Wildblossom (21 page)

Shelby wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss the top of his bald head, but refrained, beaming instead. She giggled. "Geoff went absolutely wild every time I said 'Percy' to him."

"No doubt. I should enjoy that spectacle myself. I suggest that you say it to my face when he is present."

Laughing, Shelby agreed, then remarked that she was going to tidy up inside. A bad liar, she could feel the heat in her face the very instant she spoke the words, but hoped that the brevity of her deceit prevented Manypenny from noticing.

Miserably, she thought that she was a terrible person. Her heart was pounding as she crept down the hallway to Geoffrey's room, clutching a silly-looking feather duster in one hand. The door was ajar. Shelby stepped in, nearly sick with anxiety, and inhaled Geoff's faint, appealing scent. It clung lightly to everything he touched; it was still on her other pillow.
Geoff's pillow,
she thought, welcoming the giddy tide of emotion. Anything to distract her from the self-loathing that kept rising in her throat.

It was the first time in her life she'd done such a thing; she'd had always been honest to a fault.

Shelby looked around the room with a lover's fascination. The quilts on Geoff's bed were smoothed and folded back to reveal two snowy pillows. Tasteful ivory-handled grooming implements were arranged in a row on the bureau: a brush and a comb, a small mirror, and a razor. Nearby were a tin of after-shave alum and a blue and white mug containing a cake of shaving soap. Shelby lifted the cup and smelled it, analyzing Geoff's own scent—part fresh "gentleman of quality" soap from Trumper's of London, part Wyoming sunshine and mountain breezes, and part horses and sweat and a touch of smoke. It was a highly appealing combination.

Steeling herself then, she began to search. She opened his drawers, where underclothes and handkerchiefs were neatly arranged. There was a book in the drawer. Thumbing through it, she discovered that Geoff kept a journal, writing sporadically rather than daily. Because the letter wasn't in the journal, she replaced it.

Other drawers held clothing purchased in Cody: trousers of khaki and denim, union suits in soft gray, cotton shirts, heavy socks, kerchiefs. No letter.

A sudden noise set Shelby's heart thundering again. She tiptoed to the hallway and listened, but the house was quiet. Hurrying back, she lifted the lid of the canvas-covered trunk at the foot of the bed and rifled through the books she and Geoff had shared. Just the sight of the leather-bound, gold-stamped volumes of Tennyson and the
Rubaiyat
made her eyes sting.

Memories, but no letter.

Short of looking under his mattress, Shelby could only turn to the one other trunk that Geoff still kept in his bedroom, for the others were stored now in the barn loft. This was a magnificent wardrobe trunk, standing on end in the corner by the bureau, and it was open a few inches... beckoning her to explore. Tentatively, she pushed the two sides farther apart, awed by the Louis Vuitton trunk's expensive interior.

One side featured a brass bar on which were hung clothes she'd never seen: tweed suits, jodhpurs for riding, and handsome gabardine trousers and wool jackets. The rest of the wardrobe trunk was made up of compartments for such necessities as hats, handmade shoes, and accessories including braces, collars and cuffs, ties, gloves, and driving goggles with glass lenses.

Shelby's palms were damp with anxiety. She was ready to give up when she pulled open a last built-in drawer and discovered stacks of personal items. There was jewelry: a gold watch and cuff links, and a signet ring engraved with the Marquess of Sandhurst's crest. A slate-gray ribbon bound photographs of people whom Shelby assumed were family members, and letters. One had come to him a few days ago in Cody, and the paper was engraved with the crest of the Duke of Aylesbury. She saw only that the brief missive was tersely signed, "Your Father."

Shelby was just about to run out of the room to safety when she glimpsed, stuck in the side of the compartment, the ivory envelope from that morning.
Realizing that it was going to change everything
,
she freed the heavy pieces of paper and unfolded them with shaking fingers.

My dear Sandhurst,

I find it impossibly dreary that you've gone to that place at the end of the world, but I suppose I shall have to adjust. What do you do there all day? The one comfort is that there are doubtless plenty of horses. If you find one to bring me as a wedding gift, I imagine it would be a tremendous conversation piece. Perhaps we could have it properly trained and race it at Ascot...

The rest of the letter blurred before Shelby's eyes as one word rang in her mind:
wedding.
But no—Clementine Beech hadn't
named
her future bridegroom, had she? Clinging to a thin reed of hope, Shelby read on:

I'm wretched at letter-writing, darling, but I saw your mother yesterday and she urged me to dash off a note. It wouldn't do for you to forget me, would it? At least I am consoled by the fact that there are more
horses than females in Wyoming, hmm? I've no doubt that you'll come home to me, and sooner than you think. You're an Englishman, Geoffrey dear, and a nobleman, and you belong here. Mummy longs to begin planning a Christmas wedding. I must dash. We're trying a new course for field trials this afternoon and I've a new stallion to ride. Gloucestershire is lovelier than ever...

Your own Clementine

"Damn!" Shelby whispered as she digested the harsh facts dished out by Lady Clementine Beech. A heavy weight of despair pressed her heart. And yet, in spite of the bitter disappointment, she was grateful for the truth. If she kept trying not to think about the real life that was waiting for Geoff back in England, she'd only be more devastated in the end.

After all, it couldn't really be possible that her recent bliss could be pure and unfettered, could it? She had been a practical person since babyhood. Perhaps it was better to know how matters really stood, and then she could guard herself a bit more carefully against the day when Geoff would go away.

Still, it hurt. Tears burned Shelby's throat and her thoughts tangled in confusion.
Could real love be turned off like a faucet?

"Ah-hemm!" The sound of Manypenny loudly clearing his throat rumbled from the hallway, jolting Shelby back to reality. It almost seemed that he was warning her of his approach, and she barely had time to stuff the pages back into the envelope and push it into the wardrobe compartment. Flushed with panic, she looked around for the feather duster and grabbed it just as the elderly manservant appeared in the doorway. He merely regarded her, tilting his big head slightly to one side—knowingly, Shelby thought.

"I—I was just—dusting!" she exclaimed, and flicked the feather duster to and fro over Geoff's trunk with exaggerated vigor. But the room was already spotless.

"Miss Matthews," he intoned, each weighted word bone-dry, "if you felt that it was necessary to make a special effort to put my master's bedchamber... in order, then I can only hope that you accomplished your objective."

She scurried past him, cheeks burning, and paused to dust the door frame. "Every now and then I feel the urge to do something domestic...."

"Of course you do. And that is your right." After a moment's effective silence, Manypenny added, "I came to tell you that we appear to have a visitor. He won't come down from his conveyance, but he is making a great deal of noise, and I thought you should be informed." The Englishman watched the blood drain from Shelby's cheeks before he added, "Although I have not been formally introduced, my powers of deduction suggest that our caller is the knavish Mr. Croll."

* * *

"I'd like to know where you was last night, Limey!" Bart Croll was shouting at Geoff as Shelby came running out of the house. When he gestured with a fist, he nearly struck his wife, who cowered beside him on the buckboard seat.

"Are you accusing Mr. Weston of a crime?" countered Titus, who had just come from the corral to join Geoff and Ben on the ground. "If so, why not come to the point? Make your charges and state your proof."

The weather-beaten old man narrowed his eyes. "I don't got proof, I got suspicions." He looked at Geoff again. "Why didn't you come t'the poker game in Cody?"

"Me an' Titus got home from Billings last night," Ben put in. "Geoff was ready to go, but he gave it up when we came."

"You should be glad, Mr. Croll!" Shelby said, laughing. "After all, the last time Geoff played poker in Cody, he won half our ranch! He's dangerously good." As she spoke she glanced over at Vivian Croll, who couldn't take her eyes off her. "I don't believe we've met, Mrs. Croll." Warmly, Shelby reached up to clasp the older woman's hand. "My name is Shelby Matthews and it's a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

"No!" her husband barked, and Vivian flinched. "She don't need any of your goldurned fancy
tea!"

Geoff spoke at last. "Mr. Croll, I'm curious to know what exactly it is you suspect me of
doing
last night...?"

"I—well—" he muttered, eyes darting furtively, "I'm missin' some cattle."

"Really! Then we
share
that problem! Perhaps there's a rustler at work in the area. Will you inform Marshal Burns?"

"Nah. Can't prove nothin'. I, uh, hadn't branded 'em yet."

"Were they calves, then?"

"I gotta get home now. Viv's got chores t'do." Bart Croll slapped the reins on the horses' backs and they lurched forward, circling the yard and starting back down the drive toward the road.

"Good-bye!" Shelby, Geoff, Ben, and Titus called in unison.

Only Vivian Croll turned back, daring to raise a hand to wave farewell. Even from a distance her expression was tragic, and Shelby understood why Geoff had been so moved by her plight. She looked up at him now, Clementine Beech forgotten in the midst this present drama, and saw that his brown eyes were agleam with emotion.

"She didn't tell him," Geoff said softly to no one in particular. "Last night, Vivian came out—virtually caught me on their land—and I told her the truth. She even had a gun, but when she heard my story, she agreed that we were right. She hates him." He sighed. "I was afraid that he would break her with his threats, or worse, but she must be stronger than she looks."

"It's more than just hatred that Vivian feels," Shelby cried, seizing on this distraction from her own heartache. "She's afraid! We'll have to find a way to help her."

"Yeah, right, and probably get ourselves killed for tryin'!" Ben said with a derisive snort. "Bart Croll and his cousin Ted don't give a damn about killin' folks who step on their toes. I should of known that you'd find a way to get on his bad side while my back was turned! If there's trouble, you find it, and now you're takin' Geoff with you." He shook his head of sandy hair. "I'm tellin' you, Shel, you can't mess with that man's
wife.
He lives by the laws of the
West
,
an' he'll shoot you as soon as look at you."

Ben turned and stalked off toward the barn and Titus followed. Geoff remained with Shelby. Without a word, he led her to the veranda and they sat down together on a wicker settee.

Quickly it came to her that it was the first time they'd been alone since their interlude in bed. "My heart aches for Vivan," she said.

Geoff nodded, reaching for her slim hand. Tenderly, he traced the outline of her palm with a tanned finger, longing to kiss it instead. "I know. And what else does your heart feel today?"

A wave of emotion made her look away. What could she say to him now? "As you are doubtless aware, I am a fully grown woman and my heart is very strong."

He touched the far edge of her jaw, gently tilting her face in his direction. "How well I know it. But I have to ask... are you having regrets?"

Shelby shook her head and, with an effort, met his searching gaze. "No. No regrets."

"I took advantage of you in a moment of weakness. You parted with a precious gift and I'm not certain I deserved it."

She prayed he couldn't see the moisture in her eyes. "Of course you did... and you gave me a gift last night, too. We're quite even."

After a moment, Geoff gathered her into his arms and held her close, achingly aware of the familiar contours of her body and the pulse of her heart. He sensed that she secretly yearned for assurances, even promises, from him that he couldn't find a way to offer.

"Geoff?" Her voice was soft against his shoulder.

He stroked her hair. "I'm listening."

"Let's not talk about this again, all right?"

PART 2