Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  “If I’m looking strange, it must be because I’m so tired.” Determined to change the subject, he made a show of looking around the room, this time keeping his expression neutral. “This is the first time I’ve seen where you live. It’s not what I expected.”

  Gwen seemed surprised, but at least she was no longer studying his face. “Why not?”

  “I thought it would be bigger.” He wouldn’t say that he had thought it would be nicer, because the furnishings weren’t Gwen’s fault. He knew she had little money. That was why she lived here, working as a glorified servant for Charlotte Crowley, a woman who could afford a mansion. It was Charlotte who was to blame for these modest surroundings. Tamping down his anger, Warren searched for proof that Charlotte Harding, proprietor of Élan, was actually Jeffrey Crowley’s widow. The parlor was barren of personal touches other than some children’s toys and a sewing basket.

  “I’m surprised you have no photographs of your family here.” He gestured toward the mantel and the wall. “Most homes I’ve visited do.”

  Gwen looked at the bare walls as if seeing them for the first time. “There’s a portrait of Mike in my bedchamber.” A faint blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered if she’d broken some rule of etiquette by mentioning her sleeping quarters. “I keep it out because I don’t want Rose to forget her father.”

  This was the opening Warren needed. As casually as he could, he asked, “And Charlotte? Does she have a picture of her husband? What was his name?” He paused for a second, as if racking his brain. “Jeffrey?”

  Though he hadn’t intended it, confusion clouded Gwen’s eyes. He must have sounded like he was cross-examining a hostile witness. He’d have to be more careful. Gwen shook her head slowly. “There are no photographs of him, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sure Charlotte’s like me, and she’ll never forget her husband’s face. As for David, the poor child wouldn’t know if there were a dozen portraits of his father.”

  That might be true, but the absence of photos struck Warren as suspicious. Only a woman with something to hide would have changed her name and hidden all evidence of her past. Warren stared into the distance, acting as casual as he could. “She must have loved Jeffrey very much if she can’t bear to see reminders of her marriage.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, for Gwen started to bristle. Perhaps she thought he was questioning her love for Mike, since she kept his portrait on display. “Why do you keep saying ‘Jeffrey’?” she demanded. “I don’t believe that was his name.”

  But it had to be. There couldn’t be two Charlotte Hardings in Wyoming Territory. “Then what was his name?”

  Gwen pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Charlotte doesn’t talk about him very often, and when she does, she refers to him as ‘my husband.’”

  “Then she never mentioned Jeffrey Crowley?”

  “No.”

  “And she never told you she lived at Fort Laramie?”

  “No.” Gwen’s face began to flush. “Warren, I don’t know where you got those ideas. You must be mistaken.” She looked at him, her eyes dark with anger. “I know Charlotte. She’s my dearest friend. If what you’re saying were true, she would have told me.”

  “Unless she’s a liar.”

  Charlotte sighed as she wrapped her arms around Barrett’s neck. Never had she dreamt that his kisses would be so enticing. At first they’d been feather light, teasing her with a gentle brushing across her lips. And then he’d deepened them, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her with an intensity that left her breathless and longing for more.

  “Oh, Barrett, I love you,” she whispered when they broke apart.

  “I will never, ever tire of hearing you say that.” His words were little more than a murmur before his lips captured hers again. When at length he ended the kiss, he kept his arms around her waist and smiled at her. “I have so many questions for you, but when you’re this close, it’s hard to remember them.”

  With obvious reluctance, he dropped his arms and stepped back a pace, leaving Charlotte feeling oddly bereft. Her eyes lighted on the ormolu clock. Was it possible that it had been less than half an hour since they’d entered the parlor? So much had changed in so little time. Half an hour ago she hadn’t known what was in Barrett’s heart. Now she wore his ring—the most beautiful ring she had ever seen—and they were making plans to marry.

  Barrett’s lips curved into a crooked smile as he gestured toward the chairs they’d used before. “I’d better keep my distance. Otherwise all I can think about is kissing you again.” He waited until she was seated before taking the other chair. “There, that’s better. Now I can ask my questions. Let’s start with the most important one. When would you like to be married?” He reached out and clasped her right hand between his, leaving the left one with the exquisite opal resting on the chair arm. “If it were up to me, I’d say tomorrow, but I know that brides need more time to prepare.”

  His impatience was endearing, warming Charlotte as much as his kisses had. “Tomorrow sounds wonderful, but it wouldn’t be right.” She hoped Barrett would understand her reasons. “We need to wait until after Easter. I know not everyone adheres to convention, but my father felt strongly that Lent was a time for solemn reflection. That’s why he would not marry a couple during Lent. Even though he’s no longer here, I want to abide by his wishes.”

  “Certainly.” Barrett tightened the grip on her hand. Though his words were matter-of-fact, his expression was anything but. His eyes sparkled, and his lips curved into the sweetest of smiles, leaving her no doubt that this man who’d haunted so many of her dreams and even more of her waking moments loved her. “Will that give your sisters enough time to come here? I imagine you want them with you.”

  “I do,” she admitted, “but not if it means delaying our wedding.” As dearly as she loved her sisters, she loved Barrett more. Perhaps she was being greedy, but she wanted their life together to begin as soon as possible. Charlotte raised her left hand, smiling at the ring that changed colors as she moved it, revealing new depths and beauty. Still smiling, she met Barrett’s gaze. “Let’s not wait for my sisters. Elizabeth couldn’t come until school ends, and that’s months from now. I don’t know whether Abigail is able to travel at all. She might be in a delicate condition.” Barrett’s nod told Charlotte he understood her reference. “What about your brothers?” she asked, mindful that her family was not the only one to consider. “Will they come?”

  “Not both of them. They can’t leave the store for that long, and by now Camden’s bride may also be in a delicate condition. Let’s pick a date and see how many of our family can make it. If none of them can, we’ll visit them on our wedding trip.” Barrett uncrossed his ankles and leaned forward. “Easter’s April 10. Would April 11 be too soon?”

  Charlotte chuckled, amused and yet pleased that he was as eager for their marriage as she. “It’s less than four weeks, but I can be ready. If Abigail can’t come, I’ll ask Gwen to be my attendant.” A thought assailed her. It wasn’t only her life that was about to change. “I’ve been selfish. I haven’t considered how this will affect her and Rose.” While it was possible that Warren would marry her, Charlotte could not assume that.

  “I’d hardly call you selfish.” Waiting until the clock finished chiming the hour, Barrett added, “Gwen can stay in the apartment, if that’s what’s bothering you. I won’t need the space for the store, and I assume you and I will live here.” His eyes brightened. “Would you like to see the upstairs? I’m not sure what you’ll want to change for the school.”

  How could she have forgotten the school? The prospect of becoming Barrett’s wife must have turned her brain to cornmeal mush.

  “What about the baron?”

  Barrett had a ready answer. “I’m going to hire a Pinkerton to look for him. The baron may be clever, but he’s no match for a Pinkerton. So, Charlotte Harding Crowley soon to become Charlotte Landry, let’s talk about your school.”

  “Are you certain you don’t m
ind the idea of having a school here? You’ve seen how noisy David can be. It’ll be much worse if we have a dozen or so pupils.” When Barrett didn’t respond immediately, Charlotte added, “Perhaps I should reconsider. It might be better if it wasn’t a boarding school.”

  “Better for whom?” Barrett rose and settled her hand on his arm. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. This house has been quiet for too long.” He opened the door and escorted her toward the lovely carved staircase.

  “It won’t be quiet if we have children living with us.”

  “And that’s good. It’ll be alive.” Barrett waited until they reached the second floor before he spoke again. “So, we’re agreed. We’ll be married on April 11, and then we’ll begin planning for your school and my new store.”

  He led her along the hallway, opening the doors to each of the six bedrooms. Though less ornately furnished than the first floor rooms, it was obvious to Charlotte that a great deal of planning had been involved in decorating chambers that would rarely have been used. The first two rooms on each side had connecting doors, and though the wallpaper in each was a different color, the patterns were similar enough to be pleasing. One side, which Charlotte immediately appropriated for the girls, was predominantly pink and lavender, while the other was decorated in shades of blue and green. The two rooms that formed a suite at the back of the house were clearly Barrett’s personal domain, and Charlotte felt a twinge of uneasiness entering them. Boasting maroon drapes with gold tassels and a matching bedspread, the main room was masculine, and yet not overly so. Charlotte could imagine living here. And the smaller room, which reversed the color scheme, appeared almost feminine.

  “What do you think?” Barrett asked when they returned to the hallway. “There are another ten rooms on the third floor. They’re smaller, of course, because they’re intended for servants.”

  “Or teachers.” Charlotte looked around the second floor. “This is perfect.” It could easily accommodate the dozen pupils she thought she might have eventually, and if the need arose, she could expand the school to twenty. “We’ll have the girls here,” she said, gesturing toward the pink and lavender rooms. “The older girls in the front room, the younger ones next to them. And the boys will be in the blue and green rooms.”

  Barrett’s lips twisted as if he were trying to squelch a smile. “And the last two rooms?”

  Charlotte felt herself blushing. How silly. She had been married before, and yet she was acting like a schoolgirl. “They’re for us,” she said as calmly as she could. “We can turn the gold room into a sitting area. It’ll give us a quiet place to escape.”

  “A sanctuary.” Barrett’s lips twisted into one of the crooked grins she loved as he added, “Or a nursery.”

  “How can you even suggest that?” As Warren watched, the blood drained from Gwen’s face. “Charlotte wouldn’t lie to me.”

  Though he wished there were a way to spare her, there wasn’t. Eventually Gwen would know the truth about her so-called friend. “She did. I’m certain of it. The woman you know as Charlotte Harding is really Charlotte Crowley, Lieutenant Jeffrey Crowley’s widow. He was stationed at Fort Laramie until his death.” Gwen needed to know that, but she most definitely did not need to know that it was Warren who had killed the hapless lieutenant.

  Gwen’s light blue eyes flashed with anger. She didn’t like the truth, learning that dear, sweet Charlotte, her best friend, was a liar. “I won’t believe it. I . . .” Before she could complete her sentence, a child started to scream. Gwen jumped to her feet. “It’s David. He probably realizes that Charlotte isn’t here.” She gave Warren a stern look. “Good-bye, Warren. I need to comfort David, and you need to go. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies about Charlotte.”

  Though she gestured toward the back door, Warren did not move. He wouldn’t leave. Not like this, with anger between them. With a small harrumph, Gwen entered the room off the kitchen, switching on the light. “It’s all right, David,” he heard her say, her voice gentle now that she wasn’t speaking to him. “Everything will be all right.”

  Just as everything would be all right between him and Gwen. He would wait until the child was asleep, and then he’d make her understand.

  Settling back in the chair, Warren listened as Gwen crooned to Charlotte’s son. “There, there. Mama will be home soon. It’s time to sleep.” Her voice rose and fell as if she were singing. It was a soothing sound, and yet the child continued to wail. “All right,” she said when it appeared that David was not responding to her comforting words. “I’ll read you a story. Mama always has a book on her nightstand. We’ll find a good story.” The word story seemed to have penetrated the boy’s brain, for his wails subsided into little whimpers.

  Warren heard Gwen’s firm footsteps and suspected she was picking out a book. He closed his eyes, wondering how long she would have to read before Charlotte’s brat fell asleep. But there were no sounds other than a brief gasp. Warren opened his eyes, curious about whatever had surprised Gwen.

  Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, her expression distraught. “You were right, Warren,” she said, holding out a Bible. “Charlotte lied. The proof is here.”

  26

  Something’s wrong.” Charlotte felt her heart begin to race as they approached the house, and she turned toward Barrett, placing her hand on his arm. She wanted—no, she needed—the reassurance that he was next to her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but ever since they’d left his house, her nerves had been on edge. There was no logical reason. The night was cold and clear, and for once the wind was not howling. Ferguson Street looked as peaceful as ever; no masked strangers lurked in the shadows. And yet Charlotte could not dismiss her feeling that something was terribly wrong. The closer they came to her home, the stronger the fear had grown. Now as Barrett halted the carriage, Charlotte knew she had not been mistaken.

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

  Trying to keep her hand from trembling, Charlotte pointed toward the stairway, which was now shrouded in darkness. “There’s no light on the steps. Gwen always turns it on when one of us is out after sunset.”

  Barrett laid his hand over hers, the warmth sending waves of comfort through her veins. “She must have forgotten.”

  His voice was as comforting as his touch, but still the fear remained. Something was wrong. Not only was the stairway light extinguished, but there were no lights on in the apartment. Surely Gwen would have wanted to hear about Charlotte’s evening with Barrett. She had been so certain that it was going to be a special one. And it had been.

  “I might have forgotten the light, but Gwen would not.” Gwen was almost ritualistic in the way she followed a routine. “Something’s wrong,” Charlotte repeated when Barrett helped her out of the carriage and they began to climb the darkened steps. When they reached the landing, her fear deepened. “Look, Barrett. The door’s ajar. Gwen would never have left it like that.” Even during the summer, when they would have benefited from a cool breeze, Gwen had insisted that critters, as she called them, might enter the apartment unless the door was completely shut. And now when winter still gripped Cheyenne, despite the calendar’s claim that spring was only a few days away, she was too frugal to have allowed cold air into the apartment.

  Barrett wrapped his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and gave them a quick squeeze. “Let me go first.” He pushed the door open, then fumbled for a light. “Where’s the switch?” Seconds later, the room was bright. “Everything looks normal,” he reported.

  Charlotte shivered as she entered her house. Barrett was correct. There were no signs of an intruder. That wasn’t the problem. “It doesn’t feel right,” she said as she looked at the modest room that had been her home for almost a year and a half. “It feels empty. Look, Barrett,” she said, pointing at the door to the room she and David shared. It was ajar. “We always keep that door closed at night,” she told Barrett as she raced across the kitchen. “David’s so sensitive to sou
nds that even footsteps can waken him.”

  Though they were both whispering, the fear that had lodged in her stomach shrieked that there was no need for whispers. Please, Lord, she prayed as she flicked on the light in her bedroom. Let David be safe. But he was not. The crib was empty, the blankets tossed aside, the pillow discarded on the floor. Even the wooden ball that David insisted on having by his side each night was missing.

  As darkness threatened to engulf her and her legs turned to rubber, Charlotte gripped the crib rail. “Barrett!” she cried. “David’s gone!”

  He was there in a second, drawing her close to him. “Maybe he’s in Gwen’s room.”

  If only that were true. But Charlotte knew it was not. Gwen wasn’t here. Opening the door to her friend’s bedchamber merely confirmed Charlotte’s premonition that something was terribly wrong. The apartment was empty. David was gone, and so were Gwen and Rose.

  “Perhaps there’s an innocent explanation.” Barrett’s embrace was comforting, but it wasn’t enough. There would be no comfort until Charlotte had David back in her arms.

  “There’s nothing innocent about this. Gwen would never take the children out this late.” Switching off the light in the front bedroom, Charlotte returned to the center of the apartment. Barrett stayed close to her, but he had let his arms drop, as if he knew that she needed to move without impediment. Where had Gwen gone, and why? The questions reverberated through Charlotte’s brain, and with each iteration, her dread increased. The only answer made no sense. The baron. But if he had discovered her identity, there was no reason to have involved Gwen.

  Charlotte looked around the apartment, her eyes searching for a clue. Nothing appeared out of place. And yet . . . She took another step into the parlor area, drawn by the sight of a folded sheet of paper on the table next to the settee. It wasn’t normal to have paper there, but somehow she had missed it when she’d rushed into Gwen’s room.