“Well, when he was leaving, I asked him if he was going to give me a goodbye kiss – like mom used to do with you.”
“You did what?”
“Father, do calm yourself before you have a coronary,” Marcelle said. “I don’t think I meant to say anything, but as he was leaving it just popped out. I remember, when I was a child, the love I saw on your face when you came back and gave Mother that forgotten kiss and how happy she was afterward. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to experience that for myself. Only, it wasn’t like that at all.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear anymore,” her father moaned, rubbing a hand over his face, reddened in embarrassment. Sometimes he wished that he hadn’t encouraged such open communications with her.
“You see. The look he gave me made me nervous, and then he chased me into the house and kissed me. Said I shouldn’t tease him about things like that.”
“Oh, dear Lord above. He didn’t hurt you did he, child?”
“Hardly. In fact,” Marcelle admitted, “I wanted him to kiss me again, but he stormed out of the house and left. You don’t think I scared him off, do you, Father?”
“You are taken with him, aren’t you? Be honest.”
Marcelle nodded and lowered her head, looking at the hands that she’d clenched in her lap, “Only I know that nothing will ever come of it, so I’m not sure what I should do. Now, because of my impetuousness, he may not return and all I have is the memory of his kiss. That’s why I’ve been humming about this past week, clinging to that memory. It’s the only way I have to push back the worry that he may not come back.”
“Oh, child.”
“Say he’ll come back, Father?”
“I can’t, but he does have an awful lot invested with us, so chances are pretty good that he will. I will tell you this, though. The man likes you.”
“He does?”
“I don’t know whether he knows it or not, but I’ve seen how he looks at you and he’s definitely intrigued. Still and all, I wouldn’t press the issue and I’m not certain that teasing him further would be wise.”
“Is there anything that I can do to help persuade him into marriage, without letting him know that I’m persuading him?”
“Well, your mother managed to snare me without an ounce of seeable persuasion.”
“I thought you set your sights on Mother, not the other way around.”
“It’s very rare that the man has the choice,” her father said with a grin. “If the woman wants a man, and she goes about it the right way, then that man will be hers forever.”
“The right way?”
“Well, take for instance Miss Stanharbor,” her father said. “As you and Matthew described it, she approached Matthew the wrong way and even included her father in her attempts. Did it work?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“That’s easy,” Marcelle answered. “Because they pressured him.”
“Exactly, and Matthew isn’t a man whom we can pressure. Remember that he’s already skittish about marriage.”
“So in order to ‘snare him’, I simply – what?” Marcelle said, too innocent to comprehend courtship rituals fully. She’d spent the last few years scaring men away; never had any experience trying to keep one in her life. She wished that her father could simply talk Matthew into marrying her and save her embarrassment that her blunders would surely cause, but then again, her father had always taught her that something worth possessing is worth doing on your own. “What do you suggest?”
“Continue to be yourself – teasing and all. He seems to respond to that.”
“He may respond in a way that would earn your disapproval, and I thought you didn’t want me to tease him anymore.”
“Not as far as kissing and such, no.”
“Oh,” Marcelle said thoughtfully, “so if I just continue acting like I’ve always done, then I have a good chance, do you think?”
“It depends on how dead-set against marriage he really is. I do think that when he’s ready to settle down, you’ll be the likely choice.”
Marcelle closed her eyes and sighed. She hoped her father was right.
“I appreciate your talking with me, Father. I know that listening to all this was hard.”
Her father laughed. “It was sheer torture, but I think this was the best thing in the end. It made me realize something.”
“What’s that, Father?”
“That I can’t push you into marriage any more than Matthew can be pushed into marrying, and that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do; however, now that we’ve agreed that you don’t have to marry at all, maybe things will fall into place. Not to mention that I feel like this decision has removed a ton of weight from my shoulders.”
“Perhaps you’re right. You really do look as if you’re feeling better, and I’m not just saying that. There is a color in your cheeks . . . ,”
A knock at the door ended their conversation.
“Come,” Peter yelled.
Nancy popped her head in the doorway, “Sir. Miss. A visitor has arrived.”
“Well, who is it Nancy?” Peter asked, wondering why she didn’t simply announce the name as usual.
“Well, sir, it’s Mr. Matthew’s younger brother.”
“Younger brother?” Marcelle and her father said simultaneously.
“Yes, sir. I’ve put him in the parlor and already offered refreshments. I’m off to see about those now.”
“So, what is it about him, Nancy, which has you so confounded?” Peter asked intuitively. He’d known Nancy for twenty years and he’d never seen that particular expression on her face when announcing a visitor before. It worried him slightly.
“Sir?” Nancy asked, her facial features strained. Well, Peter thought, whatever has disturbed her about their visitor; she was falling back on her professionalism and keeping her mouth shut. So be it. He’d meet the caller himself in a moment.
“Never mind. You may go,” Peter said. When the door pulled to, he brought his attention back to his daughter. “Well, I guess we’d better go greet our new arrival. Think this one will move in also?”
“Oh, father,” Marcelle admonished gently, “I seriously doubt that Matthew fired off a letter to all of his relations telling them there was employment to be had here. In all likelihood, his brother has simply dropped by for a visit.”
“Yes, well, Matthew is hardly here right now to visit with, is he?”
“Oh, so he’s supposed to be a mind reader and know that?”
Peter laughed, heading for the study door, “No, child. I’m just joshing. It’s just a little nerve-wracking is all.”
“What is, father?”
Her father turned and eyed her with a mischievous glint in his eye, “The minute I tell you marriage is no longer a requirement, young men – of suitable age, mind – start dropping out of nowhere. Had I known it would be that simple, I would have told you that marriage was out of the question years ago.”
Marcelle laughed and placed her hand in the proffered crook of her father’s arm, “Oh, Father, you are completely hopeless.”
“So your mother always said,” he smiled. “Well, shall we see if this young man impresses you as much as his older brother?”
“Oh, do hush!”
Peter stifled another laugh and pulled open the study door, ushering his daughter out ahead of him.
“Maybe you’ll have two men fawning over you and kissing on you . . . ,”
“If you don’t hush up this minute, he’s likely to hear,” Marcelle whispered harshly. “Nancy left the parlor door open.”
“Oops,” her father whispered with a giggle, putting his finger to his lips. “You really do need to learn to keep your voice down, child.”
Their arrival at the parlor cut off Marcelle’s retort, but the look she gave him promised retribution later.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sight of the man standing at the French doors startled them so tha
t they did not enter the parlor immediately. He was a lankier, paler image of his older brother, a slight bit shorter in stature and less brawny. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking his relationship to Matthew. From their vantage point, it could well have been Matthew standing there, for his face was strikingly similar; however, there is where the resemblance ceased.
The only description that popped into Marcelle’s head was ‘fop’. The man dressed impeccably for sure, from his hair, oiled and slicked back fashionably, down to the white silk gloves and thigh-high leather boots, but his carriage shouted popinjay. Something about the tilt of his chin said that he looked down upon the less fortunate, and that made Marcelle’s feathers ruffle.
Her father must have sensed the tension running through her, for he leaned over and whispered in her ear, patting her hand gently, “Relax, child. Appearances can be deceiving, you know. He may merely feel the need to impress people.” Although Peter felt the need to reassure his daughter, he could easily see what had disturbed Nancy. Just observing him for this short time disturbed him.
“Well, he’s failing miserably to impress me,” Marcelle whispered back, echoing his own thoughts.
“You haven’t even introduced yourself yet, dear. So try not to judge him by his appearance, okay?” He said, contrary to how he felt. “Do try to remember that he’s Matthew’s relation, so the least we can do is extend our hospitality since Matthew is away.”
“Yes, father,” Marcelle said tightly.
“At least we don’t need to worry about his vying for your affections.”
“Oh! Do hush!”
Peter smiled and moved further into the room, “Mr. Daragh?”
The man turned from the window and strutted forward, his gloved hand extended, “Mr. Weatherman, I presume.”
Peter took the offered hand, “You presume correctly, and this is my daughter, Marcelle.”
“Enchanted,” he said. He took her hand and kissed the back lightly, but his eyes, like so many others whom she’d chased away, fixed onto her breasts. She rolled her eyes slightly and sighed inwardly. Definitely not Matthew. “Matthew never mentioned just how beautiful you are,” he said.
“Matthew told you about us?”
“Well, actually, he wrote our parents about his newfound employment and since I happened to be visiting with them, I naturally was privy to the contents of that missive as well.”
“Do please sit,” Peter said. His opinion of this man was quickly deteriorating. What started as a wary sensation was rapidly changing to one of repulsion. A quick glance at Marcelle confirmed her feelings weren’t improving toward him either. Thinking about Matthew, he wondered whether his parents adopted this man, though that was evidently not the case.
“So, what brings you here, Mr. Daragh?” Marcelle asked politely.
“Do call me Mark,” he insisted. “As to why I’m here – I need to speak with Matthew. Is he about?”
“No,” Peter said, “your brother’s out on business and we don’t expect his return for a few weeks.”
“Oh, dear heavens, I fear I have poorly timed my visit, but inevitably there really wasn’t anything to do about that. I do need to speak with Matthew posthaste. It’s a matter of family business. Is there no way to reach him?”
“Is anything amiss?” Marcelle asked.
“Amiss? Yes, I suppose I could categorize it as such since our father perished a fortnight ago, and Mother, nor I, have received word from Matthew that he received our notification.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Peter said, not because of the announced death of Matthew’s parent, but because of the tone in which his brother announced it – emotionless.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Marcelle said solicitously.
“Thank you. As the elder, Matthew is the one that should have prepared the burial arrangements, but, of course, Matthew was not where he should be, as usual.” That tone brought a curious gaze to both Marcelle’s and her father’s eyes.
“I do apologize if I sound a mite put out, but Matthew has dodged his responsibilities as head of Daragh Steel for far too long. Have you heard of our company? No, I don’t suppose you would have unless you were born back East. We’re only the largest suppliers of steel in the land.” The pride of accomplishment was evident in his words, although the tone remained seemingly unaffected. “Anyway, it was Matthew who should have taken the reins of Daragh Steel from Father some years back, but he bolted at eighteen, forcing me to take responsibility when I came of age – nearly ten years ago. Sadly enough, our board of directors does not see me as the rightful heir, since Fathers passing, and are trying to shut me out. Without Matthew’s consent I cannot continue to head the company or sell it off, if I so choose. So, would it be possible to get word to Matthew? I do realize that communication in this backwards land is difficult at best, since the letter of my arrival obviously never reached him, but surely you must have a telegraph office or something hereabouts with which to contact him?”
Marcelle sat eyeing Mark as she would view an annoying fly. Insanely, she wished there was a swatter made that was large enough to squash him. She’d definitely use it. During his little recitation, her opinion of him altered drastically. Not only was he a popinjay but a jackass as well.
“I think us uneducated cow pokes can find a means to get word to your brother,” Marcelle drawled, and grinned when the younger Daragh visibly winced at her butchery of the English language. She ignored the warning glance from her father and kept talking, “Why don’t you just mosey on back to that big fancy city you done came from, and we’ll ship your brother off to you just as soon as he gets his hide back here.”
“Yes, well, while I’m certain that would normally be an acceptable remedy, I really must stay and escort Matthew home with me.”
“I have no doubt that your brother is a big boy, Mr. Daragh,” Peter said, deliberately addressing him formally. This man didn’t invite closeness, so he saw no reason to address him informally, though he’d suggested so a few moments earlier. “I’m certain that he can find his way across country without your assistance.”
“Well, if I thought Matthew would actually return to New York and assist me in acquiring control of the company, then I might very well ride out this moment. As it is, I fear that a bit of persuasion may be in order. I don’t believe Matthew holds interest in returning to New York under any circumstances, even if it pertains to the well-being of his baby brother and mother.”
“Mmm, well then, I suppose we’ll need to offer you our continued hospitality for the length of time that it takes to track your brother. You aren’t on a deadline as far as the company takeover is concerned, are you, Mr. Daragh? This could take a while, although we will make a concerted effort.”
“I’m not severely pressed for time, no.”
At her father’s signal, Marcelle stood and pulled the summoning cord. Nancy appeared a few minutes later.
“Miss?”
“Please take Mr. Daragh to our guest room so that he may have an opportunity to freshen up before the evening meal,” Marcelle instructed.
Mark stood and straightened his perfectly tailored jacket, “Well, I do appreciate your hospitality and I’ll try not to be too much of a bother while I await my brother’s return.”
Marcelle and her father merely smiled.
When the door closed behind Nancy, Marcelle collapsed on the couch dramatically, rubbing a hand wearily across her forehead.
“Whew!” She muttered. One look at her father’s exasperated face and she started giggling.
“Do tell. What do you find so amusing? Just the thought of him residing here for any length of time is causing my head severe aches similar to those I’ve had for the past few years attempting to find you a suitable mate. In fact, if the man stays here too long, I may very well end up having a relapse toward poor health.”
“I’m sorry father,” Marcelle said, trying desperately to control her mirth, “it’s just that he’s so . . . so . . .”
“I thought the Stanharbors were bad,” Marcelle said, another giggle escaping. “I can’t imagine Matthew being related to that.”
“If Matthew had remained in New York instead of fleeing, as his brother suggested he did, he may have turned into that. No wonder he ran. I would’ve as well.”
“No doubt,” Marcelle said. Her humor faded when she thought of Matthew’s childhood. It couldn’t have been great. She could only imagine it as a cold, emotionless environment. So austere that he couldn’t bear the thought of remaining there. Then, when he finally finds affection and love with his wife, fate strips it away.
She thought of her own life and gave the Lord above a quick prayer of thanks for her loving parents. God may have granted her minimal time with her mother, and soon He would take her father away as well, but she knew the time granted was a blessing. Her father loved her very much, even with all their petty bickering. She said a quick prayer for Matthew, that one day he could find love again and receive the blessings of a wife and child.
“Penny for your thoughts,” her father said softly, noticing the lines furrowed in her brow.
“Just thinking about dinner,” Marcelle fibbed.
“No, you weren’t, but if you don’t want to tell your old man about it, just say so.”
Marcelle smiled sadly, “You know me too well.”
“That I do.”
“I was just thinking about Matthew and how horrible his life must have been,” Marcelle said softly.
“Ah, well, do yourself a favor, okay?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let him see your pity. Nothing will push him away faster than that. Men are funny creatures . . . ,” her father said and stopped when Marcelle snorted.
“You’re right about that,” she laughed. “At least I’ve never met one that wasn’t funny in a strange sort of way.”
“All right, enough of that,” her father scolded lightly. “What I was saying is that men have a lot of pride, and that a woman’s words can easily quash that pride, so it is never a good thing to bring up their faults. Nor should you treat them like fragile simpletons when they’ve suffered an indignity, or dote over them excessively when they experience a trauma. A little doting is good, but not pity doting. It doesn’t go over well, unless, of course, you’re trying to destroy their manhood.”
Fate's Intervention Page 13