Simmer All Night (20 page)

Her grandfather wanted to go to Texas.

The blame belonged right at Cole Morgan's feet.

"The man is nothing but trouble," she muttered, pushing aside her bedroom window draperies to stare out toward the statue garden where fog swallowed everything but the heads of the marble figures.

How had she lost control of her life? When exactly had it happened? When she accepted Welby's suit? When she led Cole down the folly path? Maybe back before she left Texas, when she allowed pride and hurt feelings to stand in the way of standing up to her mother.

Or maybe she lost control the day she fell in love with Cole.

Chrissy's hand crushed the drapery's hunter green velvet as her heart skipped a beat. "Love Cole Morgan?" she muttered aloud. "A young girl's love. Familial love, certainly. But not romantic love. Never that."

Sure, Chrissy. Maybe if you say it often enough and fiercely enough you'll begin to believe it.

She groaned and rested her forehead against the windowpane, then lifted it and banged it gently against the cool glass as the bleak truth bubbled up inside her and broke free.

She did love Cole. Romantically. She had loved him for a very long time. How could she have fooled herself into believing otherwise? How could she have been so blind?

Because
you
knew he didn't love you
in return. You
knew he wouldn't love a woman like you.
Cole wanted someone like Mother, a proper lady. Someone like Miss Parkwood or Lady Sarah Snelling or any of the other young women visiting Hartsworth during the house party. Or Lana. She and Cole had appeared cozy enough together lately. Once Chrissy had interrupted a private tête-à-tête after which Lana wouldn't quite meet her gaze. Who knows, maybe tomorrow night's betrothal ball could celebrate their upcoming nuptials in addition to her own. Chrissy's breath balled in her throat.

"Now you're being silly," she scolded herself. Lana and Cole's relationship was strictly friendship and Chrissy knew it. She was thinking irrationally. "Now that's a shock."

Turning away from the window, she crossed to the fireplace and lifted the brass poker to stir the fire. She tried to tamp down her emotions and think matters through, to decide what if anything she wanted to do with this new truth. Now was no time to follow habit and act rashly.
Such
as telling
him how I feel.

After the way their two... interludes... concluded, she was feeling bruised. A third rejection might well leave her bloody.

Sparks spewed and wood crackled as she rearranged the logs. What a mess. And now she had Welby to deal with. How in the world had she allowed herself to end up engaged to one man while loving another?

Like this is any change? You've been doing the same thing for years now.

She winced at the thought. Was it true? Was that the real reason behind all those broken engagements, not an attempt to please her mother as she'd told herself?

Chrissy pondered the notion for a time until she could no longer deny its truth. All the other beaux, all the fiancés, they had been an attempt to attract Cole's attention. To make him face the prospect of losing her. Well, he faced it just fine both then and now.

How humiliating.

She gave a flaming log a sharp poke. "So what are you going to do this time?" she asked herself softly. "Will you hold to form or will you actually marry Welby?"

If she were to break the engagement, best to do it before the betrothal ball. If she were going to make her home in England, she should probably make an effort to heed their rules of etiquette.

Or maybe I should move to a deserted tropical island where no rules exist but the ones I make up.

That idea had considerable appeal. Chrissy held her chilled hands out toward the fire and observed, "At least on a desert island I'd be warm."

"What's this about a desert island?" asked Lana, standing in the portal of the doorway connecting their two bedrooms. "If you are fleeing to one, then I'm coming with you and I'm leaving my children behind."

For the first time all morning, Chrissy smiled. In the last few days the Kleberg children certainly had taken a turn toward trouble. Chrissy wondered if she was the only person who noticed that most of their pranks had been targeted toward her fiancé. "What mischief has the Terrible Twosome committed this time?"

Lana stepped cautiously across the room and took a seat in the bedside chair. A rosy glow colored her cheeks as she turned and gazed out the window. Not for the first time, Chrissy thought how attractive her best friend was, especially now that the grief had for the most part faded from her Dresden blue eyes.
Maybe it's time we started looking for a husband for her,
she mused.

Sighing, Lana said, "Lord Welby caught them snooping in his bedroom. In his closet. I don't know what to do with them. They've never acted this... this... rotten before. They've sprinkled itching powder over his underwear, filled his coat pockets with pond slime, and served him a worm sandwich." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Maybe Mother Kleberg was right. Maybe I am a terrible mother."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're a wonderful mother and you know it. These pranks the children are playing on Welby—they're my fault. It's clear to me what is happening. Michael and Sophie think they're protecting me by striking out at the enemy. They think my marriage to Welby would be a mistake,"

Dryly, Lana said, "My children are exceptionally bright."

Chrissy shot Lana a saccharine smile and redirected the conversation. "So, what mischief had they made in Welby's closet?"

"None. He'd caught them before Michael dropped the frog into his boot."

Chrissy's lips twitched. "Hmm. Welby wouldn't have cared for that. He is a fastidious man and he's almost as particular about his footwear as he is about his vests."

"He was very sporting about it, actually. He said no harm was done."

"That was nice. And the children were lucky. I played the same trick on Jake one time, and you should have seen the look on his face when he realized his toes were tickling a toad. I thought he would kill me."

"He probably should have."

After a spell of contemplative silence, both women giggled, then broke into laughter. Chrissy continued laughing long past the time the moment warranted. It was either that or cry. Finally, wiping at her eyes, she said, "Oh, Lana, what am I going to do?"

"I've offered my opinion in the past and it hasn't changed. Don't marry him, Chrissy. You'll regret it if you do."

"Why? Lord Welby is the most eligible bachelor in all of England. He's handsome and intelligent and wealthy and he's been downright patient with Michael's and Sophie's pranks. Even when he took that big bite of worms."

"Yes, he was a good sport about that, too," Lana replied, a hint of wistfulness in her tone.

"And you know what else? I think Welby likes me."

"Of course he likes you. It's only natural. You're the kind of woman every man wants."

Chrissy recalled the look of fury on Cole's face when he stormed from the folly. "No, that's not true. I know that for a fact. Besides, I meant he likes the person I am inside, not this shell that men seem to find attractive. That's nice, Lana. It feels good. I need that right now."

"Oh, honey, being liked for who you are is not what you need in a husband. You need to love and be loved in return. And we both know your feelings don't go that deep with Welby. In fact...," Lana paused and waited until Chrissy met her gaze. "...during our weeks here at Hartsworth, I've come to suspect you have deep feelings for another man."

Chrissy didn't respond. She'd barely managed to admit it to herself; she couldn't possibly confirm Lana's suspicions. Instead, she focused her gaze upon her wardrobe and the rainbow of colors its opened doors revealed. "What are you wearing to tomorrow's ball?"

"I swear you're as stubborn as a chili stain. Fine, we won't talk about him. Not now. But I do have more to say to you. Come sit beside me."

Chrissy didn't want to do it, but Lana was using her I'm-the-mother-and-you're-to-do-as-I-say voice. She dragged her feet across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Lana reached out and took her hand, holding it between both of hers as she earnestly said, "Honey, marriage—a good marriage—is one of the most precious gifts God can give. It's also one of the toughest jobs you'll ever take on. I loved my husband with every fiber of my being, and I know he loved me just as much. Even so, we experienced periods of time when I wondered whether our marriage could survive."

Chrissy didn't want to hear this lecture. "Of course you did. You lived with his parents."

"Haven't I heard that the viscount's mother is alive and living on their estate?"

"Yes, but it's a castle. A big castle."

"And who will be its queen? The dowager or the upstart Texan?" Ignoring Chrissy's petulant pout, Lana continued, "Listen to me. Marriage is tough enough all by itself. Add an interfering mother-in-law to the mix and..." Lana shuddered. "I certainly know I would have second thoughts."

"Maybe Welby's mother is nice." Chrissy didn't know why she felt so compelled to argue with her friend. Everything Lana said made sense. All she knew was that the more someone told her not to do something, the more she felt obligated to give it a try.
Maybe I am contrary by nature as Jake so often accused.

Lana waved her hand. "I've wandered off the subject. A nice mother-in-law is neither here nor there. Please listen to me. I love you like a sister, and I want only the very best for you. If you don't love Lord Welby, don't marry him. Don't condemn yourself to a marriage without love."

"Maybe we'll grow to love one another. It could happen in time. He is a good man."

"Yes, I've spent quite a bit of time with him of late and I've come to realize he is a very good man. And he deserves a good, strong, happy marriage. He deserves a wife who loves him. So give yourself that time, Chrissy. Take that trip to Texas and introduce him to your family. Give yourself the chance to fall in love with him before you say your vows."

"I won't go home."

Lana sighed with frustration. "I've gone about this wrong, haven't I? You'll marry him out of spite. Oh, I've lost patience with you. No wonder you get along so well with my children. The three of you are just alike." Standing, she strode across the bedroom toward the connecting door, bumping into the opened wardrobe door in her haste. "Ouch," she muttered, pushing it aside.

Feeling a pang of conscience, Chrissy said, "Lana, wait."

But her friend didn't pause. Instead she sailed into her own bedroom and slammed the connecting door. Chrissy winced and held her head in her hands. She seriously considered crying.

Door hinges squeaked and Chrissy looked up. Lana stood in the doorway, her color high, her posture proud and righteous. Chrissy felt around two inches tall as her best friend in the world said in a scathing tone of voice, "And Chrissy? Of the pranks being played upon Lord Welby of late? Yours is by far the worst."

* * *

Cole stood with a drink in hand, gazing around Hartsworth's saloon and wondering what the hell he was doing there. This saloon was pronounced "salon" and had marble on the floor and Old Master paintings on the walls and Roman busts set on pedestals in niches and alcoves. "Give me a good old Texan saloon any day over this one," he murmured aloud. He preferred sawdust on the floor, tinny piano music to stringed musicians, and sporting girls rather than fan-fluttering ladies. Taking a sip from his crystal glass, Cole relished the smooth bite of whiskey and admitted that the rotgut served in most Texas saloons could use an upgrade. Still, he'd rather be standing in a Hell's Half Acre honky-tonk drinking tonsil paint than loitering in this high-toned saloon.

Cole tossed back the rest of his drink, then went looking for another. With the poor weather keeping people confined indoors, the saloon was crowded with people. The entire manor house was packed, for that matter, as guests had been arriving all afternoon. Only the Great Hall remained closed to visitors, so special decorations for tomorrow's ball could be put into place. Anticipation sizzled in the air as guests pondered what theme those decorations might present.

According to a gray-haired gossip standing beside him, tomorrow's ball was the first the Earl of Thornbury had hosted in over twenty years. Invitations were difficult to come by and treasured like diamonds. Word had leaked back to London from those fortunate few to be included in his house party that a formal announcement of great import was to be made during the festivities. Rumor had it that Viscount Welby himself had finally found his viscountess in the earl's American granddaughter.

Suddenly, Cole needed some air.

The saloon opened out onto a large portico that overlooked the southern lawn. Cole glanced skyward and was pleased to see blue sky rather than the gray clouds that had blanketed Hartsworth most of the day. He breathed deeply of the fresh, rain-washed air while attempting to tune out the rattle of wheels against cobblestones and the greetings of footmen to an unending procession of guests. Then, having failed to find the haven he sought, he descended the stone steps leading to the lawn and strolled away from the house toward the statue garden.

What he really needed was a ruckus, he thought. A good old barroom brawl to work off some of this uncomfortable edginess plaguing him. Too bad such fracases were difficult to find on an English estate.

He walked briskly along the path, hoping the exercise might rid him of this excess of energy. When he spied others on the path, he veered in another direction. He didn't stop until the scent of cigars and the sound of Welby's laughter reached his ears.

The viscount and what sounded like two other men stood before a fountain depicting Poseidon rising from the sea. Cole halted in the shadows out of sight and unabashedly eavesdropped. They spoke first of horses, and then of the card games due to begin after dinner that evening. Bored, Cole had taken two steps away when Christina's name reached his ears.