Texas Loving (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  She couldn’t help comparing the lush green of the landscape she was riding through to the gold and brown of the Hill Country during summer. Here, a narrow stream meandered through a pasture where cows grazed in grass up to their knees. Willows lined the stream, their long limbs trailing in the cool, green water. Water lilies—or hyacinths, she wasn’t sure which—dotted the placid surface with splashes of white, yellow, and purple. It was easy to see why Edward loved this land.

  Edward was big and gruff. He didn’t know how to handle his father or the social world that had tried to mold him, but he had an integrity that wouldn’t allow him to demean other people. He liked and respected people of all classes and was willing to use his own money to help those he felt deserved and needed a helping hand. He was more concerned with his responsibility to the land than the money it produced, saw Worlege as a home rather than a badge of his rank and privilege. And he’d welcomed Eden into his family despite the circumstances of her mother’s birth.

  She understood it was his duty to make a profitable marriage for the benefit of the family. She also understood Daphne was willing to accept the marriage because it would give her the title her father so desperately wanted. As far as she was concerned, however, none of that mattered because Edward and Daphne didn’t love each other.

  Why did that thought upset her so? She’d be heading back to Texas in less than a week and would never see Edward again, would probably hear from the Davenports only on the occasion of the earl’s death—if the viscount allowed anyone to communicate with the illegitimate side of the family. Still—she splashed through the stream where it crossed the road—she felt sorry that the circumstances of Edward’s birth would force him into a life that was not what he wanted. She was thankful her parents had given her and her brothers the freedom to do what they wanted. All Isabelle wanted was to have her family close enough to see the grandchildren grow up. All the viscount cared about was money to support his personal pursuit of pleasure.

  As she neared the village, its cottages growing closer together, she told herself to stop worrying about English society. It had been that way for hundreds of years. She couldn’t live by its rules, but she shouldn’t belittle those who did. She asked herself again why she was going to see Edward’s old nurse. She had no real reason for this visit. Still, she was curious as to why the viscount seemed to dislike Edward as much as he loved Patrick. She couldn’t understand why a man wouldn’t love a son as dedicated to his duty as Edward.

  Duty. It had always been an important part of her life, the life her parents had built for their family. In Texas it meant parents and children were expected to support and respect each other. Since being in England, however, she had started to dislike the word. Here it meant Edward was forced to do what his father wanted regardless of his own wishes.

  She was relieved to reach the nurse’s cottage. Her own thoughts were giving her a headache.

  Mrs. Bright was delighted to see her, inviting her to sit in a small garden behind the cottage. The well-tended beds spilled over with flowers and herbs, their heavy perfume scenting the afternoon air. Eden hadn’t learned to appreciate the taste of strong tea, but could tolerate it as long as it was laced with cream and sugar.

  “I was hoping you’d come to see me again,” the nurse said when they were settled. “You seem like such a spirited young woman. Not at all like our English girls.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Eden said. “Women like me can cause a lot of trouble.”

  “Better to cause trouble than be afraid to open your mouth.” The old woman took a big swallow from a cup Eden guessed contained more than tea. “I’m very glad you’ve come to Worlege. I was afraid Edward was going to marry that self-important girl he brought to see me.”

  “I’m not here to marry Edward or anyone else,” Eden said.

  Mrs. Bright’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t like him?”

  “I like him very much.”

  “Then why don’t you marry him?”

  Eden laughed to cover her embarrassment. “Edward isn’t in love with me and I’m not in love with him.”

  “He’s not in love with that stiff-necked girl, either. She wouldn’t sit down when she came here, acted as if she was afraid she’d get fleas. Hardly said a word.”

  Eden sobered. “Edward says people of his class don’t look for love in marriage, that it’s much better if they respect each other.” The nurse used an unfamiliar expression, but Eden was certain it was profane.

  The old woman spat a mouthful of gin-laced tea into a nearby bed of jasmine. “That’s the viscount’s doing. He used to think the sun rose and set on Edward. But as soon as the boy was old enough to have his own opinions, the viscount turned against him. Now he expects him to act the dutiful son and marry so he can have pockets full of money to waste on himself and his own son.”

  “What do you mean by his own son?” Eden asked.

  Mrs. Bright looked startled, used putting on the kettle for fresh tea as an excuse to escape into her cottage. Her cup was full when she returned, but she brought no fresh tea. Eden wondered what was so serious that she had to fortify herself before she could talk about it.

  The old woman launched into a long description of Edward’s life growing up, how he gradually went from being the hope of the house to being treated like a dirty secret, how he’d been confined to Worlege, never allowed to participate in the family activities until it was time to drag him up to London to find a wife with enough money to shore up the sagging family fortune.

  She replenished her cup twice during the recital. “I took the viscount to task about it many a time, but he’d just tell me to mind my own business and keep what I knew to myself.”

  “What do you know?” It was apparent the nurse had said more than she’d intended. “Is it something that can help Edward? I haven’t known him very long, but he’s miserable.”

  The nurse’s voice was dull, her expression losing its animation, her body beginning to sag. “Ever since he was a little boy, he’s known it would be his responsibility to take care of the family.”

  “I thought you loved Edward,” Eden said, angry the old woman would avoid a direct response. “I thought you cared what happened to him.”

  “I love him like my own son,” the nurse said, firing up, only to look old and defeated once again. “Why do you think I drink so much? It’s the only way I can forget.”

  “Forget what?” Eden asked.

  Mrs. Bright stared into her cup without speaking.

  “Will you be party to forcing Edward to spend the rest of his life in a loveless marriage? Do you want him to raise his own son like the viscount did?”

  “Edward would never do that. He’s not like the viscount.”

  “Not now, but once he’s forced into this marriage, he’ll be the same. Anything for duty. It’ll happen all over again.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Of course it will. Blood runs true from father to son.”

  “That won’t happen because he’s not the viscount’s son!” Shocked by her own words, Mrs. Bright raised horror-stricken eyes to Eden. “I never would have said anything if I hadn’t met that girl he plans to marry. She hates everybody in Green Moss.”

  “What do you mean, Edward isn’t the viscount’s son?” Eden asked, utterly uninterested in the nurse’s opinion of Daphne.

  The nurse deflated like a soufflé that had been pulled out of the oven before it was done. “I don’t know who his father is, but the viscount’s late wife wasn’t his mother.”

  “Does Edward know?”

  “Nobody knows but his mother, the viscount, and me.”

  The two women sat in silence for several minutes. Eden didn’t want to think of what would happen to Edward if this information became public. It wasn’t just a matter of being illegitimate. He had assumed a role that wasn’t his by law, something that would ruin him if it became known.

  “Something terrible must have happened for the visc
ount to take the risk of raising a false heir,” Eden said.

  The nurse’s laugh was bitter. “The man has suffered for his trickery. It has galled him terribly to see another man’s child keep his legitimate son from taking his proper place in society and knowing it was all his own doing.”

  “What happened?” Eden asked.

  Mrs. Bright bolstered her courage by replenishing her cup yet again. “The viscount’s first wife had two miscarriages and a stillborn son before she conceived the last time. The viscount was determined nothing would keep her from carrying this baby to term, so he came to Worlege, barred all visitors, and let it be known he wasn’t leaving until his heir was born. Cyril has a much younger sister. She was only eleven when their father was killed in Crimea, and it affected her mind. She refused to marry any of the men who offered for her and took a lover who abandoned her when she told him she was carrying his child. Determined no scandal would attach to the house of Southampton, Cyril brought his sister to Worlege and kept her locked away. Only two people, he and I, were allowed to see her. The child was to be sent to an orphanage as soon as it was born.”

  Eden could only imagine the viscount’s fury when he learned the earl was bringing his own illegitimate daughter to London and planned to introduce her to society.

  “As luck would have it, the viscount’s wife and sister were brought to bed on the same night. His wife delivered a stillborn son, his sister a healthy boy. Certain by this time his wife would never bear a living child, the viscount was faced with the possibility that a hated branch of the family would inherit after him, so he took his sister’s child as his own. The stillborn babe was buried in secret, and his sister was sent away to start life over in a more prudent style.”

  Eden wouldn’t have believed even a man as evil as the viscount would do something like this. “Doesn’t Edward’s mother care what happened to him?”

  “Having the circumstances of Edward’s birth become known would hurt her just as much as it would the viscount. She married a wealthy businessman and has a family of her own. Everything might have worked out if the viscount’s wife hadn’t died and he hadn’t married again. When Patrick was born, Cyril was caught in his own trap. The more different from him Edward became, the angrier he got, until he couldn’t bear to look at Edward. He kept Patrick in London so he wouldn’t turn out like Edward.”

  “If they rarely saw each other, how did Patrick and Edward become such good friends?”

  “The earl and the viscount spend so much money in London, they have to retire to Worlege for several months every year. That’s when Patrick got to know a big brother who could do all the things a younger brother longs to do. Edward was delighted to have a companion and anxious to teach Patrick everything he knew. Patrick doesn’t resent being the younger son and has always tried to make things easier for Edward.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” the nurse said. “I was just so mad at the viscount for trying to force Edward to marry that awful girl, I couldn’t mind my mouth.” She looked down into her cup. “And too much gin. I’ve tried not to think about what’s happening, but when I saw how much he liked you, saw how unhappy he is, well . . . No good could come from people knowing the truth, so I’ve had to stand by helpless and watch what that man did to Edward.”

  “But you could have freed Edward from the burden of his responsibility to the family,” Eden pointed out.

  The nurse’s eyes blazed. “Freed him to be put in an or phanage, to be sent to a workhouse, to be thrown out without a penny to his name!” She took a big swallow from her cup. “I couldn’t do that to the boy. Besides, he’ll be a good earl one day. Better than any of the three who’ve come before him, I can tell you.”

  Much against her will, Eden acknowledged the force of the nurse’s argument. Regardless of the burden he had to bear, Edward would undoubtedly prefer it to the reputation of an impostor.

  “You won’t say anything, please,” Mrs. Bright begged. “No telling what the viscount will do if he finds out.”

  Eden longed to tell Edward, but what would it achieve? He’d still be in the same position but with knowledge that would make it even more difficult to fulfill the role destined for him.

  No, she wouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place.

  His father would be coldly furious when Edward announced he wasn’t going to ask Daphne to marry him. He and Daphne’d had another conversation that afternoon in which Daphne had made it plain she believed the life Edward wanted was beneath her. “I was trained to be a countess or a duchess,” she’d insisted, and nothing he’d said had made any difference. When she’d referred to his old nurse as that drunken old crone, he’d quit trying. His stomach felt queasy when he thought of debtors pounding on the door around the clock, but the family would have to figure something out. After all, it wasn’t his spending that had put their future in jeopardy.

  He had wanted to go through this only once, so he’d waited until everyone was gathered in the music room after dinner. The viscount looked like he might fall into an apoplectic fit. “This is impossible!” he shouted once he’d calmed down enough so his words were actually understandable. “I won’t allow this to happen. Daphne’s father won’t allow this to happen.”

  “You don’t understand. Daphne doesn’t want to marry me,” Edward explained.

  Momentarily shaken, the viscount took a different line of attack. “Have you thought of what this would mean?” he asked Daphne. “Have you considered what your life will be when you go home, face your father, and explain you don’t want to marry Edward? Have you thought of what people will say when they hear you came down to Worlege and left without becoming engaged? They’ll be certain we found something wrong with you, and no protests to the contrary will make any difference.”

  “Daphne knows it will be uncomfortable,” Edward said, “but she’s willing to endure it.”

  He’d been concerned about what would happen to her, but she’d said she was willing to face her father’s wrath. “I’m his only child,” she’d said. “He wants a title in the family so desperately, and he can’t get it without me.” She had said he might increase her dowry to make her even more attractive to potential suitors.

  “Have you tried to change her mind?” Cyril demanded of Edward.

  “No.”

  His father condemned Edward’s morals, his integrity, his sense of values, his neglect of duty, his intelligence, and his lack of interest in all the important things in life. When his words appeared to leave Edward unaffected, he shouted, “I wish you had died at birth.”

  Hearing those words threw Edward off balance. “That’s not a surprise,” he replied when he’d had a moment to recover. “You’ve made it very plain most of my life that you wished I’d never been born.”

  “You have no idea how much!” the viscount thundered.

  “No, because you’ve never said why you hate me, why you tried to bury me at Worlege. How did you expect me to fit into a world I’d never been part of?”

  “Are you sure you want to follow this course of action?” the earl asked. He seemed puzzled and disappointed, but he didn’t appear angry

  “I realize it’s my duty to marry well,” Edward told his great-uncle, “but Daphne and I are so different, we’d make each other miserable.”

  “That’s nonsense!” the viscount shouted. “She could live in London and you could stay at Worlege.”

  “Edward made that offer,” Daphne stated in cold tones, “but I refused.”

  Turning to Eden, the viscount shouted, “This is your doing! And yours, too,” he said, turning to Jake and Isabelle.

  “If I had some part in showing these young people the importance of love, I’m glad,” Isabelle said, not the least bothered by the viscount’s rage.

  “This would never have happened if you hadn’t gone to Texas,” Cyril shouted at his uncle.

  “Actually it’s your fault,” Edward said. “Because you kept me away from London, I learned to value dif
ferent things, to want a different kind of life. I don’t want to be part of a society that cares more about money and position than about people.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that!” Cyril shouted. “I’ll disinherit you. I’ll cut you off without a penny.”

  “You can’t disinherit him,” Alastair said, “and I’m the one who gives him his allowance.”

  “Get out of my sight!” the viscount shouted at Edward.

  “I’m always ready to oblige you, Father.” Edward turned to Daphne. “I’m sorry to leave you, but Patrick will see you safely back to London.”

  “Edward, you can’t—” Patrick began.

  “Sorry, little brother, but I already have.” Without looking back, he turned to leave.

  “Wait!”

  Eden didn’t know what she was going to say when she called out to Edward, but he didn’t stop. Headed toward the stables at first, he changed course and turned into the gardens. Eden caught up with him at the far end of the reflection pool.

  “Your father doesn’t hate you,” she said when she reached him. “He’s just angry.”

  It was hard to describe Edward’s expression when he looked up. She could see pain, resignation, even relief. She longed to reach out, to offer him comfort, but she knew he wouldn’t accept it. Something about this cold, wet climate bred a reserve that denied the need for emotional comfort.

  “If he doesn’t hate me, why does he look at me like he wishes I was dead? I tried to be the kind of son he wanted, but nothing I ever did was good enough.” He looked around him. “I used to love this place. Now it’s become a duty that will twist and bend me until I yield.”

  “You could leave.”

  His sigh was long and heartfelt. “I can’t. It’s my duty to find a way to restore the family fortune. After my great-uncle and father die, I’ll be responsible for Patrick and his family. When I die, I’ll pass that responsibility on to my son.” He groaned. “That’s another part of my duty, to have sons to insure the continuation of the line. I wish there were some way I could get out of it.”