To Love and Cherish (25 page)

Melinda wasn't certain she liked that idea. No telling what Mrs. Mifflin had on her mind. She'd best deflect her. Otherwise, the older woman would use the time to further berate Evan and her. She picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it between her fingers. “How is Sally? I've had only one letter from her since I left, although I've written her several times.”

Mrs. Mifflin straightened as though she'd been poked with a hatpin. “Sally?” The question had obviously disturbed her train of thought. “Oh, she's doing fine. She's far too busy reading everyone else's mail to take time to write her own letters. And of course she's still busy passing gossip from one servant to the next. I never could trust Sally to keep a confidence. Unfortunately, I still can't.” She frowned as she uttered the comment. She pointed at the sandwich. “Keep eating.”

Melinda dutifully took a bite of the sandwich. She hoped Mr. Zimmerman didn't choose to walk through the front portion of the clubhouse any time soon. The sight of his leisure activities manager sitting in the parlor nibbling a sandwich and sipping water wouldn't set well with the supervisor.

“While you're eating, I want to make you a proposition. Please don't answer right away. I want you to take time and think before you respond. Will you do that?”

Melinda bobbed her head and pointed to her mouth. Why did the woman instruct her to eat and then ask questions?

“Ever since you left Cleveland, I have been struggling with one lady's maid after another. Heaven knows I've done everything possible to be kind and to give them opportunity to learn, but it has proved impossible.” She pointed to her head. “If you could see my hair beneath this hat, you would be appalled by the mess. I can't find one maid who can fashion my hair. I end up with some hideous style, or the minute I walk out of the room, the pins are falling and so is my coiffure.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I need you to return, Melinda. I will double your wages. You would be paid more than any other lady's maid in all of Cleveland. And I promise that in addition to Sundays off, I'd permit you two, no three, additional days a month off work.” She bowed her head and stared at her hands. “And I promise I'll do my best to treat you with much greater kindness. I truly want you to return, and I hope that you'll consider my offer.”

Melinda gulped hard to force down the piece of sandwich now lodged in her throat. Had it not been for the pain in her throat, she would have believed she was in the midst of a strange dream. She picked up the plate and moved it back onto the tray before wiping the corners of her mouth with the napkin. “Thank you very much for your kind offer, Mrs. Mifflin, but—”

She held up her hand. “You promised you wouldn't give an immediate answer. I want you to take several days to think about my proposal.” She patted Melinda's hand. “You should thoroughly consider not only what I've offered but your future here at Bridal Veil. I don't want to be negative, but it does seem that your young suitor isn't as intent upon marriage as you are.”

The words scorched her heart like a hot branding iron. Thankfully, Mrs. Mifflin didn't want to hear any further defense of Evan's position, for Melinda had already begun to wonder about Evan's commitment to her. Did his delay hinge upon the offer of Harland's old position or upon his hope for time to win Victoria?

February 1899

Evan strode toward the barn, surprised to see several of the guests gathered nearby. All of them were men who'd become regulars at the racetrack—either because their horses were competing in the races or because they enjoyed gambling. They were circled together and appeared to be deep in discussion, though the fact that they'd chosen to talk near the corral rather than go into the lodge surprised Evan. But long ago he'd learned not to intrude on private conversations, so he bowed his head, skirted the edge of the path, and continued toward the barn.

“Evan! Come over here!”

He turned to see Mr. Jacoby, one of the guests and an owner of a racehorse, waving him toward the group. As Evan took long determined steps in their direction, the short rotund man with a ruddy complexion continued to motion him forward with frantic gestures.

“How can I help, Mr. Jacoby?”

The man shifted from foot to foot, his protruding belly swaying with each movement. “We have some questions about the horse stabled in that structure over near the chicken coops. Mr. Zimmerman tells me the horse belongs to Lawrence Colson. He also tells me that Lawrence works for you.”

Evan frowned. “I think Mr. Zimmerman may have been confused. Garrison O'Sullivan is Lawrence's supervisor. I was in charge of some of the work at the racetrack when it was being constructed, and Lawrence helped a great deal with that project. However, Mr. O'Sullivan is actually his supervisor.” Thoughts of his earlier conversation with the young stableboy came to mind. Evan had intended to meet with Lawrence, but he hadn't had time to seek him out, and their paths hadn't crossed. “Is there some sort of problem regarding the horse?”

Mr. Jacoby rested his arm on the wood fencing. “I took a ride over there earlier today, and that horse looks a lot like Fulton Overbrook's horse, Midnight Flight
.
”

The man looked at Evan as though his comment should evoke some response, but Evan didn't know Mr. Overbrook or his horse. “I suppose you could speak to Lawrence. I don't have any information about the previous owner.” Evan didn't want to mention that Lawrence had won the animal in a game of cards.

“Mr. Overbrook lives in Cleveland.” Mr. Jacoby inhaled as though he couldn't get enough air. “I live in Cleveland, as well.”

This entire conversation was making no sense. Evan couldn't be rude, yet he didn't have sufficient time for idle chatter. “I'm certain Cleveland is a fine city.” As he uttered the response, realization struck. “Lawrence Colson has lived in Cleveland, so you two should have a little in common. I understand he's sometimes in the clubhouse with Preston Powers. You might be able to find him there of an evening.”

The men nodded and someone muttered, “I'm not sure they spend as much time in the clubhouse as they do
entertaining
in the Radcliffes' guesthouse.”

Several of the men snickered, and another said, “They host private card games, and I understand the stakes get quite high.”

Mr. Jacoby arched his bushy brows and waved the men to silence. “Here's the thing, Evan. The racehorse, Midnight Flight
,
was stolen from Mr. Overbrook back in October. I don't want to make false accusations, but the horse that Lawrence supposedly owns bears a strong resemblance to the stolen horse.” He cleared his throat. “And the fact that Mr. Colson lived in Cleveland raises my suspicion. When did you say he came to Bridal Veil?”

Evan clenched his hands. He was being baited, and he didn't like it. If these men truly believed what they said, they should confront Lawrence, not him. In spite of the afternoon warmth, the idea that the horse might be stolen caused a chilling effect to sweep over Evan. Melinda would be devastated if the accusations proved to be true. Although she acknowledged her brother to be a bit of a rogue, Lawrence was her only living relative, and she loved him. “I didn't say when he arrived, Mr. Jacoby. However, it sounds as though you have a good idea where to find Lawrence. I suggest you speak to him if you have concerns.”

Mr. Jacoby's complexion deepened to the shade of a beet. “One of the maids who cleans our rooms tells me that Miss Colson, the activities manager, is related to Lawrence. A sister, I believe she said.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pipe. “The maid also mentioned that you and Miss Colson have plans to marry.” He tamped tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, and then looked at Evan. “That being the case, I'm thinking you might be willing to protect Mr. Colson.”

Every muscle in Evan's body tightened. A flash of pain shot from his clenched jaw to the top of his head. This man was accusing him of being involved in a crime. And not just any crime, but horse thievery. He knew the rules of courtesy required he remain civil, yet everything within him wanted to punch Mr. Jacoby's bulbous nose.

He inhaled a calming breath and forced himself to speak in a normal tone. “I believe there are any number of people who can assure you that I am not a horse thief, and I would not knowingly protect anyone who had stolen a horse. However, let me again suggest that if you have questions, you direct them to Mr. Colson. My information on the subject is truly limited.”

“I have every intention of doing so, Evan. And I do hope he has some answers that will prove me wrong.” Mr. Jacoby lit a match, held it to the pipe tobacco, and puffed. “Otherwise, I may have to come back and visit further with you.”

Evan's anger mounted as the other men nodded and murmured their agreement. He had known some of these men since he'd first arrived at Bridal Veil. How could they possibly believe he would be involved in stealing a horse? Blood pumped through his veins like a raging river.

Evan shook his head in disgust. “If there are no further accusations you wish to make, I have work that needs my attention, gentlemen.” No doubt one of the men would report his cutting remark to Mr. Zimmerman, but at the moment he didn't care.

A few of the men appeared shocked, but Evan didn't apologize. Instead, he strode toward the hunting lodge. Once he completed Victoria's lesson, he would make time to seek out Lawrence. He only hoped he could speak to him before Mr. Jacoby and his group returned to the clubhouse and began to hurl accusations.

After closing the distance between the barn and lodge at a breakneck pace, Evan took the porch steps two at a time, flung open the door, and let it slam behind him. He did his best to fight against an inward groan when he caught sight of Victoria. His riding student sat perched on the edge of the sofa and jumped to her feet as soon as he crossed the threshold.

She hurried toward him, her lips in a pout. “You're late again, Evan.” She shook her finger like an annoyed mother reprimanding a young child.

After the heated exchange with the men over at the barn, Victoria's behavior set his teeth on edge. Rather than performing his primary duties, it seemed his every action had to delight the Bridal Veil visitors. How could he oversee daily operations at the racetrack, continue progress on the golf course, and make certain enough game was available for the hunters, plus complete all of his previous duties? The thought made his head hurt, and Victoria's reprimand caused his pain to reach new heights.

She grasped his arm and gazed at him. “You're a very bad boy, Evan. I've been waiting for nearly half an hour. I thought we'd come to an understanding the last time you were late.” She lifted her free hand and traced her finger across his lips. Evan tipped his head away from her touch. “You're going to make me think that I'm not important to you.” Pushing her lips into another exaggerated pout, she leaned against him. “I truly don't want to tell Mr. Morley you're not giving me the attention I deserve.” Still clutching his arm, she leaned close.

Evan couldn't possibly say what he was thinking. He'd be fired if he told Victoria what she truly deserved. He nodded toward the barn. “I was delayed by other guests at the barn. If they're still out there, I suggest you voice your disapproval to them.” He forced a weak smile. “Whether I have an appointment with you or not, I can't ignore other guests when they approach me. If it makes you feel any better, I would have been a few minutes early had I not been detained at the barn.”

Her pout diminished and she gave a slight nod. “It does make me feel better. I'm pleased to know you were eager to spend time with me.”

He attempted to pull loose from her grip. How had she come to that conclusion from what he'd said? Victoria could twist a string of words into a knot faster than anyone he'd ever met.

He looked down at her hands on his sleeve. “If you don't release my arm, I'm not going to be able to change clothes and take you for your riding lesson.”

“You don't need to change clothes. I won't mind getting a little dirt on my dress—as long as it comes from you.”

He took a sidestep and put a little distance between them. He should have stayed outside with the men; it would have been safer. He glanced at his arm and then at her. “Either way, you're going to have to let go of me.”

She grinned and nodded as she loosened her hold, but the moment he turned toward the door, she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and held on with a death grip.

So much for his momentary freedom.

Instead of taking one of the longer trails, Evan suggested they have a brief lesson and then ride over to the clubhouse. “I have some business to see to over there, and I can return your horse when I ride back to the lodge.”

Victoria responded with a shriek of delight that caused him to think he'd made a horrible mistake. “Oh, that will be great fun! I do hope there will be lots of people out on the lawn to see me riding with you.”

Her words singed him like a hot flame. He longed to abandon the suggestion, but Victoria would obviously object. What had he been thinking? He prayed that if Melinda was present, she'd give him an opportunity to explain.

During Victoria's lesson and afterwards as they rode toward the clubhouse, he silently condemned his foolishness. Granted, he needed to speak with Lawrence, but riding to the clubhouse with Victoria was pure folly. The moment they were in sight of guests playing bocce on the front lawn, she began to wave her riding crop overhead.

Evan gritted his teeth while wishing he could vanish into thin air. “Hold the reins properly, Victoria. You don't have correct form when you're waving your arm. And the horse doesn't understand why you're bouncing about, either.”

Any number of guests ceased their activities and turned to stare at them. Although Victoria's horse appeared unperturbed by her frantic movements, Evan was greatly troubled. No doubt Melinda would receive a full report of this event. He cringed at the thought and knew he must find her and explain before he returned to the lodge.

They dismounted at the side of the clubhouse and Evan tied the horses. Rather than go inside immediately, Victoria waited for him and clung to his arm as they walked inside, he in his dirty work clothes, she in her perfect riding skirt and matching jacket.

“Please excuse me, Victoria, but I have business that requires my attention. I'll see you for your next lesson.” He had to yank in order to free himself from her clutches.

Once again, her lip protruded into a larger-than-life pout. “I wish you would play a game of croquet with me.”

“I am not one of the guests, Victoria. I think there are any number of young men who would enjoy your company out on the lawn.” He backed away. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Not wanting Victoria to follow, Evan continued to walk backward toward Melinda's office. Victoria motioned, but he ignored her and backed into Mr. Zimmerman with a thud.

Victoria giggled as she lifted a hand to her lips. “I tried to warn you.”

Mr. Zimmerman brushed his suit with the palm of his hand. “Do watch where you're going, Evan. What if you'd backed into one of the maids carrying a tea tray? Think what a mess we would have had in the middle of the foyer.”

“I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Zimmerman. It won't happen again.”

Evan glanced toward Melinda's office, and the supervisor shook his head. “This is her afternoon off work, and she's gone out with Mr. Powers, I believe.” He tugged on his thin mustache. “I don't approve of the staff mingling with guests, but Mr. Powers can be quite insistent. The man positively badgered me until I agreed. . . . After all, we must keep the guests happy.”

So Melinda was keeping company with Preston Powers, and the talk among the maids was correct. Evan felt as though he'd received a fist to his midsection. The silence stretched between the two men until Mr. Zimmerman finally arched his brows. “Was there some other matter you wished to discuss?”

“Lawrence—Melinda's brother,” he stammered. “Do you know where I might find him?”

Mr. Zimmerman tipped his head. “Lawrence works for Garrison O'Sullivan, doesn't he? Why would I know his whereabouts?”