The Emperor's New Clothes (31 page)

“Well, then, why don't we shoot her?” The suggestion came from the back of the crowd.

“Damnation, Tye,” Ophelia muttered. “Caesar's
bloodthirsty friends had nothing on the good citizens of Dead End.”

“In Dead End, you wouldn't have a chance. They'd definitely shoot you or maybe hang you,” he said in an aside. “Just remember, this is Empire City now.” He addressed the crowd. “Nope, can't shoot her either. It's just not civilized.”

“Well, then, what are we going to do with her?”

“Nothing.” Big Jack's voice rang out over the crowd. He sat on a big, blond horse, his wife and daughter on horseback by his side. “Not one thing.”

Big Jack's mount pushed its way through the crowd, parting people and tossing around an occasional smug laugh. Lorelie and Jenny followed. “You see, folks, if there's an injured party, it would be me, not any of you. But the money I paid to Ophelia is still right here in Randolph's bank. Ain't it, darlin'?”

Ophelia smiled weakly. “Most of it.”

Tye pulled his brows together. “What do you mean ‘most of it'?”

“Expenses,” she hissed.

“I didn't get a castle from her.” Jack's grin was as big as Wyoming itself. “I got something a lot more valuable.”

Lorelie smiled. “And we aren't the only ones.”

“I didn't get nothing,” someone in the crowd muttered.

“You most certainly did,” Lorelie said sharply. “For one thing, you got a new opera house, but even better than that, you got a new attitude. We learned the people in this town can accomplish anything they want to if they simply work together. And that's not all. Why, Anna Rose here learned with a little work she can be Queen of the Fairies”—a muffled snicker waved through the crowd—“or anything else she wants to be. And I learned that…well…”

“What did you learn, Lorelie?” a voice called.

She drew a deep breath. “I learned that it doesn't take a new name or a title or even a castle to make people respectable and civilized. It doesn't have anything to do with what you call yourself, but rather who you are. We're decent, friendly, very nice people—”

“Nice town, nice people, nice mayor,” Ophelia said under her breath.

“—and it doesn't matter if we live in Empire City or Dead End. We are who we are and we have nothing to apologize for. I don't know why we failed to see that. It was right here in front of our eyes all along.”

“You didn't mention sophisticated. What about that?” a woman asked.

Lorelie smiled. “I believe we will still have to work on that one.”

Enthusiastic nods and muttered comments greeted Lorelie's speech.

“I knew this whole respectability thing—”

“—absolutely right, exactly what I—”

“—manure is what it was. I always said—”

“—more than good enough and better than—”

“—utter and complete nonsense, the entire—”

“—then are we back to Dead End or—”

“—do we keep Empire City?”

The gathering's collective gaze turned to Big Jack. Jack pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “Well, you've got me there. I've always been fond of Dead End, but I find I'm kind of partial to Empire City as well. Tye, what do you think?”

“Empire City has a nice ring to it, but we're all used to Dead End,” Tye said.

“And we could hang her then,” a voice cried.

“Or shoot her,” another added.

Ophelia glared at the mob. Perhaps they weren't quite as nice as she'd thought.

“No, no, didn't you hear what Lorelie just said?” Tye glared at the crowd like a parent chastising a child. “We're already respectable, civilized, decent people.”

A rather sizeable groan of regret washed through the assembly. Perhaps they weren't nice at all?

Ophelia nudged Tye. “Why don't you combine the names?”

“To what?” He lifted a brow. “Dead Empire? City's End?”

“Why not”—she narrowed her gaze thoughtfully—“call it Empire's End.”

“Empire's End. Empire's End, Wyoming.” He nodded slowly. “It has a nice sound to it. I like it.”

“But what does it mean, Tye?” a man called.

Tye deferred to Ophelia with a nod and a barely smothered smile. She slanted him back a scathing glance and drew a deep breath. “It means…it means…”

“It means that”—the tall, handsome woman Ophelia had seen with Montgomery stepped forward, her voice as imposing as any Ophelia had ever heard on stage—“here, in this glorious country of yours, you have no need for lords or castles or empires. It is 1888, ladies and gentlemen, and you are Americans facing whatever tomorrow may bring bravely and proudly. And right here is where all empires end and freedom rings out over the land. A place where…”

“What in the hell is she saying?” Tye whispered to Ophelia.

“I have no idea.” Ophelia stared wide-eyed. “But she's saying it extremely well. Look at that crowd. They're positively spellbound. I'd bet anything she's an actress.”

“Not quite.” Montgomery stepped up beside them and inclined his head toward the speaker. “That, my dear Ophelia, is the real Countess of Bridgewater.”

Ophelia's heart thudded in her chest and a knot settled in her stomach.
The real Countess of Bridgewater?
Hell and damnation.

“…hold your chins up and proclaim to the world: Yes, world, I am a resident of Empire's End, Wyoming!” The countess held out her arms in a wide embrace, and gazed up to the heavens as if inviting God himself down to earth to join the residents of Dead End/Empire City/Empire's End, Wyoming.

For a moment the crowd stared awestruck. Then applause erupted amid shouts of “I like it,” “beats Dead End,” and “Let's hear it for Empire's End.”

The countess turned to Ophelia and extended her hand. Ophelia grasped it weakly. The older woman's blue eyes twinkled. “You must be the young woman I've heard so much about.”

Ophelia swallowed. “You have?”

The countess nodded. “Lord Russelford explained everything.”

“Lord who?” Tye stared at his friend.

Montgomery shrugged. “It seems an unforseen accident has left me as the new earl.”

“Does this mean you'll be going home?” Tye studied him carefully.

“In very many ways”—a lopsided smile quirked Montgomery's lips—“I feel as though I am home.”

“And what of you, my dear?” The countess smiled at Ophelia. “What are your plans?”

“They are, um, uncertain at the moment.” She shot a quick glance at Tye, who grinned with absolutely no uncertainty whatsoever. She ignored him. “You were wonderful, Countess. What an impressive speech. I would have thought you were on the stage.”

The countess's eyes sparked. “I was once. That's where I met my dear late husband—”

“Arthur?” Tye said.

“Archibald?” Montgomery asked.

“Why, no.” The countess gave the men a puzzled frown. “His name was Charles.”

Tye and Montgomery exchanged glances. Both men appeared hard-pressed to keep their amusement under control. Ophelia glared. It was such a shame her gun was in her bag. Who would blame her for shooting either or, better yet, both of them?

“In fact…” The countess leaned toward her confidentially. “That little speech of mine was straight from a play I did at the Royal Theater in London back in '68, or was it '69?”

“Hey, Tye,” a voice yelled. “What are we going to do now? We did all this work around town. We got a whole ceremony ready to go and we don't have a count or nothing.”

“Actually we do.” Tye nodded at Montgomery. “My good friend Sedge Montgomery is now the Earl of Russelford. We've got our bit of civilization after all.”

“He ain't got a castle, though,” someone muttered.

“I most certainly have,” Montgomery said under his breath.

Tye grinned and continued. “And Sedge has brought the—”

“The Marquis of Charleton.” The gentleman accompanying the countess heaved a long-suffering sigh and stretched his lips in a valiant smile.

“The Marquis of Charleton. And here we have…” Tye gestured toward the countess with a dramatic flourish. Apparently Ophelia and the countess weren't the only ones who knew how to work an audience. “The Countess of Bridgewater.”

The crowd stilled. The countess favored the gathering with a noble smile. Murmurers spread through the assembly.

“Is she really—”

“—don't know if we—”

“—looks pretty genuine—”

“—fooled before, I'd sure hate—”

“—how do we know if—”

“Prove it!” The demand flew out from the mob.

“Prove it?” The countess drew herself up and looked down her nose in a manner so terribly regal that no one could have doubted her for a moment. “My good man. Prove I'm not.”

For a long moment nothing happened. Then the citizens of Dead End/Empire City/Empire's End, Wyoming, apparently decided it was high time to stop all this nonsense and enjoy the rest of the day. After all, they didn't have a count to crown, but they did have an earl and marquis and a genuine countess, and in anybody's hand that was as close to a real live royal flush as you could get. Laughter and excited chatter filled the air, and Ophelia relaxed.

“Tye,” a voice called. “We still haven't decided what to do about
her
.” All eyes turned toward Ophelia, and she smiled gamely. “If we ain't gonna hang her and we ain't gonna shoot her, what the hell are we gonna do with her?”

“You know, I've been giving that a lot of thought,” Tye said in his best mayoral voice.

“I'll just bet you have,” Ophelia muttered.

He ignored her. “And I've decided that we need to put her someplace where she can't do anymore harm—”

“I won't go to jail,” she snapped.

“—someplace where she can be watched—”

“You wouldn't!” Fear touched her voice.

“—day and night—”

“You couldn't!” Gad, maybe he could.

“—so it seems to be the best thing for everyone concerned”—Tye shrugged as if he was doing his duty and
nothing more—“is for me to just marry her.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

A single awestruck voice broke the silence. “Damn. That is civilized.”

Panic surged through her. How could he do this to her in front of the entire town? Honestly, after everything that had happened in the past month, it was almost as much her town as it was his. He certainly had a lot of nerve thinking he could force her into marriage this way. Well, she was not going to put up with it. “So my choice here is to marry you or hang?” she asked.

Tye grinned wickedly. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“Very well.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Hang me!”

Tye threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, no, you're not getting out of this that easily.”

“I'm not
in
anything to get out of,” she said pointedly.

“Forgive me for interrupting this”—the countess leaned toward Tye—“would you term it a proposal?”

“More like a shotgun wedding,” Ophelia grumbled.

Tye nodded to the countess. “I think proposal is probably as close as you can come. However, the terms negotiation, bargain—”

“Threat, cajole, coerce,” Ophelia muttered.

“—all seem to be equally appropriate in this case.”

“I see,” the countess said thoughtfully. “Then it surely must be love.”

Ophelia gritted her teeth. “I don't love him.”

“Of course not, dear.” The countess winked. “Whatever you say. Now.” She turned toward Montgomery. “I believe something was said about a celebration and a theatrical presentation?” Montgomery proffered his arm, the countess linked hers with his and they headed for the opera house.

“Tell me, Lord Russelford,” the countess said, “about
a month ago, my luggage went astray and I was wondering if anyone here had…” The marquis and the crowd trailed behind them, and Ophelia and Tye were abruptly alone.

Tye narrowed his gaze. “You'll have to give her clothes back, you know.”

“I don't—” Ophelia stopped short, her deception finally at an end. “I suppose if I must.”

“And you will have to marry me.”

“I don't love you.”

“Yes, you do.”

Ophelia furrowed her brows in irritation. “Why does everyone in this town keep saying that to me?”

“Because it's true.” He cupped her chin in his hand and stared into her eyes with a gaze strong and sure and certain. How could she believe him? How could she not? “It's just like my aunt said about the town. Sometimes you can't see what's right in front of your eyes.”

“Like in that silly fairy tale of Jenny's.”

“Just like that.”

“But I don't believe in love.” She wrenched her head from his grasp. “Why don't you understand that?”

“Ophelia,” he said softly, “even Shakespeare believed in love.”

“He most certainly did not!” She clenched her fists in a desperate attempt to resist the tender tone of his words and the smoldering depths of his dark eyes. “‘I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.'
Much Ado About Nothing
.”

He stared for a moment, then smiled slowly. Her stomach twisted at the shade of triumph in his gaze. “‘My house, mine honor, yea, my life be thine.'
All's Well That Ends Well
.”

Panic fluttered within her. “‘The worst fault you have is to be in love.'
As You Like It
.”

“‘Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt,'”—he trapped her gaze with his—“‘I love.'
Hamlet
.”