Mrs. Dobbs opened the door at the end of the hall and abruptly they were beneath a series of archways that encircled a large courtyard.
“This way, miss,” Mrs. Dobbs instructed, indicating her left. “Mr. Riverton’s suite of rooms are in that wing. Your room is here in the guest wing.”
Belinda almost reprimanded the woman for her impertinent tone, but kept quiet. If Charles or his dour housekeeper thought she was interested in knowing where his suite was, they had both spent too much time in the sun.
She had not kept her freedom from the restrictions of marriage this long without being very careful. She had no intent of being railroaded into a compromising position and forced to wed.
“Tell me, Mrs. Dobbs, are there any other guests? I could not help but notice the rooms across the way.”
“Those are the servants’ quarters, kitchens, pantry and laundry rooms. Places you’ll have no need of visiting while you’re here.”
“Then there are other servants here,” Belinda said as she followed the woman. “I wondered who was peering out from one of the rooms when I arrived?” She deliberately posed it as a question.
“You are mistaken, miss. There was no one in the house.”
Belinda opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. She had not been mistaken. Why would the woman lie to her?
Belinda cast a longing look, wishing to linger in the quiet of the courtyard. A spray of sparkling water rose from the stone fountain centerpiece around which potted flowers bloomed. Their scent was faint, their colors vibrant against the other shrubs and greenery contained in the large clay pots.
A few benches were scattered about, several forming the basis of informal seating groups along with chairs and a table. The entwined vine and floral designs of the pieces reminded her of the intricate gates and balcony rails of the homes in New Orleans.
Hearing her name, Belinda saw that Mrs. Dobbs stood in an open doorway. Her impatient look made Belinda hurry. She was as eager to be rid of this disapproving woman as the woman was eager to be gone.
Having the example of Charles’s taste in heavy, dark furnishings in mind, Belinda was unprepared for the guest room.
The drapery covering two windows that overlooked the courtyard were pale shades of lilac, blue and pink flowers on a cream background. The drapes were tied back to reveal the sheer Brussels net lace curtains.
The delicate colors were repeated in the silk damask upholstery of ornately carved walnut furniture that had been created for a woman.
Spiderweb-fine lace formed the canopy for the four-poster bed. Small, plump cushions invited one to recline on the backless tufted couch. In front of the windows, two gilt chairs were separated by a table where three cupids held a silver-worked clock between them.
Belinda turned slowly, her gaze noting the near-perfect combination of color and furniture so dear to the feminine heart. She couldn’t stop the chill that shivered up her spine. It was too perfect. And the colors…
Feeling Mrs. Dobbs’s gaze upon her, Belinda forced a smile as the woman wasted no time beginning the process of unpacking.
The dressing tabletop rapidly filled as the woman removed hairbrushes, combs and various toiletries in their matching silver containers from the smaller portmanteau.
As she strolled around the room, Belinda felt her heels sink into the thick floral-patterned carpet. The scent of cedar drifted from the now open wardrobe doors.
Drawn to admire the porcelain oil lamps with etched glass globes and crystal prisms paired on the cheval dresser, Belinda could not stop another chilling shiver.
Removing her gloves, she placed them next to the footed tray painted with pale pink roses and trimmed with gold. A matching hair receiver, ring tray and covered box sat on the tray.
Belinda glanced at her reflection in the standing pier glass in the corner. Her brows were drawn in a frown reflecting her puzzled thoughts.
She saw that Mrs. Dobbs paused to stare at her. Belinda ignored the woman. She removed the hat pins from her Venice bonnet. Smoothing the feathers before she set the hat on the dresser, she noticed that her fingertips were covered with a fine red dust.
Unnerved by the woman’s continued stare, Belinda turned to face her. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Dobbs?”
“Yes, miss. Don’t you like the room?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The room, miss. Mr. Riverton went to great expense to furnish it with your favorite colors. But you’ve not said a word about it.”
Hiding her dismay, Belinda had to swallow before she could answer her. “The room is lovely. I am sure that I will have everything I need.”
Why? She had wanted to dismiss finding her favorite colors as an accident, but Mrs. Dobbs ended any chance of that. Why had Charles gone to the trouble of finding out her favorite colors? And why had her uncle—for it could be no one else—ever told him?
Belinda stepped aside to allow Mrs. Dobbs to fill the dresser drawers with her silk plaited stockings, cashmere hose and heavier cotton ones. She wanted to tell the housekeeper to stop, to return her corset covers, white lawn drawers, chemises and petticoats to the larger portmanteau.
She kept silent as the woman continued to fill the bottom drawer with nightgowns and matching wrappers.
When Mrs. Dobbs pursed her lips and made tut-tutting sounds, Belinda once again asked her what was wrong.
“These shirtwaists and skirts will all have to be pressed, miss. I expected a young woman like yourself to be traveling with your own maid.”
“Were you? Well, as you can see, I am not.” She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the woman’s audacity to voice such remarks to her. Belinda was not accustomed to explaining herself or her actions to servants.
But as the pile of clothing to be pressed mounted on the bed, Belinda realized that the gowns of dimity, dotted Swiss, poplin, cambric and corded silk, combined with the skirts and fine lawn shirtwaists, added to the woman’s work.
“Mrs. Dobbs, there is no need for everything to be pressed. I will not be staying long.”
“It’s no trouble, miss. I shall tend to your clothing personally. And you’re not to worry about a chaperon. I will serve—”
“Mrs. Dobbs, I do not require a chaperon. I am not fresh from the schoolroom.”
“Yes, miss.”
Irritated, Belinda glanced away. She had a feeling the woman was going to ignore her. But she had to remind someone else that she was not fresh from the schoolroom. The sheriff. That Kincaid man who had made a fool of her.
Eager to turn her back on the housekeeper, Belinda gave in to the urge to investigate the curtained alcove.
To her surprise the floor was tiled. A silk-paneled screen hid a large porcelain bathtub. A cupboard held an array of French-milled soaps, perfumed oils and lengths of linen toweling. Beside the tub stood a wide-topped stool and next to it a table.
Discreetly placed in the opposite corner behind a smaller silk screen, she discovered the covered chamber pot and slop jar. Like the china tray set on the dresser, these too were painted with pale pink roses. Belinda found more of the china pieces on the wide marble-topped washstand. Ewer and basin, covered soap dish and drainer, water pitcher, brush vase and glass completed the set.
Belinda took advantage of the warmed water in the ewer to wash the dust from her hands and face. Mrs. Dobbs had been right to say that Charles had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense. Belinda was not happy with the answer she came up with to justify it.
With the aid of the gilt frame mirror above the washstand, she repinned her hair in a few places. Since she was unwilling to remain in the room with the housekeeper and couldn’t hide in the alcove until the woman was finished, Belinda returned to the bedroom and announced she would be in the courtyard. She quickly waved off Mrs. Dobbs’s suggestion that she accompany her.
Meeting the woman’s eyes filled with censure before she closed the door behind her, Belinda heaved a sigh of relief. She took a deep, satisfying breath of cl
ean air. There was no one in the courtyard as she walked toward the fountain, thinking of the housekeeper’s remark about her traveling without a maid.
She was not going to explain that she wanted her mission kept secret. When she had received word about Robert’s death and confirmation that his son lived, she knew it was imperative that she find the child before her cousin Albert. It was the only way to protect the boy and the trust her family had left to her. Albert was determined to wrest control of the family business away from her. She had always voted her brother’s small block of stock along with her own. The shares now belonged to his son. If Albert had the boy he would force her to go along with his scheme, and once he was in control, Belinda knew she and her nephew would be in danger. Her uncle Phillip was the only one she trusted. He would not tell Albert where she was or what she hoped to accomplish.
Even her man of business had been told she was on an extended visit to friends who lived throughout the Southern states.
But Belinda could not deny her worry. Albert still might find out what she was up to. If he did, he would also find a way to stop her. He was a ruthless man. She had already dismissed one of the Irish maids after she caught the girl on her cousin’s lap in the back parlor, whispering to him about her employer’s plans for the day. And the stable boy. She could not forget letting the lad go for the same transgression. And the accidents…
She blocked the turn her thoughts took, remembering instead the other reason she traveled alone. She loved the freedom from the strict social laws that governed her life. There was no one to frown over, then whisper gossip about her behavior.
Like this morning when you gave in to the impulse to kiss a total stranger?
Wishing she could step back in time to recall the kiss was foolish. Wishing she could forget the taste of Conner’s warm lips upon her own also appeared to be a futile exercise.
That only reminded her that she remained unsatisfied with Charles’s vague replies about the Kincaid family, especially to those questions she had asked about the sheriff.
She was more than curious about him, she was intrigued. She had been distracted by his sensual nature, but he would not have the opportunity to fool her again. The man was a challenge and if she had time…
With no sign of Charles in the courtyard, Belinda decided to search for him.
She glanced down the archways that led to his suite of rooms. Not even the growing need to have questions answered would tempt her toward them. She had not forgotten what the housekeeper told her about Charles refurbishing the room with her favorite colors. Uncle Phillip had a great deal to answer for.
Belinda opened the door to the main hall. She paid immediate attention to a man’s voice raised in anger. Charles’s voice, she was sure. Allowing herself a few seconds’ debate over the wisdom of staying or leaving, she proceeded down the hall.
“I told you,” Charles reprimanded, “never risk coming here during the day. I don’t care how important the information is. What if she saw you? What if she passed some innocent remark on to Kincaid?”
Belinda hesitated. Her grandmother’s oft-given advice rang in her ears: Those who listen at keyholes never hear anything good about themselves.
From the sound of Charles’s voice, the door wasn’t quite closed, so she tiptoed down the hall. She didn’t have the slightest doubt that she was the woman Charles had referred to. Anything that linked her with the Kincaids was information too important to dismiss. She would worry about her manners as a guest later.
Belinda flattened herself against the wall and glanced back at the door to the courtyard to make sure that no one was lurking about. She worked her way down toward the doorway by inches. What kind of information about the Kincaids would be important to Charles?
This is wrong! Belinda hushed her conscience. She would use every means at her disposal as a bargaining tool against the Kincaids. She would use whatever means necessary to keep the family’s legacy intact and stop Albert’s destructive schemes.
The door was partly opened, but not enough for her to see Charles or whoever was in the room with him. All she heard was the murmur of voices, then Charles spoke again.
“Now that you’re finished marking the map, I’ll get your money. Since the information you brought me is so valuable, I’ll double your price this time.”
The sound of a drawer slamming shut made Belinda risk a quick, more direct look through the opening. She saw Charles standing behind a massive carved oak desk, in profile to her. For a few moments he appeared to be staring down at his hand. He looked up, then came around the desk. The move put him out of Belinda’s sight once more.
“Wait here until I send Mrs. Dobbs to you. I want to make sure that my guest doesn’t see you.”
Uncertain of what she had stumbled across, Belinda inched her way back down the hall. She had to find the map. An old ploy that often worked when she wished to excuse herself from unwanted company came to mind. She unhooked her eardrop and let it fall.
With a smile pasted on her lips, she called out to her host.
“Charles? Charles, where are you? I thought…oh, there you are. I thought you had forgotten me.”
Charles came out of the room, pulling the door shut, and stood with his hands behind him, gripping the brass handle. “Never, my dear. Just a small business matter that required my attention.”
Striding toward her, Charles offered her his arm. “Nothing would please me more than sharing your charming company.”
“I am happy to hear that. I thought I heard you arguing…” Belinda focused an expectant gaze on his flushed face. Was it anger or excitement that added the color to his high cheekbones?
“Not at all. It’s nothing to concern yourself over.” He opened the door to the courtyard. With his hand placed at the small of her back, he ushered her outside.
“Ah, there is William with our repast. Forgive me, Belinda, but I took the liberty to have Cook make a small selection of native fare. If it is not to your liking, she can make anything you desire.”
“I am sure that I shall enjoy sampling what you have chosen, Charles.” As Belinda picked a seat facing the door, she caught the whispered exchange between Charles and his servant.
She barely glanced at the tray on the table between them, and urged Charles to fix a plate for her. She felt excitement mount when William went into her room to get Mrs. Dobbs. He left almost immediately to cross to the kitchen, and Mrs. Dobbs hurried along beneath the archway.
Belinda knew her timing had to be perfect. She counted to ten once the door to the courtyard had closed behind the housekeeper.
“Oh, dear,” she cried, jumping up from her seat. “I seem to have lost my eardrop.” Fingering the naked lobe, Belinda cast a frantic look around. “Please help me, Charles. These belonged to my grandmother. Uncle Phillip will be furious if I lose one.”
Before Charles could rise, she dashed across the courtyard. Flinging open the door, she bit her lip to hide her smile. Her timing had been perfect. Mrs. Dobbs sent a startled look over her shoulder.
“My eardrop,” Belinda called out to allay the woman’s suspicions. She managed to note little about the person with the housekeeper. The figure was slightly built, darkly clad in a concealing jacket and hat, and Belinda couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman that Mrs. Dobbs ushered out the front door.
“There it is,” Belinda announced, hearing Charles behind her as the housekeeper bore down on her.
Before Belinda could recover the eardrop, Charles scooped it out from under her hand. He glanced from the twinkling diamond-and-pearl drop he held to its twin.
“What an odd place to have lost this, my dear. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Dobbs?”
Belinda caught the look the two exchanged. Her burst of excitement died.
Chapter Six
Conner didn’t linger near the house once he made up his mind that he didn’t want to see his mother. Minutes after Logan had left him alone in the barn, he rode out.
He w
aved to the men perched on the wooden rails of the corral watching a lone rider attempting to break a roan horse.
It didn’t need much imagination for Conner to see himself being tossed high in the air then coming down hard in the saddle as the green bronc plunged and jumped to dislodge the man.
The horse was smart. When his crawfishing didn’t work, he arched his back then threw himself against the railing.
Conner rode on, grinning when he heard the bets shouted, rider against horse, plenty of encouragement for the rider to haul the hell out of the crow hopper.
A feeling of regret rode on with him. There had been times in the past few months when he missed being in charge of the daily routine. Hot, sweaty, back-breaking and, in some cases, like when he was forced to shoot one of his animals for a broken leg, or snake bite, heartbreaking work.
It wasn’t something he could admit to his mother or his brothers. Not when he had made it clear that he never wanted to run the Rocking K alone, that being a lawman was all he had ever wanted.
That had been the truth until this morning.
Now, with the problem that Belinda Jarvis had handed to him like a stick of dynamite with a short, lit fuse, he didn’t want to be the one who had to explode it in his family’s faces.
Yet he had sworn an oath to administer the law, to carry out justice fairly to one and all regardless of what last name they carried.
Riding out into open country, when he should be back in town sending telegrams off to confirm Belinda’s story, was a delaying tactic. One he wasn’t proud to admit that he’d used several times in the past. After his father died, men twice his age, having ten times more experience, spoke their piece, then waited for him to make a decision because he wore the boots of the ramrod.
Once a Lawman Page 5