Hunter's Prize (15 page)

She was tired lately, as the bags under her eyes bore witness. She always found the early days of a new assignment tedious, what with getting a firm grasp on things and learning her employer’s expectations. This job made the rest seem paltry.

As her tense muscles eased, her thoughts swirled in a drowsy fog, centered on Mr. Foster and his troublesome letter. Three points of interest tickled her scattered mind, roiling from the mists and taking an ugly shape: One, Mr. Foster seemed quite taken with her beautiful mother the day they met. Two, he’d made a special trip from town to call on her. And three, the most scandalous act of all, the blackguard had written a note to her mother on Miss Whitfield’s lavender-scented stationery with the bluebonnet border.

Addie sat up gripping the arm of her chair, all possibility of a nap driven away by outrage. These truths led to one inescapable conclusion. Pearson Foster wasn’t drawn to Addie. The unscrupulous rogue had designs on her mother!

A
fter a restless night pondering the shocking revelation about Mr. Foster’s indecent intentions, and a stressful morning coaxing Ceddy to eat his porridge, Addie had little patience with his refusal to drink his afternoon glass of milk. Why Miss Whitfield seemed so adamant for him to have it, she couldn’t fathom. Surely they could remove from his diet a beverage he so fiercely detested.

They sat together at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. The sun, muted by the magnolia tree near the window, shone patches of mottled light across his face.

“Please, honey,” Addie pleaded. “Have a few sips, and then you can leave the table.”

He swung, but she snatched the glass away in time.

“Mercy! It’s not that bad, is it?” She wrinkled her nose and stole a taste of the frothy drink. The creamy liquid slid over her tongue, cool and refreshing. “My goodness. It’s actually very tasty.” Her stomach growled, but she resisted the urge to drain the glass. Shrugging, she placed it out of his reach as Delilah entered the room.

Leaping up, Ceddy ran to bury his face in her apron.

Delilah smiled. “I’m glad he don’t drink it no better for you, Miss Addie. I’s startin’ to think he jus’ be spiteful.”

“I can’t imagine why he doesn’t want it.” Addie swiped away the white mustache clinging to her top lip. “It’s delicious.”

Ceddy moaned and tugged on Delilah’s skirt.

“Poor mite. He hungry, too.”

“I know,” Addie agreed. “Miss Priscilla thought with an empty stomach he’d be more receptive to the milk.” She smiled wryly. “It didn’t work.”

“Why you don’t feed him?”

“We’re going into town for lunch today.” Addie beamed. “We’re having the Ginocchio Salad. Have you ever tried one?”

Turning to the sink, she snorted derisively. “No, and I don’t care to. Whoever heard of putting pecan meats in lettuce?”

Addie spun on her heel. “Why, I’m surprised at you, Delilah. You’re such a creative cook, I would’ve thought you’d appreciate diversity in food preparation.”

Delilah blushed. “Thank you, Miss Addie. I don’t understand them big words you always spoutin’, but thank you jus’ the same.” She took the milk from Addie and poured it in the dishpan. “When Miss Priscilla asks if he took it, you let me answer. I’d sooner have a lie on my conscience than see Little Man pestered anymore.”

Addie grinned and patted her arm.

Miss Whitfield swept in wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a lavender dress with velveteen trim. Delilah had laced her corset so tightly, the contraption forced her torso forward on top and her hips backward, creating the silhouette of a stuffed pheasant.

She glanced at the empty glass in Delilah’s hand, and her mouth flew wide. “He drank it? How wonderful.” She smoothed the back of Ceddy’s head. “There’s Auntie’s good fellow. I knew you could do it.”

Ceddy pulled away and slid behind Delilah.

Addie cast her co-conspirator a secretive look and hurried to change the subject. “My, don’t you look lovely, ma’am.”

Miss Whitfield’s lips pushed outward in a pout. “I simply hate to be called ‘ma’am,’ Addie. Makes me feel like a crone. And ‘Miss Priscilla’ just reminds me that I’m an old maid. Can’t we dispense with formality? I’d like you to call me Priscilla, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Addie grinned and brought her hand to her mouth. “I’ll try to remember.”

Priscilla patted her arm. “Good. Shall we go then? That salad of yours is sounding better by the minute.”

Pearson stabbed at his plate and brought up a forkful of pecans and lettuce covered in thick mayonnaise. “This was a good idea, Theo.” He shoved in the bite and proceeded to talk with his mouth full. “It’s the first time since we left the lake that I can’t taste mud.”

Theo nodded. “Enjoy it while you can. You’ll get another mouthful once we hire a couple of hands and head back out there.” Closely studying his plate, he avoided Pearson’s eyes. “You’re not going to turn this into another search for Lafitte’s gold, are you, Pearce?”

Pearson wiped his mouth. “Now, what did I say? We’ll give it a good effort, but if we don’t have any luck, we’ll call it a wash. Didn’t I promise?”

Chasing a sliver of pecan around his plate, Theo nodded. “You did, but I know you. You’re like a blind bulldog. Once your teeth are buried in something, you don’t know when to turn loose.”

Dropping his fork with a clatter, Pearson sat forward and stared. “I don’t know about blind, but I am seeing things.” He pointed. “Isn’t that the lovely Miss McRae?”

Theo spun around. “Oh yeah, that’s her. I’m not sure about the mourning dress, but there’s no mistaking that heart-shaped face and those big eyes.”

Accompanied by an elderly woman, Addie stood with one hand on the shoulder of the odd little boy they’d briefly seen at the mansion. The stiff, black uniform she wore tried hard to hide her charms but couldn’t succeed. She stared around the room, most likely watching for the maître d’ to seat them.

“Looks like we were lied to,” Theo said.

“Yes, it does.” Pearson stood. “Let’s find out why.”

“Wait!” Theo called, reaching a hand toward him.

Ignoring his friend’s caution, Pearson strode across the room and bowed to each of the women in turn. “Good afternoon, Miss McRae. What an unexpected pleasure.”

The color drained from Addie’s complexion, and the big eyes in question rounded in surprise. “Mr. Foster, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

He smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you at all. You’re supposed to be in Mississippi, aren’t you?”

The older woman stiffened and stared down her nose. “I beg your pardon.” Her tone, more than her words, invited Pearson to return to his table and to his lowly station.

He shot her his most charming smile. “Forgive me, ma’am. I’m acquainted with Miss McRae here, but you and I haven’t been introduced. I’m Pearson Foster, of the Galveston Fosters.”

She relaxed slightly and nodded, good breeding getting the best of her. “Priscilla Whitfield.”

He caught her hand and lightly kissed it. “Dear lady, you’re a legend in Marshall, and I’m honored to meet you.”

“Yes.” The single word wavered with doubt.

“My friend and I rode out to your lovely home the other day.” He studied her face for recognition. “We spoke with your maid. I assume she told you?”

She sniffed. “I’m well aware of your visit.”

He turned a shaky smile on Addie. “We came to call on you, to be exact.”

“On me?” She lifted her chin, ice in her voice. “Or my mother?”

Thrown off by their chilly reception, Pearson searched his mind for something to say.

Miss Whitfield beat him to the draw. “If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to be seated now.”

Jumping at the chance, he spun and pointed behind him. “Won’t you join us? The hungry-looking fellow in the corner is my business partner. We’d be happy to share our table.”

Theo, leaning over the back of his chair, grinned and raised two fingers in a jaunty wave.

“Well, I …” As flighty as a snared grouse, Miss Whitfield searched about the room for an avenue of escape. “We appreciate the offer. Perhaps another time.”

Pearson opened his mouth to protest, but the boy, standing docile and quiet until then, let out a shrill cry and darted behind the old girl.

Turning one way then the other like a dog chasing its tail, Miss Whitfield tried to pull him in front of her. “What is it, Ceddy? Come here, child.”

The piercing howl grew louder, and tears flooded his eyes.

Catching his arm, she bent to look at him. “Heavens! His face is deathly pale. What happened?”

“I can’t imagine,” Addie said. “He seems frightened, doesn’t he?” Concern clouded her face as she knelt in front of him. “Ceddy? What is it, darling?”

Forgetting herself, Miss Whitfield spoke her mind. “Could it be Mr. Foster’s hair? I’m sure he’s never seen the like.”

Flustered and embarrassed, Pearson gathered the strands off his shoulders.

“I told you this wouldn’t work, Addie.” Miss Whitfield stood, glancing around at the staring diners. “Whatever has him bothered, it’s obvious we can’t stay now.” She guided the boy toward the exit. “Come, let’s get him home. Your salad will have to wait for another day.”

Desperate, Pearson caught Addie’s sleeve. “If not lunch today, maybe a picnic tomorrow? The hotel will provide a nice basket, if you know of a sunny spot.”

She tugged her arm free. “No, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us …”

Pausing on the threshold, she turned. “By the by, Miss Whitfield decided to mail your letter. In fact, we’ve just left the post office.” Tilting her head, she gave him a knowing smile. “You’ll be happy to hear that your missive is probably on its way to my mother as we speak. I’m certain my father will find it most entertaining.” Nose to the sky, she flounced out the door.

When the stunned haze cleared, Pearson slunk to rejoin Theo at the table.

Glee in his eyes, Theo cleared his throat. “A picnic?”

Pearson released a ragged sigh. “Don’t start. It was all I could think of at the moment.”

“Sorry, old man,” Theo murmured.

“Stop saying you’re sorry for me, will you? You said the same the day we left Whitfield Manor.”

“I couldn’t help it. You looked so dejected when you thought she’d gone.” He pointed. “Pretty much the way you do now.”

Balling his napkin, he tossed it at Theo’s face. “Forget about her. I plan to.” Shoving away the salad that seemed so appetizing just moments before, he sat back in his chair. “Let’s get out of here. It’s time we focused on hiring a couple of hands. The sooner we’re done and out of Marshall, the better.”

Theo pointed over Pearson’s shoulder. “What about those two? They have an out-of-work look to them.”

In the far corner, a couple of men sat hunched over their plates, one short and gaunt, the other portly and balding. Both stared out the window with bulging eyes.

Following the direction they gazed, Pearson saw Addie and Miss Whitfield outside the glass, still trying to calm the sobbing child.

“Will you look? They’re gawking at Addie.”

Theo shrugged. “They’re men, Pearson. They’re going to watch a pretty woman.”

“I don’t like how closely they’re watching.”

“Is that so? I thought we were going to forget about her.” Theo nudged his shoulder and stood. “Come on, they’re leaving. Let’s see if they’re interested in work. Or if they know someone who is.”

The bony man with the hollow eyes glanced up fast when they neared his table. Tensing, he lowered the money he’d been counting out for his bill into his lap.

Theo ducked his head. “Afternoon, sir. My name is Theodoro Bernardi. We don’t mean to intrude, but my friend and I are looking for a couple of locals with idle hands and strong backs.”

The men looked ready to bolt for the door.

Pearson edged Theo aside and held out his hand. “Pearson Foster, gentlemen. Forgive my blundering associate. He’s trying to ask if you might be seeking gainful employment. We’re hoping to hire a pair of laborers.”

The meatier of the two waved them off. “Barkin’ up the wrong oak, mate. We ain’t lookin’ for work.”

His companion’s hand shot up. “Not so fast, Charlie.” Grinning up at Pearson with tobacco-stained teeth, he shrugged. “We ain’t locals, guvnah. If that don’t worry you none, we might ‘ave a go. What sort of job are you peddlin’?”

D
enny gnawed his bottom lip as Mr. Foster and his clownish friend strolled away from the table. Once they passed through the archway and left by the double doors, Charlie clutched his sleeve. “What in blazes are you doing? Why’d you take the job?”

Denny shoved his hand aside. “Think, mate. Those two were talking to the old girl, which means they likely know where she lives. And Charlie, me boy, where she lives is where we’ll catch up with that snivelin’ brat.”

Charlie nodded, a light in his eyes. “And where the brat is …”

“I’ll find me blessed diamond.”

Charlie cocked his head and scowled. “Yours, Denny? We’re in this together, you and me.”

Denny glanced away. “Sure, that’s what I meant.”

“Why don’t we just follow them home?”

“Well, that was me plan before that strapping big bloke loomed over the table.”

“I see your point.” Charlie rubbed his bristled chin. “You think the woman recognized us?”

“How could she? She ain’t the same one as before.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, mate. This girl is younger … prettier. Did you notice the uniform? She’s a governess to the lad, or some such.”

Charlie blew a breath. “The boy knew us right off. Nearly choked on me nosh when he set to squawking.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s mute. Who’s he going to tell?”

Pretending a sudden interest in his food, Charlie swirled cold potatoes with his fork. “You promised not to hurt him, right? No matter what?”

Denny’s hand snaked out and caught him by the scruff. “You leave the planning to me. If it was down to you, we’d be on that sinking washtub still, swabbing the deck to pay our passage home.”

Drawing his hulking body into a shrunken knot, the big oaf looked like a scolded child. “Sorry, Den. I don’t want him hurt, that’s all. He’s just a wee tyke, after all.” He glanced up. “And an orphan, remember? Like you.”