Contract to Wed (5 page)

“Melinda,” Jolene said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. You
may call me Jolene. We will make some time to get to know each other, but I
have been traveling for quite some time and am looking forward to a bath and a
rest.”

Jolene swept by Melinda and the grand table at the center of
the foyer with a swish of her skirts. She turned back. “Maximillian? My rooms?”

Chapter Six

“Good morning, Mrs. Shelby.”

Jolene rolled over and stared at the draped white fabric lying
across the canopy frame above her. For a moment, she hadn’t the foggiest notion
of where she was at. And then it all came back. She was at the Hacienda, her
new home. She looked at Alice standing beside her bed.

“I don’t imagine there is any tea, is there?”

“I’m not sure, but I am on my way to the kitchens, ma’am. I
wanted to let you know where I was going.”

Jolene sat up and stretched. “I suppose it will take us sometime
to acquaint ourselves with our new surroundings. Where are your rooms, Alice?
Were they comfortable?”

“Through that door,” Alice said and pointed, “is a dressing
area. The other door in that room leads to my rooms. They are extremely
comfortable, and I thank you so much for the sitting area attached to my
sleeping room. And the bath last night as well.”

“If you felt anything like I did when we finally arrived,
which I think you must have, it was welcome,” Jolene said as she stood and
slipped her arms through the sleeves of her lightest weight dressing gown that
Alice held. “Have my trunks arrived?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will begin putting your things in order once
you are ready for the day. I found the things you’ll be needing immediately and
have laid them out.”

Jolene slipped her foot into satin slippers. “Didn’t you
have a sitting area at Landonmore?” she asked as her maid opened the door to
leave.

Alice shook her head. “I shared a sleeping room with Millie,
one of the downstairs maids. I should be back shortly, ma’am.”

Jolene wandered her new boudoir. The fixtures and furniture
were expensive and well-made, and if not her first preference in style, she
would admit that the pale charcoal colors and pinks made a pleasing room. The
floor was tiled in wide, intricately carved stone covered in thick white
carpets. She opened floor length wooden shutters and found a small private
porch. The view from there was admittedly gorgeous as she gazed out onto
manicured patios outlined by a brilliant blue sky and low hills. It was a
stunning dichotomy from Landonmore.

Jolene stretched out on a silk-covered chaise near her
balcony with the breeze blowing through the open shutters. So, Melinda Shelby,
her step-daughter, she thought with a shudder, was
not
soon to be
married and out of her life. She was a child. This was a complication she
hadn’t expected and which her investigation did not reveal nor had she asked
that particular. She fully understood that part of her agreement with
Maximillian was that she usher the daughter into society and plan events as
they were required. She had no issues with that and was looking forward to
organizing such things as long as the girl understood the value of her tutelage.
But a very young girl was not in her plans nor did she want her to be. Certainly
no one expected her to be a mother?

“Come in,” Jolene said to the knock on the door, hoping
Alice had returned with tea.

“Hello,” Melinda Shelby said as she poked her head in the
room. “May I come in?”

“I’m not dressed, haven’t had my tea yet,” Jolene said. “I
will see you later in the day.”

“You have on the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen,”
Melinda replied. “Is it soft?”

Jolene looked down at herself. Her dressing gown, a pale
yellow satin, had hundreds of tiny pink rosettes sewn onto the collar and
cuffs. It was not her most expensive or luxurious, but it was a favorite. “It
is soft,” she said. “It is a special fabric . . .” Jolene looked up when she
realized the girl had made her way across the room.

Melinda drew her hand the length of Jolene’s forearm over
and again. She stroked the fabric and touched the flowers at the end of the
sleeve. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she whispered and
looked at Jolene out from under her brows.

Jolene stared at the girl. No one, no one dared touch her.
It was not done. Not by Turner the last years or ever outside of the marriage
bed, and certainly not by an employee. Jennifer had always tried. Leaned
forward to kiss her or hold her hand, but she never fully did as Jolene’s look
inevitably scared her away. A touch from her mother, always in view of others,
was mostly a prelude to a set-down.

But this girl, child, was not backing away. She was leaning
against the chaise and Jolene’s leg where it was draped over the side. She was
warm, and smelled of outside, and some scent she could not identify. “What is
that fruity smell?” Jolene asked.

Melinda levered herself up on the chaise on both knees and
put her head directly under Jolene’s nose. “It is my hair. Maria washes it with
something that has fruit in it.”

Jolene sniffed. She had no choice really. “Very nice.”

Melinda turned and sat down on the chaise beside Jolene. “Do
you want to see my horse? Her name is Daisy.”

The door opened and Alice came through carrying a tray.
“Here we are, ma’am. Oh,” she said as she looked up and saw Melinda sitting
beside Jolene.

The girl jumped up and moved a vase from a table near the
shutters. “Sit it here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alice said and hurried to the table with her
tray.

“I’m not
ma’am
,” Melinda said with a huge smile. “I’m
Melinda. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Alice curtsied awkwardly and turned to the tea tray. “I’m
sorry it took me so long, ma’am. They insisted I eat something before coming
up. They wanted to send this tray with someone else, but I told them that you
would not care for that. I am sorry for the delay.”

“That is fine, Alice,” Jolene said and accepted a cup of
tea.

“Did Maria make you the chilaquiles?” Melinda asked Alice.

Alice nodded with a quick glance to Jolene.

“That is my favorite!” Melinda said.

“Well, Alice?” Jolene asked. “Was it good? What of the
kitchens here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alice said. “It was delicious. They were
preparing the noonday meal as I was leaving. They must feed many, many people.”

Melinda clapped her cheeks. “Oh, no! I was to help set the
tables today!” she said and raced to the door, her long plaited hair flying. “I
will find you afterwards, Miss Jolene, so I can take you to see my horse.”

The door banged shut. “You may quit looking at me oddly,
Alice. I have not agreed to see the horse. I’d like to get dressed now.”

Jolene spent the rest of the morning at the large desk she’d
found in the corner of a sitting room off of her sleeping room. She unpacked
her private papers into the locked drawers and stowed the small chest with
William’s blanket underneath the desk. All things considered, her suite was
comfortable and well-planned, and she admitted to herself that she liked it
very much. She envisioned her rooms at Landonmore, with their long, heavy
drapes, flocked wall papers, and tasseled lamps. These rooms were airy and
light-filled and felt . . . freeing.
How silly,
she thought to herself,
rooms cannot free a person.
But it did feel like a new beginning. It felt
hopeful, which felt strange in and of itself. What was she hoping for?

There was a locked door in her sitting room that Jolene guessed
would lead to
his
private rooms. Maximillian Shelby. He was taller than
her by a good six inches, and she was a tall woman. It was disconcerting to
have to look up to him. His suede jacket, while well-made, was worn-in, and his
hat wasn’t on his head for effect, she thought, but rather to serve its actual
function. He was broad-chested and long-limbed with an easy physical grace. He
was manly. What an odd thought.

“Alice?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please find Mr. Shelby’s secretary, Mr. Moran, and see if
there is a time today for Mr. Shelby and me to tour the house,” she said.

A few moments later, Jolene answered a knock at her door.
Maximillian Shelby was standing in the hallway. He was wearing a light-colored
shirt, sweat-stained and dirty, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow,
revealing thick tanned forearms. She could never remember conversing with a man
in less than formal attire or at the most casual, when Turner loosened his
four-in-hand late in the evening. There was a raw masculinity that surrounded
Maximillian Shelby and his clothing enhanced his attractiveness rather than
diminished it.

“Afternoon, Jolene. Your maid said you were interested in a
tour of the house,” he said.

“Oh. Perhaps you’d prefer to wait until you were changed for
evening.”

He shook his head. “No. This is fine. I needed to get out of
the sun for a while.”

Jolene followed him down the long hallway. He slowed at the
landing at the top of the staircase and leaned on the railing. “I think the
Hacienda looks its grandest from here. All of the bannisters and railings were
hand-carved from wood shipped here from up north. The chandelier came from
Philadelphia. It took the Shaw boys two days to get it here.”

Jolene looked out at the two-story room below. It was indeed
striking, with its beamed ceiling, and tapestries and paintings on the walls.
The floor was a dark red tile, shined bright. Three women came through the room
at that moment, all laughing and chatting in a foreign language, Spanish, she
supposed.

“Maximillian?” she said and nodded towards the women. “Your
staff does not wear uniforms.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “No. They don’t. The
heat can be oppressive, and there’s no reason they shouldn’t be comfortable
doing their job.”

“A house of this size generally has a more formal staff.”

“In Boston, that’s true. I started out working side-by-side
with some of these people, so we’re much less formal. And it doesn’t matter a
lick to me what they’re wearing as long as they get the job done.”

“And when we entertain?”

He looked at her. “I suppose that may be different. I’ve not
done much entertaining other than when the staff was invited.”

Maximillian continued on, showing her the wing of guest
bedrooms, his library, and finally the dining rooms. “This is very beautiful,”
she said as she walked the length of the massive main table. Long windows and
doors opened up onto a large outdoor area shaded by thick vines that wound
through an open roof. “Did your wife do the decorating?”

He shook his head. “No. These rooms weren’t even here when
Melissa was alive. We were just starting to hit wells back then. There’s an
architecture company in Dallas, McCastor Building, that did the drawings. The
owner’s wife did the decorating.”

“She has quite an eye,” Jolene said. “Are they friends of
yours?”

“Yes, they are,” he said. “I’ve invited them to join us for
a meal later this week.”

“This week?”

“Thursday, I think. I’ll have to look at my calendar. They’ll
more than likely stay over, as Timothy and I have some things to discuss about
an upcoming Republican Committee meeting.”

“How is Mr. McCastor involved in that meeting?” she asked.

“He’s the chairman.”

“So you have invited the person who will more than likely be
very influential in whether you are nominated, and his wife, to be entertained,
including an overnight stay, and I am learning of this,” Jolene said and tilted
the watch pinned to her blouse, “now.”

“No need to get worked up,” he said. “Maria will figure
something out.”

“I thought the whole point of this was that I manage your
social affairs, especially those people and events that could be influential in
whether you are elected as a U.S. Senator,” Jolene said. “We can discuss some
things at dinner tomorrow evening. Please plan some extended time afterwards
for us to talk after Melinda has been excused. And please ask Mr. Moran to join
us. I would like to dine alone this evening in my rooms.”

Chapter Seven

Jolene swept out of the dining rooms
without another word to him. He was pretty certain he was on the outs with his
wife. After her quick dismissal of everyone waiting on her arrival last night,
he’d had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d just made a huge
error in marrying again. But half the reason they were married was to launch
his political career with the right people, and he supposed he could have
delayed this meeting for a week or two. It just never occurred to him that
breaking bread with Timothy McCastor would cause such a fuss. He supposed he
better find Melinda and tell her she was eating dinner with the adults tomorrow
rather than with Maria’s children.

Jolene had been attentive during their tour of the Hacienda,
but it was tough for Max to concentrate on what he was saying when she stood
beside him. His brother-in-law’s description of her did not do her justice.
Jolene Shelby was stunning. She carried herself with confident ease and an
economy of movement. She paid close attention to everything he told her and
asked thoughtful, intelligent questions. She looked at him as she spoke or when
he was replying, and it made him feel as if he were the only man in the whole
state of Texas. Jolene Shelby was the quintessential lady, and a beautiful one
at that.

* * *

A few minutes after six o’clock on
the following evening, Max walked into the room where he and Zeb often ate
breakfast and, if not dining with the staff, ate dinner together there as well.
There was no one in the room, and he stuck his head into the adjoining
pantries. “I think I’m supposed to have dinner with Mrs. Shelby, Melinda, and
Zeb, but no one is in the alcove,” Max said to Francesca, who was busy peeling
a mountain of potatoes with young helpers.

“In the dining rooms, Senor,” she said. “You should hurry.
They have been waiting.”

Max strode down the hallway to the dining rooms. One of the
smaller tables had been moved and centered in front of the doors to the
portico. It was covered with a tablecloth and set with china that Max did not
recognize. Melinda and Jolene were standing behind their chairs, and Zeb was
sitting in one of the leather arm chairs, a drink in his hand.

“I’m sorry to be late,” he said as he came up to the table
and pulled out Jolene’s chair. “I thought we’d be eating in the alcove and went
there first. You needn’t stand until I came. Please be seated.”

Jolene looked at Melinda. “You may be seated. Mr. Moran?
Will you be joining us?”

“Why do we have to eat in here with all this fancy stuff?”
Melinda asked.

Max caught Jolene’s look. “We’re eating here because this is
the dining room. And there’s no difference between these forks and the forks in
the alcove,” he said.

“Excepting these forks are real silver,” Zeb said and
swallowed the last of his drink.

Jolene nodded to a young man, one of the inside staff,
standing near the door. “Please tell Maria that she may bring the soup course.”
He nodded and hurried out the door. She looked up at Max. “There is scotch and
bourbon on the side cart, or you may prefer to wait for wine with with dinner.”

Zeb stood. “I’m having another. Do you want one?” he asked
Max.

“Bourbon, if you please, Zeb.”

“Maria made me take a bath, Daddy.”

Max stared at his daughter and thought about how she must
appear to Jolene. He certainly didn’t want to tamp down her loving spirit or
her natural joy, but he realized he might have done her a disservice by not setting
more rules for her. She had the run of the Hacienda and was beloved by the
staff, but she wasn’t a child any longer. Hadn’t been for some time.

“Maria was right, Melinda. You’ve got to clean up before you
come to the dinner table.”

The meal was served by some of the kitchen staff, obviously
nervous and uncomfortable with their new tasks. With small signals and few
words, Jolene directed them in the correct way of service. By dessert, Max
thought he might be back in Boston at his mother’s dinner table. He had to
admit though, that this meal was preferable to his usual. He was taking his time
as the courses arrived and not eating from a heaping plate filled from the
bowls and platters at arm’s reach. He let out a sigh and sipped the coffee that
had just been served.

Melinda pushed back her chair. “There’s a new foal in the
barn. I want to see it before I have to go to bed.”

Any other evening, he would have told Melinda to run along.
“Where is your napkin, Melinda? Please pick it up and put it beside your plate.
What do you say when you want to leave the table?”

Melinda rolled her eyes. “May I please be excused?”

Max stared at her. Melinda straightened in her chair and
asked again. “Yes, you may.”

“I’ve got some reading to do on that new fencing we’re
looking at so, you’ll have to excuse me too,” Zeb said and stood.

“Please stay, Mr. Moran,” Jolene said. “I would like to
discuss some things with you.”

Zeb sat, but he didn’t look happy. “What can I do for you,
Mrs. Shelby?”

“We are entertaining later this week, and I have made a list
of some additional things that I will need done. I’ve spoken to Maria, and she
said she has lost some employees recently and is concerned she cannot manage
what I have requested of her. Do you have any outside staff that could fill
in?”

“I suppose I could rustle a few up,” he said.

Jolene nodded. “Thank you. I’d like you to join us for
dinner with the McCastors.”

“Why? I’m not running for office, and I sure ain’t used to
sitting with fancy folk at dinner.”

“Come now, Mr. Moran. I understand you were educated at the University
of Georgia and that your father is still a professor there. I highly doubt
you’ve not attended your share of soirees and entertainments with
fancy folk
.”

Zeb stared at Jolene for a few long minutes. “What time is
this dinner?” he said.

“Seven in the evening. Jackets are required,” she said.

“Is that all?” Zeb said and threw down his napkin.

“Actually, no. I was hoping you would be able to pick me a
suitable mount. I need to go to Dallas tomorrow and can’t afford to waste the time
it would take in a buggy,” Jolene said. “My side saddle was shipped here with
some other items last month.”

“You can’t just go running off to Dallas alone. It wouldn’t
be safe. I can have one of my men go to town for you,” Zeb said.

“I doubt they will be able to visit the modiste for me,
though, or choose linens, do you?”

“I’ll take you in the morning, Jolene. Find a gelding with a
smooth gait for her, Zeb,” Max said.

Zeb stood and walked to the door. “I’ll have one ready for
you in the morning, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Jolene replied and turned back to her cup of
tea.

“I didn’t think you would be a rider.”

Jolene looked up at him. “I haven’t ridden much in the last
few years, but, yes, I am a rider. What accomplished woman isn’t?”

“I suppose you’re right. I’ve just been here for a long time
now. Riding is a necessity, not a social skill in Texas,” he said.

“My social skills are the reason I’m suitable to be here,
though, wouldn’t you say?”

Max laughed although Jolene didn’t respond. “Yes, they are.
But I’m hoping you’ll grow to like it here. I’ve been meaning to ask, how did
you find your suites?”

“Considerably different than what I’m accustomed to, but
I’ve found them very comfortable.”

“And your maid’s quarters?”

“She is very appreciative of the sitting room attached to
her sleeping room. And she thanks you for the crystal bowl and jar for her
dresser that you bought her.”

“And the staff here at the Hacienda? Has everyone treated
you well?”

“Yes. The staff has been very attentive.”

Max was hoping to engage Jolene further than a one-sentence
reply. He certainly was hoping to see her smile. But, hell, who knows, maybe
this was as happy as she ever was. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but Max
figured that he’d hardly given her a chance, considering the huge change her
marriage had been for her. “Would you like a cordial? I think I’ve got some
sherry in the whiskey cabinet. Or maybe you’d like some of this bourbon.”

Jolene pushed her tea cup aside and looked at him steadily
for some minutes.

Max laughed again. “You don’t have to. . .”

“Bourbon, please.”

Max poured hers and sat down in Zeb’s vacated chair, beside
Jolene, rather than his own. He turned sideways in the seat and stretched out
his legs. “Nice breeze coming through. Feels good after a day in the sun.” He
looked around the room. “Never thought about putting the table here, but it’s a
good spot. Not that we ever ate in here much anyway,” he said with a smile.
“Good idea.”

“Thank you.”

“I guess it was a bit of a shock when you saw Melinda
considering you thought she was seventeen or eighteen years old.”

“Yes. It was a shock,” Jolene said and sipped from the cut
crystal glass.

“She’s a bit of a handful,” Max said and looked directly at
Jolene. “But she’s got a good heart and is kind and loving.”

“Those are not necessarily assets for a young woman
attempting to make a suitable match. While it is clearly not my business, I
would suggest a boarding school,” Jolene said.

Max stared at her. “A boarding school? No. We’re not sending
Melinda to a boarding school.”

“
We’re
not going to do anything,” Jolene said. “She
is your daughter and, therefore, your responsibility. I merely made a
suggestion.”

Max spun the liquor in his glass for a moment and thought
about what Jolene had just said. He figured he best know now exactly what she
meant. “Are you saying you don’t want to be involved with Melinda?”

“Our arrangement was for a marriage, Maximilian. Not for a
mother.”

“But you live here. You’re my wife. She’s my daughter. How
will you avoid a relationship with her? And she needs some motherly advice.
Surely you wouldn’t deny her some attention of that kind.”

Jolene stood and picked up her drink. “If you choose to make
me out to be cold and heartless, so be it. It is a label I have worn in the
past. What time will we be leaving in the morning?”

Max stood and stared at Jolene. There was something eating
at this woman. Something sad and angry. He did not know if he had the energy or
the inclination to try and find the real woman inside, and maybe she was right.
Maybe polite strangers would be the best way to live out their lives. Although
he doubted he could claim polite when his thoughts were going the direction
they were now. He wondered what she’d do if he pulled her tight against him and
kissed her hard. And why, when she’d said what she just said, would he be
attracted to her? But he was. “How about seven?”

“I’ll be ready.”

* * *

The girl
did
need a boarding
school, Jolene thought to herself as she stretched out on the lounge in her
rooms. She laid back against the pillows where she could see the stars in the
sky, and hear in the background the soft chatter and laughter of the servants.
She could smell cigar smoke and wondered who was on the portico below her. She
had dismissed Alice as soon as she had helped her out of her corsets and into
her dressing gown and brushed her hair from the loose chignon atop her head.

What a fool Maximillian Shelby was if he thought for one
second that she would cuddle and fuss and hold hands with an unruly child. And
she was unruly. Her clothing consisted of dungaree pants and flannel shirts like
her father’s, and her skin was tan from the sun. Jolene could see, though,
through the grime that this child would be a strikingly beautiful woman
someday. She was clearly very bright, but Jolene wondered how far her academics
had reached.

While not an asset, Melinda seemed to have no sense of
hierarchy within the Hacienda. She conversed with the slop boy in the same
manner that she spoke to Zeb Moran or Alice or her, for that matter. Jolene
imagined she took after her father. She’d watched Maximillian deal with the
people around him. Even in the short few days she’d known him, she knew he was
a born politician and thought that his ability to talk to anyone and make that
them feel perfectly at ease may have been passed to his daughter, even at her
young age. It would be wrong to plan, and would go against her own commitment
to herself that she would never, ever be emotionally involved with another
person. But . . . this girl could be an exceptional woman.

Jolene turned on her side and thought about the men in her
Boston life. Turner’s outward appearances were of a handsome, confident,
charming man. That hadn’t been the core of her first husband, though. Much like
her father, he was weak and easily manipulated. Quite at odds with what girls
and young women were told about men, that they were the powerful ones who made
the decisions, who directed women’s lives, who ran the world with honor and
wisdom, or maybe brute force. Her experience had been quite the opposite. She
watched her mother control her father, and she, in turn, managed Turner, sometimes
with little regard to what was best, she knew now.

Jolene doubted Maximillian Shelby would be easily
manipulated. And there was something alluring about a man who was his own man,
comfortable with making decisions and directing those around him. She knew
women in Boston who were afraid of their husbands, afraid of their censure, or
displeasure, or even a fear of being beaten. But she was not concerned that he
would be abusive to her. Before signing her marriage license, she employed the
Pinkerton Detective Agency to do a thorough investigation of Max, even so far
as to question former employees. Not a hint of any hidden perversions or
appetites. Even those whom Maximillian or his father had fired never mentioned
or even insinuated that there was anything less than upright in the Shelby
character. She was as confident as she could be that his behavior towards her
would be gentlemanly, even if he was confident and sure of himself.