by Kari Trumbo
Constance laughed, it started small and built like a twisted spring. “No, I don’t suppose you can. I didn’t think of that, only that you were going to be alone with a strange man.”
The relaxed tone of Constance’s voice was an open door to push a little harder. “I would be too nervous to pull it out anyway, though I did frighten Mr. Davidson with it.”
“Who is Mr. Davidson? I thought the Englishman’s name was Turner? Isn’t Davidson the man from the paper who you were swooning over?”
Frances bit down on her tongue to keep from retorting. She certainly had not been swooning over him. “Yes, the Englishman’s name is Turner, though he acts as if it should be, ‘Your Grace’.” Frances rolled her eyes, though she wouldn’t dare such impertinence near anyone but Connie. “I haven’t told you much about Mr. Davidson, other than he has the most wonderful eyes. He’s helping me with my story so that it can be readied for print.” At least, she hoped that was the case. If she couldn’t force herself to settle down, the story might never happen.
“Really? I wonder who he’ll have come with us tonight? You should go ask him. Maybe he could even get Reginald!” Her eyes flew wide open and a smile broke over her face. Then, she bit her lip. “Oh, do you think he could? It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen him.”
Frances took a minute to answer. It would never do to have Reginald there. If the two of them should fight, it would look bad, and there was still the fact that she hadn’t even managed to allow herself to relax while holding Turner’s hand. She only had this one week, and if she were too frightened, she’d never experience anything close to what the characters had in her book.
“I don’t know who he has in mind, but it should be fun. Does that mean you’re coming?”
“Well, I do suppose it would be more fun than sitting at home, and if there’s no chance that we’ll end up in the paper, Father will never be the wiser. That is the most important part. I can’t have him rushing me off to marriage until I have a chance to talk to Reginald.”
Frances smiled. If she asked Mr. Davidson about the evening, she would also ask him to not include Reginald. “Thank you. I’ll walk over a note to Mr. Davidson, but first, we must find something to wear.”
Constance stood and yanked Frances behind her, headed toward her room. “For an exclusive resort…let me see what I have for both of us. We’ll have to be able to walk, or even go boating. Oh, Frances, this is going to be so much fun. An Englishman! Does he have an accent?”
Frances didn’t have the heart to tell her he was a lecherous toad and she didn’t trust him. Let Constance have her own sour grape in time.
“Yes, he does, but you’ll get to meet him later.”
“Tell me about Mr. Davidson. What does he do and how does he plan to help you?”
“Well,” she evaded. Now that Constance took an interest in him, she didn’t really wish to share him. Frances twisted loose of Constance’s grip as they reached her closet, standing back a bit. Was her current hurt over Constance’s unfriendly behavior clouding her kindness? She should wish Constance all the best with Mr. Davidson. He’d never shown her any interest. In fact, he’d called her a “kid” and a “young thing.” Perhaps he didn’t even see her as a woman. Constance had curves that started from her full lips all the way to her cinched waist that accentuated rounded hips. He’d be a fool not to notice how womanly Constance was.
“He happened to be there the first day I went to the paper. He wouldn’t introduce me to the editor, but he did agree to read my story.”
Constance tossed a corset at Frances’s head. “Wait, you let him read it and not me!” She stomped her foot. “I’m your longest and closest friend!”
“I know, but he agreed to let the editor read it if he thought it was good enough. It wasn’t. He said it lacked feelings and that my men didn’t act naturally. I think the word he used was lunk-headed. So, you wouldn’t have enjoyed the story, anyway.”
“So, he set you up with Turner? Why didn’t you tell me from the start?” Constance scowled into her closet and flipped through more gowns than Frances had ever seen at one time.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to admit my story wasn’t up to standard. I don’t feel anything for Mr. Turner, though. But it’s only been one night.”
Constance turned to her, one eyebrow hitched high. “If he hasn’t made your heart flutter yet, he might not.”
Heart flutters? Turner certainly hadn’t done that, and Mr. Davidson had said such things didn’t exist... Except they had, when he’d spoken to her. “Mr. Davidson says all those feelings in the dime novels don’t exist. You mean to tell me, those feelings...women do feel them when they are attracted to a man?”
Constance turned to her and splashed a wicked grin over her face. “From what my friends tell me, not all the time. Sometimes you just feel comfortable with a man, as if you couldn’t imagine your life without him. But others,” she fanned her face with her hand, “you should hear the stories.”
Frances looked down at her hands as Mr. Davidson’s steely eyes appeared before her. The closest she’d come to those fluttery, warm feelings she’d written about hadn’t been with Mr. Turner. She’d only felt them for Mr. Davidson.
“No sir, that isn’t what I intended at all, Mr. Turner.” Clive watched the tick in Turner’s eye knell the death of his career. If he spent all week out with the Englishman, he’d never be able to chase actual news. For once, he wished his boss would take back an edict and send out Dunworthy. Of course, that would ruin everything as well. Frances would be furious with him and he’d end up trailing Turner anyway.
“I don’t understand why it is that you need me to go along with you. What about your coachman or one of your other servants?” He folded his hands in an attempt to hide his ire. It wasn’t as if he was on any higher social standing than any of them.
Turner flushed red and his eyes snapped. “I will not ask a servant. You’re lucky I’m asking you, Mr. Davidson. My Franny has decided she would like her friend to tag along and I’m finding it rather difficult to tell the young lady no.” He smiled a devilish smile that twisted something deep within Clive.
Franny? Why did the thought of this foreigner calling her, my Franny, make his blood run hot? Things certainly had progressed quickly. At that rate, she’d be finishing her novel with no trouble. He should be glad for her, but he couldn’t quite trick his head into agreeing with the notion.
“I think the young lady she mentioned was named Constance, but it isn’t important. We just need another man and you’re the only other man in town who is available.” His response made Clive’s reporter brain want to dig, but he held off. What business was it of his if Turner had friends in Rapid City? Turner yanked his long fingers back into his gloves. Fingers that hadn’t even held reins, much less done any other work in his well-appointed life. Traveling to Rapid City was just a way to tell his society friends that he’d gone west and had survived the savage land.
At least Constance Charity could use a night out without being hounded by Dunworthy. He scrubbed his hand down his face. “Fine, since you know no one else and I happen to know Miss Charity, I’ll join you. Where shall I secure tickets for this evening?”
“I mentioned to Franny that we would go to Crystal Lake Resort. Do get us some privacy, will you, chap?” His mouth slid up on the side. “I’m just dying to get Franny to some quiet nook.”
Clive swallowed the bile. It wasn’t his fight. He’d be there if Turner tried anything, but that was the best he could do. Frances needed to get out and Turner was available. “I think you should plan for some walking. The owner has been calling that plot a resort for a long time, but I don’t know if it is what you’re expecting.”
Turner had the audacity to scoff. “He said it was a lovely tree-lined walk down to the lake and there was a beautiful resort area down there. We’ll see if he exaggerates or not tomorrow, shall we?” The pompous tilt of his neck had Clive clenching his fists under the d
esk. He was sure growing to dislike this particular Englishman.
The quicker he could get rid of Turner for the day, the quicker he could work on finding a story to keep his job alive. At this rate, he’d have to work quickly. “I’m sure I can manage. Franny, Constance, and I will meet you at the hotel.”
“That sounds wonderful.” He moved to stand, then leveled an oddly serious look at Clive. “I’m going to convince Franny to come home to England with me. I think she’d like it there, not that it matters. She seems good for a little escapade, what you’d call the adventurous sort.”
Clive’s mouth went dry. He’d put his career first for so long, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d contemplated a woman for longer than a few minutes. But for the little he’d known Frances, he could answer—with all seriousness—that she would never entertain the thought of going to England.
“I guess you can try. I hear she’s a South Dakotan through and through, though.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on giving her much choice in the matter. A woman needs only to be wooed with promises of baubles and luxury to get whatever it is I want.”
Clive gripped the desk tighter. Going with them no longer seemed like a waste of his time. Frances was too young to understand that some men would tell her anything without ever planning to follow through. Sort of like he’d done to her with the manuscript. The acid in his stomach churned harder. He wasn’t anything like Turner, was he?
A petite blond head poked around the door. He had to get rid of Miss Arnsby quick, before Turner saw her. He jabbed his head to the right and her narrow eyes widened as she ducked back out the door. Turner turned to see what was going on behind him.
“Yes, well. I’ll see you this evening then, Davidson.”
“Yes, I won’t be late, old chap.” He’d have to keep an eye on the slippery Englishman and on himself. If he was putting her in danger for his own gain…
Turner made his way toward the door and Clive raked his hand through his hair, hoping Miss Arnsby had the good sense to hide around the side of the building instead of just on the other side of the door. He sat back down and waited, the noise of the newsroom a strange comfort to him. He’d have to tell her about Turner’s intentions, but what if she liked Turner’s attention? What if he’d unknowingly played matchmaker? He grabbed for the jar of calcium bicarbonate on his desk to calm his stomach. Miss Arnsby dashed through the door and fixed him with a smile that would’ve had the English dandy weak in the knees. No wonder Turner was smitten. She was passing radiant. He tossed a few tablets into his mouth.
She swished into the seat and beamed at him. “That was close! I’d prefer to avoid that man outside of what’s required of me.”
Clive popped another tablet for good measure and let it dissolve on his tongue. “Required of you? You act as if there isn’t chance of enjoying yourself.”
Her tiny nose squished as she clamped her eyes shut, and he had to hold in his mirth at her delightful face.
“I don’t see myself enjoying his company. In fact, the idea of allowing him anywhere near me leaves my stomach quaking.”
Her words from the evening before haunted him. I never said he was my hero. “Yes, well, he seems to think everything went just swimmingly last evening.” Clive laughed at his own fake accent and puffed up when she laughed at his attempt to be funny.
Her glance dodged from his face and down to her hands. “I saw your article this morning. It was good. I’m quite glad that you didn’t mention me. Constance’s father puts a lot of stock in the paper and if I’d been mentioned, he might have sent me home. That would be the end of my writing career before it even begins.”
Clive frowned, glad that she didn’t look up to see it. Her writing career was the very same career that would never get started if he didn’t actually help her. He’d been selfish, and the next few days would offer him the chance to make it right. “It appears that Constance will be on my arm this evening.”
Frances’s nose wrinkled again slightly, the only indication she had any thoughts on the matter at all. Why wouldn’t she be pleased he was joining them? No, he wouldn’t let her response bother him. “You don’t seem pleased?”
“No. Honestly, I was hoping... Rather, Constance was hoping, Reginald would be the one chosen.”
“Never.” Clive hadn’t bothered talking with Frances about the particulars. It wasn’t any of their concern. “While Reginald might not be guilty of what Dunworthy accused him of, he isn’t a good sort, Frances.”
She gasped and he realized too late that he’d been too familiar. Part of the dangers of thinking of a woman, and he’d been thinking of her far more than he ought.
“I’m sorry, Miss Arnsby.”
She flushed slightly pink as she angled her head away from him. Such a pretty, slender neck, there for his viewing pleasure once again. Was it as soft as it looked? Blast it, man, keep your focus!
“Constance and I are prepared for the evening, Mr. Davidson. I haven’t,” she stopped, and her pretty high cheeks colored even deeper. “I haven’t experienced anything yet to aid in the writing of my novel.”
Good! He let himself chuckle, it sounded as dry as it felt. “It’s only been one day, let him lead. But not too far. If he tries to do too much, we’ll find someone else to go with him.”
Frances clasped her hands in her lap and regarded him. “I hate to admit that I really don’t like the man and I’m glad you’ll be there. I’d rather not be alone with him, despite the need to experience a bit of life.”
He had to protect her. “You can wade in a lake to know what water feels like. No need to find an ocean.”
She smiled again, closed lipped, but familiar as if they’d been friends for much longer than a few days. “I’m so glad you think so.”
“One last thing, Miss Arnsby. I think it best we dispense with formality at this point.” He couldn’t have her knowing just how difficult it was getting to remember to call her by her proper name.
She stood to leave. “If you insist.” She tipped her head and was on her way. Her slight swaying walk had more of his attention than his quest to find a job-saving news story. A story he had only hours left to find.
Chapter 8
Frances glanced out the sitting room window as Clive arrived with a light rig. She could’ve watched him all day as he maneuvered the horses to a stop. He pulled on the brake and climbed down, turning toward her. His crisp white shirt was bright against his black vest. A bowler hat covered his black hair and blocked her view of his face. Mr. and Mrs. Charity were off at a function, so they would be none the wiser about Frances and Constance going out. Unless the servants chose to give Constance away.
“Connie, he’s here. Let’s go down before he knocks. We can get away before anyone notices.”
Constance looked a little green and hesitated but touched her hat once more then led the way down the stairs. She pulled open the door just as Clive was about to rap against it. He dropped his hand and caught her gaze, holding it for just a moment too long. Long enough for heat to bloom on her cheeks. Why did one glance from Clive leave her feeling like she couldn’t string two words together?
Constance bobbed her head and smiled at Clive, but he only nodded simply. “Good afternoon, Mr. Davidson. Frances maintained that she couldn’t remember the name of the place Mr. Turner was taking us to. Which meant, I wasn’t sure what frocks would be appropriate. I do hope we’re appropriately dressed.” She held her tailored walking skirt out and flashed him a beguiling smile.
Clive raised one side of his mouth then glanced back at Frances, looking her straight in the eyes. “You look lovely.”
Her heart skidded to a stop then raced. Had he been speaking to her? Surely not!
“To be fair,” Clive began, “there was no way Frances could tell you, because the resort doesn’t exist yet. It’s been in the works since 1890, since the flood of ‘72. They’ve planted a row of cottonwoods to make a railway to it, but as of right now, it’s just a pr
etty trail down to a lake. And it’s a long walk, so I hope you both have sturdy shoes.”
Constance gasped. She probably didn’t own anything sturdier than a pair of heeled half boots. “Well, how are we to get there?”
Clive smiled again. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. It’ll just be a nice walk.” He held out one elbow for each of them. As Frances stepped forward, she felt a strange pull, a desire, to hold Clive close. To keep Constance from taking his arm. But that was silly. He already had feelings for Connie, and Frances couldn’t interfere with that. Connie deserved someone good in her life, someone who could replace Reginald and help her to repair her name. She just had to remember that.
Constance wove her hand around his arm and drew herself close, brushing against him. Anger swelled deep within Frances, threatening to boil over. Constance was a flirt. Clive didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, made no move to acknowledge Constance. He handed Frances up to sit in the back, but oh how she wanted to sit up with Clive. She had to remind herself that her whole reason for being there was yet to come. Turner. He had to be her only focus. If she could learn enough on this outing, she’d never have to agree to go again. Clive had said he’d find someone else.
She settled herself on the seat as Clive climbed in and sat. Constance scooted closer to him and patted his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Davidson, for coming with us this evening. I was, of course, quite saddened that Reginald wasn’t able to go but I do think you might suit me better.” She smiled at him, her lips slightly plumped in invitation.
Frances sucked back a breath. How had she never known her closest friend was so bold? Connie’s father had twice mentioned at breakfast that Constance should enjoy her summer with Frances, because it was the end. She’d thought him cold, but perhaps Constance needed his intervention. Being an only child, she had been spoiled. She’d been unable to even imagine how Frances could share everything with her sisters, including a room.