Chapter 20
Alate-afternoon rain spoiled any hope for a ride. Not that Morning Fawn wanted to spend an hour trotting around the countryside with Nicholas, but she would have endured it for the sake of getting away from the house. At least she wouldn’t have had to worry about doing any of the talking.
Nicholas. The word didn’t sit right on her tongue even though he insisted she drop the formality of Mr. Moyer.
Dinner was a miserable affair. She picked at her food and ignored her aunt’s prodding to join in the conversation. No matter—Thea reigned supreme. She flirted with Mr. Howard and Nicholas and still managed to take more stabs at Devon’s absence than she did at her beefsteak.
After the meal, Morning Fawn rose and headed for the hall.
She was in no mood for a walk even if the rain had stopped.
How had she and Devon gotten into such a terrible argument this morning?
She’d gone to the stable with good intentions, and he’d seemed genuinely glad to see her.
He said she was forward. But she wasn’t the one who brought up marriage.
That was her uncle, and goodness knows, she couldn’t control that man.
Besides, if Devon Reynolds was so set on nothing but friendship, why did he look like he’d swallowed a lemon every time he saw her even glance at Ebony?
As Morning Fawn neared the stairs, she slipped her finger beneath the lace fichu that covered her cleavage and shoulders. When she got to her room, she would yank the itchy thing off and stuff it in the bottom of her trunk.
“My lady.” Nicholas stepped up behind her and touched her elbow. “Why don’t we take a stroll through the garden? It’s a little chilly out, but I’m sure a heavy shawl would suffice.”
Did suffice mean be enough? It didn’t matter. She clasped her hands tight against her waist. “I’m sorry. Another evening. I have a headache.” She’d heard that excuse plenty of times from Thea when there was work to be done.
“I wager fresh air would go a long way toward helping you feel better.”
“I’m afraid I’m not up to it this evening.” Couldn’t the man take no for an answer? “Perhaps you and Mr. Howard could both accompany my cousin.”
Nicholas’s mustache twitched as he moved in closer. The coconut scent of his hair tonic flooded her nostrils. “No offense to your cousin, Miss Beth, but you are the lady I ride two hours to visit.” He took her hand. “It’s your presence I covet.”
“Please let go of my hand, sir.” She tugged herself free.
“I beg your pardon, Beth.” His brown eyes simmered like coffee. Annoyance or desire? He was unreadable beneath his polished front. “I apologize for my forwardness.”
Forwardness. Like her this morning? Definitely not the same.
“If you’re not up for a walk, we could join your family in the parlor. Or if you prefer, we could check on Ebony. I stopped by there when I first arrived, and she whispered she felt neglected this week and is in need of a gentle hand.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I never neglect a horse.”
“I’m sure you do not, but perhaps you haven’t doted on her as you might…” He traced the engraved knob on the bannister. “If it weren’t for the scowls from a particular plantation hand.”
The nerve of the man. Was the whole house full of spies? “I have a headache. If you’re worried about how I care for Ebony, you’re welcome to take her ba—”
“Beth will be happy to join us in the parlor.” Her uncle tapped his walking stick to the floor as he sauntered past with Aunt Julia on his arm. How long had he been hovering?
Shoulders back, she marched ahead into the parlor, not about to give Moyer a chance to scoop her hand to his elbow.
She headed for the velvet parlor chair, but…
her step slowed. Devon had been preparing to leave for Alleyton even before they’d argued.
Not just a little visit, but an all-day-long, into the evening, and possibly the next morning visit.
Did he really expect her to believe it had nothing to do with Frieda?
She turned toward the low-back wine-colored sofa. It was time for Devon Reynolds to hear a different story. Thea could be counted on to spill the juicy details of the whole evening to anyone who would listen
“Pardon me.” When she barely missed his toe, Nicholas stepped aside and opened his arms wide, offering her first choice of where to sit.
She planted herself next to the end. That’d save her from being pinned in on the other side by Mr. Howard.
Nicholas smiled and sat beside her.
She scooped her red plaid skirt hard against her side lest an article of her clothing lap against his finely tailored gray wool suit.
He leaned back and hooked his thumb in his watch pocket. His voice purred like the river. “I meant no insult there in the hallway. You did a masterful job of handling Ebony last Saturday. You have a way with horses, Beth, a firm but gentle touch.”
She crossed her arms. “Thank you. You may call me ‘Miss Beth.’”
“But surely, at this point in our courtship—”
“Acquaintanceship.”
“Hmmm.” He leaned closer and whispered, “You should know, Miss Beth, that I am a man greatly smitten, and I plan to lay siege against all fortifications.”
She rolled her eyes. The smell of coconut and cigar filled her nostrils once more. Couldn’t he stay on his section of the sofa? She shifted closer to the side. “You should know, I’m skilled at archery.”
“We shall see.” He chuckled and leaned back.
“Before dinner, I spoke with your uncle about me taking you on a real ride next Saturday, not a little trot around the plantation. I have an American saddlebred I’d like to try out, and it’d give you a perfect opportunity to see what Ebony is made of. We’d make an afternoon of it.”
“I have no idea whether I’ll be available next Saturday or not.” She’d be more than happy to ride as far as she could from Sweet Briar, if only it didn’t come at the price of his company.
“I pray you’ll be able to spare a couple of hours for Cinnamon’s sake. I’m quite lost when it comes to her willful spirit.”
Were they still talking about the horse?
Thea sat down on the piano stool and opened the music sheets. “I’ll start with….”
Morning Fawn shifted in her seat and, for once, gave Thea at least the appearance of her undivided attention.
Nicholas stretched his hand across the back of the sofa and whispered, “We’d make a race of it if—”
Morning Fawn waved her hand to hush him and pointed to the piano.
Music flowed from the instrument as Thea’s fingers alternately pounded and swept the keys.
Eight o’clock and Devon wasn’t home yet.
A lonesome wind rattled the windows. Was he headed back in the dark—or sitting on Frieda’s sofa?
Or was he playing cards in some smoky saloon?
Drinking and gambling all night long, too drunk to travel home?
That didn’t sound like the man she knew. But how much did she really know?
Too many questions.
As soon as the music ended, she excused herself and headed for the stairs, but Nicholas, quick on the draw, caught her by the elbow. “A word, Miss Beth.” He motioned toward the front door. “We’ll only step out onto the porch for a moment or two. I promise not to keep you.”
Tension knotted her shoulders, but she followed him into the damp night air. Lights from the hallway flowed onto the porch through the tall, narrow windows that flanked the door.
As soon as it closed, Nicholas turned to face her. “I was right about one thing I said in the hallway. It’s that lieutenant, isn’t it?” He tugged on the lapels of his frock coat. “Your kidnapper has become your hero?”
The nerve of the man. She crossed her arms. “The lieutenant is none of your concern.”
He hooked his thumbs around his suspenders, beneath the straight bottom edge of his waistcoat. “I’ve got half a mind to investigate him.”
She gaped. “And what would you investigate? I’m sure my uncle checked his references before he hired him to look for me. And as for his character—”
“To be frank with you, Beth, I question why he’s here. He’s in no hurry to return to his regiment, taking the long way around to do it, coming all the way back here to Texas from Mississippi where he was supposedly captured.”
“I’m sure he gave his word to the Yankees he wouldn’t return to fighting—at least, not right away. I’ve heard that’s how prisoner exchanges work. And as for the rest, he’s been waiting for his eye to heal.”
“You’re certainly ready to defend him, aren’t you?” A cool smile crept across his lips.
“I don’t like to see anyone bad-mouthed unless they deserve it.”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Does he deserve it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Investigate all you like. But something written on a piece of paper about how many days he’s been absent from his regiment won’t win you any gratitude from me, or strolls either.” She gathered her skirts and pivoted toward the heavy oak door.
“What would win your gratitude, Miss Beth?”
She turned and nailed him with a glare. “Nothing I can think of at the moment.”
“Think about that piece of empty land in Parker County. If that man is a shirker, a deserter, what does that say about his character? And the fact that he was so desperate for money that he hired out to kidnap you and tear you from your home? One might wonder if he had to kill anyone to get in and out of Comanche territory alive. What else might he do for money? And what makes you think he has the wherewithal to build you a house or a ranch on that land, or anything else, for that matter? A drifter is a drifter. No settling down.”
“You’ve given it so much thought, Mr. Moyer, why don’t you talk with Reynolds and ask him yourself? As for my part, just because I turned you down for a walk doesn’t mean I’m ready to beg another man for a proposal.”