Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron

by Patricia Watters

  Lady Ashbury leaned around Lady Whittington and eyed the cameo. "Oh, but it is lovely," she said. "You really must come to one of our Garden Club teas. I would be honored to have you as my personal guest."

  Lady Whittington gave Lady Ashbury a sharp look. "Miss Phipps... Priscilla," she amended, "has already agreed to come as my guest. But we three can share a table," she said, magnanimously.

  Lady Ashbury's pursed lips relaxed, and she said, "I look forward to that." She raised her opera glasses to her eyes. While scanning the crowd milling in the aisles below the boxes, she gave a muffled, "Harrumph!"

  "I know what you're thinking, Bertie," Lady Whittington said. "Nesters have taken over the place. They are a tawdry bunch, and they're allowed to buy tickets just as we are. Thankfully we have the boxes taken up, for now."

  Priscilla looked at the women, puzzled. "Nesters?"

  "Homesteaders," Lady Ashbury groused. "They're coming here in droves. The whole character of Cheyenne is changing. We Brits brought class and refinement to what was little more than an army outpost, but we are quickly being overrun by these people." She sighed. "Before long, they'll be arriving at the theater in boots and overalls." She lowered her opera glasses and said to Lady Whittington," Edwina, shall we go mingle?"

  "Yes," Lady Whittington replied. "I want to see Georgina Wentworth's gown. From what I saw through my opera glasses it has elements of historic dress, with all the lavish fabrics and trimmings of a Worth, and I want to take a closer look. Georgina made a point of telling us at the last tea that she had just returned from Paris, where she'd had a private fitting by Mr. Worth himself. She was quite obnoxious about it all. I'm sorry you weren't there." She turned to Priscilla. "Will you join us downstairs, dear?"

  Priscilla shook her head. "No, thank you. But perhaps Lord Whittington would like to escort you." She gave Adam a dark look accompanied by a feigned smile.

  Adam eyed her steadily. "I believe I'll keep Miss Phipps company."

  After the women left, Priscilla said, in an irritated voice, "You did not need to stay and keep me company. In fact, I'd prefer to be in the company of nesters than Brits."

  Adam let out a short guffaw. "Need I remind you that you're living with Brits."

  "Only for another week," Priscilla said. "Jim is, at this moment, converting one of the larger upstairs bedrooms into a kitchen. It will have cabinets, a cook stove, and a sink with a boiler for hot water. And in my bedroom, which will be the one adjacent to the kitchen, there will be a bathtub, which will be connected by a water pipe to the boiler in the kitchen, so I'll be able to immerse myself in warm water while bed warmers warm my sheets." She gave him an ironic smile. "After my bath, I'll be able to dry off and crawl directly into bed."

  Adam looked at Priscilla with a start. "You sleep naked?"

  Priscilla shrugged. "When I'm alone, always. It makes for a much more restful sleep because I don't have to suffer the frustration of becoming entangled in lace and ruffles every time I turn over. I have been enduring the uncomfortable night garments while staying at your home because I don't want to shock your maids. But once I move into my upstairs apartment, I'll be alone to do as I please. Sleeping naked is especially refreshing on hot summer nights when I can open the window, throw back the bed linens, stretch out on the bed with my arms and legs spread, and let my body breathe in the cool night air."

  Adam's chest was expanding an contracting so heavily, Priscilla was certain he was having trouble catching his breath. He also had his fists knotted and resting on his knees. After a few moments, he said, "Then you've completely given up the idea of us."

  Priscilla nodded. "What you proposed no longer interests me. I have more important things on my mind." Though for the life of her she couldn't remember a one of them, the image of Adam, naked as she and crawling on top of her as she lay spread-eagled on the bed, taunting her mercilessly. But she refused to allow those thoughts to rule her better judgment. Succumbing to physiological urges for the sake of sexual gratification was one thing. Doing it with a person she loved and respected was another. And at this point, she neither loved, nor respected Adam. What the women brought out about the cattlemen during the meeting was deeply troubling.

  "I see," Adam said. Then folded his arms and clamped his jaws shut.

  "No," Priscilla said, "I don't believe you do. What we planned in the bedroom is an impossible dream at the moment because I cannot give my body, along with my virginity, to a man who could be involved in the kinds of things the women at the meeting brought out. Until I learn otherwise, that's the way it has to be."

  "So you'll continue to listen to only one side of the issue," Adam said.

  "You're welcome to present your side," Priscilla replied, "but Lady Ashbury already did." She peered down at the crowd below. "She and your mother may see nesters down there, but I see men and women, scrubbed clean and wearing the best they own, enjoying an evening out. In fact, the women's gowns are not much different from mine. As you see, this gown is neither silk nor satin. It's polished cotton intended to look like silk. But it's acceptable in your mother's social circle because they believe I'm descended from the Tudors, which places me above the nesters, even though I'm one of them. And the nonsense about the queen is a sham. Or, if I am related, as your mother believes, it's purely by chance that I know. But I was not raised in a royal court. I was raised in a simple household with no servants. But I doubt you can relate to that."

  "Then you'd never consider marrying a cattleman." It was a statement.

  Priscilla was certain her heart stopped before breaking into a quick staccato beat. She looked at Adam. His face was sober. "Am I to take that as a kind of proposal?"

  Adam held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose not."

  "Well, in case it is, I'll clarify my position for you," she said, while staring at his firm profile. "I could never marry a man who tromps over others to get what he wants. I came west on a wagon train with men and women who put aside class and refinement to own land they would not otherwise be able to afford. All they want is to be left alone to work their land and raise their families and rebuild the lives they left behind."

  "And you believe my ranch agent and range cowboys are trying to prevent them from doing so," Adam said, while looking straight ahead.

  "I don't know what to believe at this point," Priscilla replied. She sat back and folded her arms, knowing that if Lady Whittington were to return and see them, sitting side by side, eyes straight ahead, arms folded, she'd know they were having a standoff. But soon it wouldn't matter because she'd be moving out of Adam's house.

  "How do you plan to find out?" Adam asked. "Or is it that you don't want to learn the truth because you might have to admit that I'm not the cold, cruel bastard you seem intent on portraying me to be."

  "I don't wish to portray you as anything, Adam," she countered. "I simply want to know the truth. Perhaps I'll invite readers to tell their stories, maybe have some of the women from the meeting write essays for The Town Tattler, not to create a class war, but to try and bridge the gap between the British aristocracy of your cattle empire, and the ordinary folk who are trying to make a new life here. Of course, your position on the whole issue would be up to you, and ultimately up to your voters."

  Adam let out a weary sigh, and said, "I've never intimidated anyone, and if I learned that my agent or foreman or range cowboys did, they'd be dismissed at once."

  "Then my editorials shouldn't create a problem for you," Priscilla said, "because I'll be inviting the cattlemen's wives and daughters to include editorials as well, if they're willing to take time away from their busy social schedules. Maybe you'll even allow Trudy to do so. You said you don't want me filling her head with women's suffrage nonsense, but if you give her a chance, perhaps what she has to say will influence women to cast their votes in your favor."

  Adam unfolded his arms and pounded a knotted fist against his knee. "Bloody hell woman! My life was a whole lot less complica
ted before you arrived."

  Priscilla sucked in a long breath through flared nostrils and let it out slowly to keep from screaming at the insufferable man, and said, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Unfortunately for you, I'm here to stay."

  Adam folded his arms again, set his mouth in a grim line, and stared straight ahead as the lights blinked, announcing for everyone to take their seats for the final act.

  ***

  Lady Whittington stormed into the library and confronted Adam, who was sitting at his big mahogany desk, tallying figures. "I would like a word with you, Adam."

  Seeing the dour look on his mother's face, Adam clenched his jaws. He was in no mood for one of her rants. He'd about had his fill of impossible females. But cutting his mother short would only prolong whatever was coming. "Yes, Mother?" He slumped against the back of his desk chair and steepled his fingers.

  His mother's lips quivered the way they did when she was about to burst into a tirade. Then her eyes sharpened, and she said in a brusque voice, "Priscilla just informed me that she's leaving. Have you said or done something to offend her or make her feel unwanted?"

  Adam held his mother's angry gaze. "No, of course not. She told me she needs to be closer to her business."

  "That is utter nonsense!" Lady Whittington burst out. "Living here with us, she's only minutes away. Something happened during the play. I knew it the moment I returned from intermission. What did you say to her?"

  Adam sucked in a long breath to keep from yelling, and said in a measured voice, "Priscilla and I had a disagreement."

  Adam's mother slapped her palm against his desk, sending papers flying. "Well, it was apparently enough to send her packing! What was it about?"

  Adam glared at his mother. "It was between Priscilla and me."

  "A lover's quarrel?"

  Adam looked at his mother with a start. "Priscilla and I are not lovers." Hell, he didn't know what they were. But he did know that Priscilla was solidly rooted under his skin, and no matter what he did, he couldn't dislodge her.

  His mother's thin nostrils flared. "Well, you're behaving like one, Adam. I suspect you're in love with the woman, though you may not be aware of it."

  If it had been anyone but his mother, Adam would have shoved her out the door and slammed it behind her. Instead, he willed himself to remain calm, as he said, "That, Mother, is the biggest bunch of claptrap I've heard in months."

  Her eyes darkened. "Your reaction just now tells me otherwise. Now, I ask you to make amends with Priscilla and convince her to remain here, where she belongs."

  "Where she belongs?" Adam let out a short guffaw. "Priscilla only started belonging here when you learned she was a Tudor."

  His mother pursed her lips and straightened her spine. "Her being a Tudor has nothing to do with my wishing her to stay."

  "It has everything to do with it," Adam countered. "When Priscilla first arrived here you said she was as plain as an old shoe. But once you found out she was related to the queen, you suddenly found her acceptable."

  "I always found her acceptable," Lady Whittington sniffed. "She only needed some guidance in fixing her appearance to make herself attractive. She's doing that now, and she is really quite presentable. And I believe you have noticed. Am I wrong?"

  Adam rested his forearms on the arms of his desk chair and leaned forward. "I found Priscilla presentable the first time I laid eyes on her," he said, looking steadily at his mother. "Because she's attempting to fashion herself into the image you wish of her, she's still attractive to me, but in a different way."

  Lady Whittington pressed her lips in disgust. "Then why are you not courting her, Adam? You were willing to marry a mail-order bride, a woman half your age whom you had never met, in order to secure a mother for your children. Priscilla is of the correct age to become their stepmother, all three of the children like her, you claim you find her attractive, and yet, you have made no effort to pursue her."

  "That's where you are wrong," Adam said. "At the theater, I brought up the idea of marriage, which Priscilla promptly rejected. In fact, it was the basis of our disagreement."

  His mother looked at him, befuddled. "Why on earth would she do that? You're wealthy, handsome, well-established socially and, I presume, a gentleman when you're alone with her. What reason could Priscilla possibly have to reject your offer?"

  Adam shrugged. "She reminded me that I'm an aristocrat and she's a nester."

  "She is of royalty!"

  "For heaven's sake, Mother. She came across the plains in a covered wagon with the homesteaders. She's a nester."

  "But a nester with royal blood in her veins."

  Adam restacked his papers and attempted to peruse them in an effort to end the exasperating encounter. "Well, it's irrelevant now," he said, "because she's simply not interested in marrying me or anyone else. She's involved in running her newspaper, and she would not have time for a husband, or for mothering a brood of half-grown children."

  "Poppycock! That's merely her excuse because she's intimidated by your uncommonly good looks and your overbearing demeanor. You are a man who could have any woman you want, and she's puzzled and suspicious as to why you'd want her because she is—" she stopped and pursed her lips.

  "Plain as an old shoe?" Adam eyed his mother with vexation. "That is what you were about to say, wasn't it?"

  "She is not as plain as she was. In fact, she's really quite attractive now. And she wore that dress to catch your eye which, I noticed, it did."

  "I'm a normal, red-blooded male, Mother. Any woman with a bosom as ample and manifest as Priscilla's was in that gown would catch my eye."

  "Then you admit you're physically attracted to her as well."

  "I never said I wasn't. You were the one to label her plain. I find her intriguing and challenging, and certainly more exciting that the eligible females among Cheyenne's elite. And yes, the dress did catch my notice, as it did many other men at the theater. In fact, I saw men's heads turn whenever Priscilla walked past them."

  "That's because she carries herself like a queen. There's a regal air about her, which I believe comes with her bloodline."

  "It comes from study and practice, Mother. Priscilla tried to emulate the queen the entire time she was growing up in order to fool her mean-spirited classmates."

  "No matter. She's queenly, and she commands notice. Now, that's all I intend to say about it. It's up to you to convince her that she's the right woman for you."

  Adam stood, braced his hands on his desk, leaned toward his mother and said, in a firm voice, "No, Mother. Priscilla is everything I do not want in a wife."

  Catching movement across the room, Adam looked toward the doorway to find Priscilla standing there. If he'd hoped to convince her to stay, there was no convincing her now. Whatever she'd come to tell him, she set it aside and continued down the hallway.

  "Bloody hell!" He shoved his chair back, rushed around his mother and went after her. "Wait, Priscilla," he called out. "I want to talk to you."

  Priscilla stopped at the head of the stairs and waited for him to come to her. "I hope you'll make it fast, Adam," she said, "because my belongings are packed, and Jim is out front with the buckboard, ready to collect them and drive them to my place."

  "I don't want you running off like this. What I said in there—"

  "What you said has no affect on me. I'm no more interested in becoming Lady Whittington than you are in having me as your wife. I have a business to run, and you have a cattle empire to oversee. Attempting to make a cozy little family out of that combination would be absurd. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm ready to leave."

  Adam reached out and took her by the arm. "Not until I kiss you."

  "You'll do nothing of the sort," Priscilla snapped. "And if you try, I'll scream."

  "Then start screaming." Adam tugged her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, and although he knew his mother was standing at the end of the hallway watching them, he refused to stop what was happe
ning, even when Priscilla thrust her fingers into his hair and forced his head toward hers, demanding his lips take firmer possession, his tongue match the fervent thrusts of hers, his chest embrace her breasts.

  His mind whirled with the need to scoop her up in his arms and kick open the nearest bedroom door, then hurl her on the bed, shove her skirts up, release his throbbing male part from the damn britches, and do what they both wanted. And there was no doubt in his mind that Priscilla would relinquish her virginity to him if he packed her off to a private place. But he fought off that almost uncontrollable urge because, although Priscilla might accept him, he was apt to get his eyes clawed out during the process.

  When the kiss finally ended, Priscilla took several moments to steady her erratic breathing, then she looked at him steadily, and said between labored breaths, "So that there's no misunderstanding, that kiss meant goodbye. Nothing more." She turned and started down the long curved stairway, back straight, head erect, like a queen who'd just issued a proclamation that was not to be challenged.

  And all he wanted was to haul her off to bed and claim her as his. Permanently.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  'She hath abused her body by unspeakable

  and incredible variety of lust, which

  modesty suffereth not to be remembered'

  — William Cardinal Allen about Elizabeth I - 1588

  The jingle of the bell on the front door to The Town Tattler building announced the arrival of a customer. Priscilla looked up from her typesetting at the copy table and was surprised to see Lady Whittington, Lady Ashbury, and a younger woman whose features closely resembled those of Lady Ashbury. It was late in the day, and Jim and the women had left, so she was surprised that anyone would stop in. She set aside her composing stick and returned the type characters to the type drawer. Wiping her hands on a rag, she walked up to greet the women. "Good afternoon Lady Whittington, Lady Ashbury, Lady—?"

  "Rumsfeld," the younger woman replied. "I am Lady Ashbury's daughter."