The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (16 page)

“I do.”

By the time Daniel reached the counter, George had both paper and ink ready. “You wanting to add a note to this gift?” He paused. “I’m just assuming it’s a gift,” he added quickly.

“I am.” Daniel pointed to the display of footwear in the far corner before dipping the pen in the inkwell. “Remember those boots the young lady was wearing?”

George’s ears pinked and he ducked his head. “I do,” he said. “Would you like me to fetch a pair in her size? That I know I’ve got.”

Daniel looked up from his writing. “How do you know her size?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t need to know. I suppose you know her address as well.”

The clerk looked confused. “Sure I do. Is that a trick question?”

Waving away a response, Daniel scribbled a note, then shook the page to dry the ink. “Put this inside the book and wrap it all up for delivery to the young lady with my compliments.”

Greater confusion showed in the clerk’s face. “You’re sure you don’t want to take it with you?”

Irritation flared. With the situation that awaited him at home, the last thing he needed to deal with was a clerk who fancied himself a comedian. “Just handle it, George,” he said as he turned and headed for the door. “Today.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Beck,” he called. “Today it is.”

As the door closed with a jangle, Daniel thought he heard George’s complaining about the odd ways of the wealthy, but with all the traffic clogging the Denver streets, he couldn’t ever be sure. It certainly wasn’t like the old days, when a man could walk down the middle of any street in town and not fear death under the wheels of a streetcar. He’d bunked in far more meager quarters back then. Not that he felt completely comfortable in the grand home. Some days he wondered if building the overblown castle had been for his own comfort or to somehow show the earl that he, too, could live like royalty even though his inheritance had been gladly signed away.

The best deal he’d ever made.

He waited for the streetcar to come to a stop at the curb, then smiled as he stepped in and handed his fare to the driver. Though trouble awaited at home in the form of an impudent governess, he took solace in the fact that once Miss McTaggart had been dispatched to New York, he could concentrate on finding the infinitely interesting Miss Blue Eyes.

He’d long since given up on the thrill of the chase, but now he looked forward to it, especially when the one he’d be chasing had a penchant for buckskin and boots.

A thought teased the edge of belief, and he allowed it only a second of his time: perhaps she might be the one to put the smile back on his face. The smile that reached all the way to his heart.

Ridiculous. She was a moment’s amusement and nothing more. Of the few women who’d kept his attention more than a week or two, only Georgiana had found the key to his heart.

As the streetcar jerked forward, Daniel turned to look out the window. George stood in the doorway of the store. It occurred to him that the clerk was the only witness to Daniel’s foolishly smitten behavior. His grin broadened. What man could resist a woman in oversized boots and buckskins?

The streetcar soon reached the end of the line, as did thoughts of the woman whose name he’d foolishly forgotten to ask. With each step toward home, his mind turned over the reasons why yet another governess would be leaving. Other than the last Miss McTaggart, none had lasted longer than six months. One resigned after less than a week.

He sighed. While all logical evidence pointed to Charlotte as the culprit, Daniel could not fathom the reason. In his presence, she was a lovely—if imperfect—young lady. She was a bit willful, and she needed a great deal of improvement in the social graces, but he would defy anyone to call her anything less than delightful.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Beck.”

Daniel stifled a groan as he saw Anna Finch and her mother strolling arm in arm toward him, looking more like plumed birds than the cream of Denver’s social crop. The Finch women carried umbrellas to shield ensembles burdened with enough baubles and lace to empty the notions department at Fisher’s.

“Ladies,” he said as he tipped his hat. “Nice day for a stroll. It appears the Lord is blessing us with unseasonably cool weather.”

“Indeed, it does,” the older Finch woman said, “though I must wonder why you’re out walking when you’ve a lovely buggy and that handsome driver to take you where you want to go.”

“Mama.” Anna patted her mother’s gloved hand. “It’s none of our business what Mr. Beck’s doing afoot.” She regarded him with wide eyes. “Please excuse my mother. She can be quite forward. Really, we’re not interested in the least.”

The look she gave him said exactly the opposite.

“Well then, I won’t keep you ladies.” Daniel replaced his hat atop his head and moved past the women, a difficult proposition considering the width of their skirts and the narrowness of the walkway. “Do enjoy your evening.”

“Wait!”

Miss Finch spoke the word with such force that Daniel had no choice but to turn and see the cause. He found one shocked older woman and one coy yet determined former debutante.

“Yes?” he asked, though he knew the question held the key to a door he’d rather keep locked.

“I was wondering…” A flush came to Miss Finch’s cheeks that Daniel guessed had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Yes?”

“Well, that is, the Millers are hosting an evening with that actor.” She turned to her mother. “What was his name?”

The women tossed names about while Daniel considered an exit strategy. Before he could figure out how to quickly take his leave, Anna came up with the name.

“Yes,” she said, her enthusiasm higher than necessary, “that’s the fellow.
I know it was mentioned you’d possibly be in attendance if you weren’t detained elsewhere. And it appears you’re right here.”

Daniel tamed his grin. “Yes, it appears so.”

“Yes, it does.” She looked away and bit her lip.

“And as for the event tonight…” He paused to consider his words. “While I would be pleased to be in such lovely company as your mother and yourself, I fear I must put another woman’s wishes ahead of yours.”

“Oh.”

He allowed her crestfallen look to remain for a moment. “Indeed, my daughter will be my focus this evening. I believe a rousing game of charades is planned.”

Anna’s giggle was not altogether unpleasant, even if it put him in mind of a girl rather than a grown woman. Seizing the chance to leave on a happy note, Daniel once again bade them a good evening and turned toward home.

“Wait!”

This time, he turned without speaking.

“The blond woman,” Anna said, her gloved hands worrying the handle of her umbrella. “She’s lovely.”

Daniel felt the heat rise to his temples. Had the Finch women witnessed his shameless flirting back at the dry goods store?

“Blond woman?” he said as innocently as he could manage.

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Finch chimed in. “Might she be dear Miss McTaggart’s replacement, or have you gone and betrothed yourself without giving my daughter a chance at you?”

“Mother!”

“I’m merely stating the obvious, Anna,” she said before turning her unblinking gaze back to meet Daniel’s stare. “Well, have you?”

The squeal of his estate gates opening caught Daniel’s attention, as did the clattering of hoofs as a buggy turned onto the street. At the reins sat Elias, putting Daniel in mind of another long-ago escape. While that one had taken place in time of war and under heavy enemy fire, this one felt just as dangerous. And just as welcome.

Elias slowed the buggy as he approached, and Daniel climbed aboard and waved to the womenfolk. “You saved me, old friend,” he said when the Finch women were safely out of earshot.

“I did, indeed,” Elias said, “and I am about to save you some more.”

Rather than argue the semantics of the statement, Daniel merely nodded and awaited what he expected to be an interesting explanation. Anything that sent the buggy careening down the street and turning corners practically on two wheels had to be worth the wait.

“You can’t make me take a bath. I’ll not do it.”

Gennie ignored the child’s protests as well as the complaints of Tova, who lagged a few steps behind. With one hand firmly on the girl’s overalls strap, she opened the door to the nursery with the other.

“I said I won’t take a bath, and I don’t have to.” Charlotte tugged against Gennie’s grip. “Besides, there’s no bathing closet in the nursery. Anyone who isn’t stupid knows that.”

Gennie looked back at Tova, who had ceased following and stood at the top of the steps. “Is that true?”

The housekeeper nodded. “Mr. Beck was afraid she might be harmed should she get into the water without supervision.”

“No danger of that today.” Gennie swiped at the flaking mud on her cheeks. “She will have plenty of supervision.”

“I won’t,” Charlotte protested.

Gennie turned the corner and found her own bedroom door. “Fetch the child’s bedclothes,” she called to Tova. “But take your time. This chore will likely not be done quickly or easily.”

The battle that ensued was nearly lost several times when Charlotte tried to escape. First she attempted to slip out the door while Gennie filled the tub. Then, when Tova knocked, Charlotte opened the window and nearly made it all the way out onto the ledge, where a tree limb the size of a man’s arm could have easily accommodated her exit.

Or given way and allowed her to fall to the ground in a heap.

Gennie shuddered at the thought and turned the key to lock them both inside the bathing closet. Setting the key on the windowsill, she reached for the cake of soap. “All right, let’s get started. Your filthy overalls first, please.”

“No.”

“I did not ask, Charlotte. The overalls need washing, and so do you.”

Charlotte walked toward her, a repentant look on her face. For a moment, Gennie entertained the hope that the child might actually have given up the fight.

Then the girl lunged for the key and raced to the door. Before she could fit it into the lock, Gennie wrenched it away. Through the window out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isak washing down the bay mare. At the sound of his name, Tova’s son came running.

“Catch this and give it to your mother.” Gennie tossed the key out the window, then snapped the curtains shut. Slowly pivoting, she noted with more than a little glee the shock on Charlotte’s face.

“You threw the key out the window,” the girl said.

“I did.”

“I hate baths.”

“I didn’t ask,” Gennie responded in as calm a tone as she could manage. “If you’re shy, I’ll turn my head, but you must get into the tub
before the water gets cold. I’ll not have your father returning to find his only daughter has caught a chill on my watch.”

“Papa’s returning?”

Only two words, and yet their hopeful tone threatened to break Gennie’s heart. “I’ve certainly written to tell him he must.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I think he will.” Rather than look directly at the girl, Gennie tested the temperature of the water, then stirred in a healthy measure of the rose-scented bath salts she’d found in the back of the cupboard this morning.

For a moment, Charlotte’s defiance seemed to disappear. Then she took a long look at the water. “I won’t do it.”

“Very well.” Gennie reached into the cabinet and withdrew a hairbrush. “Then we shall deal with the tangles first. The bath can come after.”

“You’re serious.”

Gennie took a step toward her. “I am, though in my experience, it’s much easier to comb through wet hair than dry.”

“But you’re covered in mud,” Charlotte said in a suspiciously sweet voice. “Shouldn’t you go before me? I promise I’ll play quietly in my room until it’s my turn.” When Gennie only stared, the girl sighed loudly. “Oh, all right, but I’ll wash my own hair.”

“We shall see about that,” Gennie said. “I’m not convinced you know how.”

That did it. In a flash, the girl shed her overalls along with the rest of her clothing and dove into the tub with a splash. She came up for air, sputtering. “It smells horrible. What did you put in here?”

“Never mind.” Gennie piled the filthy clothing beside the door. “Just see that you come out smelling like it.”