Simmer All Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  "I'm sorry." She sighed and closed her eyes, then brought her fingers up to her head and massaged her temples. "I didn't mean it to sound that way. Cole, I know I don't always act logically or sensibly, especially where my mother is concerned. It's as if my emotions override everything else."

  "Now that makes some sense." It also took some of the steam from his anger. She was hurting, he could see that, and he realized it was desperately important he understand why. He went to her, put his arms around her. "Christina, talk to me. Help me figure this out. Tell me what is wrong."

  Long seconds ticked by before she spoke. "I think it's possible you could make me the happiest woman in the world. But I know you also have the power to destroy me."

  "Destroy you?" Cole tilted up her chin and met her gaze. "Chrissy, what in the world do you mean by that?"

  "You might think you love me now, but I know it can't last. You'd send me away, throw me away. Just like everybody else."

  Cole glanced down at his chest, looking for the knife that surely must be stabbing his heart, so badly did he hurt. Ah, Lady Bug. How can you say that? I understand you might have some doubts about some things, but not that. Never that. Don't you trust me at all?"

  Now the tears were spilling down her cheeks, but for once, they didn't touch Cole. He couldn't feel her pain past his own.

  "Don't you see?" she asked, her voice trembling. "How can I trust you when you are part of them—the Delaneys? You're one of them and they said they loved me but they sent me to England. They sent me away to school."

  Cole gaped at her. "That happened years ago. What does it have to do with now? Besides, I had nothing to do with sending you away. Your father did that."

  "Yes, and my mother let him do it."

  Her eyes took on an agitated gleam that shook Cole to the core.

  "She didn't stop him," she continued, "and she's my mother and supposed to protect me and she didn't. I loved her more than anyone else in the world and she betrayed me."

  Emotions were a riot inside him. Had the woman lost her ever-lovin' mind? "Excuse me, Christina, but I don't see your mother standing here in this room with us. So why are you bringing her here? How does what she did or didn't do years ago have anything to do with why you don't trust me now? I'm not your mother, I'm your lover!"

  "Are you?" She wiped furiously at her tears. "Or am I just handy?"

  "Handy! Hell, Chrissy, you've never been handy a day in your life,"

  "And that's it," she said, shaking a finger at him. "That's exactly it. I'm an inconvenience, aren't I? I'm not the kind of woman you want for a wife. I'm not a social asset. I won't do your law career any good."

  "That's the damned truth. I'd spend half my time bailing you out of trouble."

  "See there, I'm right. You've never made a secret of the fact you think my mother hung the moon. You want a wife like her."

  Her mother again! Chrissy wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't hear him. Wouldn't believe him. Cole felt the last of his control snap. Fueled by frustration and fury, he attacked. "Maybe I do. Maybe I do want a wife who dresses and acts like a lady. Maybe I do want a wife who considers a good reputation something to value. Think how nice it would be not to worry what sort of scandal my wife will bring to my doorstep next. Imagine the joy of walking into a room and not find my mate flirting with every man in sight. Picture my life with a woman who doesn't argue with everything I say. I guess you're right, Chrissy. I guess the attraction between us was just sex. I guess I do want a lady wife. I'm glad we got that settled."

  Anguish furrowed across Chrissy's face as his conversational bullets hit their mark. She made tiny, grieving sounds as she sank into a chair. A part of Cole recognized he'd gone too far, but any remorse he might have felt was overwhelmed by his own gut-wrenching pain.

  With one last, furious glare, he turned his back on her. "Enjoy your barbecue, Chili Queen. I'm off to Hartsworth. There's a lady there I'm anxious to see."

  * * *

  At the barbecue that night, Chrissy served up her chili with a smile. She accepted the accolades with graciousness and cheerfully answered the numerous questions about her recipe and the spices it contained. She took a turn along with a number of other guests at attempting to throw a lasso, chuckling at her pitiful effort, ignoring the concerned glances Lana and Lord Welby sent her way.

  And then she danced. Dressed in her scarlet skirt and white blouse, barefoot, she whirled and twirled to the strum of a guitar and the keening of a fiddle. She laughed and she sang and she flirted with her partners.

  The Chili Queen had come to England.

  But inside, Chrissy cried.

  Cole had left her. He'd saddled up his horse and ridden away from her. Because, of course, she'd finally made him admit the truth.

  He wanted someone like her mother, not a Chili Queen. She'd known it all along.

  Then why does it hurt so bad? Why does it break your heart in two?

  Because she loved him, of course, she always had. She feared she always would.

  She buried the thought as the rhythm of the music pulsed around her, sank into her bones. She moved with it, soothed herself with it, without conscious thought. And while she danced, while she smiled and twirled and winked at the man who partnered her, she fought back the tears that threatened.

  The music ended and defiantly, she reached up and planted a quick Chili Queen kiss on her dance partner's lips. "Thank you, Lord Harcourt. It was a pleasure."

  Chrissy refused the next dance claiming her feet needed to rest. As she started to leave the circular section of lawn serving as the ballroom floor, she sensed a change in the atmosphere. She glanced around and her smile died.

  "Mother."

  Elizabeth Delaney stood flanked by Cole on her left, Jake on her right, with the earl standing behind her. My family. Chrissy felt a fierce rush of love even as she spied the disapproval pasted across her mother's face. Elizabeth's horrified voice came to her as if through a water-logged tunnel. "Why Christina Delaney, just look at you. You are a scandal wherever you go."

  Laughter bubbled up inside Chrissy. Maybe this wasn't real. Maybe she was asleep and having a nightmare. She looked at Cole, saw his grimace, and her heart sank to her toes.

  Then, like she'd been doing all her life, Chrissy left her family.

  * * *

  "She's headed for the house. I've got to go after her," Cole said, starting forward.

  Jake put a hand on his arm. "Let me. We're the ones she is running away from. You stay here with Mother."

  Glancing at Elizabeth, Cole spied the tear rolling down her cheek, and he clamped his teeth together to prevent the curses from escaping. Bringing them here, like this, had been a very bad idea.

  As Jake jogged after his sister, Thornbury chastised his daughter. "That was a poor greeting, Elizabeth."

  "I didn't intend to sound so harsh."

  Cole laid a comforting hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "I know. Sometimes talking to Christina, words just come out that way." Earlier today was a good example. He'd said some cold, cruel things to the woman speaking out of anger and bruised feelings. Her lack of trust and her accusations had hurt and he'd left Harpur Priory in a lather.

  The ride helped him calm down, and once that happened, he began to regret what he'd done. As soon as he had arrived at Hartsworth, he'd decided to turn around and go back. He'd greeted Jake and chastised Elizabeth for having played such a mean trick on her family by claiming a serious illness as a method of matchmaking. Her apology was obviously heartfelt, and it had soothed Cole's simmering anger at her. So when Elizabeth suggested they all accompany him back to Harpur Priory, saying she couldn't wait another day to see her daughter, he made only a half-hearted protest. He believed a talk between mother and daughter was long overdue.

  He still believed that, but in hindsight, this reunion should have taken place in private. Of course, he hadn't known they'd find her dancing barefoot in her Chili Queen clothes when they arrived. Otherwise, he'd have done i
t all differently.

  Oh really? asked his conscience. You knew she was cooking chili. You knew there would be dancing at the barbecue. You knew she was upset.

  Hell, knowing Christina, he should have expected to find exactly what they found.

  Shaking his head, he gazed toward the house. Ah, Lady Bug, I'm sorry.

  He slipped his arm through Elizabeth's and led her toward a seat at a table. "Let me fix you a plate. I'm sure you must be hungry. I am."

  It was true. The aroma of Christina's chili reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He was on his second helping when Lana and Welby stopped by the table. "Why, Cole. I'm surprised to see you here. Chrissy told me you left with her grandfather."

  "Uh, we came back." He motioned toward the food line where Thornbury was loading up his plate for the third time. Then he nodded toward Elizabeth. "Lana, have you met Christina's mother?"

  Her brows lifted in surprise, then she smiled at Elizabeth and said, "No, I have not had the pleasure."

  After the introductions, they exchanged small talk about the Delaneys' trip from Texas, then Lana turned to Cole and asked, "Have you seen Michael and Sophie lately?"

  "No, I haven't. We haven't been here very long, though."

  "Oh. Well." She sighed a frustrated mother's sigh. "I put them to bed an hour ago, but when I checked on them a little while later they had decamped. I expected them to have sneaked back down to the barbecue, but we've seen no sign of them."

  "Have you checked beneath all the tablecloths?" Cole asked.

  "That's a good idea," said Welby. "Excuse me, and I'll see to that chore."

  "Thank you, Bruce," said Lana. Glancing at Cole, she laughed uneasily. "I'm sure they'll turn up any minute and Lord Welby will be disgusted with all three of us. I've worried him, I'm afraid. I just had a strange feeling that something was wrong."

  Cole didn't like that. He was a believer in a mother's intuition of trouble, having seen it so many times in Elizabeth where Chrissy was concerned.

  "I'm sure they're fine, honey. Tell you what. Where haven't y'all looked yet? I'll track 'em down and give them a tongue lashing for causing their mother such worry."

  "Thank you, Cole," she replied, her smile weak but appreciative. "My children are scamps of the first water, but it isn't like them to disappear this way."

  "We'll find them, Lana," Cole said, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "It's my guess they're with Christina and since she doesn't want to be found right now, it's making the search for your children a little more difficult. So instead of worrying about safety, worry about choosing what punishment to dole out. You know if they're with Christina, she'll keep them safe."

  * * *

  After seeing Jake was on her trail and knowing a search through the basement rooms would keep him occupied for a while, Chrissy ducked into Harpur Priory's ironing room to hide. Her head was spinning and her emotions were a wreck. She needed time to gather herself before facing the visitors from Texas.

  Aware her brother would be methodical in his search now that he'd tracked her to the basement, she slipped up a servant's staircase and chose to lose herself among the manor's most elaborate and least visited rooms, the state apartments.

  She wandered through the State Drawing Room to the State Music Room, and had settled down at the mahogany and satinwood harpsichord to peck out a tune and think when she heard Michael and Sophie Kleberg's telltale laughter.

  "Lana put them to bed long ago," she murmured, rising to follow the sound. The children had no business being here in this part of the house. These grand rooms were designed for display, rather than living in. They certainly were not rooms in which to play.

  The giggling came from the State Bedchamber. Chrissy walked inside and winced. "Michael! Sophie! Quit jumping on that bed this instant."

  The laughter died abruptly. Slowly, two pairs of eyes peeked out from behind blue damask bed hangings. Michael assumed that sheepish, boyish expression guaranteed to melt a female heart while Sophie offered her innocent little cherub's smile. Chrissy could resist neither one.

  "Oh, you two. This the last place you should be. Why aren't you in bed where you belong?"

  Michael jumped down onto the floor. "We weren't tired and we started playing spies so when we saw Mr. Bennet come inside, we followed him here."

  Sophie nodded, her eyes round and excited. "He went inside the wall, Miss Chrissy. We're waiting for him to come out again."

  "Went inside the wall?"

  "It's a secret door," Michael explained. He pointed toward the wall. "Right—"

  He gasped, then dove for the concealment of the bed hangings as the door under discussion began to swing open. Chrissy thought it best to follow. They'd upset poor Lord Bennet enough today. Better he didn't know the children had invaded the State Bedchamber.

  The man carried a leather-bound book in one hand and murmured something beneath his breath as he approached the bed. Chrissy cringed back away from the curtains, certain they were about to be found.

  Instead, he reached into the hangings, felt along the gilded bedpost, then grabbed a lever hidden ingeniously in the carved palm tree design. He pushed the lever and Chrissy heard the secret door swing shut. Sophie's wide eyes met hers, and she held a finger up to her lips until the sound of Lord Bennet's departing footsteps died away.

  "You two will be the death of me," she grumbled as she crawled from the bed and headed for the door with Sophie at her heels. "Come along. I'll see y'all back to bed."

  Michael didn't immediately follow. Chrissy turned back at the snick of a latch. The hidden door swung open once more. "I just want a quick peek," said Michael as he darted through the opening.

  "Michael," Chrissy insisted. "Get back here."

  "I'll get him," cried Sophie before she, too, darted through the door.

  Chrissy sighed heavily, then went in after them.

  Deep shadows concealed the passage and she stumbled, almost falling, when her foot found the first descending step. Of the Klebergs, she saw no sign. "Children," she called.

  From below came the echoes of their voices.

  "Troublesome pair," she murmured. Why, the Klebergs' shenanigans made her own childhood escapades look angelic.

  Chrissy descended a spiraling staircase that seemed to go on forever. This was not a normal servants' staircase with its narrow width and dank, dusty steep steps. She spied no exits from the passageway.

  Upon reaching a point where light from the room above no longer penetrated the gloom, she noticed a small ledge, upon which sat a matchbox. Gazing below, she saw the yellow glow of a lantern. "Intrepid explorers," she murmured as the shadows deepened to near dark. Weren't those two afraid of anything? By now she figured she must be below the lowest level of the house.

  Chrissy continued to descend. Before long she noticed that the light, which earlier had been moving in a spiral like herself, now remained motionless. Seconds later, more light flared and she heard echoes, louder now, of the children's voices. Chrissy picked up her pace and soon she saw just what the children had exclaimed over.

  The staircase ended behind a door that led into the crypt directly across from the room housing Lord Bennet's private collection. Chrissy paused long enough to do a quick mental geography comparison to where they'd gone yesterday and where she was now. Yes, she could see how it all fit together. The crypt was large, its tunnels running between the manor and the pool house. No telling how many other rooms and tunnels were hidden below the grounds of Harpur Priory.

  No telling how many other secrets they contain, Chrissy thought, shuddering.

  "Michael. Sophie. We are not supposed to be here," she said, walking into the lushly apportioned room. To her surprise, the children were nowhere to be seen. Hearing their voices, she glanced to the left and spied another opening, one she'd not noticed yesterday. Looking closer, she saw that it had been concealed by a tall display case now shifted out of the way.

  Chrissy walked into the second, smaller cha
mber and found the Kleberg children standing in the center, gazing around them in wonder. Mud-chinked logs covered the rock walls and gave the appearance of the inside of a cabin.

  Sophie looked up at Chrissy and said, "This is just like that old homestead cabin on that ranchland Mr. Cole bought."

  Glancing quickly around the room, Chrissy saw that indeed, it was quite similar. A wedding-ring quilt adorned an iron bed and braided rugs softened the hard rock floor. A Dutch oven was nestled amongst coals spread in a false hearth, and an oil lamp sat on a rosewood table, an intricately carved piece that looked strangely out of place, but at the same time, perfectly at home. In log cabins all across the American frontier, families mixed heirloom pieces with those made on the spot from whatever resources were at hand.

  A Bible lay opened on the table. Curious despite herself, Chrissy glanced down and read the names written on the record of marriage: Randolph Allen Wilcox and Maribeth Leigh Jones. "Randolph Wilcox," Chrissy murmured. The name seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. The page opposite the marriages recorded births and only one was listed. "John Randolph Wilcox, born December 3, 1851, Houston, Texas."

  "My mama had a rocker like that one at home," said Sophie, pointing toward the hearth.

  As Chrissy looked toward the chair, her gaze snagged on the oil painting hanging above the mantel. It was a portrait of a man, woman, and child, and something about the painting bothered Chrissy. She walked closer and read the brass plate attached to the frame. "Randolph and Maribeth Wilcox, and their son John. Bluebonnet Ranch, Texas."

  She frowned. Something about the painting bothered her, but she didn't want to take the time to figure it out. A sense of urgency plagued her. "Come along, you two. We don't belong down here. Proper house guests don't make themselves at home by snooping in their host's private rooms."

  "Now that," came a voice from behind her, "is what they call in Texas a dead open fact."

  Chrissy cringed. "Lord Bennet, I'm so very sorry," she said, turning around. "The children..." Her voice trailed off.

  Lord Bennet held a Colt revolver pointed at her heart.