The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (101 page)

“Charlotte Beck, are you still abed?”

Gennie’s voice jolted Charlotte from her slumber. As her wits and her vision cleared, she found her stepmother standing over her, illuminated by the sun pouring in the window.

“Papa said I wasn’t needed at the office until after lunch,” Charlotte protested as she pulled the covers over her head.

“Your father can have you when I’m done with you.” The blankets gave way to Gennie. “And I need you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Surely you’re joking.” Charlotte struggled into a sitting position.

“I assure you I’m quite serious.” Frowning, Gennie released her grip on the blankets and summoned the maid. “I do not wish to make important decisions without you.”

While Charlotte sat open-mouthed, Gennie turned and walked out the door.

“What sort of important decisions?” Charlotte called, but her stepmother did not respond. “Gennie? What—”

“Excuse me, Miss Beck.” A maid appeared at the door, her arms filled with a simple day dress that apparently comprised Charlotte’s ensemble for the morning. “Mrs. Beck asked that I bring these to you.” She paused. “We’re to hurry. Only a simple hairstyle for now. That’s what the missus would like.”

Charlotte bit back a sharp retort concerning what she would like and allowed herself to be dressed, styled, and released to find her way downstairs with three minutes to spare. She found Gennie in her favorite spot, the back parlor, deep in conversation with her dressmaker. While most rooms in their Denver home reflected Papa’s love of dark woods and masculine appointments, the back parlor was Eugenia Cooper Beck’s domain.

Today that domain had been invaded by bolts of fabric in shades of yellow, soft sage green, deepest red, and a lovely shade of blue, among other colors. Several handfuls of ribbons and lace coiled in a pile in the velvet chair nearest the marble hearth. Baskets of trim and other dressmaking paraphernalia had been deposited atop the table under the eastern-facing window, where the sun glinted down on scissors shaped like an odd little bird.

Gennie and the dressmaker looked up from a book of patterns.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “Am I early?”

“Not at all.” Gennie gestured to the chair beside her. “Join us. I’m just showing Molly the latest copy of
La Mode Pratique.
”

Curiosity propelled Charlotte forward. “What are they showing for winter?”

Gennie pushed the magazine of French fashions out of Charlotte’s reach. “There will be time for that later. For now, we’ve some decisions to make regarding your wardrobe.” She turned to Molly. “Go ahead and measure her. She’s a bit thinner than when she went off to university, but there should be little to do other than the alterations we’ve discussed.”

Charlotte submitted to Molly’s measurement tape. When the seamstress finished, she hastened away, taking the new French magazine with her. In her place came a maid bearing a breakfast tray.

“What is the hurry with having a fitting this morning?” Charlotte asked as she bit into her favorite morning treat, a warm croissant slathered with butter. “And why did she take the
La Mode Pratique
but leave all her fabrics and trims?”

“So you can choose which you prefer.” Gennie shrugged. “Am I wrong to assume that as long as the dress is the latest fashion, you will wear it?”

Charlotte frowned. “I suppose, though it might have been nice to see …” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Ignore me. I’m just a little anxious about seeing Papa today.”

Gennie reached for her teacup and took a sip. “I see.”

After one more bite of croissant, Charlotte shoved the plate away. It wouldn’t do to indulge in too many of these, lest Molly be required to let out her dresses before she’d had a chance to wear them.

“So, shall we make some choices for you?” Gennie gestured to the treasure trove of cloth and trims, her expression animated.

Too animated.

Charlotte set her napkin beside the plate and gave Gennie a sideways look. “You seem nervous.”

“Nervous?” Gennie shook her head then reached for the basket of trims. “Don’t be silly. I’m just glad you’re home. And now that you’re no longer at Wellesley, you will need a new wardrobe.” Her fingers worried with a length of tatted lace before she met Charlotte’s gaze. “For all those social events you have coming up.”

“Social events?” Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Please don’t let her be thinking of the wedding that will never happen
.

As soon as the idea occurred to Charlotte, she tucked it away. Nothing had been mentioned, so nothing was planned. Gennie loved to plan, and a wedding would have been the topic of conversation for months, possibly years. That Gennie had said nothing gave even more credence to Charlotte’s belief that there would be no joining of the houses of Beck and Hambly.

Gennie set the basket aside then moved to the settee, seating herself between the mounds of fabric. “Christmas will be here before we’re ready, and you know how busy we always are during the holidays. With
all the parties and receptions and the other events taking place during that time, you’ll be glad I planned ahead.”

“But it’s only June,” Charlotte protested.

Gennie’s eyes widened as she looked away. “But the holidays will be upon us.”

Charlotte leveled a look at Gennie. “So Christmas is the only reason for all this hurry?”

“Well, no.” Gennie looked away then hurriedly returned her attention to Charlotte. “I’d hoped to spare you this on your first day back in Denver,” she said softly, “but there’s to be a wedding soon.”

“Oh, no, there is not,” Charlotte snapped. “I absolutely refuse to be held to something I agreed to when I was just a child.”

Gennie’s brows rose, and then she began to laugh. When she composed herself, Charlotte’s stepmother returned to her seat at the table. Gently, she placed her hand atop Charlotte’s.

“Darling, it’s not your wedding I’m thinking of.” She worried with the edge of the napkin with her free hand, then gave Charlotte’s fingers a squeeze. “I know that once you left for Wellesley, you and Gussie Miller grew apart.”

A tinge of regret seized Charlotte. As much as she might blame their varying interests for the gap in her communication with Gussie in recent years, Charlotte knew the fault lay squarely with her. She was the one who lagged in responding to Gussie’s letters, who begged off from holidays at the Miller home in Newport, and who ultimately allowed their friendship to die from inattention.

“Gussie is getting married?” she asked meekly. “I didn’t know.”

Gennie appeared ready to issue a reproof but must have thought better of it, for she shook her head. “Just last week at church, Gussie
asked about you. She mentioned that she had not yet received a response from you.”

“A response?” Charlotte winced.

“Yes,” Gennie said. “To her letter asking whether you knew she would be marrying George Arthur. She’s concerned you’ll be upset.”

“George Arthur?” Charlotte couldn’t help laughing. “Really? Oh, Gennie, he was never anything other than a sweet fellow who followed me around like a lovesick puppy. I had no feelings for him.”

Gennie frowned. “So her worries were unfounded. It might have been nice to let her know.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. “Perhaps we should invite them to tea.”

“Perhaps you should go see her,” Gennie countered. “Make amends for your absence. What about this afternoon? Unless you irritate me terribly, I’ll go with you.”

“I can’t.” Charlotte rose and straightened the wrinkles in her skirt. “I’m joining Beck Enterprises today as Papa’s new vice president.”

One blond brow rose. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He did mention he would be speaking to you today regarding a matter of some importance,” Gennie said slowly.

“This is definitely a matter of some importance. Papa promised I would join the firm upon my graduation from Wellesley. He gave me his word.” She paused at the door to look back over her shoulder at Gennie. “Well, I’ve graduated. So, as much as I’d like to visit with the Millers, duty calls.”

“Duty,” Gennie echoed. “Yes, your father’s always felt duty was important. As is keeping your word. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful employee, dear.”

“Thank you. I’m going to do my best.”

“I’m sure you will,” Gennie called. “No matter what your father asks of you.”

Charlotte hurried up to her room. With the whole day ahead of her, there was no reason to stay home. If Papa didn’t need her until later, she could surely busy herself doing something of value until the time came to begin her official duties.

She would start with a letter of congratulations to Gussie. And perhaps an invitation to tea.

When she arrived at Beck Enterprises, Charlotte went directly to Hiram Nettles’s office. She found Papa’s second-in-command partially hidden behind a stack of ledgers, his complete attention on his work. He scrambled to his feet when she cleared her throat.

“Is it noon already?” he asked, straightening his spectacles.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. Just a quarter past eleven. I’d hoped to settle in to my new office before meeting with Papa. If you’d be so kind as to tell me where it is, I’ll not bother you any further.”

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Charlotte turned to see her father walking toward them, his head down as he read a page held at arm’s length.

He looked up. “Hiram, are the … Charlotte? You weren’t supposed to arrive until later.”

His expression bore surprise along with something akin to annoyance. Not exactly the greeting she’d hoped to receive.

“I thought I’d be early.” She smoothed the front of her skirt and met her father’s stare with a smile. The smile went unreturned.

Papa looked past her to Hiram. “I trust the papers are in order.”

“They are,” he said. “All signed and …” He gave Charlotte a nervous
glance before returning his gaze to the page he’d been studying. “Signed and awaiting completion of the … umm, well … the transaction.”

“And those arrangements have been made?”

“They have, sir.”

Papa spared Hiram only a quick nod before linking arms with Charlotte. “Come this way, Buttercup.”

She followed her father across the wide expanse of hallway to his office. “Shouldn’t you take me to
my
office?” she asked as he ushered her inside and closed the door.

Her father walked past her to stand at the window. Silhouetted against the expansive view of the snow-capped Rockies, Papa still looked large and imposing. But it was a lovely day in Denver. The sunshine. The birdsong. And Charlotte Beck was about to join her father’s company. She reminded herself of this as a niggle of concern snaked up her spine.

“Sit down, Buttercup,” Papa said without turning around.

Something in his voice caused Charlotte’s heart to sink. “You’ve changed your mind,” she said. Then her anger rose. “Papa, you made a promise, and I wish to see you make good on it.”

“I plan to.” He turned her direction, his face obscured by the brilliant sunshine streaming around him. He gestured toward a lovely black leather case positioned in the center of his desk. “For you.”

“Me?” She rose at his nod and retrieved the satchel. As she lifted it, she noticed the monogram engraved in gold letters just above the clasp. She looked at her father, who regarded her with arms crossed. “CBH?”

“Charlotte Beck Hambly.” He stepped away from the window and the lamplight caught his gentle but firm expression. “Immediately after your wedding, you’ll take a position in your grandfather’s London office.”

Charlotte sank back into her seat, her hands gripping the leather case, and closed her eyes. “I thought—hoped—you’d forgotten about that.” She took a shaky breath. “Papa, I …”

She what? Did not wish to hold up her end of the bargain? Would refuse a position if it meant marrying against her will?

“I simply can’t agree to it, Papa.”

He lifted one brow. “You already have, Charlotte.”

“I was only a child!” She shook her head. “Surely you’d not hold a grown woman to promises made in her youth.”

“And yet you assured me on many occasions that you were, in fact, a grown woman. What am I to think?”

He had her there. Still, she’d not go down without a fight.

“But there must be another way. I simply cannot …” Words failed her. Of course, Papa was right, even if what he had required of her four years ago was not.

She ran her hands across the initials, then let out a long breath. Slowly, refusing to allow the tears to fall, she lifted her gaze to meet Papa’s stare. As much as she wanted to argue or, failing that, flat out refuse, Charlotte knew when to pick her battles. And right now was not the time to argue. Not when she was so ill prepared for a debate with such huge consequences.

She affected a neutral expression and managed to ask, “What does my intended say about this?”

“Your intended realizes his good fortune in being wed to the heir of not one Beck fortune but two. You see, Charlotte, when my father dies, as long as you are a married woman, everything he owns goes directly to you.”

This she had not expected. “But what about you? And Uncle Edwin? And Danny?”

“Your uncle is well set. Your brother will someday take over for me, and he will become the earl upon my death, which means he will inherit the ancestral home and lands. But the Beck companies are yours.” He took the chair behind his desk, then folded his hands. “Provided you have a husband.”

“I see.” She bit her lip until the need to cry once again passed. “So the company I’m joining is not yours but Grandfather’s?”

Papa rose, walked around the table, and pulled her into an embrace. “No, Buttercup. The company you’re going to join is your own.”