A Bargain For A Bride (Westward Hearts Book 8)

by Blythe Carver

  This was good, as well. Hermione’s eyes, so like Landon’s, lit up. “Very wise of you. I understand what it means to consider one’s future and practice discretion when it comes to the earning, saving, and spending of money. It does my heart good to know my son has found an intelligent wife and not a wasteful spendthrift.”

  Cate did what she could to keep from smiling in triumph. Wouldn’t he be surprised when he learned of the success she was making of this. If anything, his presence only complicated matters. She did just fine on her own.

  “You must tell me everything there is to know about my granddaughter,” Hermione insisted as she lifted a glistening roast from the pan and set it on a delicately painted platter with gilt edges. Considering that she had not been there to choose the listed items herself, Cate could not help but be impressed with Landon’s taste. He has done well on his own. He had merely needed guidance.

  “She is a delight, isn’t she?”

  Hermione nodded, eager. “Though I am certain it cannot be easy for you, especially as so much of your early days with her were spent going from one place to the other.”

  “She is a well-tempered baby,” Cate explained, wondering if she was saying the right things. “Besides, when they are so young, one place is just as good as another for them. At least, that is what I imagine.”

  “Yes, I can understand that. Is that why you decided against nursing? I’m sure it would be terribly inconvenient, going from one place to the next while the baby needed to be fed.”

  Cate turned away, confused and terribly embarrassed. She had not expected such an intimate question, though she recalled some of the more delicate subjects her mother’s friends had discussed while sitting around the whist table.

  Hermione let out a groan of disappointment behind her. “Oh, my dear. Have I shocked you? Forgive me. I’m so accustomed to speaking frankly on these subjects with my married friends. You are not as accustomed to discussing these things as I am. Naturally, it is entirely none of my business.”

  Cate decided to leave it at that, as anything she hoped to say after that would be undoubtedly tongue-tied and awkward.

  It seemed both marriage and motherhood were a minefield, with the promise of danger on all sides. She would do well to remember this.

  “Do not wear yourself out. I will bring the food to the table. You might let Mr. Jenkins know supper is ready to be served,” Cate suggested with a smile, lifting the serving platter.

  “Please, dear. You might call him Oliver, if you feel comfortable doing so. Better yet, Father.” Hermione was already halfway down the hall before Cate found the breath with which to speak.

  Father? Oh, heavens.

  Neither of them had considered what they would do once this visit was finished. Or how attached Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins might become to the daughter-in-law who would no longer be theirs.

  What would happen when Landon had to admit they’d separated?

  And what did it matter to her? They were strangers, and they would remain strangers. She would have what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, and this lovely woman with her careworn face and sweet, gentle voice would not have to suffer the shock of knowing her granddaughter was illegitimate.

  She supposed that was as much as they could hope for, but it did little to assuage the guilt whose roots spread deeper with every lie she told.

  17

  “I must say, whatever you pay this Mrs. Davis is not nearly enough. She missed her calling when she did not become a professional chef de cuisine.” Oliver sighed in approval, one hand over his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. He had certainly out-eaten all of them, going back for third helpings long after the others were finished.

  “I suspect much of this has to do with the lack of proper dining as of late,” Hermione explained. “One does tire of eating in restaurants and hotels after a while. A home-cooked meal means the world when it has been so long since we’ve enjoyed one.”

  As far as Landon was concerned, what his mother described was the ideal life. Having his every need seen to. He would certainly not complain if called upon to live the rest of his life that way.

  Then again, looking around the table, it seemed there might be something to be said for what he had at present. Domesticity, pride in one’s home and one’s family.

  Now, he only needed an actual family. More than just his parents. A wife. A fine wife who would do him proud.

  He suspected Cate might be a wife a man could be proud of, but that would never do. She was too flighty, too strange in her ways. Far too stubborn and hardheaded.

  And, on top of everything else, she wanted to be an actress. Actresses were hardly the type to make decent wives.

  He could not help but catch her eye from time to time and was regretful he’d been so sharp with her in the kitchen. She was only doing her best, just as he was, and he had an advantage over her, in that he knew his parents. She did not and had not been given proper time to acquaint herself with their ways.

  He had promised her the time and had failed to deliver it. Anything that went wrong past this point was entirely his doing. He would do well to remember that.

  “Landon tells me you are considering extending the length of your stay,” she murmured, wiping the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

  Well, he could not take the blame for this. She should have known how to hold her tongue, as she had promised him she would do. He’d forgotten to make mention of this when they were alone in the kitchen.

  His father glanced across the table at his mother, a flash of regret crossing his face. “I had considered it, as we are both so delighted to have been presented with both you and our granddaughter. I had not yet discussed it with my wife, however.”

  Cate touched her hands to her cheeks, aghast. “I’m so sorry. I spoke out of turn. It is simply that I was so pleased to hear the news.”

  Landon groaned inwardly. She certainly could overdo it when she set her mind to it.

  Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Nothing would give me more pleasure. The more time I get to spend with the baby, the better. I already miss her. Isn’t that strange? I miss her, yet she sleeps just above our heads.”

  Landon chuckled, glancing Cate’s way. “Do not say that so loudly. She might hear you and decide to cry.”

  Hermione beamed, radiant. “I would not mind in the least. I would adore her no matter what she did.”

  “I understand what you mean. Not until a woman has a child of her own can she understand how it is possible to love that child no matter what they do. I suppose I could forgive Violet anything.” Cate made a point of meeting Landon’s eyes as she raised a glass of port.

  Yes, she could definitely drive a point home when she set her mind to it.

  “I have felt that way about Landon here his entire life,” Hermione admitted, reaching across the table for his hand.

  Hers was a familiar hand, the feeling of it around his one of the first memories he could recall of his childhood. How she had guided him, molded him, taught him to be the man he was.

  A forgiving mother. A loving, sweet mother.

  But he could not bring himself to believe she would forgive him if she knew the truth of Violet’s parentage. That, he could not ask her to forgive. He would not even know the words to use should he begin asking for her forgiveness.

  Rather than allow Cate to run away with the conversation, he turned to his father. “Tell me, how are things in Washington?”

  “Oh, please. Forgive me, but are we to speak of politics tonight? I have not seen you in so long, and I do wish to know more about your wife.” Hermione squeezed his hand while looking to Cate.

  Any other woman would have paled beneath her probing gaze. Cate, on the other hand, seemed to thrive under it. “We have plenty of time in which to get to know each other,” she assured her. “There is a great deal I’d like to know about you, as well. And about your son. He is not as forthcoming with information about himself as he might be.”

&n
bsp; Oliver chortled. “Keeping secrets from your wife, eh, son?”

  “Hardly,” he replied, eyeing his wife with suspicion. “Just what is it you wish to know?”

  “I would love to hear about you as a boy. What sort of child were you? Did you ever give your parents any trouble? Did you get up to mischief when you shouldn’t have?”

  His mother threw back her head, laughing gaily. Once again, he was struck by the way she seemed to grow younger. It had not occurred to him until then just how rare it was to see her enjoy herself, to truly let loose and feel free to laugh and tease.

  “I must say, looking back, he could have been much worse. Some of his boyhood chums got into terrible scrapes when they were growing up.” She looked to Oliver, her eyes twinkling. “Do you recall the time they ran pigs through the center of town?”

  “How could I forget?” Oliver laughed.

  Cate giggled helplessly. “He did not!”

  Landon cleared his throat. “For the record, since no one here seems to care much about the facts of the story, I will tell you that it was an accident. We did not mean to open the gate to the pigpen. What the rest of the town thought of as us running the pigs through town was really nothing more than our attempts to corral the pigs and get them home.”

  It was clear no one at the table believed this story, as their laughter grew louder than ever. He decided to accept this and simply be glad for it, since this was going better than he ever could have imagined.

  He owed it all to her. She understood instinctively that his parents would wish to share stories of their only child, and they sat back and listened as both of his parents regaled them with tales even he had forgotten over the years.

  Cate’s eyes shone as she looked from one of them to the other, following along as they picked up the threads of one memory after another, weaving them together until they created a tapestry which represented his life up to that point.

  Once, she looked at him, and all artifice fell away. He saw, not his pretend wife, but the young woman he had found at the bank who’d had impressed him with her poise and bravery. They were still in this together, the two of them, partners.

  He would rather have no one else as a partner in this.

  “I have an idea,” he suggested when they rose from the table. “Perhaps you could regale us with a dramatic recitation, dear heart.”

  Her eyes went perfectly round, her face flushing.

  His father turned to her. “Oh? Do you know any pieces you could share?”

  “Yes, please, do! I would so enjoy it.” Hermione clasped her hands over her breast.

  “I… ought to see to the dishes,” she murmured, looking confused and very definitely unwilling to perform. “Truly, they should not be left for Mrs. Davis. Perhaps tomorrow evening, I will prepare something for you then.”

  “Are you certain, dearest?” Landon asked, giving her the sweetest, most sickening smile he could manage. Let her see what it felt like to be the center of attention when she wished for nothing less.

  The look she gave him might have melted solid rock. “Yes, darling. Though if you would be willing to clean up, I would be only too pleased to entertain your parents.”

  He had no choice but to concede defeat with a gentle tip of his head, laughing to himself all the while. She was quite an opponent.

  “Come, Father. I know you enjoy a brandy after supper, just as I do,” he offered, leading Oliver to the study while his mother followed Cate, picking up dishes from the table and carrying them to the kitchen.

  He could almost allow himself to believe for a moment that this was real.

  Oliver took a seat and accepted the brandy Landon offered. “I must say, son, that you chose very well. I admit, I was astounded when we arrived. She is quite young, though your mother was young when we married. I believe she will make an excellent wife for a man such as yourself. One who is going places in the world.”

  Hearing it set Landon’s teeth on edge. They would be disappointed when this sham of a marriage fell apart, wouldn’t they? He supposed he would deal with the aftermath when the time came. No sense worrying about it when there was still so much convincing to do.

  “I’m sure you can see how happy this makes your mother,” he added, swirling the liquid in the glass. “Truly, you could not have presented her with anything better during this visit. It thrills her to no end. I would not be surprised if she insisted on purchasing a home here, just so she can be nearer her granddaughter.”

  Landon found it difficult to swallow his drink now that there was a lump blocking his throat. “Perhaps I could make a point of visiting more often. That might make it easier on you.”

  “Or you might move east,” Oliver suggested, almost leaping at the opportunity to present his idea. Landon wondered if he’d been waiting for just this opportunity all along.

  “Why would I do that when I have a wonderful life here? And this house which you insisted on having built in my honor?” he laughed in an attempt to lighten the dread settling into his bones.

  “There are many opportunities for a man such as yourself in Washington,” his father argued. “Why, you’ve proven yourself indispensable here, and that reputation is sure to follow wherever you go. You would no longer be in the middle of nowhere. I’m certain your wife and daughter would be happier, with better access to… well, everything.”

  Landon finished his drink. “There is more than enough time to discuss all of this,” he decided, putting the conversation to rest for the time being. He told himself he should have known his father would not be satisfied with the life he’d built in Carson City.

  Even an excellent—if fake—wife would not be enough.

  18

  “Shh, sweet one. That’s a good girl.” Cate walked Violet up and down the length of the room as she had back at the ranch.

  What she would not give for a good night’s sleep.

  While the baby did not wail as she was wont to do, she was fussy and whimpering and generally unhappy as Cate rubbed the sleep from her eyes before turning to walk another length with the baby on her shoulder. “Why can’t you be a good girl like you were for your grandmother?” she hissed.

  Perhaps there was something to be said for experience. When Hermione had fed her, she’d expelled the air from her belly and gone straight to sleep. She hadn’t even spit up, which seemed a small miracle.

  Cate had half a mind to wake Hermione now, since she was so fixed on doting on the baby.

  A faint tap at the door separating her room from Landon’s made her jump in surprise.

  “Yes?” she whispered, closing her wrapper a bit tighter than before. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might visit during the night, and she was glad she’d left her stays on for lack of anyone to lace her into the in the morning.

  One of the many reasons she missed her sisters.

  Landon stuck his head into the room, and she noted his handsome silk dressing gown which he’d belted over his nightshirt. While hardly an inch of him was exposed to her, she felt somehow as if she was seeing what she ought not see.

  Yet he was her husband, legally and truly.

  This didn’t stop her from averting her eyes when he first entered.

  “How is she?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

  “Fussing terribly. I must admit, I’m tired.”

  “I know all too well what you mean. At least I slept last night. Here, allow me.” He held his arms out for her. “I’ll walk her for a while, so you can rest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Cate. She is my daughter, after all. My responsibility. You’ve already done so much.” His smile was so lovely. At least, it struck her as such at that moment. Perhaps it was fatigue or gratitude or both. She gave him the baby and sank into one of the two chairs near the window.

  He made a handsome sight, patting Violet’s back as he walked her the way Cate had just done. She noticed after a few minutes that he was humming as well, a tuneless sort of song which was plea
sant just the same.

  Violet certainly seemed to enjoy it, quieting soon after he’d started.

  “You are a good father,” Cate whispered, resting her head against the back of the chair.

  “I certainly don’t feel like one,” he whispered in reply. “I feel like a terrible father, one who cheats his daughter out of what she deserves. Now I’m cheating my parents, too.”

  “It isn’t your fault.”

  “It is.”

  “You didn’t make that girl leave. You couldn’t have known when you were away. You are being far too hard on yourself.”

  “That’s very easy for you to say. I know you are only trying to spare my feelings.”

  She rolled her eyes and said no more, deciding against continuing the argument in favor of enjoying peace and quiet. It was so nice, with a fire flickering gently in the grate, causing shadows to dance on the opposite wall…

  A moment later, Landon shook her shoulder. “Cate. Cate, wake up.”

  She blinked hard, noting the crick in her neck almost instantly. “What happened?” She looked up at him, his face very near hers. “Where are… what…?”

  Why was he laughing at her? “You fell asleep. The baby is sleeping in her crib. I thought you ought to lie in bed rather than spend the night sitting up in the chair. I turned down the blanket for you.”

  How kind of him. “You are so—” She stopped herself in time. She was about to call him sweet, or perhaps handsome. Was she not? She hadn’t fully woken up yet.

  “Think nothing of it,” he whispered as he helped her to her feet. “Come, now. We’ll have a long day ahead of us.”

  “You know, I can find a way to stay. Here, I mean, without going home before your parents leave.” She sat on the bed, the horsehair mattress soft yet firm enough that she did not sink straight into it. To her surprise, he bent to remove her slippers, then lifted her legs and swung them onto the bed as if he ever had right to do so.

  If she had not been half-dead with exhaustion, she might have taken offense.