ToLoveaLady (23 page)

“Maybe they drifted over to a different area.”

“I’ve been searching for the past two days.” Bryce sighed. “Those calves are gone. I think somebody found them and helped themselves.”

 
“Do you think it’s the same person who’s been taking cattle from all the ranches? Abbie Waters lost some last week.”
 

“John Grady has lost some, too. In fact, they’ve hit him pretty hard, considering he didn’t have much of a herd to start with.”

The mention of the sheriff didn’t improve Charles’ mood any. “He doesn’t seem to be doing much to stop it.”

Bryce studied him a moment. “I heard he hauled in one of your British servants last week.”

“A ridiculous mix-up.” Charles dismissed the incident with a wave of his hand. “I believe he did it more to get at me than because he truly believed Bainbridge capable of theft.”

Bryce rubbed his jaw. “Grady’s had a rough time of it. He’s got mighty big boots to fill over there at the sheriff’s office and I think he thought owning a ranch would make folks accept him more readily. But he’s made a pretty poor showing in that respect, too.”

Charles bristled. As if anything he’d done had been easy. He’d worked damned hard to make it look easy. Never let them see you flinch had been his creed, carried out well, perhaps too well.

“You know that whorehouse is going up within shouting distance of his place?” Bryce asked. “I rode over and took a look at it while I was out hunting those calves. Looks to be a big, fine place.” He chuckled. “It’s gnawing at Grady like a pesky mosquito.”

“I’d say the man goes out of his way to make enemies.”

“Maybe he blames you for bringing those women into this country.”

“I didn’t bring them!” he protested.

Bryce elevated one bushy brow. “They’re staying at your house, aren’t they?”

“Only because Lady Thorndale invited them.”

Bryce’s grin caught Charles off-guard. What was so amusing? “She did, did she? I’ll say one thing for you Britishers, you got some funny ideas about things.”

“Cecily is every inch the proper lady,” Charles said stiffly.

“I never said she wasn’t. I hear she’s a real looker, too.” His grin broadened. “Sounds like you’re in for a right interesting marriage. If I was any younger, I’d be tempted to give you a run for your money.” He laughed again and stood. “Come on, let’s take a ride and I’ll show you where your calves used to be. Maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

Charles followed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the butt of some joke he couldn’t quite get.

* * *

If anyone back home in England could see me now, they would surely be surprised,
Cecily thought as she sat in the front parlor of Fairweather’s newest house of prostitution, enjoying afternoon tea with the building’s inhabitants.

“Thank you so much for coming to see us this afternoon,” Madame LeFleur said as she poured Darjeeling tea into bone china cups. “We wanted to repay you in some small way for all you have done for us.”

“But I have done so little.” Cecily accepted the cup of tea. “Certainly nothing I didn’t enjoy doing.”

“If not for you, Fifi and I might never have learned to read.” Estelle looked at Fifi and the blond nodded in agreement.

“You can’t convince us that teaching two thick-headed students like us has been fun for you,” Fifi said.

“But it has.” Cecily smiled. “In fact, I think I like teaching more than anything I’ve ever done.” She didn’t know whether to be sad or delighted that this was so. In retrospect, her life before coming to Texas seemed exceedingly dull.

“Bah!
 
I wouldn’t be a teacher for all the tea in china.” Estelle waved away the idea. “Put up with all that grief from people, and on short wages, too.”

“But it’s very gratifying to see others learn.” Cecily tried to think of the words to describe the feeling that came over her whenever Fifi or Estelle finally understood a word or a concept. “Teaching is something useful, and important.” Not like flower arranging, or embroidery, or any of the dozens of other ‘accomplishments’ she could claim.

“Still, we owe you a debt of thanks,” Madame said. “Not many women would go to the trouble to help those in our profession.”

“You are too kind,” Cecily protested. “I ought to thank you, for making my first days in Texas less lonely.”

This would shock members of her set in England even more: that a woman like Cecily could actually develop a true friendship with women whose background was so very different from her own. But that difference was perhaps what she appreciated most. These three women had opened up a new world to her, a world much broader and more exciting than the narrow one she’d known before.

She sipped her tea and tried to look around the room without seeming to stare. The gold and white color scheme Madame had chosen was as elegant as any Cecily had ever seen. Twin sofas upholstered in gold velvet faced each other across a low gate-legged table, while overstuffed chairs and footstools provided additional seating along the walls. Heavy gold draperies at the windows framed lace panels that let in light while providing plenty of privacy.
 

She couldn’t keep back a blush as she thought about why the house’s inhabitants needed privacy. She’d grown so used to thinking of Madame, Estelle and Fifi as being just like other women, but in this one respect, at least, they were not.

She pushed the thought aside and focused her attention on her hostess once more. “The ranch house is going to seem empty without the three of you,” she said.

Madame stirred sugar into her cup. “Surely, you will enjoy the opportunity to be alone with your fiancé. You and Lord Silsbee have much to discuss,
non
?”

She stared into her cup, avoiding Madame’s searching gaze. So much between she and Charles remained unsaid. Perhaps they’d both been schooled too well in the art of pleasing others, and thus could not bring themselves to risk the unpleasantness that must surely accompany the dissolution of an engagement — if dissolution was what Charles really wanted.

“Do not look so sad,
cher
.” Madame leaned forward, concern making deep furrows across her brow. “Now that you and your beloved are to be alone again, I am certain he will no longer hold back his feelings for you.”

She set aside her cup and smoothed her palms across her skirt. “I’m not sure Charles has feelings for me anymore,” she said. “Not the feelings a man ought to have for his future wife. Sometimes, I wonder if he even likes me.”

“Oh, he likes you all right.” Estelle crumbled a tea cookie onto her plate. “You must not have noticed those looks he gives you when he thinks no one can see him.”

“Looks?” Cecily felt a flutter in her breast.

Fifi nodded. “Oh yes. I have seen them, too. As if he will die if he cannot have you.” She hugged herself. “What I wouldn’t give to have a man look at me that way, and know he meant it.”

“How can I know Charles means it? He certainly doesn’t act like it.”

“He’s just being a man,” Estelle said. “Wanting his freedom, but not wanting you to have any.”

“No, he is being a boy,” Fifi countered. “Afraid of these feelings that are so big, so powerful, that they make him feel small. So he tries to ignore them, thinking he can control things this way.” She shrugged in disdain. “As if love were an enemy to be subdued, or an affliction to be overcome.”

If only there were a potion or pill one could take to cure lovesickness, the way one treated the croup or a headache. Cecily sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps once Charles and I have time alone, we’ll come to some agreement about our future.”

“He’ll marry you eventually.” Estelle drained her cup and set it aside. “He has to, doesn’t he? You’re officially engaged and I take it your set is a lot more particular about these things than some.”

She knotted her hands in her lap. “That’s true, but. . . “

“But what,
cher
?” Madame asked gently.

She flushed. “I know you will think me vain, or silly, but I don’t want Charles to marry me merely because he’s obligated to do so.”

“It’s the only way some men will ever tie the knot,” Estelle said.

She shook her head. How could she explain her feelings to these women who by necessity had reduced the most complex human interaction to the basis of practical need?

“I think what Lady Cecily is trying to say is that she wants Lord Silsbee’s heart as well as his body and his name,” Madame said.

She nodded, bracing herself for the jeers that were sure to follow. Certainly if she had been sitting in some parlor back in England with old friends and acquaintances, a good number of them would have scolded her conceit. Marriages were practical alliances to secure property or title or enrich bloodlines. To wish for love as well was vanity of the most selfish kind. Many a young woman had thought herself above marrying for anything but undying love, and thus had lived the rest of her days as a pitied spinster.

She felt a hand on her knee and looked up to find Madame’s eyes fixed kindly on her. “It is no crime to wish to be loved, my child,” she said. “Only a crime to deny yourself what is already within your reach.”

“Maybe your Charles just needs a little extra bit of encouragement,” Estelle said.

She knew exactly what kind of ‘encouragement’ Estelle favored. Cecily shook her head. “I know you mean well, but I’ve tried flirting with Charles and. . . and even trying to tempt him. It doesn’t work.”

“It doesn’t work?” Fifi stared at her. “You’re a pretty enough woman, and I could swear he’s attracted to you. What are you doing wrong?”

Cecily flushed. “I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong. Perhaps Charles is too much of a gentleman –”

“There’s no such thing!” Estelle sprang from her chair and began to circle Cecily, eyeing her critically. “Men are men, I don’t care if they haul coal for a living or dine on caviar every night.”

“Could it be that Lord Silsbee doesn’t fancy women in general?” Fifi looked mournful. “Such a waste, in a man so handsome.”

Estelle stopped in front of Cecily. “Has he ever kissed you?”

Cecily couldn’t keep from blushing to the roots of her hair. “I. . . I know it isn’t exactly proper. . . “

Estelle laughed. “Says who? I’m not your mother, Cecily. And I’d bet she and I have pretty different ideas about what’s proper — and what’s not. So he
has
kissed you, hasn’t he?”

She nodded sheepishly. Not that she was ashamed of having kissed Charles, but to discuss something so personal with other people, in broad daylight no less, seemed scandalous.
 

“Is he a good kisser?” Fifi rose and stood beside Estelle.

Annoyance crept in alongside embarrassment. Why were the two women so very interested in Charles’ kissing ability?

“Don’t look so mulish,” Estelle chided. “We’re only asking out of professional curiosity. To gauge his interest, so to speak.”

She supposed that made sense, as much as any of this conversation could be said to be sensible. She relaxed a little and nodded. “Charles is, um, a very good kisser. Not that I’ve been kissed that often, but –”

“But he made your toes tingle.”

“What?” She blinked.

Fifi grinned. “He made your toes tingle?” she repeated.

Warmth swept through her at the memory. Toes, knees, the tips of her fingers. . . “He made everything tingle.”

“Well, that answers that question.” Estelle chuckled and clapped her hands together. “All right. Now all we have to do is get Charles’s attention and hold it until he gets the message. Let nature take its course, so to speak.”

Cecily wasn’t sure she liked the devilish gleam in Estelle’s eyes. She squirmed in her chair. “Perhaps it would be better to wait. . . “

“You’ve done that already, and look where it’s gotten you.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Fifi grabbed Estelle’s shoulder and pulled her close.
 

As the two whispered and giggled, Cecily sought Madame LeFleur’s gaze. Madame smiled and shrugged. “I cannot imagine what the two of them are plotting. But I know they would never do anything to hurt you.”

Estelle glanced at Cecily, grinned, then turned back to whisper something to Fifi. After a moment, she straightened and faced Cecily again. “What now?” Cecily asked.

“I need your help with a dress I’m sewing.” Estelle held out her hand. “Would you try it on for me, so I can pin the hem?”
 

Cecily blinked. “But what about Charles?”

“We’ll deal with him later. Right now, I need to get this dress hemmed, so I can wear it when we open tomorrow night.”

Cecily started to protest that her future with Charles was more important than any dress, but who was to say it really was, especially to Estelle? “Of course I’ll help you,” she said, and allowed her friend to pull her out of the parlor and up the stairs to a small room at the end of the hall.

“We’ll work in here, where the light’s better.” Estelle walked to the window and pulled back the drapes, flooding the room with light. “Why don’t you go ahead and get undressed, and I’ll get my dress.”

Cecily stripped off her gloves and laid them on the washstand, but she quickly realized she would never be able to undo the row of buttons fastening the back of her dress. She had long ago noticed that women who did not have the luxury of a maid were seldom cursed with clothing that imprisoned them this way.