ToLoveaLady (21 page)

In his haste to turn around, the footman almost dropped the currying brush. “Begging your pardon, m’lady.” He swept off his hat and sketched a bow. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

She took a step into the barn, still staring, fascinated, at his feet. “Nick, where did you get those boots?

He reddened. “Mr. Perkins at the store in town let me have them on credit. He said I could pay him every week until they’re paid off.”

“However do you walk in them?”

He shuffled his feet. “It’s a bit tough to manage at first, but they’re just what a fellow needs for riding. The slanted heel keeps your foot from sliding through the stirrups.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Of course, she wouldn’t need boots, because she’d be riding sidesaddle. Charles wouldn’t expect her to sit astride a horse.

“Did you need me for something, m’lady?”

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. She couldn’t let Nick see how nervous she was. “I want you to teach me to rope cattle.”

“Y...you want what?” He did drop the brush now, and stared at her, wide-eyed. “Begging your pardon, m’lady, why would you want to learn that?”

“I want to be able to work by Charles’ side should the need arise.”

Nick shook his head. “Lord Silsbee has a whole crew of cowboys to do that work for him.”

“Nevertheless, he thinks it’s important for me to learn, so I will learn.”

Nick looked doubtful. “All right, m’lady. If you’re certain.”

She nodded. “I’m certain.”

A coil of rope was draped across a saddle that rested on the railing of the stall. Nick hooked his arm through the coil and brought it over to Cecily. “I suppose the first thing I should teach you is how to properly hold the rope.”

She held out her hand. “I’m ready.”

But she wasn’t prepared for how heavy the coil of rope could be. She staggered under the weight as Nick slipped it onto her shoulder. “Here, m’lady. Better let me take it.” Nick reached to relieve her of her burden, but she stepped back.
 

“No. I can do this.” She found the end of the rope, already twisted into a loop. “Now, do I hold it like this?”

“Lady Cecily!
 
What are you doing?” Alice’s horrified exclamation rang through the barn. Still struggling with the rope, Cecily turned and saw the maid hurrying toward them.
 

“Nick Bainbridge, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Alice descended on the startled footman with all the fury of a Covent Garden fishwife defending her turf. “I thought you were done with this cowboy nonsense, and now you’ve gone and involved Lady Cecily.” She turned to Cecily. “I’m sorry, m’lady. I told him he had no business neglecting his duties and playing at all this fol-de-rol.” She held out her hands. “If you’ll give that rope to me, I’ll see that it’s properly disposed of.”

“Have you gone daft?” Nick sputtered. “That rope cost half a month’s wages.”

“And those boots cost another month’s worth, I’ll wager!” She scowled at the footwear in question. “Look where they’ve got you — in jail one week and in trouble with the mistress the next. You’ll be lucky if she don’t sack you!”

“I don’t intend to sack anyone.” Cecily had trouble hiding her amusement. Apparently, Alice thought she’d been taking the rope away from Nick. “I’ve asked Nick to teach me how to rope cattle, Alice.”

The maid paled. “You’ve done what, m’lady?”

Cecily tried her hand at twirling the circlet of rope that dangled from her fingers. “I want to learn to rope and ride and be a proper ranch wife.”

“But a lady doesn’t do such things!” Alice couldn’t keep back her outrage. “Surely you’re more than proper enough for any man’s wife!”
 

“Things are different here in Texas,” Cecily said gently. “A man needs more in a wife than a pretty ornament for the drawing room. He needs someone who can help him in his work.”

“I think any man would be right pleased with a woman who’d take such an interest in his work.” Nick cast a telling look in Alice’s direction. “Whether she’s a lady or not.”

Alice worried her lower lip between her teeth. “It sounds dangerous to me,” she said. “You could be hurt.”

“I wouldn’t let any harm come to Lady Cecily.” Nick threw back his shoulders. “Besides, any woman who’s brave enough to sail all the way across the ocean by herself isn’t afraid of a few cows and horses.”

“I never said m’lady was a coward!” Alice stepped up beside Cecily and crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’m not either. If you’re going to teach Lady Cecily, then you’ll have to teach me, too.”

Nick slumped. “Teach you?” He looked at Cecily. “Send her back to the house, m’lady. She doesn’t have any use for this stuff and she’ll only be in the way.”

“My place is with Lady Cecily.” Alice looked smug. “Besides, it might be that I aim to be a rancher’s wife one day myself!”

Nick flushed. “We’ll just see about that.” He stalked to the end of the stall and plucked another coil of rope from a nail. Cecily couldn’t make out all he mumbled under his breath, but she thought it was something about ‘crazy English women’ who ‘ought to be tied up’ before they ‘drove a bloke batty.’

No doubt Charles would agree. For some reason, she found the thought quite satisfying.

* * *

The usual Saturday crowd had gathered at Perkins’s Store when Gordon and Charles stopped by to collect the mail. Charles had scarcely crossed the threshold when all attention focused on him. “Worthington!
 
Let me be the first to congratulate you!” Joseph Dillon grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.
 

Charles deftly extricated himself from the rancher’s crushing grip. “Why thank you, Dillon, but I’m not sure I–”

“Charlie, you sly old dog!” Bill Thackery clapped him on the shoulder. He grinned. “Decided to hang up your spurs like the rest of us, huh?”

“I must say, she sounds like a prize.” Alan Mitchell stepped up to shake hands also. “Here’s to a long and happy life together, Charles.”

Somehow, he made it through the press of well-wishers and reached the front counter. “What are they carrying on about?” he mumbled to Gordon.

“I’m not sure, m’lord, but I would hazard they are referring to Lady Thorndale. She is the only woman in your life at the moment, is she not?”

“Why do you sound as if you’re not so sure about that?” Charles grumbled. Smile fixed in place, he addressed the storekeeper. “Good morning, Perkins. Any mail for me?”

“Yes sir. Another letter all the way from England.” Perkins fished the thin envelope from its slot and handed it to him. “And may I add my congratulations and wishes for much future happiness,” he said. “I guess this means you’ll be staying on with us for a while, then?”

“Staying? What are you talking about, man?”

But Mrs. Perkins chose that moment to drop a half-dozen eggs on the floor and Perkins rushed to help her clean them up.

Seeing the formidable Mrs. Dillon descending upon them, Charles shoved the letter into his coat pocket and headed for the door. He wasn’t in the mood to play the charming gent at the moment. Outside on the sidewalk, he withdrew the envelope from his coat and stared at it. “Should I open it, Gordon?” he asked. “Or just assume that it’s bad news and put it away?”

“I always find the motto ‘forewarned is forearmed’ to be true, m’lord.” Gordon’s expression was as mild as ever, but Charles knew the valet was as curious as he was about the letter, which was once again written in Lord Brighton’s own handwriting.

Taking out a penknife, Charles slit the envelope and shook out the single sheet within. “
Charles,
” the letter began abruptly. “
The syndicate has voted unanimously to expand our holdings in Texas. You are to locate suitable properties for purchase and make a report
in person
to us no later than sixth March. Reply immediately to indicate your return date. Otherwise, I will be forced to take
drastic
action.”

“Drastic action, is it?” Did his father intend to have him kidnapped and shipped home in chains? He refolded the letter and returned it to his coat pocket. “Keep a sharp eye out, Gordon. I may need you as bodyguard before this is over.”

“Certainly, m’lord.” Gordon’s eyes glinted with amusement. “And will you be interested in looking at property for sale, m’lord?”

“I suppose I ought to at least investigate some possibilities and make a report to the syndicate. A
written
report.”
 

“It is my understanding that the Ace of Clubs ranch is experiencing some financial trouble,” Gordon said. “I believe the bank holds a note which may be for sale.”

Charles gave the valet a sharp look. “How is it you know so much about everything that goes on, Gordon?”

Gordon assumed a modest expression. “I am a good listener, m’lord. And I have always had a keen interest in matters of finance.”

Charles nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He glanced down the walk, toward the Fairweather
Sentinel
office. “As long as we’re here, let’s stop by the newspaper and see if Adkins has anything interesting listed for sale.”

“Congratulations, Worthington!” Mason March hailed him from across the street.

“Heard your good news!” George Garcia offered.

As usual, the latest issue of the Fairweather
Sentinel
was posted in the front window of the office. Charles stopped before it and scanned the crowded pages. Halfway down the inside sheet he found what he was looking for
. British Beauty Dazzles Locals
the headline proclaimed in bold letters.
 

Lady Cecily Thorndale, only offspring of England’s Earl of Marbridge, tells us she is enjoying her stay in Texas. Those locals fortunate enough to have made her acquaintance are enjoying Lady Thorndale as well. A stately blond with the famed ‘English roses’ complexion, Lady Thorndale and her two servants are guests of another well-known expatriate from the British Isles, Charles Worthington, known more formerly as Lord Silsbee. Though it has not been widely advertised as yet, Lady Thorndale made known to this reporter that she and the lucky Worthington are engaged, with a wedding planned for late spring or early summer.

“I did not realize you had set a date for the wedding, m’lord,” Gordon said.

“Neither had I.” Charles felt as if someone had tied a knot in his stomach. He had counted on breaking off his engagement to Cecily quietly, with a minimum of damage to her reputation. “Now I’ll never be able to call off the wedding without a scandal.”

Gordon cleared his throat. Charles flushed. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud. “I can’t marry her, man, don’t you see? I tie the knot with her and the next thing you know I’m in some counting house or court chamber, up to my ears in writs and ledgers, ordering pasty-faced clerks to fetch this and write that and growing as portly and gray as my father.”

“Perhaps if Lady Thorndale knew your feelings –”

“She’d be crushed. I may be a cad to reject her, Gordon, but I won’t see her hurt if I can help it.” The thought of pretty, sweet, Cecily reduced to tears because of him made his jaw ache.

“I was going to say, sir, that perhaps you could convince her ladyship to cancel the engagement herself. If it’s her choice, there’s less likely to be a fuss.”

“Of course I’ve thought of that, but nothing I’ve tried seems to be working.”

“Worthington!
 
Or should I say Lord Silsbee?” Adkins appeared in the doorway of the paper. “What do you think of my stories about you and Lady Thorndale?”

“Haven’t you got better things to write about, Adkins?” Charles assumed a bland expression. “I’d hardly call that sort of fluff news.”

“I think more than a few men would argue that the arrival of a beautiful, titled lady in town is news enough for them.” Adkins laughed. “But you can’t say the other story isn’t news. The opening of the Fairweather Academy is the biggest thing to happen here since the new courthouse was built.”

“The Academy?” Charles frowned, puzzled. “What about it?”

“You mean you didn’t see?” Adkins came to stand beside him and stabbed a finger at the front page of the paper.

Charles blinked.
Worthington slated to preside over Academy
. “What the devil?” He read rapidly, scanning the words. “Harold Simms announced. . . Charles Worthington to fill post as first president. . . Academy. . . I never said I’d take the job!” he roared.

Adkins stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was only reporting what Simms told me. If you have a problem with the information, you need to take it up with him.”

“I intend to do just that.” Adkins had to jump out of the way to avoid being plowed down as Charles headed for the Fairweather Merchant’s Bank. “I came here to avoid being pressed into politics or business,” he muttered. “Not to sink right down in that mire two thousand miles away from home.”

“Perhaps people see in you a natural aptitude, m’lord,” Gordon said.

“People see what they want to see, Gordon.” He pushed open the door to the bank and headed for the president’s office.
 
“Simms, I have a bone to pick with you,” he said as he pushed open the door.

A startled Hattie Simms looked up from her seat in the big leather chair behind her father’s desk. “M. . . my father isn’t. . . he isn’t here now,” she stammered, fumbling for a handkerchief.