The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

by Bell, Angela; Breidenbach, Angela; Carter, Lisa

  She noticed he didn’t disclaim what he’d said, only owned that he shouldn’t have said it.

  “Please say you’ll forgive me. My behavior was unpardonable.”

  Her heart sank. Behavior, not feelings. He still despises me. He was merely begging pardon for saying so. But she nodded.

  He smiled, just a little. The dimple appeared, then was gone.

  The wall between them remained.

  Chapter 7

  You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Henry.”

  Katie managed a smile. “It’s nice to be out of black.”

  She tried to hold still while Bridget buttoned her bodice, but she longed to flee the stuffy room and go to Georgie, who was outdoors receiving his daily dose of autumnal air. Only he could quiet her nerves tonight.

  The buttons were finally fastened, and Katie stood and smoothed her hands over the emerald-toned overskirt. This gown was special, made of satin by Worth, shipped from Paris. She’d donned it just once, allowed Georgie to carefully stroke the jet-beaded trim.

  “How shall I arrange your hair tonight?” Bridget asked.

  “However it would be expected, non?” Katie reseated herself before her rosewood dressing table, her bustle making the movement difficult.

  In addition to her usual chores, Bridget had helped Katie dress for dinner through the summer. The necessary cutback in spending, brought on by the inaccessibility of Georgie’s inheritance, had forced the Baxters to dismiss some of their staff.

  Though surely no expense was spared when this gown was ordered.

  A knock on the door interrupted Katie’s musings.

  Bridget rose to answer it, and when she opened the door a crack, Alice peered in.

  Katie brightened. Over the eight months since her arrival in Denver, she and Alice had become friends. On one occasion, Alice had even confided in her, confessed her fears regarding her husband’s recent secretive behavior.

  Alice entered and crossed the room to sit on the chaise at the foot of the bed. “Thomas sent me to see if his mother needed help.” Her dark eyes, a contrast to her fair hair, twinkled. “I shan’t confess to him that I neglected his command.”

  Katie chuckled. “You’re getting quite adept at sneaking past her.”

  Alice grinned. Then she toyed with the piece of lace draped over the arm of the chaise. “Actually, there’s something I’ve wished to ask you.”

  Bridget secured the last tuck of Katie’s hair with a jeweled pin. “Will that be all, Mrs. Henry?”

  “Yes, thank you, Bridget.”

  After the maid left the room, Katie turned to Alice. “What is it?”

  A blush covered her friend’s perfectly oval face. “How did you—how did you know when you were expecting Georgie?”

  Katie’s own cheeks flushed. She gave a faltering reply, then asked, “Why? Are you…?”

  “No, I was simply curious, for the future.” Alice hesitated. “Was it—difficult? Telling Georgie’s father?”

  Katie thought a moment. “I suppose so, but I don’t remember very well. I was in shock. I didn’t expect to be with child.”

  In the silence that followed, Katie’s flush deepened. She thinks I was Jackson’s mistress, just like Henry does. Only Alice hadn’t condemned her for it. “I didn’t consider the possibility of a child, because there was only…the one time, you see. I was quite ignorant about such things.”

  Alice was quiet again, for a long while. “Does Henry know it only happened once?”

  Katie shrugged and said nothing. But the answer must have shown in her eyes.

  “Why haven’t you told him?”

  Katie busied herself pulling on her long white gloves. “He never asked.”

  She didn’t add that he’d avoided her since the day they were married, other than that one dance. Though it stung, Katie wasn’t surprised. She couldn’t forgive herself, why should he?

  She peeked up to find Alice studying her.

  “May I tell you a story?” Alice seemed to consider Katie’s silence as an assent, for she began in a soft voice. “There once was a man named Peter, who saw a vision from God. In this vision, a giant sheet came down from heaven, filled with animals that Peter, a Jew, considered unclean. Three times, God repeated, ‘Do not call anything impure that I have made clean.’”

  She must think I’ve never heard a sermon before. “I know the story. A traveling minister came to my father’s mining settlement and told us. He said God was telling Peter to include everyone in the Christian faith.” She remembered another sermon, preached by a fiery evangelist at a camp meeting. After hearing the man’s message, she’d knelt down under the starry sky, pregnant belly notwithstanding, and asked Jesus to forgive her sins. In that moment, she’d felt His love, His nearness and mercy.

  But since then, doubts had arisen.

  Alice nodded. “That’s what ministers say, that the animals symbolized the Gentiles who wanted to become Christians, too. And they’re right, of course. But sometimes I think there’s something more. Three times, in the Gospel of John, Jesus asked, ‘Peter, do you love me?’ How grieved Peter must have been, to think his Lord had to ask him so many times. It must have brought back another ‘three times’ incident, a terrible one. When Jesus was on trial, Peter denied Him three times. The guilt, the shame he must have experienced over and over, as he relived those dreadful moments. He must have wished, more than anything, to go back and do things differently.”

  Katie knew the feeling.

  Alice continued. “How wonderful it is, that as many times as Peter cursed and swore his denial, God later repeated, ‘Do not call unclean what I have made pure.’ It’s almost like He was saying, ‘I forgive you, Peter. I have made you clean.’ ”

  The beautiful words filled Katie’s spirit, poured over her like warm honey.

  But as she finished preparing for the momentous evening to come, she only wished she could believe them.

  Henry pulled aside the curtain to view the procession of carriages in the circular brick driveway. From the drawing room, he could just see through the front window to the teams of blooded horses and liveried footmen, illuminated by gas lampposts. Top hats bobbed and parasols swayed as the guests stepped down from their conveyances and approached the house.

  He let the curtain fall back into place. “They’re here,” he said tersely.

  Katie’s almond-shaped eyes grew wide, and she snapped her fan shut.

  His mother remained motionless on the sofa beside her. “Manfred will admit our guests, then show them upstairs to the dressing rooms before we formally receive them.” She looked as unruffled as a pond on a windless day.

  But Katie doesn’t. The determination he’d begun to admire in spite of himself was nowhere in sight. Her slightly pointed chin, often lifted in assertion, now trembled. And who could blame her? Despite his family’s period of sequestered mourning, they knew there’d been speculation.

  Denver society had good reason to wonder. It was odd that an occasion of such importance—the marriage of a Baxter son—should have transpired with so little to-do. Of course, people assumed Henry had been out of the country at the time. But the event still deserved a formal announcement. The same held true for the birth of a Baxter heir. Yet Georgie’s arrival hadn’t received so much as a one-line sentence in the papers. Granted, I’m just the second son. But still…

  Thankfully, church on Sundays had been their only outing during the spring and summer months. Even in that sacred place, he could see the women peering at Katie as though wondering, who is this interloper?

  Gentlemen at the Denver club no doubt pondered the question as well. Do they suspect there’s a scandal attached to her?

  Well, he would remain mum. Grandly so, as his mother had taught him.

  “Katriane,” his mother said, “go stand at your husband’s side and prepare to receive your guests.”

  Katie’s face went white.

  Henry offered her his arm. She rose and took it. He could hear the sh
allowness of her breaths, and pressed her hand with his. She clung to his arm like it was a lifeboat, and something within him softened.

  He leaned down to whisper, “You look lovely.” His mouth lingered near her ear longer than he’d intended. He straightened but could feel her touch through his sleeve.

  He glanced at her gown. Ruffles, bows, and graceful train were expertly made in costly satin. Whatever their guests thought of Katie’s manners tonight, they could not criticize her appearance. And no man will be able to keep his eyes off her.

  Just then, the first guest arrived. An unaccompanied gentleman, whose round belly and thick mustache made him appear jolly. But he regarded Katie with hawklike intensity.

  Henry bowed. His mother stood, as imperiously as if she were rising from a throne. He didn’t know how she managed it. His legs were so tense he feared they might snap in two.

  The man turned his beady eyes toward Katie, who lifted her chin.

  “How pleased I am to meet you, monsieur,” she said in her soft French accent.

  The man brightened. “Ah, madame, you are French. I spent many glorious summers in Paris as a boy.” He grinned.

  Henry’s limbs slowly began to loosen. He watched as Katie greeted their next guest with as much poise as she had their first.

  Now the evening held promise.

  Chapter 8

  Henry knew he should be overjoyed. The reception for Katie couldn’t have gone better. She’d behaved impeccably.

  But Monday morning, as he looked through the office doorway at his brother, he felt weighted. Even from here, he could see the deep lines between Thomas’s eyes. Something is still troubling him.

  Henry snatched up the sheaf of papers on his desk and strode into his brother’s office. Thomas glanced up, but offered no greeting.

  “Will you review these statements?” Henry plunked the papers down without waiting for an answer. “I think we’ve been doling out credits too readily. This isn’t enough financial history to ask from prospective clients.”

  He expected his brother to protest, to defend the risks he’d taken. But Thomas merely nodded, his gaze on the papers, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  Henry propped himself against the desk. “What, no lectures today? No monologues about Randall & Son stealing all our business if we fail to act with ‘due promptness’?”

  Thomas’s eyes sparked to life. “Arthur Randall is no laughing matter. He would destroy us if we’d let him.”

  Henry settled his hands behind his head. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

  His brother’s expression grew guarded. “I’m fine.”

  “Even if I believed that, I couldn’t say the same of Alice. She seems drawn lately, like she’s worried about something.”

  Thomas’s gaze narrowed. “I would prefer it if you keep your observations about my wife to yourself.”

  “Tell me the truth, then.”

  Thomas let out a forceful breath. “Very well.” He rose and went to the door, looked first one way then the other. In the area directly facing his office, the hallway opened up into an elegant sitting room, encircled by a railed balcony overlooking the lobby.

  Thomas shut the door and returned to his desk. “About two months after you arrived home, I saw a stranger sitting in the back row at church, watching us. When he realized I’d noticed him, he looked elsewhere. But then I spotted him again, getting out of a carriage one night, just down the street from your house.”

  Henry’s brow furrowed. “It could be a coincidence.”

  “I thought so, too.” Thomas opened his drawer and pulled out a card with Randall & Son’s insignia on it.

  Finally, the mysterious note explained.

  “Then I received this message from an old colleague,” Thomas said. “A man who now works for Randall. He warned me that he’d heard a rumor about an investigation of our family—he has connections with some of Pinkerton’s men. You know how they always know things.”

  Henry’s heartbeat quickened. “What kind of investigation?” He paused. “Something to do with the bank?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  Katie. Henry gripped the edge of the desk. If this involves her, we’re finished. “You think Randall’s behind the investigation?”

  Thomas’s incessantly bobbing knee was answer enough. “I asked my friend to keep an eye out, and we’ve been exchanging telegrams ever since. I’ve even tracked the stranger myself, though it’s done little good. He was no doubt aware I was following him, and never uttered a single useful word in my presence. My efforts kept me out late at night, took me out of town, for nothing.”

  “No wonder Alice is distraught.”

  Thomas sent him a warning look. “Don’t say anything about this to her.”

  “You’d rather she think the worst?”

  “No, but if I tell her, it might somehow get back to Mother. She’s had enough troubles these last few years.” His voice turned to a mutter. “As you’d know, if you’d been home.”

  It was true. Thomas was the one who’d comforted their mother, both through the loss of their father and Jackson’s illness and death.

  Henry determined to do a better job of caring for his family, starting with this newest threat.

  The fog was denser here, he noticed, as he and Thomas made their way through the Cherry Creek Bottoms district. Rows of brick buildings hemmed them in on either side. Worn clothes hung overhead on lines strung from the rooftops. Streetlamps shone bravely through sooty glass enclosures.

  Henry and Thomas darted as furtively as possible across the alley and hid in a clump of evergreen bushes. They could just glimpse the stranger’s billowing cloak up ahead in the December twilight. They watched him disappear into a small tavern.

  Through the orange glow of the single window, Henry saw him approach the bar, then straddle a stool beside a man wearing a fine brown Mackintosh.

  “Can you see anything?” Thomas whispered.

  “Barely.” From this distance, the Mackintosh-man didn’t appear to be a miner. Or anyone who might have known Katie in Aspen—a hotel lackey, silver baron, or smelter. But Henry had to be certain. If the man had somehow seen her there with Jackson…

  “I need to get closer.” He pushed the scratchy boughs aside and stood up.

  Thomas yanked him back down. “Don’t you dare. If he didn’t know we were following him before, he’s sure to know it if we go in there. It’s only one room, with nowhere to hide.”

  Henry stared at him. “Are you telling me we trekked clear across this miserable neighborhood for nothing?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  Henry muttered to himself and shoved past the dense shrubbery. When he reached the alley, he glanced back and saw Thomas brushing stickers from his sleeves, and then—Thomas froze.

  “Did you hear that?” He shifted his gaze toward a row of weathered barrels they’d passed earlier.

  Henry looked, too, but saw nothing.

  Thomas gestured for him to follow, and they crept together down the alley. By the time they arrived at the barrels, Henry’s muscles were tight as bedsprings.

  All was still.

  Then someone sneezed.

  “We hear you,” Thomas said. “You can come out.”

  There was a commotion, and two sets of silk violets poked up behind the barrels. Black bonnets followed.

  Henry gaped as Katie and Alice emerged.

  His first impulse was to rail at them. What are they thinking, out in this district unescorted? But soon a very different emotion arose. He felt his lips twitch. How bold they are, in their stealthy black clothes.

  Thomas didn’t appear to share his amusement. “What are you doing here?” he demanded of Alice. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is, a woman out alone like this?”

  “Shhhh.” Henry sent a cautioning look toward the tavern.

  “I’m not alone,” Alice said. “Katie is with me.”

  “And she has every right to follow yo
u.” Katie’s eyes flashed. “Every reason to be suspicious.”

  Like a mother tigress, defending her young. Henry grinned.

  Thomas turned to glare at Katie, and Henry hastened to her side. He gripped her shoulders and steered her away, to the other end of the alley. Once safe in the cloaking shadow of a building, he dropped his hands.

  He looked at the other two, awash in the streetlamp’s glow. What had started as a hostile encounter began to change in tone. At first Thomas’s arms were folded rigidly over his chest, Alice wildly gesturing. But then his brother shook his head. Told his wife about the stranger. Her mouth formed an O, and tears welled in her eyes. Her shoulders began to tremble.

  “I thought you were sneaking around with another woman,” she sobbed. “That you didn’t love me anymore.”

  Thomas shook his head again, his expression gentle, and drew her to him.

  Henry averted his gaze and looked at Katie. Escaped curls wisped about her neck, bits of dried grass caught in the tresses. He wanted to pull the grass free, an excuse to see if her neck was as soft as it looked. She stood only inches from him but seemed miles away. A sudden ire burned inside him. How careful she’s being, making sure even our sleeves don’t touch.

  He glanced at Thomas and Alice, and wished he hadn’t. They were kissing, most passionately. It was difficult to ignore the desire that kindled in his chest at the sight. He envisioned being entwined in his own wife’s arms.

  Then he remembered another brother, one whose claim on Katie had preceded his.

  Maintaining his distance was easier after that.

  Chapter 9

  On his way to the library, Henry approached the staircase and saw Georgie arduously descending, one stair at a time, his hand clasped in the hand of Bridget, the maid. Miss Oliver had been summoned to her ailing sister’s bedside earlier that evening, and Katie was at the opera with Alice.

  Henry noted the determined furrow in Georgie’s brow. It would have been much simpler for the maid to carry him. But he can do it himself—he’s Jackson’s child. The grandeur of the sweeping staircase, the broad mahogany steps marching down either side of the Oriental carpet runner, made the boy seem the size of a doll.