by Jenna Brandt
Gasps were heard around the room as people watched the truly beautiful couple, with dark good looks and smoldering gazes, exchange a forbidden embrace in front of nearly the entire population of Boulder.
Randall caught the exchange as well as he danced with his wife.
“Well, I did tell her to fight fire with fire. But I did not mean burn the whole place down in the process,” Randall said as he glanced over at Cort, who also had seen the situation and was currently trying to disentangle himself from his most recent admirer. “This does not look to be good, Jackie dear. I think I need to get my sister under control while you do the same for your cousin.”
For the first time, Jackie looked past her husband to see the predicament that Margaret had gotten herself into.
Jackie stopped midstep and put her hands over her mouth, exclaiming, “Oh, Randy, why did you not say something sooner that my cousin, Pierre, was here.” With that, Jackie picked up her skirts and rushed, as much as a pregnant woman could, over to where her best friend and cousin stood.
Randall stood for a moment, adjusting to what just transpired. A few people looked at him and he nodded awkwardly to each one while trying to maintain a look of ease as he made his way over to where his wife had just stopped.
“Pierre, cousin dear, I can hardly believe that it is you. We both have missed you deeply,” Jackie said as she placed a peck upon his cheek.
“Yes, well, if you perhaps had left a forwarding place of lodging, I could have visited. As it happens, my friend Lord William Almonbury, the son of the Viscount Braybridge, was coming over to the Americas to check on some business holdings he purchased in the Oregon Territory and asked me to come along. It turns out, his friend Louis was coming to live with his grandparents here in Boulder, and he asked both of us to come along before we headed to Oregon. I had my investigator, Mulchere, look into your whereabouts and he had tracked down your boarding information to America, but his contacts lost track of you after you arrived in New York.” He looked around and said quietly, “Perhaps we should finish this conversation on the veranda where there are fewer ears, if you know what I mean.”
Both women nodded and then followed a few feet behind his retreating figure.
Once outside, Pierre turned back around and continued where he had left off. “I had hoped, as I traveled here in the West, that I might be able to look into some loose leads he had, but it was only when Lady Regina mentioned a woman whom she believed to be of French nobility by the name of Jacquelyn that I had a suspicion it might be my dear cousin who disappeared on me. Come to find out that she mentioned an English woman named Margaret who had a son named Henry. Once that piece was added, the puzzle started coming together very quickly. I knew something had happened bad enough to make you all disappear without a trace.”
Both women looked at each other, then back to Pierre. Margaret asked defensively, “Does anyone else know we are here?”
He shook his head. “Not that I am aware of, but Lady Regina has many friends back in the old country, and I am sure this will make interesting news to write to them about.” Then, almost as if he could not hold it in any longer, Pierre blurted out, addressing the question to both ladies, “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Leave some sort of clue so I could find you?”
Margaret shifted her gaze away from him. Jackie grimaced, then finally replied, “Because if you could unravel the clue, so could anyone else who found it.”
“But you both know me. I would never let anyone find out where you were.”
“Truly? Then tell me, how did he find out about me from some French admirer who was talking about me in an English pub?”
Pierre looked stricken. “What are you implying?”
“I am stating that you got drunk one night while you were nursing your wounds and shot off your mouth about me. His spies picked up on it and tracked me down in France. He came after me and attacked me again.” Then, with a shudder, she added in a whisper, “And he threatened to tell Catherine were I was so she could take my son.”
Pierre furrowed his brows together in confusion. “But I never went to any pubs during my visit to England while you were in France. I was far too busy with my business. I did, however, run into Eduard Voclain in England, and I would not be surprised if he frequented a few pubs while he was painting over there.”
Margaret grew pale with the realization that all this time she had blamed Pierre, when it had been a man from a chance encounter at a dinner party in France who had caused the series of events that led up to Michel’s death. She had a bad habit of jumping to the wrong conclusions about people. She needed to ask God to help her stop from doing it anymore.
“I am so sorry, Pierre. I had thought that you…. I have no excuse.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “Please, please forgive me.”
“How could I ever not grant you anything, Margaret? You know I would do anything for you.”
Margaret smiled at him and leaned up, giving him a kiss on the cheek, but before she knew what was happening, he had turned his mouth to catch hers.
Margaret’s eyes popped open in shock. What was he doing?
And as bad luck would have it, Cort chose that precise moment to walk out and find the three of them nestled behind a few trees.
“What do you think you are doing, kissing my wife?”
Pierre jerked back sharply, abashed for kissing another man’s wife. Margaret, not wanting Pierre and Cort to get in a fight, and knowing Pierre meant nothing by it, said quickly in his defense, “It meant nothing, Cort. We are old friends.”
Cort stiffened, balling up his fists at his side. Margaret became apprehensive when she saw that all-too-familiar mixture of savage-cowboy justice gleaming in his eyes. He was getting ready to fight like the first day she met him. Pierre did not stand a chance.
Margaret stepped in front of Pierre, holding out her hand. “He took me in when I had nowhere else to go. He protected Henry and me simply because he cared about us. You cannot do this, Cort. I know this seems like a compromising situation, but Jackie will back me on this. Nothing was meant by what you saw. Pierre is like a brother to me.”
Cort unclenched his fists and, unnoticeably to everyone besides Margaret, willed himself to relax.
Pierre, ever the gentleman, stepped forward, bowed, and stuck out his hand. “My name is Pierre Girard, the Vidame of Demoulin, cousin to Lady Jacquelyn Seandra Allantes, Vicomtesse of Durante.”
Jackie automatically corrected, “Jacquelyn Learingam, Countess of Renwick now.”
Pierre shot his cousin a look of surprise. “You married Margaret’s brother, Randall?”
“They eloped right before we left France.” Margaret moved toward her husband and put her hand in the crook of his arm. “This is my husband, Cortland Westcott.”
It was then that Cort finally took Pierre’s extended hand, gripping tight and shaking firmly. “Everyone calls me Cort.”
“Then by all means, you must call me Pierre.”
Just as the two men let go of each other’s hand, Randall exploded on the scene, the frustration from getting lost in the garden showing on his face.
“There you all are. I had wondered where you had all gotten off to. Pierre, it is good to see you again.” He looked between the two men and sighed. “Glad to see it did not come to blows.”
Cort, still uneasy and full of irritation, shifted his weight and then looked down at his wife. “Are you ready to come back in?”
Margaret peeked over at Pierre and saw a look on his face that worried her. He seemed desperate to talk to her privately. But as she glanced up at her husband, she saw that it would not go over well if she decided to stay out there alone with him.
“We all should go in, and after I dance the next song with my husband, I will take a turn with you, Pierre,” she said, raising her eyebrows enough for Pierre, Jackie, and Randall to notice.
Jackie put her hand on her cousin’s arm and asked, “You will dance with me when
we get inside, won’t you, cousin?”
Dutifully, Pierre nodded, yet maintained his gaze on Margaret while saying, “I would be honored.”
The five members—tied together in several bizarre twists of fate—made their way into the ballroom.
Chapter 25
Once inside, without saying another word, Cort swirled his wife onto the dance floor and masterfully began to lead her in another waltz.
After several moments of awkward silence, Cort finally spoke up. “How many more surprising secrets plan to pop up from your past?”
Margaret pressed her lips together tightly, recognizing her husband’s veiled anger. “He was not a secret, Cort. There was just never a need for me to mention Pierre to you. I left that part of my life behind long ago, and it seemed so inconsequential. I had no idea that anything that took place during that time would bear weight on our future. As it turns out, Pierre’s being here is mere coincidence. But to be honest, it is nice to see him since he is one of my oldest friends and we did not part on such good terms the last time I saw him.”
“I wish you had told me about him. This incident makes me wonder how many more men you have in your past.”
“What are you implying?”
“I see the way he looks at you. He was in love with you back in France, and if I am not mistaken, he is still in love with you. How many other broken hearts did you leave behind in your wake of escape?”
Margaret stiffened, feeling attacked for the first time ever by Cort.
“Not many, I assure you. And as for Pierre, at every opportunity, I tried to dissuade him from pursuing me. He just never gave up.”
“It seems he still has not.” Cort nodded toward where Pierre was dancing with Jackie but watching them with unwavering persistence.
“If he is as you say, I am sure he will soon see that I am completely in love with my husband and nothing or anyone is going to change that.”
Margaret felt Cort’s demeanor unwind slightly as he said, “I know that, but it is good to hear it, especially considering the circumstances.”
“I mean it. I do, you know. I love you, with all my heart.”
After this last statement, Margaret saw Cort visibly loosen up as he smiled down at her. “All right, I will let all of this go, but I don’t want to catch you kissing another man as long as I live.”
Margaret laughed with relief. “No doubt, if I did, you would lock me up in the cellar and never let me out.”
Cort winked, then teased, “Of course I would let you out, but only to kiss me.”
Margaret playfully smacked him on the side of the arm with her gloved hand. As they continued to dance, she said lightheartedly, “Oh, you. Quit joshing me.”
The couple continued to dance until the waltz ended. Cort escorted his wife off the dance floor and over to where Lord and Lady York stood.
“How do you do, Lord York, Lady York,” Margaret said, curtsying with ease as Cort gave a small bow. “It is good to see you both again.”
“We are doing quite well. Thank you, Mister and Missus Westcott, for asking,” Lady York said with a firm smile.
Margaret felt someone tap her on the shoulder, then heard Pierre’s familiar voice ask, “May I have the honor of this dance, Margaret? I do believe you promised it to me while we were outside on the veranda.”
Margaret turned to faced Pierre, replying, “Why yes, Pierre, you may have this dance.” Then she paused while looking up and over her shoulder at her husband, adding, “Of course, as long as my husband consents.”
Cort bobbed his head, eyeing Pierre carefully as he said each word, “I have no objection with two childhood friends dancing for old time’s sake.”
Pierre nodded. “How good of you, sir. I am much obliged and consider it an honor to be able to share a dance with a woman”—he looked down at Margaret—“as splendid as your wife.”
Lady Regina interjected. “Why, Pierre, it is so good to see that you have finally met up with Lady Margaret.” She paused, then added with a taunt to Margaret, “Or should I now call you Viscountess Rolantry?”
“Missus Westcott will do just fine, thank you,” Margaret said with a thin voice.
With that, Margaret put her hand in the crook of Pierre’s arm and pressed lightly with her fingertips, signaling him to lead her onto the dance floor.
Gracefully, Pierre gathered Margaret up for the next dance as he said, “It feels good to have you back in my arms.” He looked deep into her violet eyes. “It has been a long time.”
Averting her attention from his penetrating gaze, Margaret replied, “Yes, it has.”
“When I left France, you were engaged to the marquis. I heard he had died quite mysteriously and you, along with my cousin and your brother, disappeared without so much as a word. Now I find you married to another man here in the Americas. It seems that a time for you and me to be together never quite seems to fit into the cards. Tell me, what does this Yank cowboy have that I do not?”
Margaret finally met Pierre’s eyes and stated with certainty, “My heart.”
His feet faltered slightly, something she had never known Pierre to do, and she realized that Cort’s suspicion was most correct. Pierre was indeed still in love with her.
“I suppose that means my plan to sweep you off your feet and entice you to run away with me would come to no avail?”
“Quite.”
“Then it seems that I will have to settle for being only friends—a hard thing for a Frenchman to settle for, especially losing one’s object of attention to an American.”
Margaret laughed lightly. “You forget, Pierre, I too am now an American.”
He raised an eyebrow in question. “I hardly think that you could ever be considered part of these people.” He gestured to the surrounding guests. “After all, you are a European, a woman of the continent, and English at that. Do your people not take the most pride in your heritage?”
“It is true, but since I have made my home here with Cort, this place has become my heritage. I had to leave everything behind when I fled Europe. But oddly enough, I find myself more in love with America than I ever did with England or France.” She smiled as she thought of her husband. “Love tends to make everything seem so much better.”
Pierre grimly smiled back. “You really do love him. I can see that now.”
Margaret nodded. “He is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
“I am surprised to hear you say that, considering your first husband and the marquis.”
“Cort treats me as an equal, and he not only allows me but wants me to be my own person. That means a great deal to me.”
“Then I am glad for you. You deserve to be happy, Margaret. And if he does that, then I will make it my best attempt to get along with him.”
“Thank you, Pierre. I want the two of you to be friends. I think that, given the chance, both of you would find that you are a lot alike.”
“Perhaps. We shall see.”
“By the by, how long do you plan to stay with Lord and Lady York?”
“Until week’s end.”
“You are leaving that soon?”
“Yes, well, it seems that the business Lord Almonbury need to take care of in the Oregon Territory is more pressing than he first ascertained. But I will be back through in a few months and we can spend a great deal more time together then.”
“I am glad to hear that. It is good to see you, Pierre. I have missed you tremendously.”
“I feel the same. I did not truly know how much I missed you until I saw you again tonight.”
The song ended and Pierre escorted Margaret back over to Cort, who was standing with Randall and Jackie.
“I have brought back your wife safe and sound, sir.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
Jackie moved quickly over to Pierre’s side, saying, “It is my turn now to dance with you, dear cousin. We have a great deal of catching up to do, do we not?”
He nodded and all
owed Jackie to pull him onto the dance floor for the song that had just started.
Cort looked over at his wife, then said, “This turned out to be a far more interesting night than I had expected.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you ready to take your leave?”
Margaret nodded. “I am feeling quite tired, it seems.”
“Then let us go home.”
The ball had gone way into the wee morning hours—at least that was what Jackie had told Margaret the day after.
Several days had passed without disturbance.
It was jam season, and Margaret was canning as much fruit as she could before any could spoil. She had to admit, she was actually quite good at it. Out of all her chores, she excelled at it the most.
As she placed one of the last jars of strawberries in the pantry, she heard a rap at the front door. Making her way through the house, Margaret patted down her hair that had gone wild as she did her work.
On the other side of the door stood Pierre. Surprised at the unscheduled visit, Margaret invited him inside. “What a surprise, Pierre. If I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned up a bit.”
Pierre glanced down at her attire for the first time and reacted with surprise. “It seems the Americas have domesticated you, my noble Margaret. I never would have pictured you as the hired help.”
“I am not hired help, Pierre. I am the ranch owner’s wife. There is a big difference.”
“From the looks of it,” he said, gesturing to her stained apron, “the two do not seem so far apart.”
Margaret blushed at the way she must look. Noticing that he had embarrassed her, Pierre quickly added, “I am sorry, Margaret. I did not mean to offend you.”
She avoided a reply and stated instead, “I was just making some tea for the afternoon break. Would you care to stay on for some?”
Pierre paused for a moment and then shook his head. “Even though that sounds very tempting, and I would love to spend some time with you alone, I need to say what I came to say and then be on my way.”