Beneath Montana's Sky: A Montana Sky Novella (The Montana Sky Series Book 0)

by Debra Holland

  That’s what I want, he realized. Deeply loving most perfectly describes my hopes for marriage.

  “I met Edward when I visited a friend in Boston. Being away from New York…from the scene of my former happiness and my grief also helped me.”

  Perhaps I do have something to offer Miss Hamilton that she cannot obtain in Boston. His uncertainty must have shown on his face.

  Great-Aunt Hester tapped her fan on the railing. “That girl was joyously in love with Richard. To see the shadow in her eyes since his death has saddened me. A change of scene, something besides charity work to occupy her mind and hands, a good man to warm her bed…. I think Elizabeth Hamilton will find herself falling in love with you. At least give her a chance, John.”

  He owed his Great-Aunt so much. How could he refuse her request?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  While Elizabeth danced with Mr. Fyffe, Pamela studied the people around her. On the right side, a tall man she didn’t know—and she had the whole invitation list memorized—caught her attention. He was escorting elderly Mrs. Burton, a friend of her grandmother’s and a grand dame of society, through the throng with a hand under her elbow. The pair made frequent stops for introductions along the way.

  Curious, Pamela watched them, deciding she liked the look of the stranger. He had sandy hair, a craggy face, and a lanky build. Even though he was dressed in the same kind of evening attire as the rest of the male guests, something about him seemed different. Maybe his stance—more wide-legged than most men—or the air of strength about him.

  The music ended, and Elizabeth cut across her view of Mrs. Burton and her companion.

  “You haven’t moved from this spot,” her friend scolded, taking the chair next to her. “Is this how you keep your promise?” She leaned over and tucked tendrils of Pamela’s hair, which had escaped the pins, back into her coiffure.

  Pamela hated how her fine brown hair always failed to stay in place. Despite being indoors, she often ended up with a windblown appearance. “I’ve been watching everyone.” Eager to divert her friend from another lecture and gain some information on the stranger, she tipped her head in the direction of Mrs. Burton. “Do you know that man?”

  Elizabeth studied him, her forehead crinkled. “I’ve never seen him before.” She turned to Pamela, speculation in her eyes. “Are you interested?”

  “I’m curious. That’s all. He’s very solicitous of Mrs. Burton, which makes me think they must be related, but she has only daughters and granddaughters.”

  “They’re heading this way, so we’ll find out soon enough.” Elizabeth tapped Pamela’s leg. “Do dance with him if he asks.”

  Mrs. Burton and her companion drew close and stopped in front of them. The elderly woman gifted them with a regal nod and a smile. “Miss Hamilton, Miss Burke-Smythe, this is my great-nephew, John Carter.”

  I was right. He is a relative.

  “He has a vast ranch in Montana Territory and is here for a short visit.” Although Mrs. Burton addressed both of them, she focused more on Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth and Pamela returned her greeting.

  The corners of Mr. Carter’s blue eyes crinkled when he smiled. He made a gesture toward his head, as if he meant to tip a nonexistent hat, then quickly lowered his hand.

  Mrs. Burton gestured toward Pamela. “Miss Burke-Smythe, I haven’t seen your father here. No doubt he’s avoiding the festivities.”

  “No doubt at all,” Pamela echoed with a nod. “He’s at home, probably in his favorite old chair in front of the fire in the library, reading. He made a donation to the society, and no amount of persuasion would budge him from his declaration not to attend tonight. Even Elizabeth tried to work her wiles on him, but to no avail.”

  “Newton always was a stubborn man with a dislike of society gatherings. His mother despaired of him ever marrying.”

  “I can understand his predilection,” Pamela said shyly. “Many a night I join him in the other leather chair in front of the fireplace, companionably reading, while my brothers are out on their various entertainments.”

  Mr. Carter eyed her with interest, his eyebrow cocked.

  She blushed and glanced at her fingers.

  A new set of music struck up. Another waltz.

  Mrs. Burton tapped Mr. Carter on the back of his arm with her closed fan, as if urging him forward. “It’s customary to ask a young lady to dance, my dear boy,” she said in a humorous tone. “I’m sure Miss Hamilton will oblige you.”

  Pamela couldn’t help wishing that, for just this once, she’d been the one chosen over Elizabeth. But why should she be? Elizabeth was prettier, more charming, had a big dowry—all qualities which would make her the obvious choice for a matchmaking great-aunt.

  John shot Hester a wry smile, placed a hand on his chest, and dipped a slight bow. “Please take pity on me, Miss Hamilton. Remember, I’m from Montana Territory, and not familiar with ballroom dancing.” He made a self-depreciating grimace.

  Pamela liked his voice, rich with a hint of a Western twang, as well as his lack of arrogance. Not many men would admit to their short-comings.

  Mr. Carter’s eyes twinkled at Elizabeth. “I’ll do my best not to step on you or lead you astray,” he drawled in a teasing manner.

  His words made Pamela remember Henry. She exchanged amused glances with Elizabeth. Now it’s her turn to have her toes trod upon. She didn’t allow her amusement to show. Mr. Carter seemed completely comfortable in this environment, but she sensed that underneath he was uncertain, which gave her a feeling of kinship with him.

  As she watched John lead Elizabeth toward the dance floor, Pamela bit her lip to repress an unexpected sense of yearning and an odd feeling of jealousy. I want to dance with the Western rancher.

  While she’d envied her friend her popularity, Pamela had never before felt proprietary about a specific suitor of Elizabeth’s. Experiencing the emotion made her feel ashamed for even thinking such uncharitable thoughts, especially about someone so dear to her and who had suffered so much in the last few years.

  Mrs. Burton spread her fan open and languidly waved it, wafting Lily of the Valley fragrance Pamela’s way. “I’m pleased to see Miss Hamilton looking more like her old self.”

  Astonished at Mrs. Burton’s perception, Pamela turned to face the older woman. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

  “But I still sometimes see sadness in her eyes.”

  Pamela gave Mrs. Burton a thoughtful glance, seeing the shrewdness in the woman’s faded blue eyes. “Most people don’t notice. I doubt even her brother knows how much Elizabeth still struggles to keep up her spirits.”

  “My great-nephew would be a good match for Miss Hamilton,” Mrs. Burton said, with her characteristic bluntness. “He’ll take her away from the place of her painful memories, give her new challenges to occupy her mind and her time. Your friend has plenty of backbone. I think she’ll thrive in the West.”

  With a sinking heart, Pamela realized Mrs. Burton was right. She glanced at the couple. Mr. Carter wasn’t a polished dancer, but she suspected he hadn’t much practice. At least he guided his partner in the right direction, unlike poor Henry. Her friend seemed animated, and from this distance, it was difficult to know if Elizabeth was just being mannerly and trying to put the Western man at ease, or if she truly was interested in him as a potential suitor.

  Mrs. Burton gave a nod of obvious satisfaction. “They look well together.”

  They do. The thought wrenched at Pamela’s heart. “I couldn’t bear for her to travel so far from Boston. I’d never see her, and we are so very close.” Life would be lonely without Elizabeth. She had other friends, but none so dear.

  But I’ve prayed every night that Beth would find happiness again. What if Mr. Carter is the answer to my persistent petitions to the Almighty?

  Pamela bit her lip, then voiced her thoughts. “But if Elizabeth could find happiness…true happiness and love…I would wholeheartedly endorse the idea of her marryin
g Mr. Carter and moving West.”

  Mrs. Burton gave Pamela a shrewd look. “That’s very charitable of you.”

  “I love her,” Pamela said simply. “When you love someone, you want the best for them. If I could know Elizabeth can once again experience joy….” She placed a hand on her chest and blinked at the stinging in her eyes. “Why, that would mean more to me than my own sadness over losing her.”

  “You two have been bosom friends for a long time,” Mrs. Burton said, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Even distance, living separate lives, doesn’t break that kind of connection.”

  “You are wise, Mrs. Burton.” Pamela forced a smile. “We could always write letters,” she said, trying to sound optimistic when she felt just the opposite.

  “A regular correspondence can be a godsend. Pouring out your heart, your intimate thoughts to a beloved friend—such confidences are good for the soul.”

  Pamela nodded. But not as good as talking face to face about such matters.

  Mrs. Burton’s lips trembled before she firmed them. “I moved away from my best friend, and we continued to correspond with one another…oh, at least several times a month until her death a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her.”

  Mrs. Burton snapped her fan shut, obviously wanting to avoid sentiment. “I see no reason why we can’t put our heads together and make a match between them.”

  If Elizabeth wishes to wed Mr. Carter, how can I not?

  “We can call upon Miss Hamilton,” Mrs. Burton mused. “And there are several dinner parties to attend this week, as well as the Spencer ball. I think you and Miss Hamilton should join my great-nephew and I on some sightseeing trips around the city.”

  “Those are good places to start,” Pamela agreed, not entirely truthfully, then thought, do I really want to promote such a marriage?

  * * *

  As the beautiful Elizabeth Hamilton placed her hand on his arm, and they walked onto the dance floor, John wondered why he wasn’t moved by her touch—if he should feel something besides nervousness—excitement perhaps? Pride at escorting such a lovely woman? Anticipation? Maybe, the idea of dancing in front of so many people is disguising anything else I might be feeling.

  John glanced at Great-Aunt Hester and saw her in serious conversation with Miss… What is her name again? Something hyphenated.

  The young woman, plain and unobtrusive, who liked quiet nights reading, watched them. Is that yearning in her brown eyes? She caught his glance and looked away.

  The expression on her plump-cheeked face lingered in his mind, and John wondered what she was feeling. Did she want to dance?

  I’ll ask her next, he promised himself.

  The music began—a sweet thrum of stringed instruments that made him wish he could just sit and listen, not have to talk to a herd of elegant strangers or dance with a lady whose beauty and grace made him feel as if he had two left feet. He gave Miss Hamilton a perfunctory smile, inhaling her rose perfume.

  “Have you danced much, Mr. Carter?”

  “A harvest celebration or two.” John thought of the fast-paced reels, hops, and polkas favored by the Westerners. “Not like this.” He fell silent, listening for the beat and trying to remember everything he’d learned from his lesson yesterday. One two three, one two three…

  How strange to glide across the floor holding a woman, his hand on her waist, feeling the ribs of her corset under his palm. Even through his gloves, the material of her gown felt light and slippery. He was grateful his rough hands were covered so they wouldn’t snag the delicate fabric. John swept Miss Hamilton into the first wide turn, keeping an eye on the couples nearest them, and thought about cutting a calf from the herd. Couldn’t be much more difficult than that.

  He’d been riding and roping since he was three years old. He’d only been waltzing since yesterday. A young couple bobbled toward them, and with a long step, he shifted Miss Hamilton to the side, hoping she thought he was guiding, not pushing, her out of the way.

  Another pair drifted by in earnest discussion. John hoped Miss Hamilton wouldn’t expect him to talk. He was too preoccupied with counting. One two three, one two three…

  “Das Leben ein Tanz,” she quoted.

  John restrained a start of panic. A conversation in a foreign language was definitely more than he could manage, even if he weren’t waltzing.

  “The Dance of Life. This music was composed by Johan Strauss.”

  John wished he could mop his damp brow. At least, Miss Hamilton had switched to English and didn’t seem to expect a response. He nodded.

  “Tell me about your ranch, Mr. Carter.”

  She does want me to talk and dance. He waited a few more measures, until they had moved away from the obstacles onto a clear stretch of floor, before answering her. “Biggest spread in the area.” There! He’d managed words and dance steps at the same time.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Spread?”

  “Ranch,” John pushed out, concentrating. He risked a glance over to the orchestra. Would this waltz ever end?

  The loss of concentration almost led to disaster. He narrowly avoided plowing into a couple who’d slowed in front of them. Hopefully his partner hadn’t noticed.

  John brought his attention back to Miss Hamilton, who gazed at him in expectancy. What does she want from me?

  A trickle of sweat raced down his back. The process of cutting a potential wife from the herd was proving far more difficult than he’d thought.

  * * *

  Wistfully, Pamela watched Mr. Carter and Elizabeth finish the waltz. As he escorted his partner back toward Pamela and Mrs. Burton, a flicker of relief crossed his face, and she wondered why. Surely he would have wished for more time with Elizabeth. After a dance, most men tried to keep her talking, lingering on the edge of the floor instead of walking her back right away like they always did with Pamela.

  As the two approached, they continued a conversation they’d obviously started earlier. “My grandparents lived in a log cabin.” Mr. Carter flicked his hand to indicate their surroundings. “I can’t even imagine how difficult they must have found such a primitive home after living a more genteel life.”

  “Difficult, indeed,” Mrs. Burton said. “I remember my sister Olivia’s letters of complaint. But those two were deeply in love and determined to make a new life in the West for themselves away from their families.” Her eyes held a look of old sadness. “Our father was, well, overbearing. Quite a tyrant. He had someone already picked out for Olivia. A business partner. The only way the young lovers could marry was to run away.”

  Mr. Carter shot his great-aunt a curious look. “I didn’t know that about my grandparents. But then again, I was a little shaver when they passed away.”

  “That’s a romantic story,” Pamela commented, hoping her wistful tone went unnoticed.

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I don’t know. Hardships and difficulties don’t sound romantic to me.”

  “In this case, Miss Burke-Smythe and I are in agreement.” Mrs. Burton slid her gaze to Elizabeth. “Olivia and John had a good life, despite the hardships. They found happiness. In spite of her occasional complaints, Olivia’s letters were full of pride in their accomplishments.”

  Miss Hamilton’s gaze roved the crowd. “Do you live in a log cabin, Mr. Carter?” she asked absently.

  Pamela found the conversation fascinating and couldn’t understand how Elizabeth allowed her attention to wander, as if casting for other partners.

  Mr. Carter’s eyebrows drew together. “I assure you, my home is not so primitive. Simple, perhaps, compared to this. A two-story home. Five bedrooms.”

  Sounds promising. But would Elizabeth think so? Her friend wasn’t looking convinced.

  Elizabeth waved to a swain.

  Mr. Carter didn’t seem to mind. He bowed to Pamela. “May I have this dance?”

  With a flip of her heart, she smiled and nodded, rising to her feet.

  He crooked
his elbow toward her.

  Pamela slipped her hand around his arm, feeling the hard muscle under her palm. Although Mr. Carter was an obvious gentleman, he also worked outside, not in a business office behind a desk. Thinking about his muscles gave her a flutter in her stomach.

  As they walked toward the dance floor, Pamela barely felt the bruises on her feet from Henry. The thrill of waltzing with Mr. Carter practically banished the ache.

  On the floor, he took her into his arms. She liked the feel of his hand on her waist, the press of their gloved palms together. For the first time, the intimate posture, which had always made her feel uncomfortable and stiff, seemed right, and she wished he would pull her closer.

  Throughout the beginning of the waltz, they remained silent. She had the sense that Mr. Carter was concentrating on his steps, and she didn’t want to distract him.

  He frowned. “I’m sorry I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “Not at all.” Pamela thought of Henry and had to restrain a laugh. She didn’t want Mr. Carter to think she was making fun of him. “You couldn’t possibly be worse than my previous partner, who led me in the wrong direction and trod on my toes!”

  His troubled expression cleared. “Well, then, I’m grateful you decided to risk your toes again with me. I promise, I’ll try to keep my boots on the floor where they belong.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Pamela laughed at his playful act. “I watched you with Elizabeth, and you were fine. So accepting your invitation to dance was not such a risk as you’re making it out to be.”

  As they bantered, Pamela found herself relaxing. Conversing with this stranger she’d only met twenty minutes ago was far easier than talking with some men she’d known all her life.

  Mr. Carter also seemed to become comfortable. His lead became more expert, and he picked up their speed. As they became in tune with each other, they flowed in perfect step to the music. Exhilaration welled up in Pamela. She’d never known dancing could feel like this.