ToLoveaLady (29 page)

“I asked them to come.” She smoothed her skirts over her knees. “They’re preparing readings for the Independence Day celebration.”

He leaned forward, obviously alarmed. “Fifi and Estelle are going to give readings at the Independence Day celebration? Does anyone else know about this?”

“Of course. Hattie Simms invited them. She wants to demonstrate what adult education can do for people.”

Shaking his head, he sat leaned back in the chair. “I can’t quite get over your teaching those two to read.”

She curled her hands into fists. “Do you object?”

“No. No.” If anything, he looked. . . amused? “It’s just not the sort of thing I would have expected you to do.”

Raising her head, she met his gaze, offering a silent challenge that was met with a spark of interest. “Since coming here, I find myself doing all sorts of unexpected things.”

His eyes swept over her, darkening with passion. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

As if he’d struck a match to dry tender, the passion within her flared. She gripped the arms of her chair to keep from hurtling into his arms. No good would come of a repetition of last night. All the passion in the world was worthless to her if it did not grow from love. “You’re different, too, since coming here,” she said, her gaze downcast.

She thought at first this comment had silenced him, but after a moment, he said. “Why do you think that is? Is it because we’re so far from our accustomed climate? Is there something in the air here?”

“I think. . . “ She wet her dry lips and tried to find words for her jumbled thoughts. “I think this freedom Americans prize so highly infects us with the desire to test our boundaries. It makes us see possibilities outside the molds we’ve been forced into all our lives.”

She risked a glance at him then and found him staring at her, his hands tightened on the arms, white-knuckled. “You may be right.”

For a moment, she felt the reserve that had grown between them dissolving, the wall between them breeched by the silent acknowledgment that, of all the people in this house, in this town, even in this state, they shared a common background, and a common understanding of what it meant to be hemmed in by privilege.

She leaned toward him, longing to be closer still. “Charles, don’t you miss England?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long time, until she felt she would melt in the heat of his gaze. “I miss some things about England,” he said finally. “I miss how green it is. I miss decent tea and smooth Scotch and the thrill of riding to hounds.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “But I do not miss what I would have become if I had stayed there. What I would surely become if I went back.” He opened his eyes again, and now they darkened with anger. “I thought when you first came here, you meant to trap me into going back. I thought my father had sent you.”

She shook her head, stunned. “No. I came of my own accord, and never to trap you.” The accusation stung.

“I know that now. What I don’t know is what you expect of me.” He shook his head. “You’re not the same girl I left behind.”

“That girl never existed!
 
She was just a pantomime doll, a stuffed image of what everyone thought I should be.” She stood and looked down at him. “Oh, Charles, all I want is for you to love me. Not that fantasy, but the real me.”

“You make it sound like a game, a riddle I have to figure out.” He thrust himself up from the chair, so close her skirts brushed his legs. His breath was ragged, his voice gruff. “I don’t have the time or patience for games, Cecily. If that’s what you expect of me, then maybe we are better off apart.”

Before she could utter a sound, he strode from the room with such fury that the curtains fluttered in his wake. She put a hand to her chest, as if she could somehow still her pounding heart, and listened to the echo of his steps on the stairs. Grief warred with hope in her breast: Charles had declared there could be no future for them, but all the while he had looked at her as if he could never bear to be parted from her. How could she believe the lies of his lips when his eyes telegraphed a truth that set her heart singing?

Chapter Seventeen

In her twenty-four years, Cecily had attended market fairs and Christmas fetes, country house parties and royal balls. But she had never seen a spectacle like the Texans’ Independence Day Celebration. As Charles guided the buggy that carried the two of them, Gordon and Alice through Fairweather’s town square, she could not decide whether they had arrived at the scene of a great party, or the site of an impending battle.

In every direction, people crowded the streets and the courthouse lawn. Families gathered on quilts spread in the grass and children raced among the buggies parked in the shade of the old oaks around the state house. Peddlers with handcarts hawked lemonade or sausages, while on the south side of the courthouse, a group of cowboys were lowering what looked like a whole calf into a pit in the ground. The rich aromas of smoked meat, pipe tobacco and spent gunpowder perfumed the air.

She was grateful for the distraction to ease the tension that still lurked below the surface politeness between her and Charles. After he’d stormed out of the parlor that day, they’d declared a kind of truce. They lived in the same house, ate at the same table, even rode in the same carriage, but otherwise, they lived completely separate lives. The shared conversations and laughter had been replaced by an uneasy silence.

Charles guided the buggy to the west side of the square, where men in a motley array of uniforms, from fringed buckskin to gray linen, had collected around a keg of gunpowder. The men bristled with weapons of every description, and stood guard over two bunting-draped cannon. “Are they expecting an attack, m’lord?” Alice asked, her voice trembling.

Charles turned to watch the cluster of soldiers. “Those are the county’s war veterans,” he explained. “Supposedly, they are in charge of the fireworks, but it appears the duties serve primarily as an opportunity for them to turn out in full battle regalia and relive the glory days.”

As they passed the contingent of soldiers, Cecily studied them more closely. Some were grizzled old men, with beards as gray as their uniforms, while others, in their prime now, must have been mere boys at the time of America’s last war, that conflict so incongruously known as a Civil war. More than one bore the scars of battle, or had only a stump where a limb had been.

“All part of that particularly American passion for freedom,” Charles said.

Was it her imagination, or did Charles sound wistful? She thought again of their conversation that evening a week ago, when they’d spoken of the freedoms they’d each realized in coming here. Was Charles thinking of that moment now also? Did he regret the other things they’d said, as she sometimes did?

He found a shady spot for the buggy and assisted Cecily to the ground. “Find someone to see to the horses, Gordon, then you’re free to enjoy the festivities as you see fit,” he said.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Alice, you’re free to go, too.” Cecily looked at the milling crowd. “I imagine Nick should have arrived by now.” The footman had set out earlier on horseback.

“Why should I care whether or not Nick Bainbridge is here?” Alice sniffed, but Cecily noticed her eyes searching the crowd, and soon she had set off purposely toward a group of cowboys from the Double Crown.

Charles offered his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, ignoring the tremor that raced through her at his touch. She had walked this way with other men many times and felt nothing. Given time, she would learn to be as unaffected by Charles.

They set off across the square. They had not gone far before a burly, red-faced man blocked their path. “Howdy, Worthington.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and grinned at Cecily. “And is this pretty lady that fiancé of yours I’ve been hearing about?”

“Lady Cecily Thorndale, meet Jack Dillon.”
 

Did Mr. Dillon notice, as she did, that Charles had avoided answering his question? “Mr. Dillon, a pleasure to meet you.” She offered her hand and tried not to wince when Dillon gave it a mighty squeeze.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Cecily,” he boomed. “I must say, you’re even prettier than Adkins described you in that article he wrote.”

Indeed, as they moved on, Cecily discovered that Gerald Adkins’s newspaper article had made her the talk of the town. Men tipped their hats and addressed her by name; women smiled shyly and did the same. “You’ve enchanted them all,” Charles said, as yet another pair of well-wishers approached.

The man, a weather-beaten cowboy with dark hair and eyes, took only a cursory interest in Cecily. He scarcely glanced at her before turning to Charles. Meanwhile, the girl, Caroline Allen, stared at Cecily with avid interest.
 

Charles was tactful enough not to acknowledge their previous encounter with the young woman. “Lady Cecily Thorndale, may I present Mr. Peter Allen and his daughter, Caroline,” Charles said. “Mr. and Miss Allen, Lady Thorndale.”

Mr. Allen gave a curt nod, then turned his attention back to Charles. “Worthington, I hear tell you’ve got yourself appointed president of this here Academy.”

“I’ve been offered the position,” Charles said. “But I haven’t made up my mind whether to take it or not.”

“Well, if you do take it, I want you to see about gettin’ Caroline here enrolled.”

“Daddy, I don’t want to go to school.” Caroline, whom Cecily judged to be about sixteen, spoke firmly, with no hint of whining.

“It’s either go to school here or I’ll send you back east.” Her father gave her a stern look. “While I’m out working, I’ve got to know you’ll be behaving yourself like a young lady, instead of gallivanting all over the country like a wild Indian.”

“It’s not as if I’m out riding around by myself.” Caroline pouted.

Her father’s expression grew grim. “That’s exactly what concerns me most.” He turned to Charles once more. “You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you, Mr. Worthington? I can’t afford to pay the tuition all up front, but if you’ll let me have credit, I’ll see you get your money.”

“I can’t promise anything, Mr. Allen. I may not be in any position to help you.”

“Do what you can, that’s all I ask.” He took hold of the girl’s hand and pulled her along. “I’ve got to find something to do with this child or she’ll be the death of me yet.”

“I’m not a child!” Caroline protested as he led her away.

“You’re a child as long as I’m able to turn you over my knee and don’t you forget it.”

“Mr. Allen seems very worried about his daughter,” Cecily said when they were out of earshot.

Charles nodded. “Rumor had it she’s been keeping company with Danny Fells. Not the sort of fellow any father would want hanging around his daughter.”

“The young man you mentioned to the sheriff?” She looked back over her shoulder and watched father and daughter as they moved through the crowd. Caroline wore a petulant expression, while the father looked as determined as a soldier preparing for battle.
 

“That’s him. She’ll come to no good end with a troublemaker like him.”

Cecily wondered if Caroline Allen was in love with her disreputable young man. Had love blinded her to his true character?
 

Perhaps that was her own problem. While Charles could see that the future held no happiness for them together, had love blinded her to this truth?

“Speaking of the Academy, are Fifi and Estelle ready for their performance this afternoon?” Charles interrupted her thoughts.

“I believe they are as ready as they will ever be.” She put a hand to her stomach to try to still its sudden fluttering. Estelle and Fifi had spent a week rehearsing their lines, but what if they forgot? Worse, what if the townsfolk booed them off the stage, or united as a mob — led by Sheriff Grady — to run them out of town?

Charles squeezed her arm. “I’ve no doubt they will perform beautifully, having had the benefit of such an accomplished teacher.”

She blushed, pleased. “Why Charles, what a sweet thing to say!”

He looked away. She could almost feel him shutting her out, as if his praise had been a slip of the tongue, rashly spoken in a moment he now regretted.

They bought lemonade from a cart, then paused to watch the cowboys at the cooking pit. She drew back from the heat of the glowing coals of a nearby campfire, but the men seemed scarcely to notice. They squatted on their heels, smoking and talking amongst themselves and staring at the now covered pit.

“They build a fire in order to make a quantity of coals,” Charles explained. “Then they dig a pit and line it with a layer of coals and ashes. They place a butchered beef in the pit, add more coals and ashes and cover it up. Later, they dig the whole thing up and the meat is done.”

Cecily’s distaste must have been reflected on her face. One of the men looked up at her and laughed. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Miss. Come by later and I’ll give you a sample of the best beef you ever ate.”

Cecily saw no way to decline gracefully. She managed a weak smile and nodded, then walked on with Charles. They had not gone far when they saw Hattie Simms and her father approaching. “Isn’t it a beautiful day for a celebration?” Mr. Simms hurried toward them. Hattie, shielded from the sun by a white ruffled parasol, hurried to keep up. Her dress of red and white striped dimity, trimmed with blue bows, reminded Cecily of Christmas candies.