The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (93 page)

“A summary is sufficient,” Papa said, but he looked impressed.

“Of course.” Charlotte folded the telegram and returned it to her reticule then took a deep breath. “Mr. Pembroke is Viscount Hambly’s barrister. Or is it solicitor? I never can remember the difference. Anyway, my best guess is they are looking to add to the property already in their possession so as to sweeten the deal they’re making.”

“It’s solicitor.” Papa shook his head. “What deal? Far as Hiram and I can tell, it’s merely a speculative transaction with one miner offering another a chance at digging a little deeper to make a profit. It doesn’t hurt that this would finally put to rest the ridiculous accusations that Beck Mining has somehow extracted silver from Hambly properties.”

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “but I have inside information that the Hambly family plans to sell their mines to a consortium of investors actively looking to build an observatory. My source tells me it’s all but a done deal.”

“Your source?” he said.

Charlotte linked arms with her father. “Truly, Papa, are you still skeptical?”

“No, but I am curious. How did you come by this information?”

She pursed her lips as she recalled the two kisses. “There was a small fire. Nothing intentional, mind you. But Viscount Hambly happened to be in the vicinity and, well, as you can imagine, I was upset at having my ribbons singed.”

“Of course.”

“And he was quite helpful in …” Charlotte paused. “He was quite helpful. And quite willing to speak without considering that I, a mere woman, might actually be listening and taking note of the topic. So, Papa, what do you think of my proposition?”

“You made a proposition?” He shook his head. “Remind me what it was.”

“I’m going to run your company someday, Papa.” She grinned. “But today, just promise I’ll be attending Wellesley when the new term begins.”

Papa raised a brow. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am, and I’ll not change my mind,” she said. “I want you to be proud of me.”

The truth, she realized, and the whole reason for everything else.

“Then you must promise not to give up on your painting,” he said. “Colonel Cody will have my head if he learns I’ve kept his favorite artist from her craft. And I enjoy your work. You’ve quite the talent.”

“Of course,” she said, her hopes rising. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got four canvases rolled and ready to send to him. Once we finally set sail, the return voyage was quite uneventful, so I was able to paint every day.”

“Excellent.” Her father gathered Charlotte into an embrace. “I expected you to be furious with me for refusing to allow your New York debut. I thought you might never forgive me for that.”

Charlotte affected a demure look that would have made Miss Pence proud. “Oh, Papa,” she said sweetly, “Not forgive you? Perish the thought!”

“Very funny,” he said, releasing her. “Now go tell my wife I’ll be around to fetch her to the railcar in a few hours.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Whatever for?”

“We’re going home to the ranch. I’ve no need to continue meetings here, do I? Not when I’ve been given important information that completely changes the face of the negotiations.”

Charlotte smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

“That’s right.” Papa gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Not when I can speak to that architect personally. What was his name?” He waved away her response. “Never mind. Sanders will know.”

She turned in the direction of the hotel with a broad smile. Were she not of better and more refined stock, Charlotte might have added a whoop of joy. Instead, she vowed to wait until she reached her chambers.

“Charlotte?”

She turned at the sound of her father’s voice. “Yes?”

“Good job, Buttercup.” He paused. “I’ll have Hiram alert the admissions office at Wellesley that you’ll be accepting their offer of admission after all.”

“Wellesley,” she said under her breath. And then, despite her best intentions, Charlotte let out a whoop that would have made the Wild West show participants proud.

Alex paced his corner room at the Tabor Grand Hotel like a caged tiger. Three floors below on Harrison Street, the citizens of Leadville went about the business of building and losing fortunes, oblivious to the fact that he was about to lose his mind.

As much as Alex trusted Will Pembroke, his preference had been to attend the meeting with the investors himself rather than send his solicitor in his stead. But Pembroke insisted he make the men wait to meet such esteemed nobility, and so, reluctantly, he had.

His project, while he waited, was to reconsider his reluctance to marry some local heiress. Pembroke had not only put together a list of possible candidates, he’d had the audacity to discreetly contact their fathers. One in particular had expressed swift and strong interest in an alliance.

A marriage brokered under such circumstances could not be called anything else.

But whenever Alex tried to think about marrying anyone, his brain refused to allow it. Worse, when pressed, the only face he could imagine on the pillow beside him belonged to the one frustrating female he could
never imagine being betrothed to. Ever since he’d had the bad sense to kiss her, Charlotte Beck had plagued his thoughts and tortured his dreams.

And yet, given the same opportunity, Alex knew he’d kiss her again.

He spied Pembroke crossing Harrison. “Finally,” he muttered. Alex continued pacing until the door finally opened and Will stormed inside.

“You were right.” Will shrugged out of his coat and threw it toward the nearest chair, then tossed his hat after it. Neither reached their destination, but Pembroke didn’t seem to care.

“Right about what?” Alex watched his friend walk to the window then turn and lean against the sill.

“The Becks.” Will spit out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“He didn’t sell?”

“No.” Pembroke took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We were making great headway too. Had the man just about to sign a bill of sale for the mine at a price that was dirt-cheap. Pardon the pun.”

“But he changed his mind,” Alex said.

Pembroke yanked off his collar, and it landed atop his jacket. “Apparently he was persuaded to do so after a conversation with his daughter.”

“His daughter?”

“She said something that caused her father to change his mind.” Will shook his head. “It was like night and day. One minute he was ready to sign and the next he came storming back into the office and sent us all away. Said he had second thoughts and wasn’t selling.”

Alex went to the window and looked down at Harrison Street. From his vantage point he could see most of Leadville and the mines beyond. A dreary sight at best on this cloudy summer day. “And what exactly caused this change?”

“You’d have to ask Miss Beck. Her father offered no reason.” Pembroke went to the writing desk and sat down. “So, have you finished your letter to Mr. Miller regarding a meeting about marriage negotiations once we arrive in Denver? I’d hoped to post it today.”

“About that. I’ve despaired of it. Perhaps you could lend a hand.”

Alex spied a familiar figure some distance down Harrison. Charlotte Beck was making her way toward the corner of Seventh and Harrison. She paused at the corner, then crossed the street, picking her steps with care as she waited for traffic to slow. All the while, the large blue feather adorning her hat bounced up and down as it matched paces with her.

“You want me to write a letter to the father of the woman you’re in negotiations to marry?” Will asked. “In your stead?”

“What?” Alex tore his attention from Charlotte Beck. “Yes, would you? After all, you’re the one negotiating. I’m merely the prize bull up for auction. Or is she the … well, never mind. Just write it, would you?”

“Fine.” Will craned his neck and rose slightly from the chair in order to see what Alex found so interesting. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It is.”

“Are you going to do what I think you are?”

“Probably.” Alex reached for his hat and coat.

He walked out the front door of the Tabor Grand just a moment after Charlotte Beck strolled past. As crowded as Harrison Street was, she seemed to have no trouble navigating around stalled persons and vehicles. He almost lost her twice, but finally three blocks past the hotel, Alex fell into step beside her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Beck,” he said in his most formal voice. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” Owing to the thin air, his greeting lacked enthusiasm. Still, he managed to stop the Beck woman in her tracks.

“Viscount Hambly.” A distinct shade of pink climbed into her cheeks. “I did not expect to find you here in Leadville.”

“No?” He allowed his gaze to slide over the features he’d already memorized. “I have a vague recollection of telling you I would be here.” He met her wide-eyed stare. “I believe it was either before or after our kiss.”

“Kisses,” she corrected without evidence of embarrassment. “As I recall, there were two.”

Not the response he’d expected.

“Well, then,” Miss Beck continued. “Good day, Viscount Hambly.”

And off she went, her blue feather bobbing as she continued down the sidewalk.

“Wait,” he called, heedless that it was the height of impropriety to shout at a woman. Fortunately, none of Leadville’s finest seemed to notice.

She’d already turned onto Chestnut Street when Alex caught her, his lungs burning from the thin air. “Truly, Miss Beck,” he gasped. “You’re not one to stand still for long, are you?”

Miss Beck neither slowed nor offered any recognition that he now walked beside her. The woman was insufferable.

The man was insufferable. Charlotte picked up her pace, determined not to let on that her lungs burned for air. While she’d practically grown up in Leadville, it had been quite some time since she’d been at this elevation.

It would come back to her, she knew, but for now just forcing an even breath took effort. But given the expression on the viscount’s face, the effort was worth it.

Her plan to visit the dressmaker changed as she realized this man would likely follow her inside, and everyone knew gossip started at Trudy’s Hats and Finery. She bypassed her intended destination and set her sites on the livery next door, where Papa kept a buggy and horses. Perhaps she could send Viscount Hambly scurrying back to where he came from by offering to deliver him herself.

“Welcome back, Miss Beck,” the livery boy said.

“Charles.” She gave the boy a wide smile then opened her reticule to offer him a handful of coins. “Might I trouble you to ready Papa’s buggy?”

“Already done it, Miss Beck,” he said as the coins dropped into his pocket. “Standing rule ’round here is t’keep Mr. Beck’s buggy ready to go whenever he’s in town.”

“I see.” She pressed past the viscount without acknowledging him and followed the lad to an open area outside where her father’s main means of transportation waited.

“Might you need someone t’drive you, miss?” the boy asked.

“No need for that,” said the deep voice behind her. “Miss Beck will be perfectly safe with me.”

Before she could form a decent protest, the viscount had climbed into the buggy and taken hold of the reins.

“Well, I never,” she said, but she allowed the lad to help her up beside the Englishman.

Viscount Hambly leaned toward her and grinned. “Not true, Miss Beck,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “You have. Twice.”

She might have swatted him with her fan for his impudence had she not admired his gumption. Charlotte turned away to hide her smile.

By the time the buggy lurched forward, she’d replaced her grin with a sour expression. “Might I inquire as to where we are going?”

Viscount Hambly slid her a sideways look. “Did you not have a destination in mind when you raced over here?”

“I … well … actually, I thought I might just enjoy the weather.” A glance up at the sky exposed the lack of truth in that statement, for ominous clouds bore hard on the western horizon.

“I see.” He nodded. “In that case, I’ve a place I would like you to see. I think you’ll enjoy the weather just fine from there.”

She gripped the edge of the seat as the Englishman whipped the buggy around the corner and blended into the mix of people, wagons, and livestock on Chestnut Street. At Harrison Street, he nearly toppled a street vendor’s handcart when he took the turn too sharply.

“Careful.” Charlotte offered the cursing vendor an apologetic look. Turning to her companion, she added, “You’re a menace, Viscount Hambly.”

His laughter caught her by surprise. “That makes two of us then, Miss Beck.”

Soon the people and wagons were left behind and nothing but the mountains lay ahead, and Charlotte relaxed. The beauty of the landscape—as long as one ignored the blight of the mines—was breathtaking. And though she’d seen the view a thousand times since her first trip to the city, Charlotte never tired of leaning as far as she could over the edge of the buggy to peer down at what lay so far below.