The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (69 page)

“But I expected—”

“No, Dad,” Duke cut in furiously. He leaned forward in his chair, boots flat on the floor. “She’s right. It’s my own fault I’m not prepared. She’s done everything you asked of her.”

Mr. Baker’s mouth clamped into a firm line.

The protective wall she’d built around her heart tumbled. Duke was supporting
her
over his own father. He was going to battle for her.

He folded the paper then slid it in the pocket of his trousers. He stood. Held a hand out to her. She placed her hand in his, rising to her feet, yet he didn’t let go. Neither did she. Couldn’t. It wouldn’t last forever—she wasn’t so besotted with him to entertain any hope it would—but she was going to relish the feeling of the two of them being a team. Even if only for one night.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for helping tonight. I promise I will try to get to know the ladies. I will wholeheartedly court them. Get some rest.” His hand left hers, yet settled on her lower back, giving her a gentle nudge to the door. Without another word, he escorted her silently across the carpeted floor to the hall.

He stopped on the threshold.

Irie strolled to the grand staircase. Heart tightening, she paused at the bannister. Even though she knew better, she spared a glance over her shoulder. She smiled, unable to hold it in. Duke was looking at her in a way that made her warm, and hopeful that he finally saw her for who she was, not who she’d been.

His timing couldn’t be any worse.

Three days before the Harvest Cotillion
8 p.m.

Leaving Tabitha’s door partially open, Irie walked to the bed. “What shall we read tonight?”

Tabitha pulled a book out from under her pillow. “‘The Little Mermaid’!” she squealed.

Irie fluffed the pillows against the iron headboard then sat next to Tabitha, smoothing her gray skirt over her legs. She accepted the leather-bound book and tried not to think how this would be one of their last evenings together.

Irie turned to the bookmarked page.
“Far, far from land, where the waters are as blue as the petals of the cornflower and as clear as glass, there, where no anchor can reach the bottom, live the mer-people. So deep is this part of the sea that you would have to pile many church towers on top of each other before one of them emerged above the surface. Now you must not think…”

As Irie read, Tabitha snuggled against her arm.

“The mer-king had been a widower for many years—”

“Like Daddy and Granddaddy?”

“Just like them,” Irie said, even though she’d answered the same question on every previous read of the story.

Tabitha listened quietly until Irie reached—

“But unlike the birds of the air, the fishes were not frightened. They swam right up to the little princesses and ate out of their hands and let themselves be petted.”

“I wish my frogs would eat out of my hand.”

“Sweetie, amphibians aren’t tamable like dogs and cats.”

“But maybe I can teach them.”

“Maybe. Optimism is a good trait to have.” Irie schooled her grin.
“Around the castle was a great park….”

To her surprise, Tabitha made no comment as she usually did about the youngest princess’s garden filled only with a shipwreck-salvaged statue of a boy, or ask why flowers and trees at the bottom of the sea didn’t have a fragrance like those did on land. She stayed silent as each sister, when she came of age, swam to the surface for a day and saw the wonders. Nor did she question why the five older sisters, now grown-ups and able to swim anywhere they wanted, lost interest in the world above. She made not a sound until—

Tabitha squeaked. “It’s her birthday,” she said, bouncing against Irie.

Irie gave her a silly look. “What do you think she’s going to do?”

“Find the prince!”

“Maybe.” Irie found where she’d left off. She gave her voice over to the story, rising and falling with the fireworks and waves, with the brewing storm and overboard prince, with the beauty in the world above the sea, and with the love growing in the princess for the humans and the desire to live among them. And, finally, with the princess’s realization that mermaids had no immortal soul. Only humans could go to heaven.

“It’s not fair,” Tabitha whined.

Irie didn’t respond. She’d repeatedly explained fairness and the lack of it in life. She herself had learned years ago she’d rather serve a God who valued mercy and justice over fairness. Instead she continued reading how the princess, knowing she couldn’t be happy without a connection to God and the hope of an afterlife, visited the sea-witch to gain legs, yet nothing she could do won the prince’s love, which would make her human.

“Boys are stupid.”

Irie chuckled. “Sometimes they don’t see what’s right in front of their faces.” She knew that well enough, but females could be just as guilty. She had been thinking happiness could be found in getting a man.

Tabitha gave her smug look. “I’m going to marry a boy who is smart.”

Irie answered with a firm, “Me, too,” and Tabitha immediately responded by flinging her arms around Irie, knocking the book from her hands.

“I love you, Misery. I wish you were my mother.”

Irie’s breath caught, pulse pounded, heart broke over a word she’d yearned nine years to hear—
mother.
Her womb ached with the memory of her own lost child. If she’d spoken up less, John-Paul wouldn’t have hit her. If she had obeyed him more, he wouldn’t have thrown her against the wall. If she hadn’t miscarried, he would love her because she was the mother of his beautiful child not much older than Tabitha. If—

No. No! Those lies held her in bondage no more. She didn’t have to listen to them. Her one fault was the erroneous belief in God having “one person” just for her—a man who would be her fulfillment, her joy, her hope. She should have known better than to marry a man because he told her they were “meant to be together.” Truth was, the man she thought was her “soul mate”—who for two years actually made her forget Duke—was a bad man. Her mother had even warned her. So had Mr. and Mrs. Baker. The signs had been there. She’d been too desperate to be loved to see the truth.

If Mr. and Mrs. Baker hadn’t ripped her away from John-Paul and secured her a divorce, she might still be in his abusive hands. She actually believed her love could change him.

Irie drew Tabitha back and met her adoring gaze. “Sweetie, God has a mommy prepared for you. You just have to be patient and wait for Him to show your daddy who she is. Can you do that for me?”

Tabitha nodded.

Irie placed a kiss on her forehead. “Good girl.” She scooped the book off the floor and stood. “Let’s save the rest of the story for tomorrow.” After laying the book on the nightstand, she tucked the covers around Tabitha. Another kiss. Another hug. Another “please stay.” Irie wrested her arms from Tabitha’s grip. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll stay longer.”

“Promise?”

Irie nodded. She closed the door with a gentle click. She turned. “Oh!”

Eliza Rayburn gasped, jumped. “Oh, good gracious, Irie, you gave me a fright!”

“Me? You gave me one first.” Irie breathed deep. She gave a cursory appraisal of the younger woman’s beaded sea-foam green gown and the jeweled combs in her flaxen-blond hair. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others?”

“Yes,” Eliza said in that high-pitched, breathy voice of hers, “but then I wouldn’t be able to find you.” Her brown eyes shifted to Tabitha’s door. “I heard you reading. What exactly is your job here?”

Irie cringed. “I’m not an employee.”

“Then what are you?” When Irie hesitated, Eliza added, “Must feel strange being somewhere above ‘employee’ and below ‘family.’” For someone who was usually so scatterbrained, her words struck the bull’s-eye.

Irie pasted on a fake smile. She nudged the taller and svelter blond into walking. Only Irie’s heels clicked against the hardwood, which meant Eliza was barefooted again. Mrs. Rayburn may have taken Eliza off the ranch, but the cowgirl in her was ingrained deep. Whenever shoes were found around the house, everyone knew to whom they belonged.

“Why were you looking for me?” Irie asked.

Eliza frowned as if she couldn’t remember. “Oh! Our cooking lesson tomorrow is at nine. I was hoping we could reschedule for eleven,” she said with a crooked, begging grin. “Please. For me. Your new favorite person.”

Irie thought for a moment, running tomorrow’s schedule through her mind. The next two days were vital for preparing the food for Friday’s firemen’s luncheon. Then there was the Harvest Cotillion. As they neared the stairs, the enchanting sounds of a violin grew louder. Someone must have finally convinced Linny Cartwright to play.

“I can’t change it to eleven.” Irie gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. I’m meeting a friend for lunch at the stockyards at eleven. I could do four.”

“Julian Parish?”

They stopped at the stairs leading to the first floor.

A smug grin didn’t lessen Eliza’s prettiness.

Irie stared, wide-eyed. “How did you guess?”

“Earlier I heard Ma telling Mr. Baker. He seemed happy for you.” Lifting the front of her gown, she dashed down the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

“At four,” Irie reminded her. She started back down the hall then stopped and listened to the enchanting sounds flittering up from the receiving room. She smiled. What was it about Linny and her violin that made a person not want to do anything but listen? When she played, a herd of elephants could traipse through the house and no one would notice. No one would notice anything.

Not even bull-in-a-china-closet Eliza leaving the room.

Her smile fell. Irie looked over the railing to the floor below. Eliza’s silver slippers rested on the bottom step. Eliza was nowhere to be seen. What was Eliza up to?

Chapter 7

Stockyards
Exchange Avenue

A
woman who loved cattle should make any cattleman an excellent wife.

Duke stepped around a fresh manure pile and leaned against the fence rail. Not too demure, not too garish, Eliza Rayburn should be
just right
for him. He enjoyed speaking to her, but after three weeks of carriage rides, trips to the museum and library, a visit to the Natatorium, and walks in the park with The Twelve, imagining a future with Eliza—or any of them—never felt
just right.

With an incoherent mutter, Eliza stepped around piles of manure while examining the last of the five heifers up for sale today. It’d taken Duke the drive from Baker House to the stockyards to grow accustomed to the scuffed cowboy boots she wore under her gray ankle-grazing skirt. Still, on paper, she was the best of The Twelve. Tabitha liked her, and she seemed to interact well with his daughter and the rest of the other ladies. Dad admired her. Irie, too. When he’d spent time with Eliza over the last three weeks, she never wore the “When You Want to Be Kissed” perfume she had worn the first night.

Was it asking too much, though, for his next wife to love
him
more than cattle?

He tipped his Stetson back. The darkening line of clouds to the west testified rain was heading their way. Plus he could smell it in the air, despite the
parfum du cattle.
They had a couple hours, tops. A welcome rain, though. This humidity, above normal for October, could add a curl to anyone’s hair. He’d give anything to sit under a fan’s cooling breeze. While he enjoyed his lunch.

His stomach growled.

“We had eleven thirty reservations at the Exchange,” he said, motioning to the two-story stucco building on the other side of the dirt road separating it from the noisy cattle pens.

“In a sec.” She looked to the cowboy standing on the fence, yet yelled to another three pens down. “Hey, Charlie, what’s the best price you’ll give me if I buy all five?” Her voice nothing like the breathy, high-pitched one she used at the Baker House.

As the pair haggled prices, Duke looked at his pocket watch again. A quarter to twelve. When she’d begged last night for him to take her to the stockyards today for lunch, he’d agreed only because Linny Cartwright (the second best one for him… on paper) had asked to cancel their scheduled lunch date in order to aid Irie in teaching the two youngest Hightower girls how to make asparagus quiche. He folded his arms across his suit coat. Quiche sounded good right now, especially with peppered steak, grilled squash, and garlic potatoes.

“You’re crazy! I wouldn’t even pay half.” Eliza moved from the heifer’s side to its front, grasping it under its chin with her right hand and wrapping her left arm around its head to grasp the jaw. “This one has an infection in the frontal sinus. You should pay me to take it.”

Duke gave the animal a cursory glance. She was right. Still he asked, “How can you tell?”

“The facial asymmetry.” Eliza rolled her eyes as if the information was common knowledge. She released the heifer. “I’ll be back next week, Charlie. You’d better not try to sell me inferior cows again. I’m not my father.”

Duke opened the gate, and Eliza stepped through. As they passed the row of automobiles and horse-drawn buggies, she seemed to be scowling at the Exchange building.