Texas Loving (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  “I’m Edward Davenport, and I’m going to be unforgivably late for dinner.”

  “I’ll forgive you.”

  Some of the tension left his body and he laughed. “Thank you, but I’m afraid that won’t help.”

  She surveyed him from top to bottom, apparently not finding much to her approval. “From the look of things, you’ll need an hour to get ready.”

  “At least.”

  “Then you’ll either be really late coming to the table, or Charlotte will have to hold dinner so long, the meat will be dried out. I suggest you not tell anyone you’re here. That way they’ll be pleasantly surprised when you enter the salon after dinner. You can send a message to the cook to send your meal up to your room.”

  It occurred to Edward that this young woman might be the daughter of the illegitimate offspring the earl had gone to America to find. He’d been so busy with the estate and uninterested in the possibility of new relatives—even ones who, according to his father, were bound to arrive with their hands out—that he had put them out of his mind. For him, America was as distant as Australia.

  This young woman wasn’t dressed in a fashionable style, but she didn’t look as if she would be asking for handouts. She certainly had an ample supply of self-confidence. From the way she’d concocted her little plot on the spur of the moment, she was obviously intelligent.

  “Would your mother let your brothers get away with that?”

  Eden’s laugh was unexpected. There was nothing controlled or cultivated about it. It was simple and natural, the way children laugh when they play. He found it charming.

  “She would never start supper until everyone was home. By the time the boys had taken care of their horses, washed, and changed their shirts, supper would be ready.”

  “Your mother cooks?” He’d never given any thought to how things were done in America, but he couldn’t imagine a daughter of the earl cooking her own dinner.

  “My mother and I both cook,” she told him with a frown and a tinge of annoyance. “Food doesn’t cook itself, not even in London.”

  He didn’t understand why he was acting so dull-witted, or why it was important that this young woman like him. He just knew it was.

  “You probably think I’m terribly rude. I shouldn’t be talking to you without a proper introduction, but I don’t have very good manners.” It was just one more way he had failed to live up to his father’s expectations. “No matter how hard I try, I always get it wrong.”

  Eden rolled her eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Even my brothers wouldn’t find anything to complain about.”

  He couldn’t believe she’d rolled her eyes. English women never did, never showed emotion or expressed disapproval of the men in their families. They might glance demurely at hands clasped in their laps or concentrate on a flower arrangement, but they never talked openly with a strange man.

  “I’d better not hold you up any longer. I need to get down to the drawing room before they send someone to look for me, and you need to get to your room before anybody knows you’re here.”

  “You really think I ought to hide in my room?”

  “If you want to make the evening uncomfortable for everyone, by all means let your father know you’re here. I’m sure you think you have a good reason for being late and dirty, but I doubt he’ll agree.”

  Her expression was hard to read. There was a little bit of impatience, some lingering annoyance as well as disapproval, but there was curiosity as well. Whatever else he might say about her, the chit had spunk. And a smattering of insolence. He was certain she knew he was the heir, but that hadn’t stopped her from saying he was dirty. He admired her for not being caught up in the trappings of society. Daphne would have fainted before she would have talked to him in his present condition. Nor would she have been likely to find the kitchens, much less know what to do when she got there.

  It was hard to imagine a woman as poised and beautiful as Eden cooking. Kitchens were hot, noisy, crowded, and everyone in them ended up looking blowsy. He couldn’t picture this young woman except as she was now: calm, collected, and slightly amused. “If I get caught, may I tell them it was your suggestion?”

  Her annoyed look was replaced by a laugh and twinkling eyes. “That’s probably the sort of thing your father would expect from an American. Of course, you might have difficulty explaining why you followed any course suggested by a woman. Most likely he’d consider that a failing.”

  Edward lost all desire to laugh. Either Eden Maxwell was a mind reader, or his father had behaved with his usual arro- gance toward people he considered inferior. The weight of his situation came crashing down on him. The surprise was that, for a moment, Eden had managed to make him forget it.

  “I’ll take your suggestion and claim it was mine,” he said with a forced grin. “As far as everyone is concerned, you haven’t seen me and I haven’t seen you.”

  “Edward,” Charlotte exclaimed, coming to her feet. “How wonderful that you could join us. It’s a shame you didn’t arrive in time for dinner.”

  Edward crossed the drawing room in long, athletic strides to greet his stepmother with a kiss on the cheek. “I had the kitchen send up something while I dressed.”

  Eden thought Edward glanced briefly in her direction, but she couldn’t be sure. He didn’t look comfortable in evening clothes, but they looked marvelous on him. He wasn’t as handsome as her brother Will—God simply didn’t have enough material to make two men like that—but he was dazzling in the manner of Sean or Hawk. He was big . . several inches taller than his father and brother. Patrick was handsome and sweet. The viscount and earl were imposing because of their inborn sense of consequence, but Edward stood out for the sheer force of his masculinity.

  “You should have let me know you were here,” Charlotte said to Edward. “I would have had the cook hold dinner.”

  “Certainly not,” Cyril said to his wife. “If Edward doesn’t have the decency to arrive on time, he can eat in the kitchen.”

  “You should have come to the dining room as soon as you arrived,” Charlotte insisted. “It would have been no trouble to lay an extra place for you.” to lay an extra place for you.”

  This time Eden was certain Edward did glance toward her. “I wouldn’t think of embarrassing you or your guests,” Edward said to Charlotte.

  One of those guests was pretty Daphne Bidwell. “That’s Edward,” Daphne informed Eden in a stiff undertone. “The viscount has asked my father’s permission for Edward to ask for my hand.”

  Eden thought that was a strange way to go about asking a woman to marry you, but she didn’t know anything about the inner workings of English society.

  She couldn’t tell whether Daphne’s annoyance stemmed from Cyril’s remarks, or Edward’s lateness and apparent lack of contrition. Eden looked from Edward to Daphne and back to Edward again. He looked a bit like a wild animal forced to pretend to be tame, but she found that exciting. What woman would want a husband who was completely predictable?

  Edward turned and crossed the room to Daphne. She stiffened like a starched apron in a March wind. Edward looked just as uncomfortable. Edward bowed from the waist. “I must apologize for being so late. I have no suitable excuse.”

  “You don’t need one,” Daphne said, the sharp edge to her voice at variance with her words. “I’m sure you have many important things to do.”

  If Eden hadn’t known better, she’d have supposed they were strangers meeting for the first time.

  “Nevertheless, it was unforgivably rude.” Edward looked like a puppet with someone else pulling the strings and putting the words in his mouth.

  Daphne turned to Eden. “Let me introduce you to Eden Maxwell. Your stepmother tells me she’s your second cousin.”

  Eden had already been informed by the earl that Isabelle’s illegitimate birth and real connection to him would not be discussed outside the family.

  “I’m delighted to meet you.” She looked him up and
down as brazenly as he had her earlier and was amused to see his eyes widen with surprise.

  Daphne’s gaze narrowed. “My father says Edward makes a very distinguished appearance.”

  “But not as distinguished as Patrick, don’t you think?” Edward suggested with a grin.

  Daphne looked so annoyed, Eden was relieved when the earl told Edward to come over and be introduced to Eden’s mother.

  “She doesn’t look old enough to be the mother of a young woman,” the earl said of Isabelle. “Must be something about Texas that keeps its women looking young.”

  “Texas loving,” Jake said with his usual cheeky grin.

  Isabelle laughed at her husband’s remark, gave him a tender smile, and squeezed his hand, but Cyril and Charlotte cast disapproving glances at both of them. Daphne didn’t appear to understand what Jake meant, but Edward made no attempt to pretend his eyes weren’t dancing with amusement.

  “Are you willing to give advice?” Edward asked Jake.

  “If it’s not inborn, it can’t be taught,” Jake replied.

  Edward seemed to unbend, become more like the man Eden had encountered in the upper hallway. “That means I’m permanently handicapped.”

  “I get the feeling you’ve got damned few handicaps,” Jake said.

  Daphne puckered up like she smelled something sour.

  “You’re embarrassing Daphne,” Isabelle said, “and I doubt Charlotte thinks this is a suitable subject for her drawing room.”

  “I think love is an acceptable subject any time and any place,” the earl declared.

  “Love is always on everybody’s minds when young people are present,” Charlotte said.

  Eden didn’t miss her pointed glance at Edward, which had the effect of rendering him wooden once again.

  “There’s nothing improper about courtship when it’s handled in the appropriate way,” the viscount declared. “There was little that passed between Charlotte and me before we were betrothed that couldn’t have taken place before Queen Victoria.”

  “Edward’s of a different cut from you,” the earl stated. “Sometimes I wonder how he could be your son.”

  Eden could understand why the viscount wouldn’t like having his uncle make such a remark before guests, but she didn’t understand why he turned white and appeared to struggle to control some strong emotion.

  “Not all sons are like their fathers,” Cyril managed to say.

  “Patrick is like you,” Edward offered. “He has perfect manners, always knows the right clothes to wear, and he nearly beat me in a race across the meadow last week.”

  “And I’m guessing you put him on the faster horse,” the earl shot back.

  Patrick’s laugh was unexpectedly hearty. “He’s got you, Edward. You might as well confess you were trying to make me look good.”

  “It would be much better for everyone if Edward modeled himself after Patrick,” the viscount stated heatedly.

  “Edward and I are perfectly content with each other the way we are.”

  Patrick’s comment angered Cyril still more. “It’s a pity the rest of us can’t feel equally content.”

  “Daphne has promised to play a Brahms intermezzo,” Eden said, trying to defuse the increasing tension. “I’m going to turn pages. Edward can open the pianoforte. Patrick, will you fetch an extra branch of candles?”

  “A very neat diversion,” Edward whispered to Eden when they were both at the pianoforte, “but it’s a wasted effort. It’s always like this between my father and me.” He glanced at Daphne. “Do you think she’s too upset to play?”

  Once seated, Daphne seemed to forget everything but the music. The signs of strain faded from her face and the tension left her shoulders. By the time she had played through the first theme, she was completely relaxed.

  Daphne played so beautifully, Eden was jealous even though she knew she didn’t have the talent or the willingness to practice the long hours required to play well. It was more fun to listen. Besides, it gave her an opportunity to observe Edward. While Patrick seemed to be enjoying the music, Edward’s eyes glazed over. Eden wondered what he would have chosen to do this evening if he’d been free to decide for himself. She also wondered what could be distracting his attention from the woman chosen to be his wife. If this were Texas, Daphne would tell him to get lost and turn her attention to Patrick. Having been prepared to dislike Edward, Eden was finding her attraction to him disconcerting and a bit mystifying.

  A hissed “Now!” from Daphne jerked Eden’s attention back to the music and she quickly turned the page. She muttered an apology, but Daphne was concentrating on the music just as steadfastly as Edward’s attention was attuned to the thoughts hidden behind his mask of formal politeness. Eden would have given a new bridle to know what he was thinking.

  Daphne’s performance ended with well-merited applause. Edward managed to rouse himself long enough to congratulate her. When Patrick asked her if she didn’t believe the music of Brahms was more beautiful than that of Wagner, the discussion moved beyond Eden’s interest and Edward’s apparent knowledge.

  “Are you a great lover of music?” he asked Eden.

  “I enjoy it,” she said, “but I don’t know enough to follow half of what Daphne and Patrick are saying.” The discussion soon involved Alastair, Cyril, and Charlotte, leaving Edward and Eden to gravitate to where Jake and Isabelle were seated.

  “Tell me about your farm,” Jake said to Edward, who launched into a discussion of livestock breeding, soil preservation, and investment in new ideas.

  “You ought to come to Texas,” Isabelle said when Edward complained of fields being too wet for spring planting. “We count ourselves lucky if we get enough rain to keep the grass green through the summer.”

  “Tell me about Texas,” Edward said to Jake.

  Isabelle got to her feet. “If you get Jake started on Texas, he won’t stop. I’m going up. How about you?” she asked Eden.

  Eden would have liked another chance to talk to Edward, but he looked so eager to hear about Texas, she decided to wait. “I believe I will,” she said and got to her feet.

  “Would you like to go riding tomorrow?” Edward asked, his eyes on Eden. “I mean all of you. I’d invite Daphne, but she dislikes horses,” he added a little self-consciously. “I like to go before breakfast. There aren’t many riders out that early.”

  “I stay as far away from horses as I can,” Isabelle said.

  Jake also turned him down.

  Eden’s excuse was, “I don’t have proper riding clothes. Besides, I’ve never ridden sidesaddle.”

  Mystified, Edward asked, “How do you ride?”

  “Astride like you, and I wear trousers.” Eden nearly laughed at the shocked look on his face. “You don’t think I’d ride around our ranch with my skirt flapping in the breeze, do you? It would catch on some bush, tree limb, or cactus, and I’d be jerked out of the saddle.”

  “It doesn’t look nearly as shocking as it sounds,” Isabelle assured him. “And it’s much more practical.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Edward said. “Apparently our English women don’t have as much courage as Texas women, but that’s no reason for you to deny yourself the pleasure of a ride.”

  “Nice recovery,” Jake said, then laughed at Edward’s increased discomfort.

  “Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable with me riding astride?” Eden asked Edward.

  “Of course I won’t. You’re my cousin.”

  Eden couldn’t tell whether he really meant what he said, or whether he was merely being polite. These English had a way of concealing their inner thoughts and feelings that would be the envy of any poker player.

  A sudden grin transformed Edward’s expression. “Maybe you’ll start a new fashion.”

  “More likely a scandal,” Eden said, wondering if he was laughing at her or with her. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want to upset your parents.”

  “We’ve already upset them by being here,” Is
abelle said. “Go riding if you want.”

  “I can’t wait to see how a Texas woman handles a horse,” Edward said. “Now I’d better say good night to Daphne. She and Patrick will talk about music half the night if I don’t stop them.”

  The difference between the brothers was striking. Patrick said very little about himself, but he hid nothing. At first glance Edward appeared to be just as open, genuine, and approachable, but it hadn’t taken Eden long to decide much of it was an act he’d perfected over the years. The real Edward Davenport was hidden well out of sight.

  The stable boy was too well-trained to allow his face to show he was startled by Eden’s riding attire. Edward was less reserved.

  “That ought to raise a few eyebrows.” Eden couldn’t tell whether he was shocked, amused, or had simply expected a Texan to do something outrageous.

  “My skirt is long and the boots are high,” Eden pointed out. “My lower limbs are completely hidden from view.”

  “Your calves aren’t. That ought to cause a few tulips of fashion to lose their habitual hauteur.”

  Ignoring him, she asked, “Where’s Patrick?”

  “My little brother isn’t fond of getting up at dawn. He went back to sleep after I woke him. Maybe he’ll catch up with us.”

  “Then I guess I’m stuck with you,” she said with an arch smile.

  Ignoring her jibe, Edward helped her into her saddle, mounted himself, and then they walked their mounts out of the stable yard and toward the park.

  It was difficult for Eden to keep her horse at a walk through the streets and narrow paths that led to the park. The weather was wonderful, ancient trees shaded their path, she was mounted on a good horse, and she was in the company of an exciting man. Her body hummed with energy. It took an act of concentration to pay attention to the small talk Edward employed to fill the time. She didn’t really care who lived in which house, what had made them famous or infamous, or how London had grown so crowded Edward felt unable to take a deep breath until he was back at Worlege. She wanted to set her horse into a gallop, to feel the wind whipping around her face, to feel the muscles of the horse move beneath her.