ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “What do you mean, interrupting me this way?” Charles effected his most aristocratic tone of voice, mimicking his father perfectly. “Who sent you?” As if he didn’t already know the answer to that question. Did the earl mean to bodily drag him back to England?

  Bainbridge frowned. He glanced at the crowd around him and took a step toward Charles. “Excuse me, m’lord, but perhaps it would be best if we talked in private, like. If you’ll just come with me –.”

  Two men moved forward, as if to seize Bainbridge by the collar and toss him out. Charles waved them away. “I do not intend to go anywhere until you answer my question. What is your purpose here? Who sent you?”

  Bainbridge looked distressed. “Lady Thorndale sent me, m’lord,” he said. “She’s in need of your assistance.”

  “Lady Thorndale? Lady Cecily Thorndale?” Charles eyed the young man warily. Was this another of his father’s tricks? “Surely her ladyship did not send you all the way from England to personally fetch me.”

  “Of course not, m’lord. Her ladyship is here.”

  Charles faltered. “Cecily is here? In Texas?”

  “In Fairweather, m’lord.”

  “What is she doing here?” If Cecily was here, then that meant Lord Marbridge was here as well, with no telling how many retainers. Perhaps Marbridge and the earl had colluded to bring him home – and Cecily had been brought along in order to complete the marriage bargain right away, thus sealing his fate. He scanned the room, searching for the nearest exit. If he had to, he’d make a run for it. He wouldn’t be forced into his father’s mold so soon.

  “She came because of the letter, m’lord.”

  “The letter?” Charles frowned.

  “The letter you wrote to her, m’lord,” Bainbridge prompted.

  Charles’ frown deepened. That letter. The one in which he’d proposed putting off their wedding yet again. His plan had been to stall until Cecily received a better offer, as no doubt she soon would, as long as he kept himself halfway across the world, out of the picture. Apparently, Marbridge intended to make him complete the engagement if it meant sailing to Texas to do so. Charles would have to find a way to put him off. “Tell her ladyship I’m busy at the moment. I’ll call on her and her family tomorrow.”

  Bainbridge coughed. The woman beside him looked as if she might faint at any moment. “Lady Thorndale is not here with her family,” the footman said. “And I’m afraid she cannot wait until tomorrow. She requires your assistance at once.”

  Charles glared at the man. “Cecily is traveling alone?” Delicate, sheltered Cecily, traveling by herself across the wilds of Texas. It was unthinkable!

  Bainbridge stiffened and raised his chin. “Her ladyship is in the company of myself and Miss Rogers, her lady’s maid.”

  The maid bobbed another curtsey. Charles recognized her now, from his visits to the Thorndale estate. A sick feeling congealed in his stomach. “Has Lord Marbridge gone out of his mind, letting a woman like Cecily travel all this way in the company of two servants?” He struggled to control his voice. No wonder Cecily required his assistance. The journey had no doubt tried her delicate sensibilities and reduced her to tears.

  “Lord Marbridge doesn’t know, m’lord.” The maid spoke, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She wore a stricken expression. “I tried and tried to tell her it was wrong, but her ladyship was determined to come. She’s run away.”

  “Run away!”

  A fork rang against a china plate, the only sound in the suddenly still ballroom. Bainbridge nodded. “She’s run away, m’lord. Now will you come with us to see her?”

  Charles clenched his jaw and turned to Miss Simms. “It seems I must go. I’m sorry to spoil the evening, my dear.”

  “Nonsense. If your friend needs help, I’m coming with you.” She laid aside her napkin and stood.

  Charles nodded. Facing Cecily might be easier with others about. They could keep the conversation at an impersonal, polite level. He turned back to Bainbridge. “All right then. Where is she?”

  The young man stepped forward to whisper in Charles’s ear. “She’s in the jail, m’lord.”

  “Ja–!” Charles bit back the word. “Jail?” he asked again, his voice softer. He felt dizzy. Cecily – his Cecily – in jail?

  * * *

  The Fairweather Jail was one of the few locations in town Charles had never had the occasion to visit. He stared up at the two-story stone structure situated not far from the depot. A row of iron-barred windows just under the flat roof, scarcely more than slits for ventilation, gave the structure a sinister appearance. He shuddered to think of Cecily, raised in coddled comfort, shut away in this forbidding place. “You are certain Lady Cecily is here?” He eyed Bainbridge skeptically.

  The footman nodded. “I saw the sheriff take her away myself.”

  “Clapped her in irons they did!” Miss Rogers looked on the verge of tears.

  Charles scowled and rapped on the front door. Sheriff John Grady answered after a moment. “Worthington? What brings you here this time of night?” His eyebrows arched as he looked past Charles to Hattie Simms and the two servants.

  “Sorry to intrude, old fellow, but apparently there’s been a bit of a mix-up.” Charles assumed his best hale-fellow well-met attitude, usually effective at disarming the locals. “I understand you’re holding a young woman in custody. A Lady Cecily Thorndale.”

  Grady’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what she says her name is.”

  Charles curled his hands into fists at his sides and struggled to keep his voice even. “I assure you, Sheriff, that is indeed the young woman’s name. Now, if you’d be so kind as to let us inside, I’m sure we can put things to rights in no time.”

  Grady made no move to vacate the doorway. He eyed Charles suspiciously. “Just what is your connection to this woman?”

  “She is. . . a family friend.”

  The sheriff stroked his elaborate moustache and folded his arms across his ornate waistcoat. “Something don’t set quite right here,” he said. “She keeps going on about somebody named Silsbee. Who is he?”

  Charles flexed his fingers and took a deep, steadying breath. “I am Silsbee. Worthington is the family name. Silsbee is the name attached to the title.”

  “Well, well, a title, is it?” Grady made a show of studying his neatly manicured nails. “Seems like you British will tack a fancy title onto every third hound dog. If you think that’s going to impress me, you’re wrong.”

  “Sheriff, we can discuss all this later.” Hattie Simms stepped between the men. Her face was bright pink and her voice trembled, but she was doing her best to look fierce. “Why are you holding this young woman in the first place?”

  Grady straightened. He stared at Hattie, who glared back at him in that defiant way Texas women had. The sheriff was the first to look away. He fixed his gaze on Charles instead. “This young lady got off the train in the company of three known whor– uh, excuse me ma’am –” He nodded to Hattie. “Three, uh, women of an unsavory reputation. My buddy over in Beaufort sent word these women were on their way here to set up shop. Now you all know I’m doing my best to do what the folks elected me to do, and that’s clean up this town. So what was I supposed to do, but arrest all of ‘em? How did I know she was any different?”

  How could anyone possibly have mistaken Lady Cecily for a prostitute? She was the daughter of a peer! She could order tea in five languages. She’d never done anything in her life that wasn’t absolutely proper. Charles gave the sheriff a withering look. “Am I to understand it, sir, that you were unable to differentiate between a proper young lady and a trio of scarlet women?”

  Grady leaned toward him, face twisted in a scowl. “The way I see it, Lord Worthington, or Silsbee, or whatever you’re going by this week, consorting with those. . . females from Beaufort wasn’t exactly proper.”

  Charles glared at the sheriff, fists clenching and unclenching. “May we see Lady Thorndale?”

  Grady t
urned abruptly and led them through the door. He stopped to fetch an oil lamp from the table, then climbed a flight of narrow stairs. Charles followed at his heels, with Hattie directly behind him. The servants waited by the door.

  At the top of the stairs, the lamp cast shadows across a row of iron cells. A chill chased up Charles’ spine as he surveyed the graffiti-scrawled iron plates, with their forbidding locks. The sheriff unlocked the first door on the left and swung it open to reveal a barred cell. In the dim light, Charles made out four women huddled on two iron bunks. Grady moved closer to illuminate the bunk to the left of the door and Charles caught a flash of golden hair against a pale cheek. “Cecily!” he breathed, struck anew by her delicate beauty. He’d forgotten, or convinced himself he’d imagined, how truly lovely she was.

  She half-sat, slumped against the shoulder of an older woman, who woke first and assessed them all with a quick gaze. Then she turned to Cecily, and gently shook her awake. “You have visitors, my dear,” she said softly.

  Cecily was slow to wake, blinking in the lamplight like a startled kitten. Her gaze swept past the sheriff and Hattie, to Charles himself. Then a smile lit her face, erasing all traces of weariness. Charles’ heart did acrobatics in his chest. “Charles!” she cried, and leapt up. “I knew you’d come.”

  She rushed toward him. Grady made a move as if to restrain her, but Charles shoved him out of the way and gathered Cecily in his arms. “My dear, you must be terrified,” he soothed. “I promise I will have you out of here at once.”

  “Oh, Charles, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, clinging to him.

  He pulled her closer, enjoying the feel of her, warm and soft in her arms. He was aware of her firm breasts pressed against his chest, the curve of her hips beneath his hands. At home in her parent’s parlor, Cecily was always so perfectly proper. He’d never realized how very nicely shaped she was.

  Grady coughed. He’d stationed himself by the door and when Charles looked up, the lawman leered. Gently, Charles pulled away from Cecily, though he kept his hands on her shoulders. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” he asked. “I would have met you at the station.”

  She ducked her head. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You certainly did that.”

  Hattie stepped forward and offered a shy smile. “I’m Hattie Simms. Welcome to Fairweather, Lady Thorndale.”

  “Thank you. I’m very glad to be here.” Her smile would have dazzled anyone. Had it always been this way? Charles wondered. How had he failed to notice?

  “It sounds as if you’ve had quite a trip,” Hattie said. “Is it true you’ve run away from home?”

  Charles stiffened. Hattie grinned as if she found the idea enchanting. Didn’t she realize how unthinkable it was for a young woman in Cecily’s position to go haring off halfway across the world without telling anyone? He still had a difficult time believing Cecily had even considered such a thing.

  “Not run away, really,” Cecily said. She studied Charles from beneath a veil of lashes. “But when I received Charles’ letter, well, I knew he needed me.”

  “Needed you?” He choked out the words.

  She nodded. “Of course.” She smoothed her skirt with her free hand. “A man in your position, with a ranch to run . . . I couldn’t be content knowing you were doing it all alone, when my rightful place was by your side.”

  The room suddenly felt very close. Charles tugged at his collar. “We can discuss this later. Now I’ll take you to the ranch. This must have been a very traumatic experience for you.”

  “I haven’t been ill-treated. And I’ve enjoyed talking with Madame LeFleur and her. . . daughters.”

  For the first time, Charles remembered the other three occupants of the cell. He looked past Cecily and found the three women sitting side by side on one bunk, watching him with obvious interest. The older woman, Madame LeFleur, had a certain air of quality about her, despite being over-made up and under-dressed. The other two, the ‘daughters’, were no more or less than common trollops.

  He bowed formally to them. “I must thank you, ladies, for your kindness to Lady Thorndale.” He took Cecily by the elbow. “Come along, my dear.”

  She started to come with him, then hesitated and looked back at the women in the cell. “What will become of them?” she asked the sheriff.

  Grady pulled the door closed and started to lock it. “Tomorrow morning I’ll put them on the first train out of here.”

  “But you can’t do that,” Cecily protested. She pulled away from Charles and faced the Sheriff once more. “They haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Not yet. I intend to see that it stays that way.”

  “They can stay at Lord Silsbee’s Ranch.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, please, Charles.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Just until they’ve had time to decide what to do next.”

  Charles blinked. He took Cecily’s hand and pulled her aside. “My dear, you do realize what these women are?” he whispered.

  She had the decency to look away. He could smell the perfume in her hair, see the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. He itched to stroke her there, to see if she was really as satiny as she looked.

  “I know what they are,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear her. His mouth was only inches from her cheek now. He imagined brushing his lips against her warm skin. . “But they’ve been friends to me,” she continued. “They treated me decently when no one else did.” She met his gaze once more. Her eyes were dark, pleading with him. He felt mesmerized, wanting to do anything to please her. His heart pounded in his chest and his tongue felt too awkward to speak. “I can’t just abandon them here.”

  He stared at her, stunned. What had happened to the demure English rose he’d left behind – the girl groomed from birth to be the perfect gentleman’s wife? Somewhere along the way she’d been replaced by this enchantress who’d run away from home, befriended a trio of whores and invited them home to stay. Now she’d cast a spell over him as well.

  She squeezed his hand and a bolt of feeling raced up his arm to his heart, settling somewhere in the region of his groin. This Lady Cecily was like nothing he remembered or expected. That alone was enough to intrigue him, to persuade him to give in to her shocking request.

  Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze from her and turned to the sheriff. “I’ll pay whatever fines these women have incurred if you will release them into my custody.”

  The sheriff frowned. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer to hear from my solicitor, when he files suit for false imprisonment of Lady Cecily.” He smiled coolly and reached for his wallet.

  The sheriff scowled, but opened the door once more. Smiling, Madame LeFleur and her ‘daughters’ filed out. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” Madame said, performing a graceful curtsy.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Lady Thorndale.” He started to lead the way out of the room, then turned back. “Just one thing, Madame. I won’t have you conducting any, um, business as long as you are under my care.”

  “But of course, Monsieur. It is understood.”

  He nodded, then ushered Cecily out of the room and down the stairs. He was aware of every movement of the woman by his side, every brush of her body against his setting off new alarms. Part of him ached for a moment alone, a chance to realize the fantasies tumbling through his head. Another part, the part he credited with having good sense, screamed at him to turn and run the other way at once.

  Chapter Three

  Cecily awoke to sunlight, brighter than any she had known in England. It slanted through the open bedroom window, across the bare wood floor and glowed like a spotlight on her pillow. She tugged the coverlets over her head to try to block it out, but Alice pulled them away. “There now, m’lady. I’ve brought your chocolate. You’ll feel better once you’ve had a cup. Made it myself, I did.”

  Cecily groaned and struggled to sit up in bed. Alice ha
nded her the cup. “The old biddy who passes for a cook here had the nerve to tell me you could take tea or coffee like everyone else or go without.” Alice fluffed a pillow and eased it behind Cecily’s back. “I showed her, I did. You should have a word with Lord Silsbee, ma’am. That cook of his don’t know her place.”

  “This is America, Alice. I’m not sure people here have a ‘place’ in society the way they do in England.” She sipped the chocolate, which was lukewarm, but tasted wonderful all the same. “Perhaps we should try to avoid making any trouble for anyone. We are here uninvited, after all.”

  “The very idea!” Alice picked up a silver-backed brush and began to stroke Cecily’s tangled tresses. “You’re Lord Silsbee’s intended. This place is as good as your own, the way I see it.”

  Cecily closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the soothing rhythm of Alice’s brush. But even this morning ritual couldn’t ease the tightness between her shoulder blades, a nagging reminder that things weren’t quite as settled as Alice liked to believe. She’d seen Charles’s face last night when she’d made that announcement about him needing her. Now that she was here at the ranch, the idea sounded preposterous. Why should Charles need her? From what little she’d seen thus far, he appeared to have a host of employees to help him run the ranch, and friends throughout the town. He had only to smile and he captured the hearts of half the women in a room. When he spoke, the other half fell in love with him as well. Why would he need Cecily?

  Why would anyone need Cecily? Her mother didn’t need her to help run the household or entertain guests. Her father had little use for an unmarried daughter who could neither follow him in business nor produce grandchildren for him to dandle on his knee. She had no cause or job to which she could devote herself. All she had was Charles.

  She opened her eyes and handed Alice her cup, then slid from beneath the covers. “Is Lord Silsbee awake yet?” she asked.

  Alice set the cup aside and picked up a petticoat from the clothing she’d laid out on a chair. “Cook says everyone else is up and gone about their work. Made a point of saying that, she did. As if she expected you to rise at dawn like a common housemaid.”