ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “A date for what, m’lady?”

  She turned and saw Gordon standing behind them. This knack of his for sneaking up on them was beginning to unnerve her. “Hello, Gordon. I didn’t see you come up.”

  He bowed. “Pardon me, m’lady. I did not mean to intrude.”

  “That’s all right. Alice and I were just discussing a date for the wedding.”

  “Wedding?” He looked at her blankly.

  “Her ladyship’s nuptials to Lord Silsbee.” Alice gave him a withering look. “I was wondering if they’re to have the ceremony in Texas now that she’s come all this way. I don’t suppose his lordship’s mentioned anything to you?”

  Gordon shook his head. “No. But then he is not in the habit of confiding in me.”

  Cecily didn’t believe that for a moment. Sometimes personal servants were the only people the titled could confide in. Besides, Gordon and Charles had been together a long time. The valet probably knew Charles better than Charles knew himself. In any case, she didn’t wish to discuss her wedding plans, or lack of them, any further. “Do you think it’s almost time for luncheon?” She looked around for a likely location. “I thought we might have a picnic.”

  They consulted Abbie, who led them to a shady grove beside a small stream. “I camp here sometimes, when I’m out seeing to the cattle.” She pointed to a circle of stones and evidence of a campfire. “This is about the center of my ranch, so it’s a good place to bed down.”

  Cecily couldn’t imagine sleeping out of doors, on the ground. But she’d be willing to give it a try some time. After a lifetime of dull routine, she didn’t intend to pass up any of the new experiences Texas offered.

  They ate the cold chicken, pickles, deviled eggs and sugar cakes Mrs. Bridges had grudgingly packed for them, and washed the meal down with icy creek water. Cecily sat on a blanket with her back against a tree, her legs stretched out in front of her, reveling in the soothing murmur of the running stream. She inhaled the perfume of damp earth and sun-warmed grass, and the faint vanilla aroma of the cakes. She couldn’t remember being so content in a moment of time, not fretting over the past, or worrying about the future, just. . . being. A wonderful lassitude settled over her, and she fought back a yawn.

  “If you’d like to take a nap, Bainbridge and I will keep watch,” Gordon said.

  “I’d like to join you, but I have to get back to work.” Abbie rose and brushed crumbs from her lap. “It was a pleasure meeting you, your ladyship, miss, Madame.” She nodded to each in turn.

  “Thank you so much for taking the time to entertain us.” Cecily started to rise, but Abbie waved her down.

  “I ought to be thanking you for the visit. I don’t get a lot of company out here, especially the female kind.” She took a step back. “If you ever need anything, or have any more questions about ranching, feel free to drop by.” She nodded all around, then mounted up and rode away, Banjo trotting alongside her.

  When Abbie was out of sight, Madame LeFleur stretched out on the ground and laid a lace-trimmed handkerchief over her face. “I believe I will avail myself of the opportunity for a petite rest.”

  Alice gave a huge yawn and looked at Cecily. “Let’s all lie down and rest a while,” Cecily said, reclining back on the ground.

  “Shall I fetch a cushion from the buggy?” Alice asked.

  “No, I’m fine just as I am.” She pulled her hat down to shade her face and closed her eyes, but sleep escaped her. After a moment, she became aware of the breeze rustling in the grass, a songbird’s trill, the warmth of the sun upon her arms. A whole world of new sights, sounds and experiences beckoned. It seemed a crime to sleep through even a moment of it.

  She sat up and looked around. Alice was curled on her side, sound asleep, while Madame’s handkerchief rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her soft snores. Careful not to wake them, Cecily rose and tip-toed from their camp. She’d seen some lovely winter grasses not far from here. She’d gather some to arrange in the front hall of the ranch house.

  Alice might complain that everything in Texas was brown, but closer inspection revealed that even the winter grass was a dozen shades of rust, purple, copper and gold. The common stalks held an exotic appeal to one used to the formal beauty of English gardens. Cecily picked one perfect plume, only to spy another, even more beautiful specimen farther on. She removed her bonnet and began to fill the crown with the bunches of grass, delighting in each new acquisition.

  A breeze tugged at her hair and the sun warmed her face. She smiled, thinking of her girlhood, when she’d raced with Charles and his brothers over hedgerows and through fields. They’d played seek and hide among the haystacks, and picnicked on the moor. She and Cam had been the same age, alike enough in coloring and temperament to be twins. With his sandy hair and blue eyes, Cam was considered the handsomest of the Earl’s sons. Even now, as a vicar, he attracted the attention of the ladies within his parish and beyond.

  Black-haired Reg was the next oldest. Solemn and determined, Reg was always the first to take a dare, the first to risk, the first to come to the defense of the less fortunate or weak. Reg had been the one to convince Charles to let the girl next door play with them. “As long as she can keep up with us, I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he’d argued, and Charles, good-natured Charles, had agreed.

  Charles was twelve years older than Cecily, always the leader, the charmer who could talk them out of any scrape. People listened when Charles spoke. Even as a gangly adolescent, he had a way with words, and a genuine liking for people that shone through to lend warmth to his charm. Cecily had always adored him, always sided with him in any dispute with his brothers, always wanted to be with him.

  And then, about the same time she was being made to lengthen her skirts and coil up her hair, her hero-worship grew to something more. She began to look at Charles, not just as childhood companion and friend, but as a man. All other men paled in his shadow. When he’d kissed her that day after she’d been thrown from her horse, she’d begun to love him, and she’d continued to love him ever since.

  They were no longer school children racing across the moor. Gone were the days when she chased after him in her short skirts and pigtails. She was a woman grown and he must see that; she was sure he did. He hadn’t kissed her the way a boy kisses a girl. The kiss they’d shared had been between a man and a woman who desired each other.

  Love kindled her desire for Charles. Was she vain to hope some spark of love would warm him also?

  She picked a bunch of grass and began to plait it into a love knot. Alice would call it a bit of foolishness, unbecoming to a lady in her position. Tucking the love knot in her pocket, she gathered her skirts and twirled around until she was dizzy. She’d had little enough foolishness in her life lately. As soon as she was out of short skirts, her mother had set about grooming her to be wife to a titled husband. Classes in deportment, elocution, watercolor, music and dance. Social calls, charity work, tea dances: Lady Cecily Thorndale perfected them all, not because she wanted her mother’s approval, but because she believed that was the kind of wife Charles, as a future earl, would need and want.

  She laughed out loud, throwing her head back and feeling her lungs expand with the effort. Charles had cared little enough for the prim and proper Cecily. So now she would give him a different version: a daring, western woman who could work by his side, entertain his associates, bear his children and warm his bed. What more could any man want?

  * * *

  When Charles reached Gordon and Bainbridge, they were seated under a tree, hats tipped over their faces, dozing. At Charles’s approach, Gordon raised his head, then hurriedly rose to his feet. “Good afternoon, m’lord.”

  Nick jolted awake and struggled to stand. “Hello, m’lord,” he mumbled, tugging on his cap.

  “Where is Cecily?” Charles demanded. “You two are supposed to be looking after her, not sleeping.”

  “The ladies are resting, m’lord.” Gordon pointed toward a nearb
y grove. “I assure you, Lady Cecily is perfectly all right.”

  Charles felt a little foolish, then. “Didn’t mean to be so churlish.” He dismounted and handed Gordon the reins. “I’d expected you back hours ago.”

  “The ladies wished to see more of Miss Waters’s ranch, and then we stopped for a picnic luncheon,” Gordon said.

  “I’ll just see if they’re awake, then.” Charles strode toward the grove, trodding firmly so as to give the women plenty of warning of his approach. As it was, Madame LeFleur was still snoring away, though Alice was sitting up, picking leaves from her hair. “Lord Silsbee! I never expected to see you here.” She struggled to her feet and executed an awkward curtsy.

  “I thought I would ride out to escort you back to the ranch.” His gaze swept the clearing. “Where is Lady Cecily?”

  Alice looked all around her. “I don’t know m’lord.” She widened her eyes in alarm. “I give you my word, she was right here beside me when we all lay down after luncheon.”

  “What’s happened to her, then?” Charles began to pace around the area, scuffling through leaves as if he expected to find Cecily hiding under them.

  “Perhaps. . . well. . . “ Alice blushed the color of a tomato. “Perhaps she excused herself to use the necessary.”

  “Well, go after her then!” Charles shooed the maid away. Like a frightened rabbit, she dashed out of the woods. He hesitated only a moment before following her. He should have known better than to let Cecily venture out without an experienced guide. What if she’d stumbled into a ravine, or trod on a rattlesnake, or hooked her skirts on a cactus? Texas wasn’t like her manicured, safe home in England. Out here, danger lurked around every curve.

  “What is it, m’lord? Is something wrong?” Gordon hurried to him. Nick waited some distance away, holding the horse.

  “Yes, something is wrong. Lady Cecily has vanished.” He scowled at the valet. “While you were sleeping, she apparently wandered away.”

  Alice ran to them, her face twisted in agitation. “I can’t find her, m’lord. She’s not anywhere close by.”

  “Cecily!” Charles bellowed the name, but it only empty air answered him. A shiver raced up his spine as an image of Cecily, hurt and alone, flashed through his mind. “We’ll split up to search for her,” he ordered. “I’ll look west, toward the Rocking W. If I don’t find her by the time I get to Miss Waters’s house, she can ride into town for help.” He ran to his horse and mounted once more, then set off at a quick trot. Behind him, the others spread out, calling for Cecily.

  He couldn’t say whether the pounding he heard was the horse’s hooves striking the hard ground, or his own galloping heart. The sensation made him irritable. Of course, it was only normal that he feel concern for his lost guest, but the feeling that gripped him went beyond concern, toward panic. When had Cecily – sweet, naive Cecily – come to mean so much to him?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of blue velvet. Jerking his head around, he saw her, walking away from him through the tall grass. Head up, hair falling down around her shoulders, she carried a sheath of dried grass in her arms. He blinked, thinking he must be dreaming. This woman wasn’t the terrified waif he’d imagined; she more resembled a fairy princess, at home in her natural kingdom.

  “Cecily!”

  At his cry, she turned, and a smile wreathed her face. “Charles!” She gathered her skirts and hurried toward him.

  He swung down off his horse and met her with open arms, crushing her to him. “Charles, it’s so good to see you,” she said, and rose up on her toes to kiss him.

  At the touch of her lips, his last semblance of control deserted him. Relief flooded him as he felt, not ethereal princess, but flesh and blood woman in his arms. He could not keep from returning her kiss, all his pent emotions channeled through the meeting of their lips.

  She smelled like meadow grass and tasted sweet as strawberries. Her mouth was warm and pliant, a touching eagerness compensating for her inexperience. She molded her body to his, compelling him to touch her, to claim her with his hands as well as his lips. All thoughts of the others, the ranch, his father or his freedom melted away as he filled his senses with the feel, the smell, the taste of Cecily.

  “Oh Charles.” She gave a deep sigh of contentment and snuggled against him.

  Like a drowning man on the verge of losing consciousness, the sound of his name pulled him from the brink. He raised his head and looked at her. For all her beauty and sweetness, Cecily was a danger to him. Accept her and he accepted all the plans his father had made for him, the end of all the dreams he’d just begun to fashion for himself.

  Bracing himself against her charms, he set her away from him. “What are you doing wandering around out here by yourself?” he demanded.

  He cringed inwardly at the hurt that flickered through her eyes. “I set out to gather some grasses, to make an arrangement for your hall, but I suppose I became a little lost.” She looked down at the hat full of grass which she cradled on her hip.

  “You must promise me never to go off by yourself like that again.” He forced himself to look stern. “This isn’t like England. There are dangers here you can’t even imagine.”

  “This place is more peaceful than any London street. What could possibly harm me here?” She smiled, a look as bright as the sun. A light breeze ruffled her hair. She looked impossibly innocent.

  “There are rattlesnakes here as big around as your arm and as long as you are tall,” he said in forbidding tones. “Should one strike, you wouldn’t have time to get to the doctor before you died. There are cattle rustlers and other outlaws and even renegade Indians who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you — or worse.”

  He was intentionally trying to frighten her, but she didn’t even appear concerned. In fact, she laughed. “I’m perfectly fine. None of those things happened.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “But you are lost.”

  She nodded. “Yes. But I knew Abbie’s place was west of yours, so I started walking toward the sun and knew I’d come to something familiar eventually.”

  He could scarcely hide his amazement. He’d expected to find her out of her head. Instead, she was calm, radiant even, and dangerously appealing, with her hair falling in loose waves about her shoulders, her cheeks sun-drenched, her lips still swollen from his kisses.

  She reached out and took his hand. “It was sweet of you to be so concerned. I hope we’ll be married soon.” She looked at him from beneath veiled lashes. “I don’t like having to wait.”

  Her words sent a coil of heat directly to his loins. He pulled away from her grasp. I can’t marry you, Cecily. I can’t afford to love you that way. I can’t let myself be trapped like that.

  But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he said, “I received a telegram from your father this afternoon.”

  Her expression grew wary. “What did he say?”

  “He said he was happy you had arrived safely, and you were to stay as long as you like.” ‘Necessary’ was the actual word used. Necessary for what? He watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction.

  She nodded. “I suspected he might be relieved to be rid of me. A twenty-four year old unmarried daughter is a burden, not a pleasure.”

  “How could you fail to be anything but a pleasure?” The words slipped out before he could hold them back, but at her look of delight, he did not regret saying them. “We should get back to the others, let them know you’re all right.”

  She nodded, and followed him to his horse. He lifted her on behind the saddle, then swung up in front of her. Safely mounted, he drew his pistol and fired three times, a signal to the others that Cecily had been found.

  He let the horse take its time heading back to the campsite under the trees, to rest the animal and to keep from jarring his passenger too much. Still, with every step, Cecily’s body brushed against his. Her hands tightened around his abdomen, and the tips of her breasts pressed into his back. It was the sweetest of
tortures, and one he knew he could not endure long.

  No, he had to convince her to leave him, before it was too late.

  Chapter Seven

  Though Fifi and Estelle seemed suspicious at first, after a little persuasion, they accepted Cecily’s offer to teach them to read. “Might as well do something to occupy ourselves until we can get back to work,” Estelle said. Madame LeFleur had wasted no time hiring contractors to build her new house, but it would still be some weeks before the ladies were able to move in.

  Cecily claimed the front parlor as her classroom, and gathered tablets, chalk, and what books she could locate about the house for her teaching materials. With hot tea for refreshment, she invited Fifi and Estelle to join her. Alice insisted on tagging along. “I can’t very well leave you alone with the likes of them,” she sniffed, and retired to a corner chair with her mending.

  “I thought we would begin by discussing some of the reasons you might want to learn to read and write,” Cecily began when her pupils were seated on the sofa across from her. “For instance, you might want to write a letter.”

  “Who would we write to?” Fifi asked.

  As one who wrote dozens of letters each week, Cecily couldn’t imagine. “Why, you could write to family or friends.”

  “I don’t have any family,” Estelle said.

  Fifi nodded in agreement. “Nor many friends,” she added. “Not ones that read, in any case.”

  Cecily thought this was the saddest thing she’d ever heard, but the two women didn’t seem to find it strange. “Well, then, perhaps you would like to write out a shopping list.”

  “I don’t need to write down things to go shopping,” Estelle said.

  “At the store, we simply ask for what we want, or point to it,” Fifi said. “When the mail order catalog arrives, we order from the pictures.”

  “What about recipes?”

  The two women shook their heads. “We don’t cook,” Estelle said.