ToLoveaLady (35 page)

She touched his arm. “Maybe he’ll get better quickly.”

He nodded, emotion tightening his throat. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, to pour out all his fears, to beg her to come with him. But he loved her too much to burden her that way. “I’d better be going,” he said.

He hurried from the building and pushed his horse toward home. Later, he would mourn his great loss; for now he would stave off grief with activity.

Back at the ranch, he ordered Gordon to pack for their return to England, and sent for his foreman. When Hollister arrived, Charles explained what had happened and went over the books with him to make sure he understood what was to be done over the next few months. “I’ll be writing to you regularly, of course, and I hope to return before the end of the year. As soon as my father is better and his business affairs are in order.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir. I’ll see to everything.”

As Hollister was leaving, Reg arrived. “Gordon just told me the news.” The fine lines around his eyes looked deeper.
 

“I’m leaving as soon as I’m packed. Do you want to come with me?”

Reg shook his head. “No. I think I’ll stay here. It’s you he wants to see.” He sank into a chair. “What about Cecily? Is she going with you?”

“I couldn’t ask that of her.” He shoved some record books into a valise. “She’s happy here. She got the job teaching school. Everyone loves her. I couldn’t take that away from her.”

“You love her. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

He shook his head, his throat almost too tight to speak. “I don’t see how it could be.”

Gordon appeared in the doorway. “Everything is ready, m’lord.”

He nodded and glanced at Reg. “I’m off, then.”

They embraced and walked together toward the waiting buggy. Charles was startled to see Cecily sitting in the front seat of the rig, a frilled parasol over her shoulder. He froze at the bottom of the steps. “Cecily, what are you doing?”
 

She gave him a tender look. “I’m going with you, Charles.”

“But your teaching job —”

“Hattie said it will still be waiting for me when we come back. If not –” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll start a similar program in England. There are plenty of people there who need educating.”

“Cecily, I can’t ask you to make that sacrifice.”

In answer, she stripped off one glove and held up her hand. His grandmother’s ring glinted in the sunlight. “Need I remind you that we’re still engaged?” Her gaze met hers, strong and determined. “I hardly call marrying the man I love a sacrifice. Unless you feel that way about marriage to me.”

In one motion, he leapt up onto the buggy wheel and grabbed her by the shoulders. He kissed her soundly, then looked deep in her eyes. “If this is sacrifice, it’s one I’ll gladly endure.”

As Reg applauded, he tried to kiss her again, but she gently pushed him away. “We’d better go or we’ll miss the train.”

He jumped to the ground and looked around them. “What about Alice and Nick?”

“We’ve already said our goodbyes. They wanted to stay behind. Nick can find work as a cowboy and Hattie’s already agreed to hire Alice to help her. I think they’ll marry soon.”

Charles turned to Gordon. “What about you? Do you want to stay?”

The valet shook his head. “I’ll make this trip with you, sir. But I may ask for passage back as soon as you can manage a replacement.”

“What will you do?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m thinking of going into banking, sir. Mr. Simms believes he can find a position for me.”

“Especially if you marry his daughter.” Cecily’s voice held a teasing note.

“Yes, m’lady.” Gordon ducked his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I imagine so.” He climbed into the back of the buggy, while Charles walked around and took the driver’s seat. With a final wave to Reg, he clucked to the horses and they started off.

He glanced at Cecily, who smiled at him from beneath the shade of her parasol. “As soon as we get to town I’ll send a telegraph ahead to the shipping company,” he said. “I’ll tell them we’ll be wanting to book a bridal suite.”

She scooted closer to him. “But we’re not married yet.”

“I’ll ask them to have a clergyman waiting, too. Before we set foot on English soil again, I intend for you to be my wife.”

“And we’ll have the ocean voyage for our honeymoon.” She twirled her parasol. “How romantic.”

He put his hand on her knee. “We’ll come back to Texas someday, I promise.”

“I know we will, Charles. Texas is a part of us now. We’ll want our children to see it.”

Children. The thought made him feel lightheaded. Or maybe that was part of being in love. A future, whether in England or in Texas, didn’t seem so grim to him now. Wherever he was, he would be happy, as long as he was with Cecily.

Epilogue:

Dear Reg,

Things are finally calming down enough here for me to write and bring you up to speed. Father has turned a corner and seems to be on the mend, thanks in part to his natural stubbornness and to Cecily’s attentive nursing. She insisted on directing his care herself and in no time had him sitting up, ordering servants around like old times.

Father is almost as taken with Cecily as I am. Both families fussed, of course, about our hasty dockside wedding, and have tried to make up for it by throwing elaborate parties to celebrate the nuptials. We are suffering the attention in good spirits, though we steal away alone whenever we can.

Father suffered a stroke and has lost some use of his left side, but his mind is quite unaffected. Though his speech is not as clear as it once was, he has no trouble making himself understood. I have taken over some of the business affairs, but he still takes a keen interest in everything. I feel certain that, given a few more months to heal, he will be able to resume much of his former activities.

Meanwhile, I propose to divide my time each year between England and Texas. Needless to say, Father was not pleased with this at first, but when I presented him with the alternative of my relocating permanently to the States, he saw the wisdom in this plan, which will allow me to manage affairs on both sides of the Atlantic as I see fit.

I don’t have to tell you, he expects great things from you in Texas. I hope things are well. If you need help, let me know. I will sign off for now, but will write again soon. Cecily sends her love, as do I,

Charles

Reg laid aside his brother’s letter and looked around the cluttered office of the Ace of Clubs Ranch. So the earl expected great things, did he? Great successes, or another great failure?

As far as he could tell, John Grady had made no improvements during his short stint as owner, and the previous occupant had been more interested in gambling and collecting junk than in improving his herds.

He stared morosely at what had first appeared to be a dead chicken, perched on the edge of the desk. On closer inspection, it had proved to be an Indian headdress. Similar artifacts, from old boots to bent horseshoes, occupied every flat, and some not so flat, surface in the small room.
 

He grabbed up a cow bell and rang it vigorously. In a moment, the plump figure of Mrs. Bridges huffed into the room. He had persuaded her to come and work for him, since Charles wouldn’t be needing her services for a while, but already he wondered at the wisdom of that decision. “What’s all this racket, then?” she demanded.

“Mrs. Bridges, I was wondering when you intended to clean in this room.”

She scowled at the disorder, then turned to him. “I wasn’t hired to clean, Mister Worthington. I’m a cook.”

He could have pointed out that cooking for one man would hardly seem to tax her, but he knew better than to try. “Perhaps you could hire someone to clean for me, then. I would appreciate it,” he added, and was rewarded with a softening of her stance.

“Maybe we can get the girl Sheriff Grady used.”

“Knowing him, he’d take offense to us hiring her, too.”

“Oh, he ain’t around to care anymore.”

He stared at her. “Don’t tell me he’s dead!”

She shook her head. “Not dead. Just handed in his badge and left town. I heard a rumor he was going to California to try his hand at the card tables.” She wiped her hand along the edge of the desk and came up with a fingerful of dust. “On second thought, I don’t think we want the girl he had. It doesn’t look like she did much in the way of housework.”

“No one did much of anything, as far as I can tell.” He picked up a broken harness and tossed it into the corner. “The entire ranch is this way, everything run-down and disorderly. How am I supposed to turn it into a moneymaking venture, much less learn the things he needed to know to do so?”

Mrs. Bridges gave him a stern look. “I reckon you’ll just have to do what anybody else in your situation would.”

He struggled to keep the annoyance from his voice. Really, the woman was most insufferable at times. “And what is that?”

“You’ll have to find someone to help you.” Not waiting for an answer, she turned on her heels and left.

He sank down in the chair behind the desk. So she thought he needed help, did she? He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea. He needed someone to teach him how to be a good rancher, but who could he ask?

He didn’t know anyone here very well and from what he’d seen of the Texans’ respect for independence, they’d likely laugh him out of town if he asked any of them to tutor him in the art of ranching.

That left his own resources, which were meager at best. He knew how to ride and shoot reasonably well. He was a good dancer, able to hold up his end of drawing room conversation when he was so inclined, and during his Navy career he’d mastered a variety of knots and navigational skills. In short, he was a well-trained gentleman, as useless in the wilderness as a performing poodle.

He glared at Charles’s letter, struggling against the black cloud of despair that threatened to engulf him. Charles would know what to do. Things came so easily for Charles, while Reg was the one who always failed.

“I won’t fail this time!” He slammed his hand down on the desktop, making the war bonnet jump. Whatever it took, he would make a success of this ranch. He wouldn’t throw away this chance to prove himself to the earl. He would see respect in his father’s eyes next time they met, or he would die trying.

Read Reg’s story in Educating Abbie, the second volume of the Titled Texans trilogy.
 

Thank you for reading
To Love a Lady
. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this book. Consider writing a review, or recommending the book to your friends. Follow me on
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You might also enjoy these books by Cynthia Sterling:

To Love a Lady –
Titled Texans: Book One

Educating Abbie –
Titled Texans: Book Two

The Runaway –
Titled Texans: Book Three

Patchwork Hearts
A Quilting Romance

The Christmas Quilt
A Quilting Romance novella

A Willing Spirit
A Ghostly Romance

Great Caesar’s Ghost
A Ghostly Romance

San Antonio Rogue

A Long, Sweet Ride

Enjoy this excerpt from Educating Abbie:

Abbie forced her gaze away from Alan and busied herself straightening her skirt. When she’d first put on the outfit this morning, she’d been very proud of herself for digging it out of her mother’s things. It was the first dress she’d worn in years, and she’d hardly slept last night, thinking how pretty it was, and how pretty she felt wearing it.
 

But now that she was here, she could see the dress was all wrong.
 
The style wasn’t anything like the slim-skirted gowns with bustles that the other women wore. And the deep russet color, which she’d loved because it reminded her of the velvety coat of a newborn calf, was anything but flattering to her skin.
 

Alan is right, she thought bitterly. I should give up even trying to be feminine. I don’t have the knack for it. She sighed, and pushed the annoying ostrich feather out of her eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Why don’t you take it off?”

She started when the Englishman spoke. He’d been so quiet she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. “What did you say?” she asked.

“If the hat bothers you so, why don’t you take it off?” His moustache twitched as if he were keeping back a smile.
 

She looked around, at the other women with their neat straw or cloth bonnets. Her spirits sank further as she realized the hat, too, was hopelessly out of style. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get rid of the cursed thing. She reached up, fumbling with the hat pins.

“Allow me.” The Englishman deftly plucked the long steel pins from her hair, then gently lifted the hat from her head. He stepped back, smiling. “There. That’s much better.”

The gesture was innocent enough, but to Abbie it seemed intimate, as if this stranger had removed not only her hat, but her dress as well. Flustered, she took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. . .”