Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  His smile for Emily was very warm, and she didn’t burst into tears. Instead, she returned it with a rather uncertain one of her own, and wished she could just sink through the floor and hide for a couple of centuries.

  Clarence Pickering was used to Aunt Gertrude, though, and apparently didn’t find her introduction at all odd. It was obvious, however, that he considered Will Tate an unwelcome interloper into his territory. He held out his hand and said with a somewhat grim attempt at one of his sincere smiles, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake. You’re from Arizona?”

  “I’m visiting, all right, but from Texas, Mr. Pickering, not Arizona. And the name’s actually Tate. Will Tate.”

  Very early in life Will had learned to read people quickly. Having assessed Pickering as an enemy, he decided to play “Texas Lonesome” to the hilt. He certainly didn’t like the way the man seemed to leer at Emily.

  “A friend of our little Emily’s, are you?”

  Pickering’s tone sounded possessive and patronizing, and Will noticed Emily’s lips pinch together. It looked to him as though she were trying not to scream. He judged this evening to have been rather hard on her so far.

  “Well, now, I didn’t rightly know she was your little Emily, Mr. Pickering,” he said in a sweet voice.

  Emily wondered if he knew how challenging his words really were. She decided to use whatever advantage Will had just given her, however. “I’m not, Mr. Tate. Mr. Pickering is my aunt’s financial advisor. He recently advised her to invest in a bunch of nonexistent horse herds in China.”

  Pickering’s eyes narrowed. “Well, now, Miss Emily, that was indeed rather unfortunate. But you know, sometimes things of such a nature do happen.”

  Emily responded with a humph.

  Will decided not to press that issue right now. He did resolve to ask Thomas Crandall what he knew about Clarence Pickering, though, at his first opportunity.

  Gertrude peered at her guests with a vacuous smile when she sat down on the chair where Emily had dumped her glass globe.

  “Oh! Oh, my goodness, what on earth is this?” She stood up again in a rush and peered down at the ball. “Oh, dear, now how did that get there?”

  With a gallant sweep of his arms, Will rescued the ball from the chair. “Is this yours, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  Gertrude beamed at him. “Yes, Mr. Blake. This is my crystal ball. And, although at first all I could see were bubbles, I just received a spirit message through its medium. I’m terribly thrilled about it.”

  Suddenly Emily felt as though all the fates in the universe were conspiring against her. She had just begun to pray for a quick bolt of lightning to rescue her from this awful evening when Blodgett appeared at the parlor door to announce that dinner was served.

  “May I escort you to dinner, Miss Emily?” Will asked courteously.

  Emily smiled at him and was alarmed as a sudden electric tingle shot through her body when his gaze collided with hers. She had to clear her throat before she could speak.

  “That would be very kind of you, Mr. Tate,” she murmured.

  Will noticed Clarence Pickering scowl when he crooked his elbow, as Emily had earlier instructed him to do, and Emily placed her small hand on his forearm. He also noticed Emily shoot Pickering a cold frown in return.

  Dinner at Gertrude Schindler’s house was an enlightening experience for Will. Uncle Ludwig spoke of nothing but dachshunds. Aunt Gertrude chattered about her spirit friends and the slipshod enunciation she so deplored in today’s modern young ladies. Clarence Pickering made snide remarks about Texas and cowboys during the entire meal. Emily tried her very best to shield Will from Pickering’s nasty barbs and, at the same time, distract him from her two bizarre relatives’ disordered conversation.

  He admired her grit. He was sure he wouldn’t have had the skill and fortitude required to juggle this many loose ends so effectively.

  It also became very plain to him that the family’s fortunes, while once obviously grand, had declined a great deal. Gertrude Schindler’s elegant French china was chipped in places and although someone—probably Emily, Will guessed—had done a very good job of matching colors, two cheap serving dishes had been substituted for the ones that came with the set. He suspected the originals had been broken and the family did not possess the resources to purchase replacements in the same pattern. The silver was polished to a fare-thee-well, and was an exquisite, old-fashioned pattern. Will had selected a much more modern design for the silver in his new home.

  Emily was absolutely exhausted by the time the meal had finally dragged to a close. Then she felt spasms of worry while she and her aunt retired to the parlor and Will remained in the dining room to take brandy and cigars with her uncle and Clarence Pickering. When the gentlemen at long last emerged, she scanned Will’s face for any indication that he was about to turn tail and run.

  But he seemed perfectly serene as he followed Uncle Ludwig and Pickering into the parlor where Emily was by now in a hand-wringing state of anxiety. She sighed with relief when he gave her a smile as sweet as honey.

  Thank God! He must be too innocent to realize what crazy people these were.

  Will almost laughed at his first sight of Emily’s earnest, worried expression. But he wasn’t at all surprised. He had learned a lot this evening, and none of it had done a thing to lower Emily in his esteem. Far from it. How she had survived in this nest of loonies—and criminals, too, as Will believed Pickering to be—was an amazing puzzle to him. He silently honored her for it.

  “Did—did you have a pleasant chat, Mr. Tate?” Emily asked breathlessly when she dashed over to his side.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Your uncle is a mighty entertaining man.”

  Entertaining? Emily’s nerves were now strung so taut, she wanted to scream at Will and demand to know what he meant.

  She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath, gave him what she hoped was an enchanting smile, and said, “Yes, he certainly is, isn’t he?”

  “Yes’m. But that Mr. Pickering feller don’t seem to cotton much to Texans.”

  Emily’s face paled.

  She would not invite this man to her home again until she was safely married to him, she decided. Then she almost burst into tears when she realized she’d probably be in Texas by that time and couldn’t invite him anywhere, anyway.

  Will followed her to the sofa at a lazy amble. He was very curious to see what the rest of the evening held in store for him, although he was a little worried about Emily. She looked almost sick with apprehension.

  In fact, she was. Her hands even shook when she gently placed one of them on Will’s arm and asked in a tiny voice, “Would you care to take the air with me, Mr. Tate?”

  Her suggestion was terribly improper, but all at once it had become imperative to Emily that she get Will away from her bizarre family and the leering Clarence Pickering. She was so nervous she felt like a fiddle string about to twang and snap. She trusted Will’s innocence would keep him from realizing how brazen she was being.

  He tried to hide his twinkle when he said, “I’d be purely honored to take the air with you, Miss Emily.” He stood and crooked his elbow politely once more, just to prove what a fine student he was.

  Emily felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief when it looked as though they were going to escape the room without being detected.

  “Emily, darling? Mr. Blake? Wherever are you going? I’m just about to summon Raja Kinjiput. Don’t you want to ask him a question?”

  Will felt Emily stiffen. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Gertrude perched in sparkling taffeta elegance on the edge of her chair, her beringed hands passing over her crystal ball in grand circles, and her somewhat myopic blue eyes peering at them eagerly.

  “Well, ma’am, that sounds right nice, but Miss Emily here is feeling a mite peaked. I thought she might need some fresh air.”

  Emily stared up at him in astonishment when her aunt answered, “Oh, of course, Mr. Bl
ake. What a kind man you are.” Gertrude dismissed them with an airy wave of her hand. “I’ll just talk to the raja myself, then.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Will said. He guided Emily through the side parlor door and onto the little ledge overlooking Hayes Street.

  The night was clear for once; no gray fog misted the city. They had a perfect view of the rather seedy neighborhood surrounding Gertrude Schindler’s formerly elegant address. The full moon hung above them like a shiny silver dollar, and softened the sometimes crude outlines of the city.

  Emily felt her cheeks burn as the cool night air washed over her. She looked at the peeling paint on the railing and hoped will wouldn’t notice.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tate. That was very diplomatic of you.”

  “Diplomatic, ma’am?” Will asked innocently.

  Emily took a deep, steadying breath, bracing herself to wrap Will more tightly around her finger. She didn’t much like herself for it.

  “Yes, Mr. Tate. Diplomatic. I—I know my aunt and uncle are—are unusual people.” She stopped all at once, uncertain how to explain Gertrude and Ludwig in a manner that might mitigate their eccentricities.

  “That they are, ma’am.”

  He looked down at her and his breath caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. The moon had bathed Emily’s flushed cheeks in its silvery light, and she looked utterly enchanting, a fairy princess out of a storybook. The deep sapphire satin of her gown set off her smooth, pale skin to perfection. He found himself having to forcefully restrain his arms, which felt compelled to reach out and draw her to him. He ached to caress the bosom she had so artfully plumped up for his benefit.

  Emily couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt completely humiliated—both embarrassed about her aunt and uncle, and ashamed of herself for her embarrassment. And she was utterly, completely aghast at herself for her own duplicity. But she had no choice. The image of Clarence Pickering flashed through her mind. She couldn’t quit now, no matter how villainous her plot. She simply couldn’t.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her words died unspoken as she found herself trapped by Will’s gaze. Her lips parted slightly and she could only stare at him, stunned. All at once, Will Tate looked like the very picture of the man of her dreams. The planes of his face were picked out by the moonlight, and the shadows etched his strength to granite-like perfection. In the books she’d read, in the fantasies she’d spun, the hero of them all looked exactly as Will Tate looked now.

  The invitation she offered was too much for Will to resist. “You’re just the prettiest thing, Miss Emily.”

  Emily felt gooseflesh in the most embarrassing places when Will’s finger nudged her chin up even further.

  “Mr. Tate, I—” She couldn’t go on.

  “Just the prettiest thing.”

  His whisper sent ripples coursing through Emily’s body from her ears to her toes which were tucked away in their dainty, though well-worn, evening slippers, and which suddenly curled in reaction.

  She couldn’t breathe as she saw Will’s face slowly draw nearer and nearer to hers. Her gaze fastened upon his full mouth, and she was sure she would faint when he kissed her. And although she knew she must be beyond redemption by this time, she wanted him to. More than anything else on earth, she wanted to feel those wonderful lips on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt his warm, sweet breath on her cheek.

  Then she almost fainted dead away when the parlor door suddenly swung open and Clarence Pickering’s mocking voice flayed her senses like a whiplash.

  “Well, well, well. Now, I just wonder what’s going on out here?”

  Will dropped his hands and straightened up fast.

  Emily’s eyes popped open and she whirled around to find Pickering leering at the two of them, a thin cigar clamped in his sincere white teeth.

  Chapter 5

  “Tell me, Thomas, do you know a Clarence Pickering, by any chance?”

  Will had shed his black silk tie and dinner jacket. He now tossed his elegant beaver onto the undignified heap they made on the seat of Thomas Crandall’s sofa. Then he stood before his friend’s fire, warming his hands.

  He had walked home from Emily’s house. He needed a good dose of night air to cool his ardor, which had not been altogether dampened by Pickering’s untimely interruption. In fact, his unruly sex still had an unfortunate tendency to thicken up on him whenever he remembered how Emily had looked as they stood on that rickety porch, bathed in soft moonlight. Lord above, she was about the most fetching little thing he’d ever seen in his life.

  Although it had annoyed him awfully at the time, he was now grateful for Clarence Pickering’s jealousy. That’s what it had been, Will was sure. Just as he was sure Pickering was up to no good with Emily’s Aunt Gertrude’s financial affairs.

  Still, Will was glad he hadn’t kissed Emily. A kiss, to a proper young lady like Miss Emily von Plotz, was akin to a proposal. And Will was not at all sure he wanted to make a proposal.

  Thomas Crandall, wearing a brocaded blue dressing gown, stroked his fluffy mutton chop side whiskers as he stared hard at his friend. Then he frowned with distaste. “Clarence Pickering? How the devil do you know that vulture?”

  “A vulture, is he?” Will had already pegged Pickering for a bad one, but his innards clutched at the expression on his friend’s face.

  “The worst. He sniffs around until he finds people who’re about to go belly up. Then he helps them do it and feeds on the remains. Why? Don’t tell me Pickering has something to do with our Aunt Emily?”

  Will sighed. This was trouble all right. “He’s her aunt’s financial adviser. Apparently he just advised her to invest in some horse herds that don’t exist in China. Now he wants her to invest in African ships.”

  Thomas eyed Will quizzically. “Do you suppose Aunt Emily really is trying to snag you into marrying her? If Pickering’s nosing around, you can be sure the family’s in deep waters. Maybe her motives aren’t purely noble after all.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Will wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that. He could have sworn Emily von Plotz was an upright, honest young woman. He also figured her for being none too wealthy. If anybody in the world could detect twice-turned clothes, it was Will Tate; and Miss Emily had definitely worn at least two reworked gowns in the two days since he’d met her. Still, he couldn’t quite believe she was an out-and-out fortune-hunter.

  On the other hand, he could, better than most, appreciate a well-laid confidence scheme. If it was Miss Emily’s goal to seduce him into marriage, she was doing a good job of it. But he couldn’t quite help feeling a bit—just a little bit, mind you—hurt, if she were indeed pretending an interest in him she didn’t really feel. She certainly didn’t seem to be pretending.

  Will knew it was ironic. Who was he to belittle a cheat? He’d grown up with a man who truly believed cheating was the only way to go along in the world, and who had imparted the belief unto Will. And Will had been an apt student, too. Not for the first time he wondered if his family had a streak of Romany blood in their veins.

  Besides, he himself was posing as “Texas Lonesome,” whoever that was. So he was just as guilty of dissimulation as Emily. If she was scheming.

  Lord, all this thinking was making his head ache.

  Then Thomas laughed and snapped Will’s attention away from his unsettled thoughts.

  “Hell, Will. You figured her for a gold digger as soon as you saw that letter from the ‘Lonely Texan,’ or whatever he called himself.” Thomas’s laugh died when he encountered Will’s sharp frown.

  “Texas Lonesome,” Will muttered. He glared into the toasty fire flickering and crackling, making the cozy room seem even more snug and inviting. “And she’s not a gold digger, either.”

  “Well, whatever she is, if her aunt is being advised by Clarence Pickering, the family’s done for. That’s one thing I am sure of. Pickering,” he said once more, “is a vulture.”

  Neither man spoke for
another several minutes. Will continued to ponder the dying fire, and Thomas studied him closely.

  Finally he ventured, “Don’t bite me, Will, but I can’t recall you ever paying particular mind to anything a female did or said before, or to care about anything that befell one of them. But you sure seem to be spending a lot of time and thought on our fair Aunt Emily. Don’t tell me she has finally managed to pierce that steel armor of yours.”

  Will, lost in thought, gave a little start at Thomas’s words. When he turned, his brows were furrowed. Then he broke into a reluctant grin and flopped himself into the chair opposite Thomas.

  “Hell, Thomas, even I don’t know that. I never met anybody like Miss Emily von Plotz before. It’s not my fault. I’m sure I’ll get over it. I just don’t like the thought of a vulture hurting her or her family.” He shook his head as he recalled the events of the evening.

  “Lord, what a family. And the funny thing is, she really cares about them.” Since Will had never experienced much in the way of family feelings himself, he didn’t quite understand them, but they touched a raw place in him. It was a place he’d packed away so securely, he’d even forgotten it was there. Until now.

  He sounded more chipper when he said, “Did you know her uncle Ludwig thinks dachshunds are the next big craze in the dog world? That they can be trained to herd cattle? He’s turned their back yard into a breeding kennel.” He chuckled at the memory.

  “What the hell’s a dock-soont?”

  Will’s grin widened. “It’s a dog, Thomas. It’s about as tall as a weasel, it’s shaped like a sausage, it yaps constantly, and it has one hell of a mean disposition.”

  It was obvious Thomas didn’t know if Will was teasing him or not. “That doesn’t sound like much of a herd dog to me, Will.”

  An honest-to-goodness belly laugh was all the response Thomas got for his astute observation. In fact, Will was so tickled, he actually had to wipe a tear away when he finally managed to choke out, “Do you know the man is wearing a black arm band? He’s been wearing it for six years now. Still in mourning for the Crown Prince and Archduke Rudolf.” Will doubled over in laughter again. Thomas only stared at him.