

  She gave him one of those superior smiles women have perfected that was at the same time aggravating and endearing. “A period of temperance will do you good.”

  Resigned, Charles picked up his cup once more. White-coated waiters began serving the soup course. Miss Simms turned to Charles again. “We’ve had a wonderful turnout for a first effort, wouldn’t you say?”

  Charles smiled. “I’m sure no man in town would decline an invitation from such a lovely young woman as yourself,” he purred.

  Miss Simms blushed as pink as her dress. “Oh, Lord Worthington, you are quite the charmer,” she breathed.

  These Texans never got the title right, but then, they didn’t set much store by such formalities. He admired that. It had taken him only a few weeks to fall under the spell of the wide open freedom enjoyed here. The thought of returning to his father’s stifling way of life grew more distasteful with each passing day.

  He fixed the young woman at his side with a sultry stare. “I can’t help myself around you, Miss Simms.”

  Her expression could only be called a simper. He tried not to cringe. What did a little harmless flirting matter, especially when it seemed to please the serious Miss Simms so much?

  He managed to keep himself in check, however, until the waiters removed the soup bowls and delivered plates of stuffed quail. “Tell me, Miss Simms, what will you be speaking about this evening?” he asked.

  “I have the privilege of outlining our plans for the Academy.”

  “By plans, do you mean the building you’ve had designed and the classes you intend to offer?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Yes. We hope to have a full curriculum, with instruction in mathematics, Latin, geography and history as well as the classics.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “And I’ve just received some wonderful news. Something very exciting.” Her cheeks flushed pink again, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

  Charles smiled. The solemn little bookworm looked almost pretty. “Madame, you must confess at once,” he teased. “What is this thrilling news?”

  “We’ve decided to have special courses of instruction for females – not only the usual arts curriculum, but sciences and mathematics as well.” Miss Simms sat back, hands clasped together at her chest. She looked inordinately pleased with herself.

  “Indeed?” Charles arched one eyebrow and nodded solemnly. “I feel I should dispatch myself at once to warn the unsuspecting male population of the area. I have heard there is nothing more dangerous than an educated female.”

  Miss Simms’s pleased look vanished. “You mock me, Lord Worthington.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Simms, I salute you.” He raised his tea cup in a toast.

  The waiters brought around a vegetable dish – some sort of stew of potatoes and beans, from what he could determine. Why did they never serve anything more substantial at these gatherings, something like roast beef? “Tell me, Lord Worthington, what exactly is it that you do in England?” The question was posed by the newspaper editor, Adkins.

  Charles gave Adkins a cool look. As if sensing a faux pas, the newspaper man was quick to add, “Forgive my abruptness, but I have a reporter’s insatiable curiosity.”

  Charles’s pleasant expression concealed his inner annoyance. What did he do in England? He rearranged the vegetables on his plate with his fork and framed an innocuous answer. “Oh, I’m being groomed to follow in my father’s footsteps. Oversee the property, look after the retainers, that sort of thing.”

  “It must be exciting to be a member of the nobility.” This from Adkins’s wife, another banner-wearer with mouse-brown curls.

  Exciting? Charles couldn’t keep the pained expression from his face. Riding a wild bronco was exciting. Trying to turn a stampede of raging bulls was exciting. Winning a hand of five card stud was exciting. His life in England was dull. Dreadfully dull. “I assure you it would make for very boring newspaper copy.”

  “Mr. Adkins is writing a series of articles on the need for higher education in this part of Texas,” Miss Simms said. “I’m sure he’ll arouse a great deal of interest in our cause.”

  “Oh really? I myself have never been one to be aroused by mere rhetoric.”

  Miss Simm’s face flamed crimson, and Charl
es bit back a laugh. He really shouldn’t bait the poor woman, but she made it so damnably easy. He searched for some remark to ease Miss Simms’s discomfort, some flattery to smooth ruffled feathers. Before he could speak, his attention was drawn to a commotion across the room. “What’s going on?” he asked, staring at the knot of people by the door.

  “Someone trying to crash the dinner,” Adkins said, rising. He whipped a notebook from his jacket and started toward the disturbance.

  Suddenly a young man dressed in a dark suit and a cloth cap broke from the crowd, dragging a young woman in a soot-colored dress and shawl along behind him. Something about the woman struck Charles as familiar, though he couldn’t say why.

  The intruders paused beside the table nearest the door and the young man spoke to an elderly gentleman. Everyone at the table turned to stare at Charles’s group. The young man tipped his hat, and headed toward them.

  “You can’t come in here without an invitation!” Mrs. Joseph Dillon followed behind the pair, her ample figure bearing down on the intruders like a sea cutter.

  “We must see Lord Silsbee.” The young man’s East London accent reminded Charles of home. That, and hearing his proper title made him stand, his back rigid.

  The couple stopped in front of him. The young man doffed his cap and made an elaborate bow, while the woman sank into a curtsy. Charles stared at them, aware that the eyes of every man and woman in the place were focused on this little scene. He didn’t have to ask himself who was responsible for this embarrassment. Only one person would want him badly enough to send servants to fetch him.

  “Lord Silsbee, sir,” the man said.

  “Who are you?” Charles demanded.

  “Nick Bainbridge, m’lord. If you’d be so kind to come with me, m’lord.”