The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (41 page)

“Chandler, please,” she interrupted. “Go wait in whatever conveyance brought you here.”

“Darling, I—”

“Go. Now. Please.” She used the authoritative tone she’d learned with Charlotte, and Chandler, surprised by her force, obeyed.

Until she heard Chandler’s footsteps fade and the front door slam, she barely managed a breath. Woodenly, she went to the library door and shut it, then, in her final act of defiance, turned the key.

She loves you, Papa. Go after her.

The child was obviously deluded.

“Five minutes?” Daniel said. “Do we need even that?”

Gennie did not move from the door, nor did she turn around. His gaze went to the narrow span of her waist, to the spot where his palm had fit so nicely only an hour before.

It seemed like days.

No matter what the banker said about his hold on Gennie, Daniel knew his was stronger. He’d seen it. Felt it.

She was, after all, his wife.

The thought settled heavily on him, along with the realization that the door was locked. He could go to her now. Spin her around and kiss her until she forgot all about the banker. Until he forgot all about having the debacle that was getting their unintentional wedding annulled.

Before good sense could prevail, Daniel went to her. He stood close enough to touch her, though he dared not.

“Turn around.”

She did, looking up with tears coursing down her cheeks. His fingers itched to wipe them away.

Daniel held out his hand. “The key, please.”

She threw it, never removing her eyes from his as it clattered to the floor somewhere behind him.

A moment’s indecision, and he gave in. She kissed him first but he did not protest. In her presence, he was a weak man. And what fault could be found? For today, for now, she was his wife.

Daniel lifted her into his arms and carried her to the settee. He pulled her to him, caring not that her hairpins scattered and her curls tumbled down around them. Not caring for propriety or common sense.

Not even caring an angry banker waited at the curb to take her away.

She was his wife.

Legally.

His.

“No.” The word welled from deep within, salting the wound where his heart had been previously broken. Upon Georgiana’s death, he’d promised God never to repeat the sins of his past. Now he stood poised to once more take another man’s woman.

Gennie moved to kiss him again, but he placed his finger on her lips. “Charlotte is Edwin’s child. Edwin,” he said carefully, “is my brother. I took Georgiana from him.”

Gennie’s curls shone like spun gold in the sunlight. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know why I’m sending you back to the man you promised to marry.”

“I made no such promise.”

“Your father thinks otherwise. I’ve seen the letter.” Daniel left her to retrieve the key and fit it into the lock, freeing himself from the temptation of tossing it out the window and forgetting the proof he’d seen with his own eyes.

He would forget her. A lie, but maybe God would make it true.

“You’ve not asked me if I wish to go back to him.” Her voice wavered, as did his resolve. “If you had, I would tell you—”

“I’m not asking, Miss Cooper,” he said before she could find the words to change his mind.

Gennie moved closer to him. Too close. “It’s ‘Mrs. Beck’ to you.”

Daniel stopped her, taking her gently by the shoulders lest she land in his arms. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“But, Daniel…”

He allowed himself to gather her close, savoring the feel of her in his arms though he knew it meant more danger to him than any angry miner might cause. Hands that ignored his good sense moved up her spine to slip beneath her curls and find the warmth of her skin. He cupped her jaw, then slid his thumb across her lips.

“I want to stay,” he thought she said, though her voice was low, quiet even through the tears that threatened.

“You belong to another.” He lifted her palm to his lips. “That means you cannot be mine.”

“But I—”

“No,” came out much firmer than it felt.

She stared at him for a long moment, without blinking. Just as he felt the urge to relent, to spend the rest of their lives changing his mind—and hers—Gennie gave him a curt nod.

“You mean it. Very well.” Wiping away her tears, she straightened her spine. “Good—good-bye, Daniel.” She seemed to choke on the words.

Then she burst into tears again and fled.

Try as he might to move, Daniel could only watch in silence.

Long after she left, Daniel remained at his desk, reading every detail of the marriage and soon-to-be annulment. Explaining it all to Charlotte
was not something he looked forward to doing. Perhaps he could ask Anna Finch for advice. She’d always had a way with the girl.

Daniel wrote a note and called for Tova. Elias came instead.

“You’re a blame fool,” his old friend said as he took the note and turned away. “An idiotic, hardheaded blame fool who ought to get on that horse Isak’s already got saddled up and waiting for you and head that woman off before she gets away. Not that I have an opinion on it, of course.” Elias slammed the door, then promptly reopened it. “And if I were you, which I’m not because I’d not be in this fix if I were, then I’d be sure and hunt up any lost hairpins before Tova finds them. You wouldn’t want to set the gossips to talking.”

All right, Lord. Unless You’ve got an objection, I’m going to take care of this right now.

He snatched up the annulment papers and reached for his pen, but the inkwell was dry.

“Of all the…” Daniel set the pen aside. “All right, then, Lord, I’ll go get her, but I don’t have any idea what You’re up to.”

Just as Elias said, Isak waited outside with Blossom saddled and ready. The horse practically flew over the dusty streets to Union Station, where Daniel leaped from her back and raced inside.

“Which one’s headed for New York City?” he shouted to the ticket seller.

“New York City?” The clerk shrugged. “That’d be the 405, but she’s pulling out right now.”

Daniel’s heart pounded and his breath came in short gasps, but he’d not quit now. “Where? Which one?”

The man pointed to the far end of the station where a Denver and Pacific engine sounded its warning.

“Over there? I’ll never make it.”

Then a thought occurred to him, and Daniel raced to find Blossom and aim her toward Jackrabbit Creek. “Lord, do you want me to catch her or just try?” he called over the pounding of the mare’s hoofs. “I can do the trying, but You’re going to have to cause me to catch her. That’s the only way it’ll happen.”

He arrived at the trestle and tied up Blossom, then climbed to the edge of the tracks. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, waiting for the 405 to make the turn, then slow down to cross Jackrabbit Creek.

Daniel didn’t have to wait long. The engine rumbled past, and he said one last prayer as the string of passenger cars slid by. Finally came the caboose, which he ran to catch.

Both hands grasped the rail, and Daniel felt the momentum haul him toward the platform, where he caught his boot on the step. He just needed to roll forward and he’d be on.

The July wind caught his shirt and whipped it about, and his hat went flying. Beneath him, the ground disappeared and the rocky banks of Jackrabbit Creek came into view. He tried to lunge forward, but his shirt caught on the rail and held him in place.

Yanking free, he made another attempt and felt the edge of the platform under his boots. The 405’s whistle screamed as the train began to pick up speed.

Daniel’s arms burned with the effort, but he held on. Then his foot slipped.

He skidded and clawed but found nothing to stop his fall except the cold waters of Jackrabbit Creek.

Gennie looked away as the train crossed Jackrabbit Creek. Too many memories threatened, each with a hundred tears to go along with it.

“Gennie?”

She turned her attention to the banker who’d come to fetch her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please forgive my inattentiveness.”

Chandler stretched his hand across the distance between them to entwine his fingers with hers. “I hold nothing against you,” he said. “Nor shall we speak of this again.”

“This?”

“Denver.” He moved to join her. “You’ve had your visit, and now we’re going home. To New York.”

She almost smiled, but the effort exhausted her before she completed it. “I’d like to sleep now, Chandler,” she managed.

The truth. When she slept, she could go where she wanted.

When she slept, her Wild West adventure did not have to end.

“Good, because that’s what I’ve come for, Mae. I’m ready to give up my life.”

“Henry?” Mae stuffed her rifle into her saddlebag and spurred the horse toward dear Henry. “How did you find me?” She gave the object of her dreams a surprised look. “And what is that you’re wearing?”

He tipped his hat and adjusted his buckskin jacket. “I’ve got a secret life, Mae, and it’s time you knew about it. But first, I’ve got an appointment with the parson, and this time I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re going to marry me, Mae Winslow, and then we’re hitting the trail together. I’m after a fellow named One-Eyed Ed. Ever heard of him?”

They lived happily ever after.

The furious felons and cagey criminals from Dodge City to Deadwood, Bozeman to Butte, however, did not.

London, August 15

Daniel stepped off the ship with Charlotte at his side. The crossing had been accomplished with little trouble, and now he stood back where he started so many years before: on the docks at London.

Around him were the familiar sights and sounds, the smells of sea-water and rotting fish a reminder Denver was far behind him. Leadville even farther.

His gaze scanned the crowd, though he had no idea what—or whom—he was looking for.

“Mr. Beck?” Daniel whirled around to find a man watching him. “Daniel Beck?”

“I am.”

“Then you’ll want to come with me.”

He did and found his trunks had already been loaded on a carriage emblazoned with the Beck family crest. “After you, Buttercup,” he said as he helped Charlotte inside.

The trip was not a brief one, but he found it far too short for his liking. Too soon the carriage clattered to a stop. There was no need to look out the carriage window to see where he’d been delivered.

“Papa, what are we waiting for?”

“What indeed?” Daniel threw open the carriage door and climbed out, then reached back to set Charlotte on her feet. Stepping onto the cobblestones sent him back a decade to a time when he’d found pleasure in walking across them. Perhaps this was something he could recover as readily as he could recall it. “We’re here, Buttercup,” he said with more bravado than he felt.

“I thought he lived in the mountains like we do,” she said, looking up and down the London street.

“This is his city home,” Daniel said. “Perhaps someday I’ll take you to see Beck Manor.”
But not as long as my brother still lives there.
“Now remember, your grandfather’s not feeling well, so it’s possible you’ll not get to meet him on this trip.”

The words he’d chosen and practiced, both for the truth they held and the protection they offered should his father cling to the belief that both he and Charlotte should remain in exile.

“Papa.” Charlotte tugged on his sleeve. “Who is that man?”

Daniel followed the direction of his daughter’s gaze, and his heart
tumbled to the cobblestones. “That,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat, “is the Earl of… That’s your grandfather.”

New York City, September 21

The engraved invitation to tonight’s soiree at the Vanowens sat atop two dozen others in the silver tray on Gennie’s writing desk. The event marked the return of the Vanowen family from their extended visit to London and celebrated the visit of the Earl of Something-or-Other.

If Mama hadn’t insisted, Gennie would’ve tossed it away like the other invitations she’d received since she returned. She hadn’t spoken a word to Hester Vanowen since her betrayal. Tonight she would not only have to spend several hours in the traitor’s presence, but she would also likely have to listen to a thousand and one excuses why it was perfectly appropriate to tell Chandler Dodd her secret.