Courting Miss Cartwright: A Sweet Western Historical Romance Novella (Rated PG) (Six Brides for Six Gideons Book 2)

by Kristin Holt

  Questions lurked. Questions Temperance might answer…if she dared ask.

  “I planted wildflowers.” Temperance blotted her fingers on the grass. “A carpet of blossoms will return each year near the anniversary of his death.”

  A nice sentiment. She would have nodded, but Temperance hadn’t glanced up. She tipped her watering can, tending the wildflower seeds.

  Heat from the midday sun burned through Felicity’s clothing. Though ample trees had been planted a decade or more ago by settlers, little shade could be found at this hour. Her empty stomach churned. Supper would be served at six o’clock at the boarding house. She’d survive until then.

  “You look like him.” Temperance rose, pulled gently at a chain about her neck and withdrew a golden locket from within her bodice. A fine piece of jewelry that must’ve cost a pretty penny. She slipped a thumbnail between the halves of the locket. Inside, two miniatures.

  Felicity couldn’t help herself. She moved close enough to see the photographs. The scent of roses, soap, and clothing dried in the sunshine melded, lingering about Temperance.

  But Felicity’s attention riveted on the likenesses within the locket. A man—supposedly the face of Cedric Cartwright—on the left, and a fair-haired woman on the right.

  Young, both of them, vibrant in youth. Probably wedding portraits.

  Felicity’s gut cramped, even as she took in every feature of her father’s face. Recognition stirred, familiar, like looking in a mirror.

  Cedric Cartwright had been handsome. Square jaw, high cheekbones, medium-toned hair—probably brown—and clear, light eyes. Good humor lurked about his proper unsmiling mouth and sparkled in his eyes.

  No wonder Mother had fancied herself in love.

  Drawn to the other image, Felicity examined the face of the woman who’d won Cedric Cartwright’s heart. The woman he’d married, shared his life with, raised a family of daughter and sons.

  All he’d denied Mother.

  Emotion engulfed her. She pressed a hand over her mouth. She would not shed tears over this man.

  Slowly, as if afraid to move too quickly, Temperance closed her locket and let it fall against her bosom. Her hand came to rest on Felicity’s back.

  Warm. Soothing. Gentle.

  Distressing.

  A sob threatened escape.

  With long strides, Felicity hurried beyond the cemetery gate and onto the path before the tears fell.

  Chapter Four

  “Avoid the evil vice of gossip, especially in one you would select for your lifelong companion. Such a wife will cause contention wherever she goes and will nowise bring peace to your home.”

  ~ The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage

  By early afternoon, Rocky finally broke away from his duties to call on Miss Felicity Percival. He’d sent a man to verify she’d taken a room at Ihnken’s Boardinghouse.

  He left Mars at the hitching post.

  Mrs. Ihnken answered his knock. “Mr. Gideon, what a surprise to find you on my doorstep. Do come in, won’t you?”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He removed his hat, stepped over the threshold and into the front hall. “I’m here to see Miss Percival.”

  The middle-aged woman’s expression soured in an instant. “You don’t want to be associating with the likes of her, Mr. Gideon.”

  Irritation chafed at the kibitzers—gossipers—including Mrs. Ihnken.

  “No good,” she muttered, “No good will come from you so much as talking to that woman.”

  That woman.

  The Reverend Cartwright’s illegitimate daughter. A brave, determined, hardy soul who’d shown remarkable resiliency.

  Oy gevalt! Calming his temper, Rocky offered a congenial smile. “Miss Percival is the sister of my intended, Mrs. Ihnken. I’ve come to offer my assistance in seeing her returned to her home.”

  Mrs. Ihnken’s nose wrinkled with distaste. She made no move to call Felicity down.

  “You would like to see Miss Percival out from under your roof, wouldn’t you?”

  “She is a paying customer.”

  Tainted, but paying. “If doing so will soothe your worries, Mrs. Ihnken, I’ll see you’re properly compensated, until Miss Percival departs on the train. She may determine to leave today or stay a while. I cannot say.”

  “Well…”

  If schmeer on the bubbe’s palm made this easier… He pulled coin from his pocket, selected enough to make the favor worth her while, and pressed it into her cupped hand.

  Rocky accepted the seat Mrs. Ihnken offered. He listened to the ticking of the grandfather clock and the old woman’s heavy tread on the staircase while he waited. The parlor was comfortably furnished, though showing signs of wear.

  Mrs. Ihnken halted on the second story at the rooms for let. Her words carried quite clearly as she raised her voice to call to Miss Percival—too loud for the barrier of a closed bedroom door. The house creaked as footfalls descended from the attic, then moved down the main staircase.

  He ground his molars and barely resisted swearing.

  The attic.

  In July.

  The space must be hot as an oven come noon, a furnace by sundown, and impossible to sleep in by midnight.

  In this high mountain valley, hot wasn’t the same kind of hot as on the plains, but why had the old bubbe stowed a paying customer beneath the eaves?

  As the owner of the most productive mine in the region, he was well-apprised of places the newcomers roosted. Some pitched tents in fair weather, others bunked in the company’s dormitory near the mine. A variety of small cabins and frame houses were rented to families.

  If Mrs. Ihnken had ever once had a full house, Rocky would be surprised.

  Feh! He should have insisted Felicity Percival take his gelt—money.

  Had Felicity asked for room and board in trade for work? If she’d bartered scrubbing floors for the privilege of baking in the attic, he’d—

  What?

  He’d do something. That was for sure.

  If this meeting went differently than expected and Felicity intended to stay in town for one day or one year, he’d make darn sure Mrs. Ihnken had the coin and motivation to house Miss Percival in the best room in the house, even if that meant booting another lodger.

  He rose to his feet as the women approached the parlor door. Mrs. Ihnken gestured for her boarder to enter, then lumbered toward her kitchen.

  No way would he give the old woman more to kibitz about. Everyone knew full well she loved nothing more than to share secrets over the garden fence, to the green grocer, to friends who stopped by. The woman had no scruples, and for Temperance’s sake, he wouldn’t allow her to overhear one word.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Percival.” He tried to smile—but the hair about Felicity’s face was damp, clinging to skin glowing with perspiration. Her calico dress seemed wilted, and the healthy tan of her complexion flushed.

  He battled the urge to fist his hands. He’d be back, all right. No way would Miss Percival spend another moment in the attic.

  “Mr. Gideon.” She nodded a polite greeting.

  “I have a matter of business to discuss. Let us retire to the shade of the garden where it’s cooler.”

  “Business?”

  The woman’s every thought was plain as day, telegraphed for anyone to see. She thought he’d come to strong-arm her into relinquishing her claim to the Cartwright inheritance.

  Forcing tension from his face and the set of his shoulders, he spun his hat in his hands. “Nothing to worry about.” He tipped his head toward the back of the house, indicating her hostess’s big ears and even bigger mouth.

  Recognition flashed. “Certainly, Mr. Gideon.”

  He held the door for her and followed her toward the side garden and shady west side of the house. But less than fifteen steps from the front porch he noticed the perspiration gluing her bodice to her back. Either she’d soaked through a dozen layers of feminine underthings, or she’d eschewed most of
it, corset included, to battle the heat.

  She needed fluids.

  The meat of their conversation would have to wait for privacy. After she’d had something to eat and drink.

  “Let’s walk and talk, Miss. I’m thirsty. The bakery down the street offers cold beverages and a variety of sweets.”

  The mere absence of protestation told him too much.

  Feh! Mrs. Ihnken would hear from him, no matter this interview’s results.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, the sun hot on his back. His hat shaded him from the worst of the glare, but Miss Percival had no bonnet and therefore no shade. Her sun-kissed skin told him she typically worked outside without benefit of a hat and that bothered him.

  “You’ve come to ensure I leave town, and forfeit claim to Miss Cartwright’s inheritance.”

  Her blunt statement confirmed his suspicions. “That’s up to you, ma’am.”

  “Your interests lie with Miss Cartwright.”

  No argument there.

  “The will stated what would happen to the Cartwright house if I stay, but not if I leave. Will Miss Cartwright’s claim on the property be uncontested if I leave and refuse the confounded stipulations?”

  He liked the idea that Miss Percival wanted to see the property safe in Temperance’s keeping. “I don’t know for certain. I haven’t studied law.”

  “I meant what I said. I don’t want the old man’s money or his house. I’ll be on the train, within the week.”

  Interesting. With daily trains through Mountain Home, why would she stay even one more day? What did she want? “You’re sure you want to leave?”

  They passed by three matrons clustered about the grocer’s entrance. Rocky nodded, touching the brim of his hat in respect. Mrs. McGillicudy—usually nice enough—turned quickly to the other two to whisper. Kibitzers.

  “I’m sure.” Felicity ignored the women with well-practiced aplomb.

  “That’s part of what I want to discuss.” He checked the traffic, then touched her lower back to escort her across the rutted dirt road. He’d been right. Soaked through and no corset. Worse, knobby bones of her spine protruded.

  He couldn’t help drawing comparisons. Temperance never left the house without appropriate attire, including gloves and hat. She’d never think of going without all the frippery women wore beneath their dresses. And never missed a meal in her life.

  Miss Felicity’s profile, however, showed off the Cartwright high cheekbones in stark relief. She’d be prettier twenty pounds heavier.

  Not to say that she wasn’t pretty just as she was.

  The Reverend Cartwright had been a handsome fellow, and both his daughters were lovely. Different, one dark and one fair, but lovely just the same. The Cartwright boys had been attractive lads.

  But back to the point at hand.

  Where had he been? Oh, yes. Money.

  He cleared his throat, nodded at Mr. Nance exiting the bakery. He took Felicity’s elbow, urging her to halt. “I can’t think of a way to say what I need to say without offending you, so I’ll just say it. You don’t look like you can buy a train ticket home. Did Mr. Stuart provide one?”

  Surprise flitted across her features, chased hard and fast with disappointment, then anger. He saw the moment she shut down hard. “That’s none of your concern.”

  He held up a hand in a placating gesture. “Just listen, all right? You’re my intended’s sister. You say you don’t want Cartwright’s money—but if you’re stranded here and need a train ticket, I’m the one to buy it.”

  He’d seen her assessing his worth by the cut of his clothes, the newness of his boots, the expense of his hat. Unfortunately, he’d done the same to her.

  “You want me out of town, away from your lady.”

  “Ma’am, if it were any business of mine, I’d urge you to stay. You and Temperance have just found each other and barely exchanged five words. I’d like to see you two talk, determine if you can be friends.” Temperance might not understand all she poised to give up, but he did.

  “Why?”

  Candid. Plainspoken. Curious. He liked that in a woman.

  “Family connections are valuable, a treasure. Look, I lost track of my brothers so long ago, I hardly remember them. I’d give my fortune to reunite with them.”

  She tipped her head, considering his response. “You know something. About me or Cedric Cartwright’s reasons for summoning me.”

  His gut lurched, every muscle in his abdomen tighter than a hangman’s knot.

  “Don’t deny it. I saw your expression in the lawyer’s office last night.”

  No way would he disclose all that, not on the street with ears everywhere and the gossip mill already churning. “Come in out of the sun. Let’s get us a cold drink and a big slice of bread.”

  He opened the door and nudged her inside. The bakery, awash in homey scents of cinnamon and vanilla, sugar and yeast, baking cakes and sweet pies, was just as warm as outside. But the lack of direct sun was pleasant as could be.

  Eight or ten people sat dining at the clusters of tables and chairs but no one was in line, denying Felicity the opportunity to press for answers. The proprietor, newlywed Thaddeus Whipple, staffed the counter, and Rocky placed their orders. When Miss Felicity didn’t complain about his selections, he paid and they took the one empty table.

  Rocky set her plate before her, a big slice of dark wheat bread with melted cheese on top. One more trip for tall glasses of iced tea. “Sugar?” He removed the lid from the sugar bowl and offered it.

  She tasted her tea, then stirred in a heaping spoonful as young Mrs. Whipple moved about the tables, clearing plates and accepting compliments from their patrons.

  Felicity Percival wasn’t distracted by the commotion, the tall glass of sweet tea, or the yeasty aroma of the meal before her. She hadn’t forgotten, not for one moment, the question she’d asked.

  “Eat. Drink. When you’re done, we’ll go to my office.” He glanced about the busy dining area, ensuring she’d catch his meaning. Too many ears. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Then you decide whether you stick around or accept my offer for a train ticket anywhere you want to go and on any day you choose.”

  Chapter Five

  “Once your choice of brides is made with cool and deliberate confidence, see that you are not lured away from that chosen one.”

  ~ The Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage

  He belongs to Temperance Cartwright.

  Felicity forced her attention away from Mr. Gideon, though sunlight illuminated streaks of fire in his dark brown hair, and intelligence shone in the warmth of his chocolate eyes.

  She blinked, drained her tea, and finished the last bite of heavy bread and melted cheese. She would ignore him. She would. And concentrate on her stomach, full to bursting. She’d not eaten so well in ages.

  Breakfast that morning had been a single flapjack, a few chunks of fried potato, and one strip of bacon. Two male boarders had been served hearty meals quadruple the size.

  Perhaps the old woman found a lady’s appetite decidedly vulgar.

  More likely she’d heard about the circumstances of Felicity’s birth. As usual, her money wasn’t as good as everyone else’s.

  The contrast between mean old Mrs. Ihnken treatment and Mr. Rocky Gideon’s kindhearted decency stood out in sharp relief.

  The man was uncommonly good. And fundamentally appealing.

  If and when she ever found a man who could see past her flaws and love her…she hoped he strongly resembled Mr. Gideon.

  She drew a deep breath, wiped her fingers on the napkin and prepared to rise.

  Mr. Gideon moved quickly, surprisingly so for such a big man, and held her chair.

  She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d shown himself to be in possession of manners.

  She wouldn’t take it personally. He’d likely hold a door or chair or carry a parcel for any female in town, even mean Mrs. Ihnken. Or a girl born in shame.

&
nbsp; Even the unwanted, unknown, illegitimate sister of the woman he’d soon wed.

  Oh, yes. She’d be wise to remember. Just because he was the first to hold her chair, the only man to look her in the eye and offer support and help and options didn’t mean he saw her as anything but a problem for his intended bride.

  A shameful, hidden secret.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gideon, for—” Luncheon? Kindness? Decent treatment? “—the meal. The tea was particularly refreshing.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Percival.” He opened the door for her, then did the most surprising, most alarming thing yet. He offered her his arm and refused to let her ignore it.

  So she took that proffered courtesy, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her around the corner and down the street.

  Past shopkeepers, fine ladies and gentlemen, honest ranchers and their upstanding wives. In front of God, neighbors, and everyone.

  Despite the fact the rumor mill would soon inform Miss Temperance Cartwright she’d been on his arm.

  And seated with him at luncheon.

  The one thing she would never allow the rumor mill to pass along was her most inappropriate pleasure in the company of her half-sister’s intended husband.

  Oh, no. She would not tarnish herself or him. And she would never fall for a man she couldn’t have.

  Inside the cool building of R.V. Gideon & Co., her eyes adjusted to the comparable dimness as Mr. Gideon excused a few employees from the outer office. “Take the rest of the day off, gentlemen. My treat. Enjoy the sunshine.”

  The well-dressed fellows thanked Mr. Gideon, collected hats and canes, and hurried through the door.

  She should have been uncomfortable when Mr. Gideon turned the key in the lock, but he’d shown her impeccable manners and gave her no reason to fear.

  He led her into his personal office in the back of the building and seated her in an upholstered chair. The richly appointed room, with handsome wainscoting, framed paintings hanging on either side of heavy draperies at the windows, and a chandelier of five oil lamps hanging from the ceiling above a massive mahogany desk, was furnished with an array of chairs for guests.