Debra Holland (25 page)

Mrs. Cobb shot upright in her chair. “Miss Stanton! You
cannot
live with an unmarried man without a chaperone. Tell her, Isaiah.”

The man’s red nose twitched, although he didn’t say anything.

“Governesses do so all the time,” Harriet said calmly, even though she could feel her stomach tighten.

“In big houses with other female servants.”

“Not always.”

“You’ll be ruined.”

“Mrs. Cobb! I’m not going to live in sin with Mr. Gordon. I will be his
employee
working with his nephew.”

“Your reputation will be ruined. You won’t be allowed to teach school.”

That threat was a blow that shook Harriet’s confidence in her decision. Could that really be true?
No.

As Mrs. Cobb harangued her, Harriet allowed the words to slide around her. She waited for Mrs. Cobb to take a breath so she could flee to her room. All the time, she clung to the fact that she
knew
a governess was a respectable occupation. Surely the town leaders would agree.

* * *

The next afternoon, Ant walked up the brick pathway to the imposing three-story brick mansion, the nicest home he’d seen in the town, his steps dragging. Cobb, with a disapproving voice and look of malicious glee, had brought him the news that the civic leaders wanted to meet with Ant to discuss Miss Stanton. Ant had almost refused before realizing that he didn’t want to cause Harriet any trouble. He’d better see what the men wanted.
But I don’t have to like it.

Before he could knock on the carved door, surrounded by stained glass windows, it was opened by a woman in a lavender gown, whom he hadn’t met before. She waved him in. “I’m Edith Grayson, Caleb Livingston’s sister.” She gave him an appraising look. “His
widowed
sister.”

Now that she mentioned it, Ant could see the relationship. Both siblings stood tall and dark. Edith’s beauty reminded him of Isabella—similar long-lashed, big brown eyes and brown hair, although Bella’s had been sable. Edith had a kissable mouth and curvy figure. His interest quickened, mostly because she was beautiful and the kind of woman he was attracted to. But he remembered Harriet’s story about Edith’s actions against Samantha Rodriguez’s twins, and the woman lost much of her appeal.

With a jolt of awareness, Ant realized in the past week he hadn’t given a thought to his former love, when before this week, he hadn’t gone a day without thinking of her since she’d died. Maybe after all these years he’d finally been freed of Bella’s ghost. If he could go one week without remembering—without nightmares—maybe she’d stop haunting him forever.

Ant introduced himself to the widow and was rewarded with a flirtatious smile, which did little to attract him.

She held out a hand for his hat and hung it on a hat rack in the foyer.
 

Ant ran his palm over his head, smoothing his hair. He followed Edith down the hall, barely noticing the black and white tiled floor, sweeping stairway, and carved woodwork, in his focus on her backside, swaying under the small bustle of her dress. She had a nice backside, although not as nice as Harriet’s.

She gestured with a graceful, white hand to the open doorway. “The others are in there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grayson,” he said gravely. He walked into the room with an odd feeling of going to his fate.

Reverend Norton greeted him from the comfort of a blue wing chair. Rancher Wyatt Thompson and Caleb Livingston, both tall men, although shorter than half a head to Ant, stood near the fireplace. They nodded a greeting. Merchant Cobb grunted from where he was seated on a settee.

Ant had previously met Livingston when he’d gone to the bank to arrange for a transfer of his assets and to discuss his plans with the man. At the time, they had been all business, but now, seeing the banker in his domestic realm, Ant wondered why Livingston remained unmarried. Remarkable given his dark good looks and his wealth.

A woman, wearing the black uniform and white apron of a servant, with her gray hair pulled back tightly, brought in a tray of coffee steaming from cups. The aroma was a welcomed scent. All the men took one. Cobb added cream and sugar, while the rest took theirs black. They held the saucers, blew on the brew in their cups, and took careful sips, the mood tense.

Ant looked around, noticing the high ceilings, the tall brick fireplace with an elaborately carved mantel, and polished woodwork that gleamed from the sunlight streaming through the lace-framed windows. He couldn’t help contrasting the room with the “parlor” of the log house he’d be living in from now on. The comparison wasn’t favorable, and his spirits settled lower. He tried to shrug away the thoughts. He’d never been a man who cared much where he lived—provided the ceilings were high enough.
 

Ant sipped his coffee, sizing up the other men, planning his strategy.

Cobb’s bulbous nose twitched. “Who else is coming? I have to get back to the store.”

Reverend Norton gave him a reproving glance. “We’re waiting for Carter and Sanders. Doc Cameron’s been called out to a birthing. But he gave me his opinion already.”

Livingston scowled. “Since when did Sanders become a town leader?”

Thompson raised his eyebrows. “You mean besides the fact that he married the wealthiest, most beautiful woman—next to my bride-to-be, of course—ever to step foot in this town?”

Cobb cackled. “Stole her right out from under your nose, Livingston.”

The banker shot him a glance of dislike.
 

So the Boston beauty, Elizabeth Sanders, was the reason Livingston was still a bachelor.
Ant wondered if the two men hated one another and whether the banker had any interest in Harriet. It could hurt his chances of getting a governess for David.

At that moment John Carter entered the room, followed by the man in question, Nick Sanders.

They all nodded hello before Livingston waved toward a doorway, pointedly changing the subject. “I thought it might be easier for us all to sit in the dining room. Mrs. Graves has made cookies and lemonade for anyone who wants something cold to drink.”

As they walked across the room, Carter ambled next to the banker. “You still have much ice, Livingston? We ran out Sunday. Used the last of it to make ice cream. After Lizzie’s brush with influenza, I had the men cut more blocks last winter. Consequently, we used more ice and ran out at about the same time as before.”

The banker shrugged. “I don’t know. I leave that kind of thing to Mrs. Graves.”

Carter turned to Ant. “How’s that nephew of yours?”

“Adjusting. Slow going.”

Carter clapped a brief sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. The gesture was unexpectedly warming, and Ant hoped the rancher would aid his cause.

A large table, of a size Ant hadn’t seen since he’d left New York, dominated the room. A portrait of a couple in old-fashioned clothes hung above the ornate fireplace. The man had the chiseled Livingston features.
Father? No the clothes were too old-fashioned.
“Your grandfather?” Ant asked the banker.

“Yes, he founded the family business in Boston.”

A big blue-and-white platter of sugar cookies sitting on the table drew his attention. Ant hadn’t had sugar cookies in ages, but his stomach felt too tight to eat. “Those cookies look good. Maybe I could take one home for David?”

Reverend Norton leaned over and pushed the plate closer to Ant. “Go ahead. The boy’s too skinny. Probably has a sweet tooth.”

Nick swiped a cookie. “Doesn’t everybody?”

A rumble of laughter went around the room.

Livingston went to take the chair at the head of the table. Carter and Norton took a seat on either side of him. Thompson sat next to the minister, and Cobb slouched beside him. Sanders dropped into the chair next to Carter, leaving Ant to slid into the seat at his right, setting down his empty coffee cup and saucer.

Ant took some time to assess the men, all of whom he’d met before.
Never had to face a moral committee before. Don’t like that I do now.
If he hadn’t already bought the house and paid the architect to start work on the office building, he’d take David and leave.

Livingston picked up the pitcher of lemonade and poured a glass for himself. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked Ant, his tone pompous. He handed the pitcher to Reverend Norton, then took two cookies and set them on a plate in front of him.

“You summoned me.” Ant allowed some of his resentment to edge his voice. To cool his temper, he picked up the pitcher, tipped a flow of lemonade into a glass, and took a long draught of the sweet concoction. He nodded approval to his host.

Wyatt Thompson poured himself some lemonade, “First of all, Gordon, we’re meeting here because of
who
you asked to be a governess to David,” he said, his gray eyes steady. “If you’d chosen another woman, it would be none of our business.”

Reverend Norton cleared his throat.

With an apologetic glance at the minister, Thompson continued, “Except for the good preacher here. But because Miss Stanton is the schoolteacher and paid by the town, some people...” he gave Cobb a pointed look “feel they have to bring up the issue.”

Carter segued in. “And others of us are concerned about Miss Stanton’s well-being. She’s a valued member of our community, and we care about her.” He took a sip of his coffee.

Ant sent a glare at the men assembled around the table. “This conversation does no service to Miss Stanton’s strength of character, which I’ve seen plenty of in my few days here. You, who’ve known her longer, should know her better.”

The men exchanged glances, but for the life of him, Ant couldn’t figure out what the looks meant. A hum of energy filled the room, making him uneasy.
What’s going on here?

Thompson nodded in agreement to Ant’s statement. “Personally, I think this meeting is a waste of time. I’d rather be spending time with my beautiful bride-to-be. This is all a tempest in a teapot. I trust Miss Stanton’s good sense. And—” he slanted a glance at Sanders “—Miss Stanton’s partiality for another is well-known.”

The younger man’s face reddened.

Why did Ant’s stomach knot at Thompson’s words? The man was only confirming what Ant had already learned.

Carter ran a hand over his head of thinning sandy hair. “No one took Livingston, here, to task for living alone with his housekeeper in the years before his sister moved in.”

Livingston coughed and set down his glass.

Carter’s blue eyes twinkled. He blithely continued on. “Not that Mrs. Graves looks anything like our Miss Stanton, but the point is the same. No chaperone.”

“She’s older,” Livingston said in a strangled voice. “A widow. Not at all the same thing.”

Reverend Norton smoothed his white beard. “You could always marry her,” he said to Ant with an angelic smile.

Ant choked on the bite of the cookie he’d just taken. He could feel the pressure of the men’s heavy gazes. He didn’t know what to say. The silence lengthened.

Thompson came to his rescue. He shook his head. “Then we’d lose our schoolmarm. Samantha’s boys have had enough difficulty adjusting to school. They love Miss Stanton, and she’s done an excellent job with them.”

Carter looked thoughtful. “Even the troublemakers tend to mind her, which is interesting with her being a bit of a woman.”

Marriage!
Ant’s head spun. “Now, hold on.”

John Carter looked thoughtful. “Nothing says that we couldn’t have a married lady teacher. Male teachers are often married.” He tipped his head toward Ant. “Providing that Gordon allows her.”

Ant made a gabbling noise, which the other men ignored.

The conversation carried on without him. Finally, Sanders, who hadn’t yet spoken, seemed to take pity on Ant. “You’ll have to forgive us, Gordon. Except for our banker here, you’re corralled with a herd of happily married...” he lifted his chin at Thompson. “Or almost married men.”

All the men except Livingston laughed.

The banker scowled at the younger man, then turned the frown on Ant. “If you sully Miss Stanton’s good name, are you prepared to marry her?”

“Good idea,” said Thompson, who took a bite of a cookie.

Livingston scowled at Ant. “The truth is it’s not Miss Stanton’s character that’s an issue here. It’s yours.”

Cobb grimaced at him. “We don’t know you from Adam. There’s been nothing but trouble since you came. Murder and...”

Ant could feel anger heating up his neck.

Carter shot the shopkeeper a sharp glance that shut the man up. He turned his attention back to Ant. “We want to know that you’ll marry Miss Stanton if need be.”

“
If
I sully Miss Stanton’s good name, which I
don’t
intend to do, I’ll marry her.”

“Sometimes the best of intentions aren’t good enough,” Reverend Norton said in a tone of gentle reproof.

Ant didn’t care if Norton was a man of the cloth. His patience unraveled. “I said I’d marry her if need be,” he snapped. “But for now, let’s leave the subject alone.” He stood. “I think I’ve made myself clear.” He swiped a cookie from the platter. “Good night, gentlemen!”