ToLoveaLady

by Cynthia Sterling

  Chapter Seventeen

  In her twenty-four years, Cecily had attended market fairs and Christmas fetes, country house parties and royal balls. But she had never seen a spectacle like the Texans’ Independence Day Celebration. As Charles guided the buggy that carried the two of them, Gordon and Alice through Fairweather’s town square, she could not decide whether they had arrived at the scene of a great party, or the site of an impending battle.

  In every direction, people crowded the streets and the courthouse lawn. Families gathered on quilts spread in the grass and children raced among the buggies parked in the shade of the old oaks around the state house. Peddlers with handcarts hawked lemonade or sausages, while on the south side of the courthouse, a group of cowboys were lowering what looked like a whole calf into a pit in the ground. The rich aromas of smoked meat, pipe tobacco and spent gunpowder perfumed the air.

  She was grateful for the distraction to ease the tension that still lurked below the surface politeness between her and Charles. After he’d stormed out of the parlor that day, they’d declared a kind of truce. They lived in the same house, ate at the same table, even rode in the same carriage, but otherwise, they lived completely separate lives. The shared conversations and laughter had been replaced by an uneasy silence.

  Charles guided the buggy to the west side of the square, where men in a motley array of uniforms, from fringed buckskin to gray linen, had collected around a keg of gunpowder. The men bristled with weapons of every description, and stood guard over two bunting-draped cannon. “Are they expecting an attack, m’lord?” Alice asked, her voice trembling.

  Charles turned to watch the cluster of soldiers. “Those are the county’s war veterans,” he explained. “Supposedly, they are in charge of the fireworks, but it appears the duties serve primarily as an opportunity for them to turn out in full battle regalia and relive the glory days.”

  As they passed the contingent of soldiers, Cecily studied them more closely. Some were grizzled old men, with beards as gray as their uniforms, while others, in their prime now, must have been mere boys at the time of America’s last war, that conflict so incongruously known as a Civil war. More than one bore the scars of battle, or had only a stump where a limb had been.

  “All part of that particularly American passion for freedom,” Charles said.

  Was it her imagination, or did Charles sound wistful? She thought again of their conversation that evening a week ago, when they’d spoken of the freedoms they’d each realized in coming here. Was Charles thinking of that moment now also? Did he regret the other things they’d said, as she sometimes did?

  He found a shady spot for the buggy and assisted Cecily to the ground. “Find someone to see to the horses, Gordon, then you’re free to enjoy the festivities as you see fit,” he said.

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Alice, you’re free to go, too.” Cecily looked at the milling crowd. “I imagine Nick should have arrived by now.” The footman had set out earlier on horseback.

  “Why should I care whether or not Nick Bainbridge is here?” Alice sniffed, but Cecily noticed her eyes searching the crowd, and soon she had set off purposely toward a group of cowboys from the Double Crown.

  Charles offered his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, ignoring the tremor that raced through her at his touch. She had walked this way with other men many times and felt nothing. Given time, she would learn to be as unaffected by Charles.

  They set off across the square. They had not gone far before a burly, red-faced man blocked their path. “Howdy, Worthington.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and grinned at Cecily. “And is this pretty lady that fiancé of yours I’ve been hearing about?”

  “Lady Cecily Thorndale, meet Jack Dillon.”

  Did Mr. Dillon notice, as she did, that Charles had avoided answering his question? “Mr. Dillon, a pleasure to meet you.” She offered her hand and tried not to wince when Dillon gave it a mighty squeeze.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Cecily,” he boomed. “I must say, you’re even prettier than Adkins described you in that article he wrote.”

  Indeed, as they moved on, Cecily discovered that Gerald Adkins’s newspaper article had made her the talk of the town. Men tipped their hats and addressed her by name; women smiled shyly and did the same. “You’ve enchanted them all,” Charles said, as yet another pair of well-wishers approached.

  The man, a weather-beaten cowboy with dark hair and eyes, took only a cursory interest in Cecily. He scarcely glanced at her before turning to Charles. Meanwhile, the girl, Caroline Allen, stared at Cecily with avid interest.

  Charles was tactful enough not to acknowledge their previous encounter with the young woman. “Lady Cecily Thorndale, may I present Mr. Peter Allen and his daughter, Caroline,” Charles said. “Mr. and Miss Allen, Lady Thorndale.”

  Mr. Allen gave a curt nod, then turned his attention back to Charles. “Worthington, I hear tell you’ve got yourself appointed president of this here Academy.”

  “I’ve been offered the position,” Charles said. “But I haven’t made up my mind whether to take it or not.”

  “Well, if you do take it, I want you to see about gettin’ Caroline here enrolled.”

  “Daddy, I don’t want to go to school.” Caroline, whom Cecily judged to be about sixteen, spoke firmly, with no hint of whining.

  “It’s either go to school here or I’ll send you back east.” Her father gave her a stern look. “While I’m out working, I’ve got to know you’ll be behaving yourself like a young lady, instead of gallivanting all over the country like a wild Indian.”

  “It’s not as if I’m out riding around by myself.” Caroline pouted.

  Her father’s expression grew grim. “That’s exactly what concerns me most.” He turned to Charles once more. “You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you, Mr. Worthington? I can’t afford to pay the tuition all up front, but if you’ll let me have credit, I’ll see you get your money.”

  “I can’t promise anything, Mr. Allen. I may not be in any position to help you.”

  “Do what you can, that’s all I ask.” He took hold of the girl’s hand and pulled her along. “I’ve got to find something to do with this child or she’ll be the death of me yet.”

  “I’m not a child!” Caroline protested as he led her away.

  “You’re a child as long as I’m able to turn you over my knee and don’t you forget it.”

  “Mr. Allen seems very worried about his daughter,” Cecily said when they were out of earshot.

  Charles nodded. “Rumor had it she’s been keeping company with Danny Fells. Not the sort of fellow any father would want hanging around his daughter.”

  “The young man you mentioned to the sheriff?” She looked back over her shoulder and watched father and daughter as they moved through the crowd. Caroline wore a petulant expression, while the father looked as determined as a soldier preparing for battle.

  “That’s him. She’ll come to no good end with a troublemaker like him.”

  Cecily wondered if Caroline Allen was in love with her disreputable young man. Had love blinded her to his true character?

  Perhaps that was her own problem. While Charles could see that the future held no happiness for them together, had love blinded her to this truth?

  “Speaking of the Academy, are Fifi and Estelle ready for their performance this afternoon?” Charles interrupted her thoughts.

  “I believe they are as ready as they will ever be.” She put a hand to her stomach to try to still its sudden fluttering. Estelle and Fifi had spent a week rehearsing their lines, but what if they forgot? Worse, what if the townsfolk booed them off the stage, or united as a mob — led by Sheriff Grady — to run them out of town?

  Charles squeezed her arm. “I’ve no doubt they will perform beautifully, having had the benefit of such an accomplished teacher.”

  She blushed, pleased. “Why Charles, what a sweet thing to say!”


  He looked away. She could almost feel him shutting her out, as if his praise had been a slip of the tongue, rashly spoken in a moment he now regretted.

  They bought lemonade from a cart, then paused to watch the cowboys at the cooking pit. She drew back from the heat of the glowing coals of a nearby campfire, but the men seemed scarcely to notice. They squatted on their heels, smoking and talking amongst themselves and staring at the now covered pit.

  “They build a fire in order to make a quantity of coals,” Charles explained. “Then they dig a pit and line it with a layer of coals and ashes. They place a butchered beef in the pit, add more coals and ashes and cover it up. Later, they dig the whole thing up and the meat is done.”

  Cecily’s distaste must have been reflected on her face. One of the men looked up at her and laughed. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Miss. Come by later and I’ll give you a sample of the best beef you ever ate.”

  Cecily saw no way to decline gracefully. She managed a weak smile and nodded, then walked on with Charles. They had not gone far when they saw Hattie Simms and her father approaching. “Isn’t it a beautiful day for a celebration?” Mr. Simms hurried toward them. Hattie, shielded from the sun by a white ruffled parasol, hurried to keep up. Her dress of red and white striped dimity, trimmed with blue bows, reminded Cecily of Christmas candies.

  “So, Lady Thorndale, what do you think of our Texas-style holiday?” Mr. Simms wore his usual dark suit, though a red, white and blue boutonniere graced his lapel in a nod to the occasion.

  “It’s very festive,” Cecily said. At that moment, one of the cannons roared, momentarily deafening her. She squealed and jumped back, and might have fallen if Charles had not steadied her.

  “Don’t worry, it’s only black powder,” Simms’s smile never faltered.

  Cecily straightened and blinked. A cloud of smoke still hung over the area where the soldiers had gathered; the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder stung her nose.

  “Lady Cecily and I were just going to luncheon,” Charles said. “Won’t you join us?”

  “That’s a splendid idea,” Simms said.

  They made their way back to the buggy and found Gordon arranging a feast on a blanket in the shade. “Miss Simms and Mr. Simms will be joining us for lunch, Gordon,” Charles said.

  “Very good, m’lord.” Looking dapper in shirt sleeves and striped waistcoat, Gordon directed them where to sit, then began to serve. “Mrs. Bridges has outdone herself today,” he remarked.

  Indeed, after seeing the rare roast beef, fried chicken, sausages, biscuits, aspic salad, deviled eggs, pickles, chocolate cake, apples and cheese which Gordon withdrew from the hamper, Cecily wondered if there were any food left in the larder at the ranch house.

  Gordon piled each plate with an arrangement of delicacies, then handed them round. When he gave Hattie her plate, she blushed again. Judging from the way she continued to watch Gordon as he made his way around the blanket, this time her heightened color did not arise from embarrassment.

  Cecily maneuvered herself closer to the other woman. While the men fell into conversation about cattle prices and veterinary treatments, she leaned closer still. “Gordon is quite a handsome man, don’t you think?” she said.

  Hattie’s cheeks grew pinker still and she struggled to choke down a bite of deviled egg. “I’m sure he’s not as handsome as Mr. Worthington,” she said at last, though she could not quite conceal the longing in her eyes as her gaze drifted once more toward the valet, who was at this very moment bent over, refilling Charles’s glass and offering a quite attractive view of his backside.

  “Well, of course I think Charles is most handsome,” Cecily said. “But Gordon attracts his share of female attention, I assure you. Though I don’t believe he has an interest in anyone particular here in the states.”

  Hattie’s gaze fell to her plate. She set it aside and brushed crumbs from her lap. “No doubt, he’s got a steady girl or a fiancé or a wife back in England.”

  “He does not.”

  “May I serve you ladies anything else?” Gordon bent over them, eyes filled with concern.

  Cecily’s mother always scolded her impulsiveness, but surely there were advantages to thinking quickly, sometimes. “Miss Simms would like to stretch her legs a bit, Gordon. Would you be so kind as to escort her on a turn about the square?”

  His puzzled look vanished as his eyes met Hattie’s. “I don’t know –” she began.

  But Gordon had already taken her hand and helped her to her feet. Mr. Simms looked up, a question in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Gordon is just going to take Hattie for a walk to stretch her legs,” she said. “She was feeling a little uncomfortable, sitting so long on the ground.”

  “That is, if I may, m’lord,” Gordon said.

  Charles nodded. “Of course.”

  Simms pulled a large watch from his pocket. “We’ll meet you on the steps of the Academy in fifteen minutes.”

  A few minutes later, Cecily, Charles and Mr. Simms abandoned the remains of their luncheon and headed toward the Academy. The as-yet-unfinished building, fashioned of Texas granite the deep red of a sunset, rose three stories above the flat prairie, with a four- story cupola in the middle. A dozen tall windows glittered across its front with smaller windows flanking the double doors, which were thrown open to show a large hallway running the length of the building. A second set of doors opened at the back.

  “This building has all the latest architectural features,” Simms said. He pointed toward the cupola. “That higher section in the center acts like a chimney, to draw the hot air out of the lower floors in the summer and vent it to the sky. With both sets of double doors and most of the windows thrown open, you get a nice cross-breeze. In the winter, you close everything up tight and two coal-burning furnaces keep everything nice and warm.”

  As they watched, a pair of workmen unfurled a banner from the top of the cupola: Fairweather Academy: Educating Our Future. A cheer went up from the crowd as they read the proud words. Cecily joined in the applause, but she was busy scanning the gathering for a sight of Fifi and Estelle. They had driven over from their new house with Madame and had promised to meet her here promptly at one.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Simms, what time is it?” she asked.

  The banker checked his watch. “It is ten minutes after one, Lady Cecily.”

  “Thank you.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. Ten minutes late! Her stomach was in knots, and she wondered if she’d embarrass herself further by losing her lunch.

  “There they are now.” As if he’d been reading her thoughts, Charles pointed across the street, to the pair of brightly dressed women hurrying toward them. Cecily stared in dismay at her pupil’s outfits: Fifi wore a low-cut gown of eye-popping pink satin, while Estelle’s orange silk trimmed in black braid clung provocatively to every curve. As they moved through the crowds, heads swiveled in their direction as if pulled by a magnet.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Fifi gasped as they halted at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Academy. “We aren’t settled in yet and nothing’s where it’s supposed to be.”

  “How do we look?” Estelle smoothed her skirts and twitched an errant piece of braid into place.

  Cecily kept her expression blank. “I thought we agreed you should dress conservatively,” she said.

  “This is conservative compared to some dresses I own.” Fifi tugged at her neckline, which didn’t budge an inch.

  “We got to thinking about that,” Estelle said. “At least this way, if we make a mistake, half the men won’t notice. They’ll be too busy trying to catch a glimpse of our bosoms.”

  There was no time to send them home to change now. A small band comprised of trumpet, guitar and a battered cornet struck up a tune and Hattie and her father climbed the steps to the speaker’s platform. “Welcome, welcome!” Mr. Simms said, as the spectators fell silent. “Today is indeed a grand day for the citizens of Fairweather, a day when we celebrate the
fact that we will no longer have to send our young people far away to receive a quality education.”

  Applause drowned out his next words; he had to wait and start again. “I would like at this time to recognize some of the people who have been instrumental in making this dream a reality. First, my lovely daughter, Hattie, who first conceived the idea and has worked tirelessly to bring it about.”

  More applause, and enthusiastic whistling from some of the cowboys. Hattie blushed and smiled. Cecily had never seen her look prettier.

  “I’d also like to recognize one of our biggest benefactors, a man who, though here only a short time, has become an integral part of our community. I’ll ask you all now to welcome the future president of the board of the Fairweather Academy, Charles Worthington, Lord Silsbee.”

  Charles looked startled, but quickly recovered and mounted the steps to join the Simms before the school’s doors. “It is indeed an honor to be here today,” he said. “I believe Mr. Simms exaggerates my role in bringing this project to fruition. It is really the workers like he and Miss Simms who deserve all the credit.” More applause shook the air.

  Charles smiled and nodded. “And you should applaud yourselves as well,” he continued. “For you have done what other lesser communities have not; you have recognized the importance of education in securing your future.”

  His voice, rich and mellifluous, soared over the crowd. He held them all, most especially Cecily, entranced, as he spoke of his future vision for the Academy and the community. Shoulders back, hands clutching his lapels, the sun glinting off his hair, he was the picture of a powerful statesman, the kind of man people looked up to and respected.

  The man she had given her heart to; no matter how much she tried, she could not get it back. She didn’t know whether to celebrate or mourn the realization. On one hand, how many women found their one true love in life, yet how many had to suffer him turning away from her?

  Charles spoke for ten minutes, and in that ten minutes, Cecily was not the only one who fell in love. When he was done, the crowd whistled and whooped. “Worthington for Senator!” one man shouted, and others roared their approval.