* * *
Leaning in for a kiss, Cole gazed into the Widow Larsen's liquid brown eyes and mentally changed them to green. When he realized what he was doing, he scowled and pulled back.
"What is it, darling?" said the wanton widow, pouting prettily. "It is not like you to be so inattentive."
"My apologies, Louise. It's been a frustrating couple of weeks and I'm afraid I'm distracted."
They sat on a couch in her parlor, the scene of a number of romantic trysts between them over the course of the past six months. The encounters remained occasional and strictly physical, which suited them both. Older than Cole by almost a decade, the widow had proposed their arrangement herself, naming as her reasons her need for a man's attentions and her contentment with her current independent lifestyle. As the months passed, she even went out of her way to suggest young ladies about town whom Cole should consider courting when the notion of marriage held some appeal.
He did listen to her. Cole liked both the lady and the sex, and since he'd lost his taste for bordellos following that trouble with Christina, he found his liaison with the widow to be a handy thing. Ordinarily. Tonight it simply didn't feel right.
Wrinkling her dainty nose, Louise said, "Well. Frustration and distraction, hmm? I believe I shall take that as a personal challenge. I am, as you well know, quite talented at dealing with a man's frustrations."
"Why do you think I wanted to see you tonight?" he grumbled.
She laughed, then swooped in for a kiss. Cole responded, trying to lose himself in the moment, but the effort went for naught. The only emotion the delectable widow's kiss aroused in him this evening was indifference. Were he less secure in his masculinity, Cole might have been worried.
Everything was Christina's fault, of course. That kiss he'd sworn to forget never quite left his thoughts. Plus, with only one week to go before their scheduled departure, the worries of traveling with the troublemaker invaded every aspect of his life. For one thing, he couldn't trust her. He couldn't count on her following his instructions, and he couldn't predict her behavior. She'd given in much too easily to this plan of her mother's. He wouldn't be at all surprised if on the day of their departure she failed to show up.
"I won't chase after her," he mumbled.
Louise lifted her mouth from his neck and asked, "What?"
Chagrined, Cole paid her lips another visit, determined to get the job done. But despite his best intentions and the skill of Louise Larsen's tongue, his thoughts drifted off once again. He'd known Miss Christina Elizabeth Delaney nearly all her life, and he'd developed a sixth sense where she was concerned. That sense told him something was suspicious about the trip she'd taken to visit a Fort Worth dressmaker.
Neither Elizabeth nor Jake agreed with his opinion. They actually believed that the minx wanted a new wardrobe to impress potential beaux. Cole didn't buy it for a minute.
"Oh, darling." Louise Larsen sighed. "You do take a woman's breath away. Let's adjourn to my bedroom, shall we?"
Standing, she held out her hand toward him. Lamplight reflected off the diamonds in the ring she wore on her left hand, catching Cole's notice. Diamonds alone wouldn't do in a ring for Christina. She should have a fiery ruby or two in her wedding band.
What am I doing thinking about Christina and wedding rings? Determined to find a distraction, he grasped Louise's hand and allowed her to tug him toward the bedroom.
A pounding on the front door stopped him in his tracks. "Morgan! Open up. Sorry to interrupt, but we've got trouble."
"That's Jake Delaney," Louise said with a petulant pout. "What in the world does he want?"
Bang. Bang. Bang. "Cole, answer the door."
Cole shot Louise an apologetic look. She sighed, smiled, and made shooing motions with her hands. "Go on. You weren't up for this tonight anyway."
"I was getting there."
She laughed and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I'd ask who she is, but I think I already know. Go find out what mischief she's up to this time." Then, framing his face in both hands, she kissed him hard on the mouth. "It's been a pleasure sharing my bed with you, Cole Morgan. I wish you nothing but happiness."
Bang. Bang. Bang. Cole ignored the noise at the door and scowled at his lover. "Now wait just one minute. What do you mean by—"
"Cole!"
"Go."
He glanced from her to the door then back to her again. "All right. But I'll be back."
"No, I don't believe you will," she said softly and a little sadly as he opened the door to a red-faced, wild-eyed Jake Delaney.
"This had better be good," Cole snapped as he lifted his hat from the hall tree and set it on his head.
"Oh, it's not good," Jake replied, sending an "I'm sorry" wave to Louise. "It's bad. Very, very bad."
Cole froze. "Elizabeth?"
"She's fine. It's not her."
"Then what has Christina done this time? Burned down Fort Worth? Taken to stage dancing in Hell's Half Acre, perhaps?" Another thought struck him and all amusement in his voice died. "Has she eloped?"
"Not yet, but that may be next." Jake raked his fingers through his hair. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled it in a rush. "She's gone, Cole. One of those Chili Queens delivered a letter."
"From Fort Worth?"
"No. She lied. She didn't go to Fort Worth."
Ah-hah. I was right. "So where did she go? Austin, I bet. She has friends up there."
"Not Austin. England. She went alone or what might as well be alone, since only the Kleberg woman and her kids went with her and they certainly don't keep her out of trouble."
A sick sensation rolled through Cole's stomach. "You mean England, Texas, up in Red River County?"
"No, and that's English, Texas, not England. I mean England as in London and castles and tea with the queen. Our Chili Queen has gone to England. See?"
He whipped a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and waved it in front of Cole's face. Cole took it, skimmed it, and his temper built, then exploded. "Dammit, Jake, she went to England!"
"I know."
"By herself!"
"I know. You have to go after her, Cole. I'm afraid to leave Mother."
Cole nodded. "I'll leave in the morning "
Jake blew a relieved sigh. "Thank you. I'll owe you big for this."
"Does Elizabeth know she's gone?"
"No. I won't tell her until I can think of a story that won't worry her."
Cole stared down at the letter in his hand. So Chrissy had run off to England and put herself in danger and her mother's health at risk. He crushed the letter in his fist. "If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. When I finally run her to ground, I swear I'm going to kill Christina Delaney."
Chapter 4
Derbyshire, England
As the hired coach rattled through the English countryside toward Hartsworth, the knot in Chrissy's stomach grew to the size of a grapefruit. She'd been running on nerves since leaving San Antonio, and her anxiety level had now reached its peak as they traveled the final few miles toward her grandfather's country estate. "I can't believe I actually went through with this."
Lana reached out and patted Chrissy's hands as they lay clenched in her lap. "It's all right. We're with you. No need to be worried."
"That's right, Miss Chrissy," Sophie said, mimicking her mother's concerned expression. "We'll take care of you."
Michael turned his attention away from the window just long enough to grin and nod his agreement. The boy had grabbed onto the adventure of an ocean voyage and not let go. For someone who'd caused such trouble of late, he'd been a perfect angel during their trip. If one didn't mind near constant movement, continuous excitement, and unending questions, that is.
For Chrissy, Michael's happiness had been a balm that soothed her own troubled spirit. One particular morning during the trip, Lana and Chrissy had watched the boy question a sailor at length about ship navigation. Lana made the comment that her son and Chrissy sha
red many similar characteristics, namely his spirit, his curiosity, and his sense of adventure. "It's easier for him, being a boy," she'd added. "The consequences of breaking rules are less serious for males than for females in our society."
Chrissy had mulled that observation over for some time. Her mother had often said something similar during the lectures she'd delivered to her daughter. Aboard the ship taking her away from home, Chrissy had considered the notion from a mother's point of view, drawing parallels between Michael's behavior and her own. Had she, in her own way, picked pockets in the plaza?
Perhaps. Her actions certainly had hurt her mother at times, and for that, Chrissy felt a measure of guilt. Had it been selfish of her to rebel against the rules society placed upon females?
Yes, she concluded, in some ways it had.
So why had she done it? She didn't think she was a selfish person by nature. Yet, staring out at the vast, empty ocean, Chrissy had admitted to herself that sometimes she'd intentionally acted up just to get a rise out of her mother. Shame washed through her. You are twenty going on two, Chrissy Delaney.
She'd thought long and hard about her situation and concluded that while she was responsible for her own actions, her mother wasn't entirely blameless. Lana's relationship with her son exemplified that point. Where Lana worried about Michael's behavior because of the potential harm to the boy, Elizabeth Delaney's primary concern was how her daughter's actions reflected upon her and upon the exalted Delaney name.
Chrissy finally decided that it came down to a question of degrees of love. Lana loved Michael with her whole heart and soul. Elizabeth loved Chrissy because she was a good woman and it was her duty to love her child. The child in Chrissy yearned for a mother's unfettered love like Lana gave to Michael and Sophie. Elizabeth Delaney's dutiful love left a hollowness inside her daughter that Chrissy had spent years trying to fill in sometimes inappropriate ways.
So what had Chrissy learned from all this pondering? On a bright, golden dawn she'd gazed out over the sapphire sea and swore that when she loved, she would give her heart wholly and unconditionally. If ever there was to be a man in her life, she would demand the same in return. It was, she thought, the only way loving should be done.
With that decided, she had settled back to enjoy the days at sea. The children made the trip a delight, and even their coach trip from Liverpool proved to be a pleasure. Normal sibling squabbles remained at a minimum, and with her children happy and out of reach of her in-laws, Lana relaxed and laughed often. It gladdened Chrissy's heart, as did the fact that her friend suffered not a single headache since leaving Texas.
Now, however, as they traveled the last few miles of their journey, Chrissy suddenly wished she had never left San Antonio. Never in her life had she been this nervous.
Searching desperately for a distraction, Chrissy followed Michael's lead and turned her attention to the passing countryside. The land here in Derbyshire lived up to her mother's claims of beauty. Fluffy white sheep dotted green rolling hills, and the hedges of holly and hawthorn provided fencing much more pleasing to the eye than the strands of barbed wire now spreading across Texas like a plague.
Momentum shifted her forward in her seat as the coach topped a hill, then she swayed to one side as it made a slow turn. She spied a quaint arched stone bridge and smiled at the ducks perched along one edge. Only after the approaching coach sent the birds flapping toward the water did her gaze lift to the distance and the stately house nestled between lake, hillside, and forest. "Oh my," she breathed, bracing a hand against a cushion to steady herself, as much against the sight before her as the rocking of the coach. Michael whistled softly.
At the sound of her voice, Lana and Sophie joined Michael and Chrissy at the windows. Sophie gasped. "Miss Chrissy, look at that palace! Is that where the Queen lives?"
Chrissy gazed down at the imposing Palladian facade of the great stately home and found it difficult to breathe. "No, the Queen doesn't live here, although according to my mother, she has visited a time or two. That's Hartsworth and it's a country house, not a palace. My mother described the fountain. We've arrived."
"This is it?" The little girl wriggled in her seat. "I get to live there? Just like a princess?"
Lana smoothed her daughter's hair and gently reminded, "Honey, don't forget that here at Hartsworth we work for Miss Chrissy. We're her servants. We are not here to play princess."
Chrissy took the girl's hand in one of her own and squeezed. "You and I will play princess while we're here, I promise. And Lana, we may have to play this servant-mistress nonsense in public, but I'll be hanged if I have to listen to it in private."
The trio fell silent as the coach made its way along the serpentine road toward Hartsworth. Chrissy couldn't take her eyes off the building, shifting windows to keep it in sight as the coach changed direction. A dramatic central portico dominated the main block of the house while curved corridors at each corner linked four pavilions to the center of the structure. Three stories tall with a dressed stone facade, it seemed to stretch on forever. Chrissy counted over eighty windows on the front side of the house alone. "No wonder Mother always said Hartsworth was filled with light."
Michael, displaying an unusual measure of insecurity, blew out a heavy breath, then gazed at Chrissy. "Are you certain he'll let us stay here?"
Because Chrissy didn't want to lie, she said, "I'm not completely certain, no. Since we may well have arrived before my mother's letter informing the earl of my impending visit, we might face a few uncomfortable moments, but I doubt he'll turn us away. He and my mother were estranged for many years, and I don't think he'll risk a return to the hostilities."
"What did they fight about?" Sophie asked.
"My father. The earl wanted her to marry someone else, but she eloped with my father."
"Oh."
The coach rattled over another ancient stone bridge and began the final approach to the house. As a footman came out to meet the coach, Michael asked, "What are you going to tell your grandfather? Will you say you ran away?"
"I didn't run away," Chrissy snapped, nervousness adding an edge to her tone. "I left a few days early is all. But I won't tell him that. I'm going to say I've come to England in search of the Declaration of Independence."
"But that is Mr. Morgan's job," Lana protested.
Chrissy made a valiant effort at a smug smile as the coach rolled to a stop. "Yes, it is. And wouldn't it be fun if I found the document before he got here?"
Moments later they passed through the front door into Hartsworth's Great Hall. As a servant went to inform the earl that his granddaughter had arrived from Texas, the newcomers gazed around them in awe. Huge alabaster Corinthian columns rose from a stone floor inlaid with Italian marble to support an arched, painted ceiling, a mythological scene Chrissy couldn't quite place at the moment. Marble statues occupied niches set symmetrically around the room.
"Look, Mama," Sophie called, her voice incredulous. "You can see the boys' talleywhackers on those statues."
Busy gazing above him at the naked breasts on the ceiling, Michael jerked his head down and followed the path of his sister's stare. He muttered something Chrissy couldn't quite catch and clapped a hand over Sophie's eyes. "What kind of house is this? A painted' lady place?"
"It's nothing nasty, Michael," Lana explained, glancing toward Chrissy with a plea in her eyes. "Right?"
"That's right. It's art. Those sculptures are probably worth more than my mother's entire house."
"No," Michael said.
"Yes."
"Whoa, think of what they'd be worth if they'd finished putting clothes on 'em." Then, shooting Chrissy a look of concern, he added, "I don't think it's good for Sophie to be around such a sight. You and Mama either, for that matter. It's not seemly."
As Chrissy turned away to hide her smile a flash of color in the corridor leading off to her right caught her eyes. Paintings. Then, drawn as if by an invisible string, she moved toward them. "Portra
its," she murmured.
The first was of a man of fifty or so wearing some sort of ceremonial robe. Distinguished, she thought. Hard. The next was of a woman with haunting eyes in a sapphire blue dress and triple strand of pearls. A beautiful woman.
Chrissy moved on to the third portrait and mid-step, she froze. Shock washed through her. She knew the face. She knew the locket. But for the dress and the hairstyle, she could have been looking in a mirror.
From behind her, Sophie said, "Miss Chrissy? I think you had better see this."
"Look, honey. Do you know who this is?"
The name came in a man's voice, one brimming with emotion. "Elizabeth? Is it you? Have you finally come home?"
Her heart pounding, Chrissy slowly turned around.
He looked nothing like the grandfather she'd always pictured him to be. He looked exactly like the grandfather she'd always wished she had.
Thirty years or so older than the man in the portrait, the Earl of Thornbury had softened around the edges. His hair and mustache was snow white, his face mapped with lines, his body still tall and straight, but leading with a belly politely termed plump. He'd an air of kindness about him, a gentle mien, despite the disappointment that bloomed in his eyes as he got a good look at her.
"You're not Elizabeth."
"No, I'm her daughter, Christina. I'm your granddaughter."
Then the Earl of Thornbury did the most amazing thing. He threw open his arms, smiled with delight and cried, "Chrissy! My little Texas rose. Come give your granddaddy a hug."
* * *
An hour later they sat in a pair of wing chairs before a fire laid in the Italian marble hearth of a cozy room called the little library. It had been love at first sight between the two of them, especially once the earl welcomed Lana and the children as honored guests instead of servants. As her friend settled her children in their rooms in Hartsworth's family wing, Chrissy joined her grandfather for a cup of tea and a bit of get-to-know-you conversation.
They spent some time discussing her mother and brother. Once she'd caught him up on family news and events, talk turned to the reasons behind Chrissy's surprise visit to Hartsworth. His softspoken encouragement and unflinching support opened the floodgates. She rattled on about the Chili Queens and her mother's disapproval. She told him about her aborted trips to the altar and basically filled him in on events all the way back to the brothel incident that got her sent away to school.
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