Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage Agreement\Cowgirl for Keeps\The Lawman's Redemption\Captive on the High Seas (35 page)

How generous of Percy to turn the attention to Garrick. Obviously, he wanted to stir up a romance between his cousin and her. While that would never happen, Rosamond was still moved by his comments, which she fully believed. When they'd all arrived in Esperanza last Friday, Garrick had made friends right away with Nate and Susanna's two children. And he spoke of meeting some boy in town whose mother needed work. The arrogant Englishman she'd overheard in the Denver train station hadn't sounded at all like a man who cared for children or needy mothers.

Tolley might still have his problems with Garrick's English ways, but Rosamond must consider this other side of his character. His privileged upbringing wasn't a fault any more than hers was—simply a fact of life. In spite of it, he appeared to have a generous spirit. Maybe she should try to dig a bit deeper and find out just what motivated him.

Beryl stayed inside to help Percy while Rosamond and Marybeth tended the chickens and gathered eggs. They came back inside to find Beryl in the rocking chair, holding a very happy baby sucking on a white cotton cloth.

“See how clever Percy is.” Beryl beamed up at him. “He put a piece of ice in this napkin, and it's soothing Randy's teething pain.”

“I'd never have thought of that.” Marybeth sighed. “Mother Northam and Angela, Susanna's stepmother, come over when they can to teach me about mothering, but I've lots to learn.” She smiled at Percy. “Thank you.” She reached out for her son, but Beryl held tight and rose from the chair.

“Now, how about a tour of this pretty little home?”

The house turned out to be everything Tolley had said. With four rooms on each floor, the growing family had plenty of space. The bedrooms and parlor walls boasted flawlessly applied wallpaper. Further, Marybeth felt secure during winter storms and fierce spring winds.

“The windows barely rattle, even upstairs, and only a little sand blows in around the edges from time to time.” She laughed. “No house in the Valley can escape that.”

Delighted with Tolley's excellent work, Rosamond turned her attention to helping Marybeth in the kitchen. She and Beryl made bread, killed and dressed a chicken, peeled potatoes and carrots and set a pot of stew to boiling. Plenty of wood already sat stacked in a bin near the cast-iron stove, so Percy brought in water from the outside pump and refilled the stove's water tank.

With another trip to town on their agenda, they declined Marybeth's invitation to stay for dinner and rode back to the big house in time to freshen up and eat with Mother and Father. And Garrick.

“I say, old man.” Percy clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Where've you been? What did you do all morning?”

Garrick shrugged. “I managed to keep busy.” He stared down at his plate and began to eat.

Rosamond thought she saw him grin before he took his first bite. What was he hiding?

* * *

Garrick hid his smile by taking a bite of a gravy-covered muffin—or biscuit? He still had much to learn about translating Americans' misusage of the language into proper English. The cooking, on the other hand, was varied and delicious—at least everything Rita prepared. And devouring this delightful concoction before him kept him from having to answer Percy about his activities.

Until today, he hadn't been terribly concerned about keeping his lessons with Pete a secret. Yet as the morning progressed, he realized learning a cowboy's work would require considerable effort. If it took too much time away from the hotel project, he might reconsider his hopes of impressing Tolley and Rosamond on their own ground. Then, if he failed at the attempt, only he and Pete would know.

He had, however, ordered a pair of boots from Joe, who operated a tannery at Four Stones Ranch. Joe promised to deliver them within a week. Further, Garrick successfully saddled Gypsy, the bay mare the Northams had assigned to him. Before putting the blanket or saddle on her, he brushed her carefully to remove any possible burrs or other debris from her sleek, reddish-brown coat. She leaned into the brush, clearly enjoying the attention. Then, as he shook out the blanket, she turned her finely shaped head and acknowledged him with a friendly nudge. Grooms had always taken care of his ponies and horses on Uncle's estate, so until today he'd had no idea that grooming a horse helped one make friends with the creature. Gypsy had minded him from the start, but now she actually seemed eager to please him.

Maybe if he did something nice for Rosamond, he could win her over, too. Not that he was comparing her to a horse, of course. In any event, pleasing her was a pointless goal. Uncle was the one whom he needed to satisfy. On the other hand, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself away from the building project. Winning Rosamond's admiration somehow became his new objective. And Tolley's, of course, though he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps because Rosamond cared so much for her younger brother.

“Shall we go into town and arrange for the hotel curtains?” Rosamond asked.

At her benign smile, his heart hopped like the little frog he'd seen by a stream this morning during his ride with Pete. He wanted to please Rosamond, wanted to return to England knowing he'd earned this strong, intelligent American woman's respect. Oddly, the thought of leaving her caused Rita's fluffy muffins to sit like a rock in his stomach.

“Well?” Rosamond asked across the table, her eyes filled with amusement.

“Yes.” Garrick realized he'd been staring at her without responding to her question. “Yes, of course. Town. Curtains. And don't forget the bedding.”

Beside him, Percy snickered. If Garrick weren't so set on limiting his cousin's contact with Beryl, he'd tell him to stay home. But he and Rosamond required a chaperone, so all four must go. At least that way, Garrick could keep an eye on the would-be lovebirds.

“Rosamond.” Colonel Northam dabbed his lips with an elegance befitting an aristocrat. “Make sure you ask Mother whether she needs anything from town.”

“Yes, sir.” Rosamond turned to Mrs. Northam. “Mother?”

The older lady's pretty smile was identical to her daughter's. “I need to work in the kitchen garden this afternoon, so thank you for saving me a trip. I'll get my list.”

* * *

At their first stop, Mrs. Beal welcomed them into her front parlor, which she'd turned into a showroom for her wares. While Rosamond explained the purpose of their visit, Garrick surreptitiously inspected the seams on a gown displayed on a dress form, pleased with what he saw. As Rosamond had said, the Singer machine stitches were even and secure, promising long wear for the garment. Curtains received less abuse than clothing, so they'd last for years. He fingered the cuffs of the dress. Perhaps he should engage the woman's services to make a plaid shirt for him.

“Oh, my. I'd be delighted to make the curtains and bedding.” Mrs. Beal spoke with a genteel southern American accent. “Why, as soon as you provide the material, I'll set aside everything else to complete the work in time for the hotel opening.”

So much for his new shirt. Garrick couldn't be too disappointed, however. With the start of each part of the hotel project, his enthusiasm for the work grew, something he hadn't anticipated when Uncle proposed it. “Perhaps you could use some help. I know of a woman who recently arrived in Esperanza who would welcome the work.”

Rosamond gave him one of those pretty smiles, and that annoying frog hopped inside his chest again. “Would you like a helper, Mrs. Beal?”

The cheerful tone in her voice indicated her support of Garrick's idea, and the frog hopped higher and annoyed him even more. But then, he had a simple explanation for such odd excitement. After a rocky beginning to their collaboration, they were starting to see eye to eye on everything. Yes, of course. That was it. He wasn't forming an attachment to her. Not in the least.

“Why, yes, I would,” Mrs. Beal said. “I'll speak to my daughter, Lucy, about working with me. With the twins and another one on the way, she and Seamus will welcome the extra income. But I'm sure with all those rooms to decorate, we'll need more than two seamstresses. Can you vouch for this other woman's sewing skills?”

Even though he'd inspected Mrs. Beal's work, Garrick hadn't considered whether Mrs. Starling could sew. Fortunately, when they found her hanging clothes behind the Chinese laundry and explained the purpose of their visit, she pointed to the dress she wore, one of her own creations. The well-worn garment was held together with small, tight stitching.

“In St. Louis, I sewed for some upper-class ladies, so I don't think you'll be ashamed of my work.” Her eyes fell on Garrick. “Mr. Wakefield, you've surely been sent by the Lord to help us out. I've asked around town, but still haven't been able to find out what happened to my husband.” Her voice broke, but she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Now, thanks to you, we'll manage until he shows up.”

Rosamond eyed him, curiosity sparkling in her emerald eyes. He frowned and gave a quick shake of his head to forestall any questions, at least for now. Maybe she'd forget Mrs. Starling's grateful remarks and he wouldn't have to explain. He didn't want praise for doing what any decent man would do.

As Rosamond gave the woman directions to Mrs. Beal's house, an idea came to Garrick that would solve two problems. He'd challenge Percy to find this lost Mr. Starling. That would help the little family and keep Percy too busy to spend time with Beryl. Garrick had been quite uncomfortable watching the two of them traipse off to the mercantile while he and Rosamond went in search of their seamstress. This would put an end to the cozy pairing.

While he could see certain admirable qualities in the little ginger-haired girl, she simply wouldn't make an acceptable wife for Percy. His cousin was destined for great things at home in England. Marriage to an American, especially a cowgirl, would ruin his every chance to make his mark in Society. Garrick's duty was to see that didn't happen.

Chapter Eight

R
osamond thought the day went very well. Not only did they find their seamstress and an assistant for her, but Mrs. Winsted promised to order the fabric tomorrow. They also found everything on Mother's list in the mercantile. In former days, housewives had needed to order many items, but Mrs. Winsted now stocked a greater variety of goods to satisfy most household needs.

In celebration of the day's success, each of them found something personal to purchase: Percy a pocketknife, Beryl a pair of lace gloves, Rosamond ribbons for Lizzy and a top for Natty. Even Garrick, as particular as he was, found a ready-made plaid shirt he liked.

“What do you think?” He held it up for them to see. The golden strands woven through its brown pattern accented the amber highlights in his eyes and complemented his newly tanned complexion. The shirt more than suited him; it made him even more attractive.

Of course, Rosamond couldn't tell him that, so she simply said, “Looks good.”

“I do wish Roberts were here to help me decide,” he muttered to Percy.

Rosamond and Beryl giggled. Apparently, a well-bred Englishman required his valet's approval for any clothing choices. Rosamond found his uncertainty both winsome and charming.

“Not at all, old boy.” Percy smacked his cousin's shoulder. “As Rosamond says, it looks fine.” He chuckled. “Just like a cowboy.”

From the pleased look on Garrick's face, Percy's remark was the deciding factor. “I'll take it.”

Interesting. So Garrick wanted to blend in with the locals. Rosamond could only wonder why, especially after he'd seemed so disdainful of cowboys. As he drove the surrey back toward Four Stones—quite handily, she admitted—she used the opportunity to keep her resolve to know him better.

“How did you say you met Mrs. Starling?” Her curiosity increased when he gave her a worried glance.

“Her son works at the livery stable.” He refocused on the road ahead.

“I say, was that the lad—” Percy started.

“Stubble it, Percy.” He shot a look over his shoulder that silenced his cousin.

How strange. Why didn't Garrick want Percy to ask about the boy? With his replies so cryptic, she might need to ask his cousin if she wanted to learn more about him. But that wasn't the easiest thing to do when they were usually all together. Maybe she should ride into town tomorrow and ask Mrs. Starling how she'd met the Englishman.

The following day, however, she remembered her plans to help Susanna. She, Beryl and Percy rode over to the one-story house Nate had built for his bride five years ago. Like Marybeth, this young mother also had her hands full with a home and two small children to care for. After they helped her catch up on chores, Susanna expressed heartfelt gratitude in her genteel Southern way. Lizzy and Natty loved their gifts. Playing with the children for a while was an added bonus of the visit.

They'd invited Garrick to go with them, but once again, he'd declined and, over dinner, brushed aside their questions about his morning's activities.

“Leave the man alone.” Father waved his fork at Rosamond as if it were a royal scepter. “I'd imagine he's working on hotel plans. Isn't that right, son?”

In the corner of her eye, Rosamond saw Tolley wince and then glare at Garrick. She didn't recall ever hearing Father address her younger brother as “son” in that same paternal tone. She sent her brother a sympathetic smile, but he'd already turned his attention to his plate.

Oblivious to Tolley's wounded look, Garrick paused with his forkful of green beans halfway to his mouth. “Working. Yes, of course, sir.” He ate the bite, and she suspected he'd done so to keep from giving Father a complete answer.

Now her curiosity grew like Jack's bean stalk. His complexion had tanned more than yesterday, a sure sign he'd been outside all morning. He even bore the telltale lighter color to his upper forehead to indicate he'd been wearing his new hat. Yet he probably wouldn't work on the hotel plans outdoors. Besides, he'd brought his completed plans with him from England and had already given copies to the master stonemason and the carpenter. Now all he had to do was wait for the materials to arrive and building crews to assemble.

“Sir,” Garrick said, “what would you think of having a bit of a ceremony when we lay the hotel cornerstone?”

Father's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back in his chair. “Fine idea. I like that. We can have Fred Brody photograph the event and print it in the
Esperanza Journal
. He mails his newspaper all over the country, so this will be excellent advance advertising. Maybe Boston and New York papers will reprint the story.”

“I can speak to Brody this afternoon, sir. I'll be in town to meet with Reverend Thomas.”

“Very good.” Once again, Father sent him an approving smile.

Once again, Tolley glared at Garrick from the other end of the table.

Once again, Rosamond's heart split in two. She'd been taught never to contradict her parents, but with the passing of each day, each incident, she longed to tell Father he was making a terrible mistake giving such favor to a stranger while ignoring his own son.

* * *

Garrick settled into the chair in the parsonage kitchen. He still hadn't become accustomed to this Western practice of being entertained in a room the English considered “below stairs,” the sacrosanct domain of servants, especially since most houses seemed to have perfectly charming little parlors. Ah, well. When in Rome...

He took a bite of the cinnamon roll Reverend Thomas offered him. “Quite tasty. My compliments, sir.”

“I didn't make them,” the minister said as he poured coffee into two cups. “Mrs. Foster, the church organist, sent these over. The local ladies keep me well supplied with hearty meals.” He patted his flat abdomen as he sat down. “I'm always tempted to overeat.”

Like most of the men Garrick had met in Esperanza, the young minister looked like a cowboy, even in his black linen frock coat and white shirt. A holstered gun hung on the hall tree by the front door, giving Garrick pause. Why would a minister need a gun?

“I can't thank you enough for this.” Reverend Thomas held up the book of Spurgeon's sermons Garrick had brought. “My own messages will be greatly improved by studying his insights into Scripture. I'll try to copy the most useful ones before you return to England.”

“Do you envision yourself as one of the ancient Irish monks copying holy writings?” Garrick chuckled. He couldn't imagine such a task. “No, you mustn't bother. The book is yours to keep.”

The minister eyed him for a moment and then nodded. “Thank you. That's very generous of you.”

“Not at all.” Garrick waved away his comment. That sort of praise always made him uncomfortable. “I appreciate your time today. Rand and Nate Northam asked me to address their Sunday school classes this Sunday, and I'm trying to think of an appropriate topic. Perhaps you can advise me.”

The minister chuckled. “With that English accent, I think they'll just enjoy hearing you talk, whatever the topic.” His eyes twinkled. “Don't think they intend to insult you. I'm one of the few Southerners in town, so I've received my share of mocking. No one means any harm by it.” He poured more coffee into Garrick's cup and then picked up the book of sermons and thumbed through it. “I assume you've looked for inspiration here.”

“I have, but preaching isn't my gift. I'd like to engage the lads in a bit of discussion, if they're responsive. Perhaps conduct the class as my professors at Oxford did, using Socrates' dialectical method.”

“Ah. Very good.”

They considered several ideas, finally deciding that Garrick should discuss England's church history with the boys.

“If you start with the Roman invasion, maybe talk about some of the ruins, they'll hang on your every word,” Reverend Thomas said.

With that settled, they spent an hour or so discussing Scripture. As he had last Sunday, Garrick found the minister far different from the ancient vicar who held the living at Uncle's manor. While he'd always enjoyed church liturgy, he'd never been close to the vicar, nor did the old man welcome such amity. Reverend Thomas's open demeanor invited friendship, and during their visit, Garrick gradually shed his natural reserve. If he ever required a confidant, this man would be his first choice, even before Percy, who so lightly dismissed every trouble.

As he stood to leave, the minister followed him to the door. “How are you and Rosamond progressing with your hotel plans? I've barely spoken with her since she came home. From what I observed on Sunday, she appears to have matured into a charming woman.” He chuckled. “But then she always was a delightful girl. Her boarding-school experience seems to have enhanced her character.”

An odd bit of jealousy pinched inside Garrick's chest, which was ridiculous. The unmarried minister might only be in his late twenties, but his regard for Rosamond was obviously pastoral rather than romantic. In any event, Garrick had no intention of letting his feelings for her go further than...what? Friendship? Admiration? Neither word seemed appropriate.

“She's a clever girl.” He forced indifference into his tone. “And we are, indeed, progressing. If all goes well, we shall lay the cornerstone next week. Perhaps you can attend the ceremony and offer a blessing.”

“I'd be honored.”

With that matter nicely settled, Garrick made his way to the newspaper office, located on Main Street in a row with Mrs. Winsted's mercantile, the barber shop, Williams's Café, and several edifices in the process of being built. Across the dusty street, the newly built and freshly painted sheriff's office stood behind the pink stone bank. This town was expanding at an extraordinary rate. After his satisfying visit with the minister, the realization that he was doing his bit to help the growth of such a community bolstered Garrick's spirits even more.

When he entered the newspaper office, the heavy smell of ink washed over him and the clatter of the printer drowned out all thought. Fortunately, the newspaperman caught sight of him and stopped cranking out papers on the noisy machine. The tall, gangly young man strode across the length of the print shop, hand extended.

“Fred Brody.” He swiped long strands of brown hair from his forehead with his free hand, leaving a streak of black across his freckled forehead. “And you are the Englishman who's building our new hotel.” His voice held the same Southern inflections as Reverend Thomas's.

“Garrick Wakefield.” Garrick shook the man's hand, choosing to ignore the ink that transferred to his own. As their hands clasped, convivial warmth shot up his arm. Once again, he felt that strange longing to be a part of this burgeoning community, to be welcomed by one and all instead of being shunted to the sidelines by former friends because he'd lost his expectations.

He apprised the newspaperman of the Colonel's interest in having the laying of the cornerstone photographed. Although the idea was his own, he decided to use the Colonel's name to give the request more impact, just as his using Uncle's name had influenced Messrs. Henman and Harrison to accept the commission to design the hotel.

“Of course. I'll write an article to go with the photograph.” Brody again swiped at the strands of hair hanging over his brown eyes, further smearing the ink on his forehead. “That should give your hotel some good publicity.” He leaned toward Garrick in a friendly way. “Say, if I may ask...” He bit his lip. “I mean, that is to say...I'd like to meet Miss Rosamond Northam. Would you present me to her after church this Sunday? That is, if you have no objections. I'd ask the Colonel, but, well, he can be a bit formidable.” He laughed nervously. “The Northam men appeared a bit protective of her after church last Sunday.”

In spite of the knot in his throat, which now sank into his chest, Garrick could think of no reason to deny his request. Yet the newsman's intent was clear. He was enamored of Rosamond, if only from a distance. But how could Garrick complain? He had no intention of courting her, so to refuse an introduction to an educated man of her class would be wrong. Assuming the fellow looked in the mirror before church and removed the ink from his face, of course.

As if the newsman's request weren't enough, Garrick repeated a similar conversation with Nolan Means when he went into the bank to confirm the financial arrangements Uncle had made. The young banker's appearance was pleasant enough. His refined manners and exquisitely tailored suit set him apart from the local cowboy culture. But for his somewhat cultured American accent, he'd be right at home in any London drawing room.

After they completed their business, Means said, “I have been out of town and regret missing church on Sunday as I have looked forward to meeting Miss Northam. We opened the bank shortly after she left for Boston. As you are residing at Four Stones Ranch, perhaps you could tell me of an appropriate time for my sister and me to pay her a call.”

Garrick wanted to inform the banker that he wasn't Miss Northam's social secretary. Or that she wasn't receiving callers. Or that she was too busy to meet a stuffy banker. Or that she preferred the company of cowboys over gentleman in fine suits. Instead, he said, “The young lady does come and go quite a bit. Perhaps your best opportunity will be to approach the family this Sunday.” Perhaps her
formidable
father would sort out her many suitors. If not, Tolley certainly would.

At least later, when he chatted with the new sheriff, he felt confident that married Abel Lawson wouldn't be interested in courting Rosamond.

“Good to see you, son.” The lawman gripped his hand and slapped him on the back as one would an old friend. “I was mighty impressed by the way you and your friend handled those train robbers. When we boarded in Denver, I marked you both as tenderfoots, but you jumped right in and did your share to stop the robbery.”