ToLoveaLady (14 page)

Cecily patted her shoulder. She’d asked her own variation of that question more times than she could count since coming to Texas. “I don’t know, Alice, but somehow we do.”

“I saw Lord Silsbee take off riding a while ago, m’lady.” Alice composed herself and turned to Cecily. “Did you have a nice supper?”

Cecily shook her head. “Not especially, no.” She looked down at her folded hands.

“I’m sorry to hear that, m’lady. I’ve always thought Lord Silsbee to be a fine man.”

“He is a fine man, Alice. But I’m not sure he wants to marry me anymore.” The words hurt to say, like glass in her throat. But she couldn’t run away from that truth any longer. She’d mistakenly thought coming to Texas would change what he had so clearly communicated in his letters to her, but tonight’s conversation left no more room for doubt.

Alice looked stern. “Maybe it’s Texas. All this drabness and wide open spaces plays tricks with a man’s mind, makes him think he’s bigger than he is, not needing a woman.”

“Or maybe Texas is playing tricks on us,” Cecily said. “Making us think we’re big enough to change a man’s mind when it’s made up.”

“What are you going to do, m’lady? You come all this way to marry Lord Silsbee. Will you go home in disgrace?” She sounded close to tears again.

But Cecily refused to give in to weeping. “If I go home, it will be with my head held high.” She stared down at the ring on the third finger of her left hand. The sapphire surrounded by pearls in a setting of pure gold had belonged to Charles’s grandmother. He’d presented it to her the evening their engagement was formally announced. That night, she’d floated on a cloud of happiness, sure nothing could ever take away the perfection of that moment, the realization of her life’s dream.

Her dream had not changed, even if the fairy-tale bliss of that night had faded. “I won’t go home just yet,” she said firmly. “I’m still Charles’s fiancé, until he says otherwise.”

“That you are, m’lady.”

She turned once more to Alice and took her hand. “Let’s make a pact.”

Alice looked uncomfortable. “What kind of pact, m’lady?”

“We won’t give up on our stubborn men until we know we’ve done everything in our power to make them see the error of their ways.”

Alice looked doubtful. “If Fifi and Estelle’s way didn’t work, what else can we do?”

“We can approach this like any clever English woman — with beauty, and charm, and the quality we excel at — diplomacy.”

“What’s diplomacy, m’lady?”

“Diplomacy is what allows an English woman to give a tea for a hundred guests, half of whom are not speaking to each other, and have the whole thing declared an unqualified success. Diplomacy enables an Englishwoman to manage a household with a dozen servants and half a dozen family members while simultaneously chairing the ladies society orphans fund drive and entertaining her husband’s parents for three weeks. Diplomacy can persuade a man to pay for a hat he detests and to attend a dinner with two other couples who bore him, and diplomacy will convince him to like both the hat and the other couples by the end of the evening.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “You can do all that with diplomacy?”

She smiled. “I can. And I will. And you will too. Charles and Nick won’t know what hit them.”

* * *

“I’d like you to take Lady Cecily into town for me this morning, Gordon.” Charles knotted his necktie and studied his reflection in the dresser mirror.

“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I don’t believe that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” He turned from the mirror and faced his valet.

Gordon fixed his attention on the boots he was blacking. “If I drive into town with Lady Thorndale at my side, there might be talk.”

“What kind of talk?” He frowned. He didn’t have time for debate. He wanted to be out of the house long before Cecily was up and about.

Gordon scowled at a scuff on the toe of one boot and rubbed in more polish. “People might think there was some improper relationship between us.”

“Improper relationship?” Charles shrugged into his jacket.
 
“And just why would they think that?”

Gordon went right on rubbing in polish as if he’d said nothing the least bit shocking. “You know these Texans, m’lord. Rank and position mean nothing to them. If they saw Lady Thorndale and myself together in town, they would wonder why you weren’t escorting her yourself. Then they would likely jump to the conclusion — in error, of course — that I had replaced you in the lady’s affections.”

“Of all the preposterous ideas!” Not that he meant to insult Gordon, but he was a valet. An earl’s daughter wouldn’t even consider an alliance with anything less than a viscount.

Would she?
 

“I’m sure it would be best for all concerned if you would escort Lady Thorndale this morning,” Gordon said without a change of expression.

Best for everyone but me,
Charles thought ruefully. He turned back to the mirror and ran a comb through his hair. He would rather have faced a firing squad than Cecily’s accusing eyes this morning. “The truth, Gordon, is that I’m a coward.”

“A coward, sir? I should think not.” Gordon set aside the boot and stared at him in the mirror.

“Lady Cecily and I had words at supper last night. I’m afraid I did not act in the most gentlemanly manner toward her.” He’d lain awake long into the night, rehashing the conversation they’d had. By the time gray dawn lightened the room, he’d reached the conclusion that he’d behaved abominably. Cecily had poured out her heart to him and he’d rebuffed her, a cad returning an unwanted gift.

“I can’t think you would have done anything so terrible that Lady Thorndale could not find it in her heart to forgive you.” Gordon picked up the boot and his polishing cloth once more. “Most women seem accepting of the fact that men will behave badly at times. I think they even expect it of us.”

“Lady Cecily is not most women, Gordon. She has no brothers or close male cousins. Her experience with men is rather limited.”

“Of course, m’lord.” Gordon regarded the polished boot and gave a nod of satisfaction, then picked up the unpolished mate. “Still, women talk amongst themselves. You may find that she is willing to forget last night’s mistakes and move on from there.”

Either that, or she’ll cut me dead and demand a ticket on the next train out of town.
True, he’d wanted her to return home, but not with this hurt between them. Laying aside the comb, he straightened his shoulders. “Better take my punishment like a man.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll have the buggy brought ‘round after breakfast.”

Despite his intention to escape the house ahead of her, he found Cecily already in the dining room when he arrived, her back to him as she helped herself to eggs and toast from the sideboard. He paused in the doorway and allowed himself the luxury of really looking at her. Her stylish dress, with its nipped-in waist and fashionable bustle, called attention to her elegant figure. Her strawberry locks were piled high, revealing the delicate white column of her neck. Charles curled his fingers into his palms, remembering the softness of her skin.

She turned to walk back to the table and caught him staring. Color bloomed on her cheeks, but she did not look away. “Good morning, Charles,” she murmured.

“Good morning, Cecily.” He jerked his gaze from hers and strode to the coffee urn. “I trust you’ll be ready to leave immediately after breakfast.”

“I’m looking forward to touring Fairweather with you.”
 

He could feel her gaze on him as he poured coffee and stirred in cream. He searched his mind for the words to frame an apology for his behavior last night, but he suddenly had all the sense of an idiot, his thoughts mired in a mud of nervousness. In the end, he mumbled something about seeing her in a moment, and took his coffee into the study, where he could enjoy it away from her disturbing presence.

She was waiting in the front hall when he emerged at last, a ribbon-trimmed bonnet framing her face, white gloves fitted to her slender hands. She smiled when their eyes met, and he felt the force of that look in the depths of his gut. Had she truly forgiven him, then, or was this some perverse plan to heighten his guilt?

He helped her into the buggy and they set off. They were both silent for a mile or two, Charles sorting through things he hadn’t yet found the courage to say and things better left unsaid. Which sentiments were which wasn’t always clear.
 

“Charles, what kind of tree is that over there? The short one with all the pods hanging about?”
 

Cecily waved her handkerchief off to her left and he followed her gaze. “That’s a mesquite tree,” he said. “Considered quite a nuisance by most ranchers, though the natives apparently made meal out of the beans it produces. And it has a fragrant blossom in the spring.”

She smiled. “I knew you would know.”

“How did you know that?”

“When I was very small, and you were still at home, I remember how you would lead us all on tramps across the moor. You would collect specimens of all the plants and make it your business to find out what each one was named.”

He looked at her in amazement. He’d forgotten all about those nature walks. It had become habit after so long to learn everything he could about whatever environment he was in. He’d spent many enjoyable hours since coming to Texas learning its flora and fauna. “My father always thought my collecting a great waste of time,” he said after a moment. “He said I was meant to be a businessman, not a naturalist.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both.”

A businessman chained to a desk indoors, and a naturalist tramping the fields? He didn’t see how he could be both. But the fact that she would think so intrigued him. He turned to her. “What about you, did you always aspire to be an earl’s wife?” He’d meant the question to sound joking, but it came out entirely too serious in tone.

She looked at him, face all sincerity. “I knew I could never be anything else. Though as I’ve grown older, I have discovered more room to define exactly what sort of wife I’ll be.”

“And what sort is that?”

She raised her chin. Did she mean to look so defiant? “I would like to be partner to my husband, sharing his interests, his joys and concerns. I see too many men and women, who, though married, live in completely different spheres, cut off from one another. It seems a very lonely kind of life for them both.”

She had just described the typical British marriage –at least among those of their class. He had never given much thought to any other kind of relationship between man and wife. Yet Cecily seemed to see the possibility for more. He looked at her again — she was staring out across the prairie, her profile as lovely as any Venus or Helen. Were her ideas about marriage as mythical as the goddesses she reminded him of?

They reached the first clusters of buildings that marked the edge of town. The houses were small, built of rough-sawn lumber, few sporting even the luxury of paint. But they were uniformly neat, laid out in orderly blocks, closer together as they traveled toward the center of town. Soon the houses were replaced altogether by stores: Mrs. Miner’s Millinery, Pete Allen’s Cattle Brokerage, Garcia’s Fresh-Cut Meats, Lloyd House Hotel, the Fairweather
Sentinel.

Cecily sat forward on the seat, her face alight with eagerness as she tried to see everything at once. People stopped and stared as the buggy drove past, admiration evident in their expressions. Charles sat up straighter and coaxed the team into a smarter step. The townspeople had come to expect a good show from him, their only claim to royalty. He certainly wasn’t disappointing them today, with a beauty like Cecily by his side.

“Hullo, Worthington!”

“Good morning, Mr. Worthington!”

“‘Mornin’, Charlie!”

Men hailed him from every corner as he drove along Fairweather’s main street. Charles tipped his hat and returned the greetings. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Cecily smiling at him. “Everyone is so informal here,” she said.

“Texans set little store by titles and position. A person has to earn their respect.” He tipped his hat to a trio of women in front of the millinery, setting them to blushing. “It’s disconcerting at first, but I’ve grown used to it.”

“I. . . I think I could grow to like it, even.”

He guided the buggy to a parking place in front of Perkins’ general store. When he came around and helped Cecily to alight, his hands lingered at her waist, reluctant to let her go. She seemed hesitant to part from him as well, her hand on his shoulder long after the time she should have properly moved it.

Resolutely, he set her away from him. “I have some business to see to first, then I’ll take you on a tour of the shops.”

Arm in arm, they started up the steps to the store, but just as they reached the wide veranda across its front, the door burst open and a young woman charged out, almost bowling them over in her haste.

“Careful there!” Charles caught hold of the girl’s shoulders, steadying her. Now that he had a good look at her, he recognized Caroline Allen, daughter of cattle broker Pete Allen. She had her father’s dark hair and wide forehead, though her features were decidedly more delicate. Given a few more years, she might actually grow to be a handsome woman.