Marry Me (18 page)

“What did you think of Sir Nigel?” he asked.

“Oh,‘e’s a proper blow’ard wot don’t know is Cockney from ’is West End.” She abandoned the working accent for the one of privilege that Nigel affected. “One must tolerate him, however, because he is so agreeably amusing. It’s all the potted plants, don’t you know.”

Cole and Whitley stopped in their tracks, while Rhyne continued as though she were unaware of leaving them behind. Whitley was grinning when she caught up. Cole’s faint smile was more thoughtful.

“How did you do that?” Whitley asked.

“She studied for the stage,” Cole reminded his sister. And, he suspected, Rhyne was a gifted mimic. “Did Judah teach you?”

Rhyne nodded but offered no other information. She hoped that would be the last Judah’s name was mentioned.

She had not even asked the sheriff if he had been out to see her father and was relieved that Wyatt hadn’t seen fit to raise the subject.

“He must have been a very fine actor,” said Whitley. “Our father was a general in the Union Army, which is not nearly as entertaining as trodding the boards, but a worthy career all the same.”

Rhyne covered her mouth with her fist and repressed an urge to laugh with a polite cough. “I didn’t know that,” she said when she could speak again.

Cole was glad to be turning the corner toward home. There was no longer any sidewalk and hardly anyone about. Whitley was free to move ahead of them again and chatter away safely outside of Cole’s reach.

“Thaddeus B. Monroe,” Whitley said. “The ‘B’ is for Braxton, the same as Cole’s middle name. I’m a ‘B’, too. But it’s Brookes. That was our mother’s maiden name. She volunteered in the wards for wounded soldiers during the war. Father told me he didn’t try to stop her, that he knew the limits of his command. I always thought that was very clever of him. He graduated from West Point, you know, and that is no easy thing to do. Cole was accepted there, but he hated it and got permission to leave. Isn’t that right, Cole? Father said it was because Cole was more like our mother, that his calling was healing, not soldiering. I am not convinced, though, because Father never saw Coleridge stand up to Dr. Erwin. If he had, he’d have known Cole was a fighter, too.”

They reached the house and Whitley trotted up the steps to the front door. She waved gaily to Digger Hammond who was sitting on his porch trying to make whistling sounds with a broad blade of grass. “Walk with you to school tomorrow,” she called to him.

He fumbled with the makeshift whistle and smiled widely at her, revealing a sizable gap between his front teeth. “Sure. That’d be fine. I mean, I’d like that. Maybe Dot will be sick or sleep in or something.”

Cole and Rhyne exchanged amused glances as Whitley nodded enthusiastically before she disappeared into the house.

“I suppose there are no hard feelings,” Cole said.

“His mistake was being with the other two boys. I don’t think that will happen again.” She climbed the steps beside Cole. “How long you figure it’ll take him to realize he’s got a better whistle with that gap in his teeth than he does with that sorry blade of grass?”

Chuckling, Cole just shook his head and ushered Rhyne into the house. Whitley was already at the top of the stairs, and she paused to wait for Rhyne. Cole touched Rhyne lightly on the elbow. “I’d like to speak with you before you go up,” he said. “Do you mind?”

Rhyne was puzzled, mostly by the gravity of his invitation, but she didn’t hesitate. “No. Of course not.” She called up to Whitley. “Go on. I’ll be up in a little while.”

“Holler for me if he asks you to go to the woodshed.”

Cole’s tone reflected all the suffering of Job. “We’re going to the parlor, Whitley. And, anyway, you’ve never been to the woodshed for anything but wood, so don’t pretend you have experience beyond that.” He watched Whitley turn the corner and said in an aside to Rhyne. “She hardly goes for wood, either.”

The parlor felt considerably more inviting to Rhyne than it had when the sheriff had instructed her and Whitley to wait there. She waited by the divan, uncertain if she was supposed to sit or not. Cole had gone straight to the drinks cabinet and removed a decanter of whiskey.

“Would you like a glass?” he asked. “There’s sherry, if you’d prefer it.”

“Now, how would I know if I favored sherry when I’ve never had it before?”

His mouth compressed into a thin line as he realized his error. “I suppose Runt Abbot never asked for a sherry in the Miner Key.”

“That’s right.” Her gaze dropped to the open interior of the cabinet. “I bet Sir Nigel drinks it.”

Cole ignored her disparaging tone and spoke to the hesitant curiosity he glimpsed in her eyes. “It’s often served at dinner parties. Men and women drink it.”

“We already had dinner.”

“There’s no getting around that.” He poured himself two fingers of whiskey while he waited her out.

“I don’t really like whiskey,” she said finally. “But I don’t think that’s because I’m a girl.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“I always wondered about that. Judah and my brothers had a taste for it. Leastways, I don’t think they were pretending same as I was.”

Cole set the stopper back in the decanter. “Last chance,” he said, raising his glass a fraction.

“The sherry,” she said quickly. “I’d like to try it.”

“Good for you, Miss Abbot. Tomato bisque and Spanish wine in the same evening.” He rooted in the cabinet to find the appropriate glass and then poured her a good measure. He carried it over to her. “Won’t you sit? Tell me what you think.”

Rhyne lowered herself to the divan. She stared at the delicately stemmed glass in her hand but didn’t drink. “How much do I swallow?”

He hadn’t even thought to tell her not to knock it back like a shot at the Miner Key’s bar. “Sip it,” he told her. He moved to the comfortable armchair and sat. “It is a compliment to how well you inhabit that gown that accounts for the lapses in my memory. I found it especially difficult to see Runt Abbot this evening.”

She squirmed and took something bigger than a sip for her first taste. It was pleasant, especially at the back of her throat where whiskey always burned. “Keep your eyes on my nose. That should help you see Runt.”

Cole’s smile hinted at his regret. “I think I may have given you the wrong impression by ever mentioning your nose. The slight asymmetry does not make it unattractive.”

“You mean crooked don’t make it ugly.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s what I meant.” He paused, regarding her suspiciously over the rim of his glass. “Amused?”

“You tickle me sometimes: ‘The slight asymmetry does not make it unattractive.’”

Cole had been right: Rhyne
was
a gifted mimic. She had perfectly captured his tone and cadence. Even the deeper pitch of her voice was amazingly accurate. “May I try?”

“Certainly.”

He cleared his throat. “’Crooked don’t make it ugly.’” He didn’t need Rhyne’s hoot of laughter to know he’d performed badly. “I sounded like a screech owl.”

“I don’t know about that, but you made the mistake most men do when they’re trying to imitate a woman’s voice. You reached for the high notes. You can’t be a soprano. What you want to do is soften your voice, make it more like a whisper.”

“I don’t think I’ll try again, thank you.” The experiment had made his throat a little raw. He took a sip of whiskey and let it slide smoothly back. “It’s a handsome nose, Rhyne. That’s what I should have said. Better than delicate because it gives your face character.”

“I think everyone agrees that I have plenty of that.”

“Don’t turn away from a compliment. Just say, ‘How kind you are to say so,’ and be done with it. That way you acknowledge the giver and don’t pass judgment on the remark. You can decide what you think about it later.”

“How kind you are to say so.”

Cole’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to place the voice that he’d just heard. “Was that Rachel Cooper?”

“I thought the words sounded better coming from her.” She rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers as Cole shook his head and tried to appear unaffected. She’d seen the same look of repressed amusement when he dealt with Whitley, but she also knew there was a line that made him dangerous when crossed. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

“Yes, that. I have been thinking how I might broach the subject since this afternoon, but the idea of it has been percolating much longer.” Because she merely stared at him, he plunged ahead. “This is about the management of this house, my sister, and your desire for employment. It occurs to me that by hiring you as our housekeeper, we could arrive at a solution that would satisfy all of us.”

“Housekeeper,” Rhyne said, turning that over in her mind. “I don’t know, Dr. Monroe. I was thinking that maybe I could put food in front of people at the Commodore, like Mary Evans did for us tonight. You put down extra money for her. I saw it. That probably comes in handy.”

Cole had no idea if she was amusing herself at his expense again, literally. “I would pay you a significantly better wage than Sir Nigel.”

“But I bet there’d be cooking.”

He nodded. “You’ve been doing that now. Do you imagine I can’t tell the difference between your cooking and Whitley’s?”

“Now, don’t go telling her you noticed. Anyway, she helped and she’s coming along.”

“That’s
what I mean.” He set his glass down and leaned forward. “Before Whitley and I left New York we had a housekeeper
and
a cook. I was spending long hours at St. John’s and Whitley was often left alone with them. Perhaps I should have insisted that she return to boarding school, but it wasn’t in me to force her for my convenience. There were problems there, not unlike what she faced today.”

“So Sheriff Cooper did tell you. I wondered.”

“He told me. And he told me about the vile teasing that you were subjected to.” He waved aside whatever comment hovered on the tip of her tongue and went on. “Neither Mrs. Abernathy nor Mrs. Green could abide Whitley. She wore them out. Three tutors, also. She is irrepressible, even unruly at times, but it is not in me to try to quash her spirit. When we came here–her idea, incidently–she argued her way into being permitted to manage our home. Even though I easily can afford to hire help, she does not want me to engage anyone to assume the responsibilities or even to assist her. As a result, Miss Abbot, the household accounts are indecipherable, my shirts are scorched, and I’ve only had bread that’s risen above the loaf pan since you arrived. I cannot find my bootjack. I’ve had to replace my razor strop. Twice. As a mercy to me, and on pain of death, she stays out of my surgery and the library. That affords me two areas, at least, where I have been able to retain some semblance of order.”

“You make a compelling argument yourself.”

“As I said, the idea has been percolating.” He regarded her with a faintly crooked smile. “Which reminds me … Whitley brews excellent coffee on Thursdays and Sundays. I cannot explain what happens on other mornings.”

“She reuses the grounds,” Rhyne told him. “It is a matter of economy, she says. On Thursdays and Sundays she uses fresh.” Rhyne shrugged. “Thriftiness is indeed next to godliness.” She watched Cole sigh heavily and reach for his glass. “I know. But I don’t have a heart stony enough to correct her.”

“Sometimes I think she says things like that just to get a reaction.”

“I’m sure of it. She adores you. She always begs your notice.”

“Do you see how it is, then? Without help, I’m afraid she will wear me out as well.” “You’d send her away?”

“I don’t know. We have a pact, but I’m not certain I will be able to do my part. If her attention to her studies is not improved, we agreed that she would return to Amelia Starcher’s Seminary. I would have to stay here to honor my contract with the town.”

“How is she doing?”

“Poorly, I’m afraid. I think she’s testing my resolve.”

“You’re already surrounded by Indians if you only think that’s what she’s doing. You better pray for the cavalry.”

Cole was glad he didn’t have a mouthful of whiskey. “I
am
praying for the cavalry.”

“Me? You think that’s me?”

He nodded. He set his glass aside again and ticked off the proof on his fingers. “Companion. Mentor. Tutor. Housekeeper. Cook. Manager. Accountant. That makes you the cavalry. Have I missed anything?”

“Just how much you’re going to pay me.”

“You’ll do it?” “The pay?”

Cole named the salary. “Plus room and board.” He waited, but she offered no reaction. “It’s fair, I think.”

Her mouth curled to one side as she considered it. “How much do you suppose they charge to let a room at the boardinghouse?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

One of her eyebrows kicked up. “I know I’m ignorant about town living, but I didn’t sprout full grown from the cabbage patch this morning. I’ve about run out my welcome here. I need to find my own place, Dr. Monroe, whether you hire me on or not.”

“I don’t see why. There’s enough room here. It doesn’t make sense to change an arrangement that we’ve managed thus far.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. It won’t feel like I’m on my own.”

“You’re not supposed to be on your own. Single women don’t take rooms in the boardinghouse. The hotel would be a better accommodation, but even with the generous wage you could earn here, you’d spend most of it on your room. Thriftiness, remember?” He saw that coaxed a small smile out of Rhyne, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced. “Is there someone you’d like to advise you?”

Rhyne hadn’t considered that she could ask someone else. She was used to making her own decisions. “Maybe Mrs. Cooper could set me straight. She came to town alone a few years back. Lived in the same house she and the sheriff live in now.” She worried the inside of her lip. “The house was ready for her when she got here and she moved right in. She never lived anywhere else.”

“I didn’t realize.” He regarded Rhyne shrewdly. “Is it respectability that concerns you? Is that what you were alluding to when you spoke about town living and cabbage patches?”

Rhyne finished her sherry. “I guess that’s right. Respectability’s got something to do with it. Folks might not like you letting me stay here. You have to think about their good opinion. Whitley told me how your contract with the town works. That committee can boot you right out at the end of a year, and it got me considering that I might be an excuse someone could use if they were leaning that way. I’m used to people not thinking much of Runt Abbot, and that dustup at the schoolyard kind of proves my point.”