The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (98 page)

Four days later, Alex once again sat across the desk from Daniel Beck, this time in the Beck Enterprises headquarters in Denver. Unlike their last meeting, Alex walked in the door in dry clothes, carrying the promise of a bank draft that would make him a wealthy man. He placed the proposal on the desk between them face down.

Rather than look over the documents, the owner of Beck Enterprises steepled his hands and gave Alex an amused look. “You appear quite sure of yourself, Viscount Hambly. I take it you’ve come to purchase the Summit Hill property for your observatory.”

Alex worked to keep his expression disinterested and gestured to the papers. “I bring an offer to purchase not only Summit Hill but also Beck Mining.”

The businessman’s brows rose, and he reached for the pages. “I see.” Mr. Beck thumbed through the pages but did not appear to read them. “I don’t suppose you’re asking to sweeten the deal by including my daughter as well?”

“No,” Alex replied firmly.

“And these offices?” Mr. Beck said with an amused tone. “Will you have them too?”

Alex glanced around the nicely appointed room, then returned his attention to the man across the desk. “Thank you, but no.”

“I see.” Mr. Beck returned the papers to the desk then sat back and regarded Alex with an even stare. “I have a counterproposal.”

“But you’ve not yet seen what we are offering.”

“I’m sure it is fair. More advantageous to you than to me, which is to be expected, but fair.” Daniel Beck shrugged. “But my counterproposal is this: Marry my daughter, and Beck Mining is yours. With all the additional capital needed for expansion and any other miscellaneous needs both here and abroad.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beck. Your counteroffer is generous.” Alex paused to choose his words carefully. “But I’ve a potential commitment that prevents me from accepting.”

“A potential commitment. Might that be the cause for your attorney’s meetings with the esteemed Mr. Miller?”

Alex remained silent.

Mr. Beck waved away any comment. “Of course you wouldn’t answer. You’re more of a businessman than you let on, son. Your head might be in the stars, but you’ve the heart of a man interested in commerce.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth.” Alex rose. “However, I would appreciate a prompt response to our offer. Three days should be sufficient.”

“Three days, it is.”

It only took two before Alex learned he was the new owner of Beck Mining as well as Beck’s Summit Hill mine. All that remained was to
finalize the arrangements with Augusta Miller’s father for her hand in marriage, and then all accounts with creditors and investors could be settled.

And he could go back to the Royal Observatory and reclaim his position in the astronomy community.

July 13, 1887
Beck Ranch near Fort Collins, Colorado

Her best friend Gussie Miller was in trouble. The letter had arrived in that morning’s mail—mixed in with a half-dozen missives from fellows who begged for Charlotte’s attention or her hand in marriage.

Just last week Gussie had sent three lengthy descriptions of her adventures in New York, complete with final fittings for gowns, visits to milliners for just the right hats, and a trip to a lovely place in Newport for an outing with numerous others of their set. Now it appeared that while Gussie was in Newport, her papa had struck a business deal that had nothing to do with his interests in railroads and manufacturing and everything to do with Gussie.

Help me, Charlie. I can’t possibly marry a fellow I’ve never met, even if he does own a castle and hold a string of titles. I just want to have my debut and think of marriage later. To someone I choose, not the man of Papa’s choosing
.

The words leaped off the page and lodged in Charlotte’s heart. How many of their set had done exactly the same thing? Marriages of convenience between girls termed Dollar Princesses by the press and the titled European men who took them and their money away to drafty old houses in need of repair.

Well, it wouldn’t happen to her best friend. It couldn’t.

A plan most brilliant and only slightly devious kept Charlotte busy most of the morning. Of all the boys who’d begged for attention since her return from London, George Arthur provided the key to her jail cell—and Gussie’s.

With a bit of practice, she just might be able to convince Papa he was the one. What Papa mustn’t discover was that Mr. Arthur would be the one who got her off the ranch and into Wellesley next term, not the one she would marry.

Today she merely needed to make Papa believe he had a future son-in-law on the hook and that Charlotte must go to Denver to reel him in. While in Denver, she would see to ending the ridiculous arrangement to marry Gussie off, then declare her own engagement off as well. If she played her cards right, Papa would believe that nothing could aid in her recovery from the busted betrothal except attending Wellesley as originally planned.

She went over the finer points of the strategy and found nothing wanting. With enough encouragement from Charlotte, Gussie’s Englishman would fall head over heels for her and forget his deal with Mr. Miller. And as for George Arthur, all Gussie had to do was bat her blue eyes a few times and convince him she was the better bride. In the end, neither man would be wed, and both women would get exactly what they wanted.

It was a brilliant plan.

Charlotte put on her most convincing expression and marched to her father’s office with three of George’s best declarations of undying love in her hand. She paused to stage a crazy-in-love expression then entered the room.

Her father looked up from his reading, and his face filled with concern. “Are you unwell? You look as if you’ve eaten something disagreeable.”

Charlotte frowned. “No, Papa, but I’ve something of an important nature to discuss with you. I have letters here. Declarations of a certain man’s intentions. I wish to pursue this further.”

He closed the book and set aside his reading spectacles. “So Viscount Hambly has come to his senses?”

“I fail to see why you’re so enamored of the viscount,” she snapped. “Any man looking to marry for money cannot possibly be in his right senses.”

Papa stared at her for a moment, and then he slowly shook his head. “You truly do not understand, do you? Hambly’s a good man who happens to be in an unenviable position right now.”

Charlotte shrugged, but couldn’t help remembering their kiss.
Kisses
, she corrected.

“A position, I might add,” her father continued, “that is not of his own making nor truly his to resolve. That he’s taking on the responsibility and doing something honorable for his family is quite impressive.”

She turned up her nose at the glowing compliments. “You don’t know him as well as I do. If you did, you’d change your mind.” She lifted the letters in her hand. “Now, George Arthur, on the other hand, is—”

“Tell me about this painting Bill Cody has requested,” Papa interrupted. “Will it be another of those Wild West show posters, or has he requested something for his home?”

Charlotte resisted the temptation to flop against the cushions of the settee and make a scene, for that would merely prove her father’s assessment of her maturity correct. Instead, she lowered herself with all the grace and deportment she could manage and then let out a long but dignified breath. “It is a rendering of his favorite horse. I did a sketch while in London.”

“I see. Then perhaps you’ll finish it soon, with all the time you have on your hands here.” Papa reached for his letter opener and opened the topmost envelope on the stack of mail before him, then began to read.

“Father,” Charlotte said when she could no longer keep her silence. At her use of the formal title, Papa’s brows rose, but he did not look up from the letter. “I wish to dispute your claims.”

“Which claim would this be?” he said evenly, still not looking at her.

“The claim that I am a child and not capable of choosing the right path for myself. Were you to admit the truth—”

“Were I to admit the truth, I’d remind you that you’ve been trying to convince me you were grown since you were still young enough for me to rock you to sleep.” He lifted his gaze, but only for a moment. “As yet, there’s been very little argument for it, and your behavior only testifies against it.”

“That’s completely unfair. Perhaps in the past I might have made a few missteps in judgment, but I assure you I have—”

“Missteps?” Her father’s inelegant snort was quite out of character. “Darling, I seem to recall a certain incident in London that had you riding around Earls Court like Annie Oakley and shooting holes in Bill’s hat.”

“I started quite a trend in London.”

“Indeed.” Papa seemed to be considering something. He leaned forward. “George Arthur, eh?” He shook his head. “He comes from good
stock, I’ll admit, but you’re only entertaining his offer because he doesn’t have the starch in his spine to stand up to you.”

“George adores me,” she protested, her only defense against the truth.

“Adores you,” Papa echoed with a shake of his head. “He allows you to lead him around as if he didn’t have a thought of his own.” He paused. “Am I wrong, Buttercup?”

He wasn’t.

“Exactly,” he continued. “And though marriage to a docile man might make for smooth sailing on your part, I warrant a man willing to take on the challenge of loving you by standing up to you on occasion will make for a much more interesting and longstanding match.”

“But Papa, I—”

“I’ve said my last word on the subject of George Arthur beyond this question: are you so intent on escaping the ranch that you’d lie to me? Or do you have another plan for poor George?”

Caught. And yet she couldn’t possibly tell him about the plan she’d concocted to free Gussie.

As if amused by her discomfort, Papa chuckled. “Take my advice and find your paint box and canvases. That will give you plenty to fill your time.” He paused as the mantel clock chimed, then looked down at the page still in his hand. “Bill’s last letter reminded me he’d be sending some of his performers again soon.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, grateful for the brief respite from her frustration. “Please, not again. The last time Colonel Cody’s friends came to visit, the buffalo got out and trampled Gennie’s roses.” She sighed. “You’re already investing in the show. Must you also provide free room and board to its performers? It’s unbearable here with a veritable circus in the house.”

Papa gave Charlotte a cross look. “You’ve just proven my point. Only a child wouldn’t see past a bit of inconvenience to provide for a need.” He exhaled a long breath. “Are you truly saying I should refuse them?”

“Well,” Charlotte managed, “when you put it like that, I suppose not.”

“That’s my girl. Now, I suggest you get busy on Colonel Cody’s commission.”

“I’ve got a good start on it,” she said, “but I find the ranch too distracting. I need to go back to Denver. It’s the only way I can paint.”

Papa looked as if he might respond, but then he shook his head and went back to his reading. He turned his chair to face the opposite direction, dismissing Charlotte.

She clenched her fists, crumpling George’s letters. She would find a way to get to Denver. Gussie needed her. She made one more stab at her original plan. “About George.”

“The discussion is closed.”

“Because I am a child who cannot decide for herself?” Charlotte’s anger flared. “So, Papa, were you and my mother children when you—”

She couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t rattle the dead bones of the mother she barely remembered to make her point.

And yet a quick glance at her father told Charlotte her point had been made. As he leaned back in the well-worn leather chair and closed his eyes, lamplight played over hair that time had woven with strands of gray.

“You’re being unreasonable, Papa,” she said in what she knew sounded like the whine of a child. “Why, as soon as—”

“Charlotte,” he breathed with what was likely the last of his patience.

She’d gone too far. “Not Buttercup?”

Papa’s eyes opened, and he met her stare. “No. Not this time.”

“Meaning?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Meaning I’m done humoring you.”

“Wonderful.” Charlotte kept her tone light, her expression teasing even as her heart slammed a furious rhythm against her chest. “For I wish to be taken seriously, not humored, and as such, I shall be on the next train to Denver to see to a situation with Gussie. And when the new term begins, I shall be at Wellesley.”

Her bravery in short supply, Charlotte waited a moment before daring to look at her father. To her relief, all she saw was a curious expression.

“How can you be both married to George Arthur and attending university, Charlotte? And what’s going on with Gussie that requires a visit?”

The clock over the mantel ticked at an even pace, and from outside, a horse’s whinny drifted in on a fresh breeze.