The Emperor's New Clothes (18 page)

“He knows, doesn't he?” Jenny plucked at the coverlet on the bed. “About us? About you?”

Ophelia sighed. “Probably. But he has no real proof and until he does”—she shrugged—“I doubt Big Jack will believe him.”

“So, what do we do now?”

Ophelia rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. “I don't know exactly. I have to figure out some way to get our money.”

“You mean Big Jack's money?”

“Not anymore.” Ophelia couldn't resist a slight note of satisfaction. “It's our money now. At any rate, we need to get to it and get out of town.”

“How are you going to get around this official ceremony they're planning?”

“I don't know that either,” she said, her tone sharper than expected. “I'm hoping to avoid it altogether. I said I'd write and determine if a British representative can come to Dead End, but perhaps the letter will get lost. It will all work out.”

Jenny was silent for a long moment. “How do you feel about Tye Matthews?”

“He's annoying. He's irritating. He's arrogant. He's smug. He's—”

“You like him, don't you?”

“Most certainly not!” Then Ophelia sighed. “I'm afraid I do.”

Jenny's voice was soft. “Do you love him?”

“I don't know.” Ophelia tried to put her thoughts into words. “I'm not sure I know what love is. I know when he touches me I feel like rare crystal that could shatter with the barest pressure of his fingers or his lips. I know he seems to linger always in the back of my mind and I want to avoid him and be with him at the same time. I know at any given moment he makes me long to be in his arms or shoot his head off. And I very much fear—” her voice softened—“when we leave here, I shall miss him quite a bit.”

Jenny nodded sagely. “It's love all right.”

Ophelia groaned. “I certainly hope not.”

“He's awfully handsome, isn't he?” Jenny grinned. “So tall and strong with all that blond hair and those brown eyes.”

“Chocolate.”

“What?”

“Chocolate.” Ophelia sighed. “His eyes are like chocolate.”

“Oh, dear,” Jenny murmured.

“I know.” Regret and resignation sounded in Ophelia's voice. “I've never been able to say no to chocolate.”

“I really think I'm quite recovered.” A hopeful note sounded in Ophelia's voice.

“Well, perhaps today, dear, you may get up.” Lorelie perched on the side of the bed and smiled.

It had been two full days since her fall, and Lorelie had insisted, no commanded, that she stay in bed every minute of them. Whoever would have thought this tiny, sweet little woman had a will of iron strong enough to rule, not merely her home, but probably the entire world. Queen Victoria herself would likely meet her match in Lorelie Matthews.

“Actually, I had been thinking of an outing you might enjoy.” Lorelie's eyes twinkled with excitement. “The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society meets today.”

Ophelia sat up straighter. “For cards?”

“Cards and…other things.”

“What kinds of other things?”

“You really have missed a great deal, dear, by staying in bed,” Lorelie said with a shake of her head.

“But you insisted I stay in bed.”

Lorelie cast her a knowing smile. “And don't you feel much better because of it?”

Ophelia nodded in surrender. She did have to admit her fall had left her bruised where she'd never imagined she'd have bruises, too stiff to move and too sore to really care. But today, at least, she seemed nearly normal.

“So tell me, Lorelie, what did I miss?”

Lorelie's expression brightened. “To begin with The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society has decided we really must improve ourselves if we are going to have a representative of the Queen visit. Goodness, if Jack is to be a count, we would hate to do anything that would disgrace him.”

“Of course not.”

“So, we'd like you to teach us proper deportment.”

“Proper deportment?” What on earth did that mean?

“Yes indeed.” Lorelie nodded enthusiastically. “None of us have the faintest idea how to act with an ambassador or a count, even though that will be Jack and I daresay being a count probably won't change him a great deal, at least I hope not, but one never knows what a man might get into his head. Now, many of us have spent some time with you, but we've decided you're an exception. You're so pleasant and terribly”—Lorelie shrugged in an apologetic manner—“normal. The ladies have discussed it and we all agree. You're not much different from an American, except for the accent, of course. Why, you're not at all the way we expected an English countess would be.”

“I'm not?” Ophelia said faintly. Mild disappointment and curiosity trickled through her. “Exactly how am I not what you expected?”

“Well, I don't know that I can put my finger on it. You simply seem to be so much more on one hand and on the other”—she shrugged helplessly—“somewhat less.”

Ophelia stared, resisting the urge to shake her head in a futile effort to understand Lorelie's convoluted comment. “What?”

“Gracious, I'm not explaining this at all well, am I? Well, then, never mind. And you mustn't let it worry you, my dear.” Lorelie waved her hand in a vague gesture of unconcern. “We mean it as, well, a compliment.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Not at all. Now then”—a brisk businesslike tone colored the older woman's words—“we feel if we are to be ready in time we haven't a moment to lose. So The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society will meet every day until further notice. Except for Sundays, of course, and Saturdays. One must draw the line somewhere, I should think.”

“Why must you meet every day except Saturdays and Sundays?”

“Why? Well, we all need to learn to curtsy, I suspect, and anything else you wish to teach us.”

Ophelia could handle teaching them to curtsy, although it could end up a bit more like a stage bow. But who would know? As to anything else…“I'm not sure you need much more than a curtsy.”

“Really?” Lorelie drew her brows together thoughtfully. “In that case, I suppose we shall simply have to resort to cards.”

“That would be nice,” Ophelia said. Perhaps here was her opportunity for a little ready cash. Especially since she had yet to determine how to get her money out from under the watchful eye of Dead End's banker.

“It will, won't it?” Lorelie beamed. “Of course we will
have to forgo our meeting on those days when we're involved in construction of the opera house.”

“The Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society is going to build an opera house?”

“Don't be absurd, Ophelia. We won't be doing the actual work. We shall allow the men to do that. We will simply add moral support.” Lorelie narrowed her eyes knowingly. “I rather suspect it takes a great deal of moral support to build a proper opera house.”

“Why are you building an opera house?”

“Honestly, Ophelia.” Lorelie sighed. “If we're going to have a respectable town with our very own genuine count, we need an opera house. Why, where else would we watch performances of the classics of the civilized world?”

A nasty, sinking sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. “Which classics?”

“Oh, the usual.” Lorelie ticked them off on her fingers. “Opera, naturally, and the Greek tragedies. Melodramas—”

“I would scarcely consider melodramas classics,” Ophelia said wryly.

“—and, of course, Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Certainly, my dear. And Tyler mentioned you're practically an expert on Shakespeare.”

Ophelia bit back a caustic response. “Tye mentioned that, did he?”

“Indeed he did. He felt with your expertise you'd be the perfect person to advise us on the construction of the theater.”

“He's really very helpful, isn't he?”

Lorelie nodded in agreement. “Tyler has always been willing to help.”

“I'll bet,” Ophelia said under her breath. The man
had a lot of nerve, volunteering her expertise without the slightest thought as to whether or not she'd be willing to engage in such an activity. Although it really wasn't a bad idea. In fact, it might be fun. Enthusiasm built within her. Why, this was her opportunity to assist in the creation of a theater that would keep in mind that the heart and soul of any performance was the actor. Besides, she wasn't ready to leave Dead End quite yet anyway. And these were such nice people. Assisting with their opera house was the least she could do.

She gave Lorelie a gracious, countess-like smile. “I would be delighted to help.”

“I knew you would.” Lorelie nodded with satisfaction. “Now, we don't have much time. There's only three weeks left until the ceremony.”

That unpleasant sinking feeling had returned. “What ceremony?”

“Ophelia, dear, are you certain you're all right?” Concern shadowed Lorelie's face. “What I mean is, you didn't damage your head when you fell, did you?”

“My head is fine. What ceremony?”

“Why the ceremony to make Jack a count, of course.”

“Perhaps I did injure my head after all.” Ophelia raised a hand to her forehead and winced. “I have absolutely no recollection of writing to the ambassador.”

“You didn't.”

“I didn't?” Ophelia pulled her brows together. “But wasn't I supposed to?”

“Well, yes, but after your fall…” Lorelie leaned forward in a confiding manner. “You took a dreadful spill. Why, the sight of you tumbling end over end”—she shuddered—“it was a very unpleasant thing to witness, you know.”

Ophelia snorted. “I know.”

“We were concerned about your recovery and Sedge—”

“Mr. Montgomery?”

“Of course. Sedge thought he should go ahead and telegraph the British embassy in Washington.”

“He wired the embassy?” Ophelia fairly choked on the words.

“Indeed. And he received a telegram back yesterday.” Lorelie glowed with excitement.

Ophelia bit her lip. “And what exactly did the telegram say?”

“Unfortunately, the ambassador can't make it”—Ophelia breathed a sigh of relief—“but there is an Englishman, some kind of lord, a duke, I think, or maybe an earl. No, no, it was something else—”

“Never mind, Lorelie, it doesn't really matter.”

“I suppose not. Still, it is annoying not to remember.” She sighed. “At any rate this gentleman, a genuine representative of the Queen herself, mind you, wired Sedge and said he'd be delighted to officiate at the ceremony and award Jack his title.”

“How…wonderful.” Ophelia managed a weak smile. “And this happens in three weeks?”

“So we really do have a great deal to do and a very short time in which to do it.”

“Don't we, though,” Ophelia murmured.

“I have a hundred tiny details to attend to before this afternoon's meeting.” Lorelie rose from the bed. “I rather suspect we'll start right in on the fundamentals of proper behavior today. Although that shouldn't take more than a half an hour or so.”

“And then what?”

Lorelie's eyes widened. “Why, then, my dear, we'll play cards, of course.”

“Lorelie, I'm afraid I have a bit of difficulty in that regard.” Ophelia drew her brows together and chewed
on her bottom lip. “I don't have a significant amount of cash on me. I wonder if the other ladies would accept my marker?”

“Oh, goodness, no, dear.” Lorelie shook her head emphatically. “We decided long ago that anything written down could be read by the wrong people, husbands and such. But it should be no problem for you to withdraw funds from your new account at the bank.”

“But won't the banker be suspicious?”

Lorelie laughed. “Gracious, Ophelia, you don't want to go through Randolph. That would never do. His wife, Henrietta, lovely woman, a bit of a bluffer, though, you can always tell, her right eye blinks a bit when she hasn't a decent card in her hand, and sometimes—”

“The money?”

“Oh, yes. Henrietta will arrange to procure some of it for you, and Randolph will never know.”

“How much do you think I'll need?”

“Let me think.” A thoughtful frown creased Lorelie's forehead. “We have fourteen regular players, fifteen with you, we shall be playing most of the afternoon, I should think five or six hundred should do it.”

Ophelia gasped. “Dollars?”

Lorelie's eyes widened. “Well, my dear, we certainly don't use pounds.”

“No, I meant isn't that a lot of money to squander on poker?” Ophelia stared with disbelief. “Aren't these incredibly high stakes?”

“Perhaps, although it doesn't seem terribly significant.” Lorelie paused as if considering the question. “We've been playing for years, and at first we started with pennies. But that got rather boring and the stakes just kept getting higher.”

Lorelie shrugged. “You must understand, Ophelia, in spite of its appearance, there is a great deal of money
in Dead End. Jack isn't the only area rancher to have made a fortune here. And as for businesses, well, we're the only real town for a fairly good distance, and there is the influence of the railroad as well. Altogether, our merchants have become quite prosperous. As wives we see nothing wrong with using some of that prosperity for our own entertainment. Do you?”

“Not at all.” Ophelia shook her head. The activities of the Every Other Tuesday and Thursday Afternoon Ladies Cultural Society could well provide her with the means to get her money out of the bank, and a little extra besides. Of course, it would take some time. But the ladies planned on playing nearly every day, and as long as she could get out of town before this Englishman arrived, she was safe. “In fact, I think it's more than reasonable for wives to share in the profits made by husbands,” Ophelia declared.

“So do I.” Lorelie smiled and headed to the door. “By the way. Tyler left that for you yesterday.” She pointed to a tiny package on the washstand. “He said he didn't want to disturb you so he didn't come up.”

Ophelia picked up the small, awkwardly shaped, tissue-wrapped item. “How is his shoulder?”

“Practically perfect.” Lorelie chuckled. “My goodness, the way the man carried on about that tiny, little scratch, you'd think he was seriously injured.”

Ophelia cast her a look of surprise. “Well, I did shoot him, after all. I can't believe that was an entirely pleasant experience.”

“No, but it was an accident. I imagine if you'd really wanted to shoot him you would have killed him.” She smiled sweetly. “Wouldn't you?”

“I suppose so.” Ophelia pulled off the tissue and studied a delicate piece of glass that resembled a fish with two tails. “Lorelie, do you know what this is?”

“Haven't you seen one of those before?”

Ophelia turned it over in her hand. The tails were clear, and inside the round body, droplets of yellow color met and meshed with a swirl of blue green. “I don't think so. It looks something like a piece of candy.”

“Exactly, it's supposed to look like candy. Tyler brought home a handful of them. He thought they'd be a nice remembrance. He got them in Europe. Venice, I believe.” Lorelie nodded and swept out the door.

“I see.” Ophelia couldn't stop the satisfied smile that quirked the corners of her mouth. She hadn't seen him since the shooting, but she was obviously on his mind just as he was on hers. These past days of enforced rest had given her time to think. Too much time. And most of those thoughts centered on Tyler Matthews.

Would she take what he offered? How had he put it? Oh, yes.

“
I want to show you the heights a man and woman can reach. I want to make love to you until you swoon from the sheer sensation and cry my name into the night
.”

Ophelia could admit, at least to herself, that she wanted that too. But did she want the risks that went along with it? Not that she cared especially about losing her virtue. She just didn't want to lose her heart.