ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “And about Lady Thorndale?”

  He looked away. “I don’t know, Gordon. I just don’t know.”

  “Might I suggest, m’lord, that as long as she is here, we might introduce Lady Thorndale to some of the local women? Women who would be more suitable companions than Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’?”

  “Of course. Here, take Lady Thorndale’s footman, Bainbridge, over to the stables and find him a suitable mount. He can accompany Cecily when she goes to make calls.”

  “Can I try my hand at bustin’ broncs first?” Bainbridge pulled off his cap in a respectful gesture contrary to the stubborn gleam in his eye. “Let me give it a go and I’ll have it out of my system, ready to escort Lady Cecily all meek and mild-like.”

  Charles bit back a smile. It would serve the cheeky lad right if he busted his head, or his backside, on the pounded dirt of the corral. “Boys, snub one for Mr. Bainbridge here,” he called over the fence. “He wants to give it a try.”

  Six weathered faces turned toward the trio of Englishmen. Six hardened gazes sized up the black-suited footman, with his cloth cap and worn leather shoes. The foreman, Hollister, spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, and signaled one of his men to bring out a new mount. “Come on out if you’re gonna do it, boy. Ain’t got all day.”

  Before they had the wild mare tied fast to the snubbing post in the middle of the corral, Bainbridge had shucked his coat and scaled the fence. He dropped down onto the dirt with wiry grace and sauntered over to the gathered cowboys with all the assurance of a pro. Only a tightness around his mouth betrayed his anxiety.

  “You ever break a horse before, son?” Hollister asked.

  “No sir. I’ve ridden a good bit, though.”

  The furrows on either side of Hollister’s mouth deepened. “Ordinary horse is a pussycat compared to these four-legged tornadoes. Maybe you ought to leave this up to boys with experience.”

  Nick drew himself up as tall as he could, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Don’t see how I’ll be getting experience without I start now.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Hollister’s mouth. Charles thought he liked Bainbridge’s cheek. The boy was no coward, that was certain. Charles himself would hesitate to climb aboard the wild horse, its back already bowed as if readying for the first toss.

  “All right then. Grab hold of the reins. We’ll throw you up on him, then you’re on your own.” Hollister handed Bainbridge the reins, then hunched over and made a step with his hands. Bainbridge stepped up and was hoisted into the saddle. He’d barely found his seat when the cowboys cut loose the mare, and she began to buck.

  Charles’s breath caught as Bainbridge’s head snapped back with the first buck. The cowboys cheered, and began shouting taunts. “Ride her, limey!” “Let’s see you handle that, greenhorn!”

  White-faced, teeth showing in a horrible grimace, the footman stayed on. Charles gripped the top rail of the fence, as if he could somehow help the younger man keep hold of the reins.

  The ground shook as the horse’s front feet came into contact with the earth once more. Bainbridge slid sideways in the saddle, but continued to cling to it, dust settling like powder over his black trousers.

  The horse kicked out again, and Bainbridge’s head snapped back painfully. The men had fallen silent now, watching the scene before them with a hushed awe. The Englishman had stayed on the wild mare far longer than they’d ever expected.

  The mare landed again, legs spraddled wide, head drooping. Bainbridge struggled to right himself in the saddle. The cowboys moved in closer, shouting advice. “Hang on tight. She ain’t done yet!”

  “You’re gettin’ the best of her now. Hang on!”

  The horse appeared to be wearying now, jumping not as high, and with less fury. Nick relaxed some, and began to acknowledge the cheers of those around him. When the mare at last came to a trembling stop, he surrendered the reins to Hollister and prepared to slide from the saddle.

  He hadn’t counted on the wiliness of the mare, however. Just as he threw his leg over, before he’d made it all the way to the ground, she summoned the energy for one last buck. It was scarcely more than a flinch, but enough to set Bainbridge off balance. The low heel of his shoe slipped in the stirrup and he fell to the ground, still struggling to rise as the mare began to run, dragging him around the arena.

  Without thinking, Charles bolted over the fence, and joined the men trying to catch the horse. Hollister snagged it at last, and held it fast while Charles raced to the footman. Bruised and bloodied, he was thankfully still conscious, and attempting to joke with the cowboys who helped him rise. “Which one of you blokes taught her that trick? Or is it only foreigners she was saving that for?”

  On his feet once more, he tried to brush the worst of the dirt from his suit. “Alice’ll have my hide for sure.” He turned to grin at Charles. “I might make a cowboy yet m’lord.”

  “You’re too reckless by half for a footman. I think I’m beginning to see why Cecily chose you to come with her.”

  “Because she knew I’d stand up to anybody that tried to harm her.” Bainbridge drew himself up taller.

  “No, I think it was because she knew a rascal like you wouldn’t object to her plans for adventure.” He clapped the young man on the back. “Go on to the stables and pick out a mount. Then you’d better go change.”

  Charles stepped back and Bainbridge was swallowed up in a crowd of cowboys. They offered congratulations and good-natured jibes. For all his differences, at that moment, Bainbridge was one of them.

  Watching the scene, Charles was reminded again of what he loved about this place. Like Bainbridge, he’d arrived here green and ignorant. He didn’t talk or dress or even look like the men around him. But they’d given him a chance, and when he’d proven himself, they’d accepted him as readily as if he’d been born here. With that acceptance had come a freedom he’d never known in England, where he’d been judged by his title, and his bloodline, not by what he’d done with his life, or what he was capable of. To go back to that narrow world would be like returning to prison after a taste of freedom.

  Chapter Five

  The question of what to do about Madame LeFleur and her two cohorts loomed large that evening, when Charles came down to dinner and found the three prostitutes seated at his table. He halted in the doorway, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Cecily, seated at the end of the table, looked serene, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have dinner with three ladies of the evening. “Hello, Charles,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited Madame LeFleur and her girls to join us.”

  He fixed his most charming smile on his face and nodded to the women, who at least were decently, if rather colorfully, dressed. “Delighted. I hope you’ll excuse us for a moment, ladies. There is a small matter I need to discuss with Lady Thorndale.” He walked over to Cecily and offered his hand. “Would you come with me a moment, dear? Won’t take a minute, I assure you.”

  He led her into the small office, just off the dining room. Only then did the smile drop from his face. “You do know what Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’ do for a living, don’t you?

  She busied her hands straightening the ruffle around the neckline of her dress and avoided looking at him. “Honestly, Charles, I’m not a naive child.”

  Even as she said the words, her cheeks flushed the color of ripe peaches. He thought of her ardent response to him before and wondered at the passion hidden beneath her surface innocence. “Then surely you’ll agree that it isn’t proper for a lady such as yourself to dine with women such as them.”

  All pretense at demureness fell away as she raised her gaze to confront him. Her eyes flashed with anger and her voice was sharp with indignation. “I ate with them before I knew who they were — on the train. They’re my friends, no matter their background.”

  How was he supposed to charm his way out of this one? It wasn’t as if he was a snob — far from it. �
�I’m merely concerned because I see you as entrusted to my care and I must guard not only your reputation, but your parents’ opinion of me. Surely they wouldn’t approve of this evening’s dinner companions.”

  Her expression softened. “Probably not. But my parents are thousands of miles away from here. And I doubt any of your Texas friends will care. Texans seem so egalitarian in their views.”

  “You forget the servants. They are neither Texan, nor egalitarian.”

  She frowned. “That is precisely part of the problem. Alice and Mrs. Bridges refuse to sit at the same table with Madame LeFleur. I suggested a separate seating altogether, but Mrs. Bridges flew into a rage, saying she could not be expected to prepare three dinners each evening. She said she would give notice at once. It took me quite a while to calm her down. I thought this was the best solution, since I knew I could count on you to be a gentleman about it.”

  The words might have been idle flattery, but the look she gave him was all sincerity. What had he done to deserve such faith from this woman? He scarcely felt capable of living up to her elevated opinion of him.

  But he would do his best. “Then by all means, Madame LeFleur and the other two may dine with us.” He’d do whatever he could to see that the situation did not last long.

  “We’d better get back to them,” Cecily said. “They’ll be wondering what happened to us.”

  She started forward, but he put a hand on her arm. “Wait. There’s one other thing I need to tell you.”

  “Yes?” She gave him a questioning look.

  “I sent a telegram to your father today, letting him know you’d arrived safely.”

  “Why thank you, Charles.” She covered his hand with her own. “That was so thoughtful of you. I’d intended to write, but now he won’t have to wait for my letter.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t send a reply thundering back. Running away as you did is bound to have infuriated him.” Lord Marbridge had a temper and he didn’t like to be thwarted. In that respect at least, he was very like Charles’ own father. Charles only hoped the man wouldn’t be too hard on Cecily.

  “He may be a little upset at first, but I’m sure once he thinks about it, he’ll see this is for the best.” Cecily patted his hand, then moved toward the door once more. “As soon as we’re married, he’ll forget all about it.”

  As soon as they were married, Charles’s father would be airing out the dowager house, handing over the family business, and preparing to rule his eldest son’s life from the comfort of a so-called retirement. Texas would become a distant memory, freedom a thing of myth. “Let’s go in to eat,” he said abruptly, and took Cecily’s arm once more.

  Their three guests had helped themselves to sherry from the sideboard, and were waiting patiently, drinks in hand. Charles held Cecily’s chair for her, then took his own place at the head of the table and rang for Mrs. Bridges.

  The cook cast a sour look on their three dinner guests as she marched into the room and set a platter before Charles. “Don’t know what the world’s coming to,” she said, laying out the carving knife. “Time was when folks knew their place.”

  Charles ignored her grumbling. “The ham looks lovely, Mrs. Bridges. Are there potatoes as well?”

  “Course there’s potatoes! What kind of a table do you think I set?” She stormed out of the room and returned a moment later with a bowl of boiled potatoes and another of turnip greens. Charles detested turnip greens and Mrs. Bridges knew it.

  Madame LeFleur and her ‘girls’ had no objections to the fare, however, and tucked into their plates with an enthusiasm that would have done any cowboy justice. Even Cecily seemed to have more of an appetite than he remembered from the few dinner parties where they’d partnered. He found himself watching her eat, fascinated by the delicate movements of her hands, the moist fullness of her lips.

  Dangerous thoughts. He forced his gaze away from Cecily and turned his attention to the other guests. “Tell me, Madame LeFleur, what are your plans?”

  The older woman looked up from her plate and dabbed daintily at the sides of her mouth with her napkin before answering. “I intend to purchase land in the area, monsieur, to build a house for myself and my girls.”

  “A house to live in? Or a house for business?”

  Fifi giggled at the question, and Madame shot her a quelling look before turning to Charles once more. “Both, monsieur. One must support oneself, no? And I think we will have no shortage of patrons once word circulates about Fifi and Estelle’s beauty and talent.”

  He had to grab his glass of water and drink hastily to avoid choking. He didn’t dare ask what kinds of talents the two younger women possessed. “I say, aren’t you worried about Sheriff Grady?”

  “Fie!” Madame made a shooing motion with one hand. “The sheriff may keep us from the streets of town, but he cannot control the whole county. As long as we break no laws, he is powerless to hurt us.”

  “Where will you settle, then?” Charles cut off a slice of ham and speared it with his fork.

  “I was hoping you could be of assistance to us in this area,” Madame said. “You have lived here some time. Perhaps you know of some land for sale nearby? Or perhaps you would like to sell some of your own property?”

  He shook his head. “I might if I was able, but this land’s not mine to sell. This ranch belongs to a syndicate formed by my father and a group of associates. I merely manage the property.”

  Madame nodded. “Ah, but you are the heir, no? One day, this will all be yours and the effort you make now will be worthwhile.” She sat back, smiling. She had a round, smooth face, and the silver-white hair some women get before their fiftieth birthday. She was a striking woman even now; in her younger years she would have been a diamond.

  “Perhaps I know someone who can help you.” He picked up the bell at his elbow and rang it vigorously.

  Alice appeared in the doorway, apparently sent by Mrs. Bridges. “Yes, m’lord?”

  “Send Gordon in to me, will you?”

  The maid cast a wary look at the three prostitutes, then bobbed a curtsy and vanished again. The valet arrived a moment later. “Yes, m’lord?”

  “Do you know of anyone in the area with land for sale? Nothing too large, I think.” Charles looked to Madame LeFleur for confirmation. She nodded. “Something with a good site for a house,” he added.

  Gordon furrowed his brow in thought. “Abbie Waters has some land for sale. Not the best situated for ranching, but fine for a house.”

  “Abbie Waters?” Charles shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t place her.”

  “The woman rancher. She owns the property between the A7 and the Ace of Clubs.”

  A picture flashed into Charles’ mind of a young woman wearing trousers. They’d been introduced at the fall roundup. He’d been struck by her odd appearance, which had been dismissed merely as ‘Abbie’s way.’

  “A woman rancher?” Cecily’s question drew everyone’s attention to her end of the table. “Do you mean she owns her own ranch?”

  Gordon nodded. “Miss Waters grew up on her ranch. She inherited it last year from her father.”

  “I would love to meet her.” Cecily laid aside her fork and clasped her hands together. “Promise me you’ll introduce us. I want to learn everything I can about ranching. I’m sure she’d be just the woman to answer my questions.”

  Charles and Gordon exchanged a knowing look. Hadn’t Gordon suggested they introduce Cecily to some local women? “That sounds like an excellent idea,” Charles said. Abbie Waters could sell her land to Madame LeFleur, thus getting the prostitutes out of his house. And she could show Cecily the real side of ranch life. Once Cecily met Abbie Waters, and saw what difficult, and unfeminine work ranching was, she’d be ready to abandon him and the life he’d chosen and run back to England, where she belonged.

  * * *

  The following Tuesday, Cecily, Madame LeFleur, Alice, Nick and Gordon set out to visit Abbie Waters on her Rock
ing W Ranch. The weather remained unseasonably warm, more like spring than any January Cecily had ever seen in England. The only other thing needed to make the day perfect would have been Charles’s company. He had declined to accompany them, saying he had to supervise the selection of two dozen calves he’d arranged to purchase from Alan and Bryce Mitchell.

  Alice and Madame rode in a buggy, driven by Nick, but Cecily had chosen to travel on horseback. When she saw how badly the buggy jostled its occupants as they made their way across the prairie, she knew she’d made the right choice. “Haven’t these Texans heard of proper roads?” Alice complained as the buggy jolted through the bottom of a rocky ravine. “I daresay I’ll be bruised all over afore the day’s done.”

  “I have some salve that’s good for bruises,” Nick said, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be happy to favor you with a good rub-down, if you like.”

  “You keep your cheeky hands to yourself, Nick Bainbridge!”

  “And who was to say I was speaking to you, Miss Rogers?”

  Alice flushed and darted a look at the woman on the seat beside her. Even on the rough terrain, Madame LeFleur managed to look regal. She smiled at Alice. “It would seem your young man is quite the flirt,” she said.

  “He’s not my young man!” Alice pressed herself closer to the side of the buggy and averted her eyes.

  Ignoring the maid’s rudeness, Madame turned her smile on Gordon, who rode alongside the buggy on a sable gelding. “Complaining is such an unattractive quality in a woman, non?”

  “I do not think it would be gentlemanly of me to answer that question, Madame,” he said with his usual diplomacy.

  “Alice is just out of sorts from too much sunshine,” Nick said. “We never see the likes of this at home.” He inhaled deeply. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? If I’d known there was a place like this, I’d have quit England a long time ago. I can’t wait to go off on my own, exploring.”