ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  “Very good, sir. I’ll have the buggy brought ‘round after breakfast.”

  Despite his intention to escape the house ahead of her, he found Cecily already in the dining room when he arrived, her back to him as she helped herself to eggs and toast from the sideboard. He paused in the doorway and allowed himself the luxury of really looking at her. Her stylish dress, with its nipped-in waist and fashionable bustle, called attention to her elegant figure. Her strawberry locks were piled high, revealing the delicate white column of her neck. Charles curled his fingers into his palms, remembering the softness of her skin.

  She turned to walk back to the table and caught him staring. Color bloomed on her cheeks, but she did not look away. “Good morning, Charles,” she murmured.

  “Good morning, Cecily.” He jerked his gaze from hers and strode to the coffee urn. “I trust you’ll be ready to leave immediately after breakfast.”

  “I’m looking forward to touring Fairweather with you.”

  He could feel her gaze on him as he poured coffee and stirred in cream. He searched his mind for the words to frame an apology for his behavior last night, but he suddenly had all the sense of an idiot, his thoughts mired in a mud of nervousness. In the end, he mumbled something about seeing her in a moment, and took his coffee into the study, where he could enjoy it away from her disturbing presence.

  She was waiting in the front hall when he emerged at last, a ribbon-trimmed bonnet framing her face, white gloves fitted to her slender hands. She smiled when their eyes met, and he felt the force of that look in the depths of his gut. Had she truly forgiven him, then, or was this some perverse plan to heighten his guilt?

  He helped her into the buggy and they set off. They were both silent for a mile or two, Charles sorting through things he hadn’t yet found the courage to say and things better left unsaid. Which sentiments were which wasn’t always clear.

  “Charles, what kind of tree is that over there? The short one with all the pods hanging about?”

  Cecily waved her handkerchief off to her left and he followed her gaze. “That’s a mesquite tree,” he said. “Considered quite a nuisance by most ranchers, though the natives apparently made meal out of the beans it produces. And it has a fragrant blossom in the spring.”

  She smiled. “I knew you would know.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “When I was very small, and you were still at home, I remember how you would lead us all on tramps across the moor. You would collect specimens of all the plants and make it your business to find out what each one was named.”

  He looked at her in amazement. He’d forgotten all about those nature walks. It had become habit after so long to learn everything he could about whatever environment he was in. He’d spent many enjoyable hours since coming to Texas learning its flora and fauna. “My father always thought my collecting a great waste of time,” he said after a moment. “He said I was meant to be a businessman, not a naturalist.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t be both.”

  A businessman chained to a desk indoors, and a naturalist tramping the fields? He didn’t see how he could be both. But the fact that she would think so intrigued him. He turned to her. “What about you, did you always aspire to be an earl’s wife?” He’d meant the question to sound joking, but it came out entirely too serious in tone.

  She looked at him, face all sincerity. “I knew I could never be anything else. Though as I’ve grown older, I have discovered more room to define exactly what sort of wife I’ll be.”

  “And what sort is that?”

  She raised her chin. Did she mean to look so defiant? “I would like to be partner to my husband, sharing his interests, his joys and concerns. I see too many men and women, who, though married, live in completely different spheres, cut off from one another. It seems a very lonely kind of life for them both.”

  She had just described the typical British marriage –at least among those of their class. He had never given much thought to any other kind of relationship between man and wife. Yet Cecily seemed to see the possibility for more. He looked at her again — she was staring out across the prairie, her profile as lovely as any Venus or Helen. Were her ideas about marriage as mythical as the goddesses she reminded him of?

  They reached the first clusters of buildings that marked the edge of town. The houses were small, built of rough-sawn lumber, few sporting even the luxury of paint. But they were uniformly neat, laid out in orderly blocks, closer together as they traveled toward the center of town. Soon the houses were replaced altogether by stores: Mrs. Miner’s Millinery, Pete Allen’s Cattle Brokerage, Garcia’s Fresh-Cut Meats, Lloyd House Hotel, the Fairweather Sentinel.

  Cecily sat forward on the seat, her face alight with eagerness as she tried to see everything at once. People stopped and stared as the buggy drove past, admiration evident in their expressions. Charles sat up straighter and coaxed the team into a smarter step. The townspeople had come to expect a good show from him, their only claim to royalty. He certainly wasn’t disappointing them today, with a beauty like Cecily by his side.

  “Hullo, Worthington!”

  “Good morning, Mr. Worthington!”

  “‘Mornin’, Charlie!”

  Men hailed him from every corner as he drove along Fairweather’s main street. Charles tipped his hat and returned the greetings. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Cecily smiling at him. “Everyone is so informal here,” she said.

  “Texans set little store by titles and position. A person has to earn their respect.” He tipped his hat to a trio of women in front of the millinery, setting them to blushing. “It’s disconcerting at first, but I’ve grown used to it.”

  “I. . . I think I could grow to like it, even.”

  He guided the buggy to a parking place in front of Perkins’ general store. When he came around and helped Cecily to alight, his hands lingered at her waist, reluctant to let her go. She seemed hesitant to part from him as well, her hand on his shoulder long after the time she should have properly moved it.

  Resolutely, he set her away from him. “I have some business to see to first, then I’ll take you on a tour of the shops.”

  Arm in arm, they started up the steps to the store, but just as they reached the wide veranda across its front, the door burst open and a young woman charged out, almost bowling them over in her haste.

  “Careful there!” Charles caught hold of the girl’s shoulders, steadying her. Now that he had a good look at her, he recognized Caroline Allen, daughter of cattle broker Pete Allen. She had her father’s dark hair and wide forehead, though her features were decidedly more delicate. Given a few more years, she might actually grow to be a handsome woman.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, I really must hurry.”

  She tried to wrench away, but Charles held fast. “I’m sure whatever it is will wait until you’re properly introduced.” He turned to Cecily. “Lady Cecily Thorndale, may I present Miss Caroline Allen.”

  Caroline gave Cecily a distracted nod, then her gaze fixed once more over Charles’s shoulder. “Botheration! I’ve lost him now.”

  “Lost whom?” Cecily gave the girl a friendly smile. “Could we help you look for him?”

  Caroline’s gaze darted to Cecily again, and this time she paused long enough to really look at the woman before her. Charles released his hold on her and watched in amusement as Caroline’s eyes flickered over Cecily’s perfectly arranged hair and fashionable dress, down to the toes of her fine kid boots. The girl straightened and smoothed her skirts. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone into the saloon, and women aren’t allowed in there.”

  “I doubt your father would approve of you chasing after young men who frequent saloons.” Charles said the words to tease the girl, but her face bloomed red and she set her mouth in a stubborn line.

  “Daddy doesn’t care for any of my friends, but I suppose you’ll tell him about this and land me in trouble again.”

  It wo
uld serve the little minx right if I did report her wild behavior to her father, Charles thought. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but Cecily silenced him.

  “Of course we won’t tell.” She leaned forward and addressed the girl in confiding tones. “When it comes to men, I’d advise practicing a bit of aloofness. They’re contrary creatures, you know. Inclined to want most what they cannot have.”

  The girl stared at Cecily, wide-eyed. “I. . . I’ll remember that.” She started past them, but stopped and made what might have passed for a curtsy. “Thank you.”

  Charles waited until Caroline had made her way sedately across the street before he took Cecily’s arm again. “What was all that nonsense about men being contrary?”

  She lowered her lashes in what would have been a demure gesture, had he not glimpsed the shrewd look in her eyes before they were veiled. “I have learned from my own mistakes, Charles.”

  What precisely did she mean by that? Did she feel coming to Texas had been a mistake or merely that she’d erred in not playing her cards more closely to her vest, wagering her all on a hand he had trumped? His stomach knotted with renewed guilt at the thought.

  “Come Charles, we should not block traffic.”

  A hand at the small of her back, he guided her across the porch and into the mercantile. The odors of hemp rope and coffee, tobacco and leather greeted them, along with a barrage of hellos from those gathered within. “Hullo, Mr. Worthington.” A little girl in pinafore and pigtails skipped up to them. She grinned, to reveal a missing tooth. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “I’m showing Lady Cecily here a bit of the town.”

  For the first time, the child noticed Cecily standing nearby. She stared, wide-eyed. “Are you a princess?” she whispered.

  Charles laughed. “Not quite, but close.” He fished in his pocket and drew out a coin. “Buy yourself some peppermints, on me,” he said.

  “Jenny, what are you doing bothering Mr. Worthington?” A harried-looking woman rushed up and grabbed the little girl by the hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up at Charles and Cecily. “I guess Jenny just never met a stranger.”

  “And who would want to be a stranger to such a charming child?” Charles smiled and the woman relaxed. She nodded to Cecily, then retreated, Jenny leading the way toward the candy counter.

  “I see children still adore you.” Cecily took his arm. “You’ll make a wonderful father someday.”

  The idea unnerved him. Children were the biggest responsibility of all. He definitely wasn’t ready for that. Still. . . he glanced toward little Jenny, who stood on tip-toe and peered into the glass-front candy case. To have a child like that to dandle upon his knee would be both a privilege and a joy.

  They reached the front counter and he gave Mr. Perkins a list of supplies for the cook. “Lady Cecily Thorndale, may I introduce Mr. Hiram Perkins, proprietor of this fine establishment,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Perkins grinned and nodded to her. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

  “I’m sure I will, Mr. Perkins.” She smiled and Perkins’s grin enlarged even further.

  Was the man going to stand there and ogle Cecily all day?

  Charles cleared his throat. “Do you have any mail for me, Mr. Perkins?”

  “Mail?” Perkins blinked. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Got another one of them letters with the fancy seal on it.”

  Only long practice kept Charles from letting out a groan. That ‘fancy seal’ was the family crest, stamped in wax on every correspondence from his father. He accepted the letter from Perkins and slipped it into his waistcoat, nodded good-bye to those around them, and escorted Cecily from the store.

  Cecily waited until they were on the veranda to say anything. “Was that a letter from your father?” she asked.

  He nodded. The earl was a regular correspondent of late, sending letters as often as twice weekly.

  “Aren’t you going to read it? I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I don’t have to read it to know what it says.” Tension pulled at his shoulders and tightened the muscles of his neck, but he forced himself to keep a pleasant expression on his face.

  “He’s terribly proud of you, you know.”

  He blinked, not sure he had heard her correctly. He turned to look at her, trying to detect some hint of irony in her expression, but found none. “What makes you say that?”

  She linked her arm with his once more and they stepped down off the porch. “He’s very proud of all of you boys, really. You’re all he ever talks about. I think he’s very lonely now that you’re all grown up and moved away. Every time I saw him, he talked about how much he was looking forward to our marriage and you moving back home.”

  Yes, he could see it now. The earl had everything neatly planned. Marriage to the willing neighbor girl. Charles back under his thumb, like a chess piece, moving at his direction. He hadn’t expected his cheerful, eldest son to ever balk.

  Arm in arm, they strolled alongside the shops along Main Street. None of the stores approached the elegance Cecily would be used to in London, but they did offer a surprising array of merchandise, considering the remote location of the town. From ladies fashions to wagon repair, the entrepreneurs had contrived to fill every need, albeit sometimes in primitive fashion.

  Charles noticed little of this today, intent instead on the feel of Cecily on his arm, the soft warmth of her hand cradled in the crook of his elbow, the floral freshness of her perfume scenting every breath he drew. He had almost begun to relax, to give himself up to the pleasure of her company, when the very last man he cared to see in town approached.

  Chapter Nine

  “Well if it isn’t our own resident British royalty.” Sheriff Grady touched the brim of his hat and bowed properly enough to Cecily, though the tone in his voice and the glint in his eye implied anything but respect.

  “Hello, Grady.” Charles held Cecily closer to his side, as if he expected the sheriff to try at any moment to return her to jail. For her part, Cecily kept her eyes downcast, refusing to meet the sheriff’s gaze.

  Grady hooked his thumbs in the watch pockets on his brocade vest and rocked back on his heels. “You’re just the person I’ve been wanting to see.”

  “Oh?” Charles gave the single syllable his most imperious tone. If Grady wanted him to be the arrogant nobleman, he could play the part to the hilt.

  “Yeah. I’ve been wanting to find out what happened to that trio of soiled doves who came in on the train with your friend here.”

  “Madame LeFleur and her friends are still guests at my ranch.” He could see Grady didn’t like that answer; the thought pleased him entirely too much.

  The sheriff glanced at Cecily. “I’m surprised, Worthington – or is it Silsbee? I wouldn’t think you’d want to expose the lady here to that sort of riff raff.”

  “On the contrary, Sheriff, I find Madame and her girls to be delightful company.” Cecily raised her head and directed a dazzling smile at the sheriff. “I’m even teaching Fifi and Estelle to read.”

  “Teaching them to read?” Grady shook his head. “Do you think being educated is going to make them better whores?”

  “I’ll thank you to watch your language in front of the lady, Grady,” Charles warned.

  Cecily’s fingers on his arm tightened, but she held her ground. “I think being educated will make them better people.” She too, had mastered the upper-class knack for cutting people dead with a cold look and icy tone. Frankly, Charles didn’t see how Grady stayed standing in the face of the chilling look Cecily gave him.

  “Perhaps instead of being so concerned about my house guests, you should concentrate on finding whoever is responsible for the rash of cattle thefts in the area of late,” Charles said.

  Grady’s scowl darkened. “I don’t need you telling me how to do my job.”

  “And I don’t need you threatening my guests,” Charles answered.

  Grady glared at him. “I don’
t want to hear of those women practicing their trade out at your place, or I’ll haul you all in. I’ve got enough trouble in this job without a bunch of foreigners coming in stirring up trouble.”

  “If there’s any trouble, Sheriff, you’ll be the one causing it, not me. Good day.” With a curt nod, he escorted Cecily past Grady.

  “Are all American lawmen so ill-mannered?” Cecily’s voice vibrated with indignation.

  “Grady tries to make up for his inadequacies by adopting a bullying attitude.”

  “He threatened us!” Cecily cast a harsh look back toward the Sheriff.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I suspect he’s bluffing. His sort usually are.” He resisted the urge to put his arm around her and pull her closer. No doubt the encounter with Grady had recalled the horror of her confinement in the Fairweather jail. He glanced at her, searching for signs of distress, but she seemed as collected as before. “If he attempts that sort of behavior again, I am liable to call his bluff,” she said fiercely.

  Charles couldn’t help himself; he laughed.

  She looked at him, dismayed. “You think it’s amusing?”

  “No, my dear.” With effort, he composed himself. “If you could only see yourself — so lovely and demure, and yet so fierce.” He shook his head. “I never knew you had the heart of a lioness beneath that docile demeanor.”

  She turned away, but not before he saw a smile tug the corners of her mouth. “I’m a woman with many secrets,” she said. “I leave it to you to discover how to uncover them all.”

  The words, or the sultry tone of her voice, sent heat curling through him, to settle in his loins. He’d set out well prepared to deal with the proper, delicate upper class English woman he knew Cecily to be. Yet every time he was secure in his knowledge of how to handle her, she revealed this daring, wanton side, like a maiden dressed in pristine white who twirls on the dance floor to reveal scarlet petticoats. The effect was both disconcerting, and tantalizing.

  “I have some business at the bank,” he said. “Why don’t we stop there now?” At this time of day the bank was bound to be busy, with plenty of people to provide distraction.