“A friend of the young master’s, perhaps?”
“No, I’m invited to be a house guest because my sister was Miss Griswold’s roommate at school.”
The other laughed, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Aah! We’ve heard of you through the coachman. T’was kind of you to offer to help with the luggage.”
At least here, he wasn’t being condemned. “It seemed the only thing to do; there were so many bags.”
The other returned to polishing the bridle. “They do say the young master’s brought home a future bride. What’s she like?”
“Beautiful,” Keso said with a sigh, “and kind and sweet, but maybe a little immature.”
Ian looked at him a long moment. “I see.”
The way he said it made Keso wonder if his love for Wannie was so evident. “Wannie will make a good choice for young Cleve, although he doesn’t deserve her. She’ll give him fine sons.” The thought pained him. Those should be his sons.
“A son is important to a man,” Ian said after a long moment and reached for a saddle. “I know it was for the old master. He’s spoiled him. I’ve watched young Cleve grow up here. He’s got a wild streak, that one, but no doubt he’ll settle down. Someday, he’ll be master of all the Brewster lands and fortunes. Yes, a son is a man’s immortality.”
“You have no family of your own?”
The groom paused a long moment, then shook his head. “None save the horses. I was in love with a woman once, but she was socially above me. Believe me, I know my place.”
“Well, the gentry’s certainly teaching me mine,” Keso said and rubbed the tiny scar above one eye, thinking of Wannie. He also had a burn scar on the back of his right arm, but he’d had that so long, he didn’t know how he came by it. Keso looked around at the stable, thinking he was going to have a pleasant hour. “Tell me about the horses.”
The other grinned warmly. “Mr. Brewster preaches fine bloodlines among folks and horses—says you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, so he buys the best blood.”
Keso sighed at the thought. Bloodlines. These Brewsters were such snobs. What would they say if they knew Keso didn’t even know who his parents were? He barely remembered a Cheyenne woman who drank too much, nothing else. As for Wannie ... he wouldn’t court trouble by thinking about what he knew of her heritage. Instead, he settled down on a bale of hay to visit with the groom.
Cleve watched out his window as the tall savage walked out on the veranda, looked around, and sauntered down the path toward the stable. Damn him! Cleve was going to have to win Wannie’s brother over or risk his wrecking the engagement.
Behind him, the red-haired maid paused while shaking the wrinkles out of his suits as she hung them up. “What do you see out there?”
Cleve turned, grinning. “One of our house guests. I was afraid he might come over to my room, but I think he’s gone down to look over the horses.” He came up behind her, reaching around to cup her generous breasts with his two hands. “I’ve missed these.”
“And me, too, I hope.” She turned in his arms, smiling up at him.
He kissed her hungrily. “You know what I want.”
“Aye, it’s a maid’s duty to please the master,” she whispered against his lips.
“You always do.” He molded her ripe body against his rigid maleness, enjoying the familiar heat and feel and scent of her. Having the lovely but virginal Wannie in his arms as they danced had only made him need a woman badly. He began to unbutton Maureen’s bodice.
She caught his hand. “First tell me who that dark beauty is?”
“Just a house guest, that’s all.” He slapped her hand away and continued unbuttoning her bodice. “The girl’s my cousin’s roommate, and the big savage is her brother. Maureen, sweet, you’re the one I want, just like always, you know that.”
Her green eyes softened and she appeared somewhat mollified. She was standing next to the bed and he took her in his arms and fell with her to the mattress.
“Not wearing any drawers as always?” He grinned, pushing up the full gray skirt of her maid’s uniform.
She smiled archly. “I know you like me to make it easy for you.”
That was the truth. How many times in the last few months had he used her standing in a dark hallway or thrown quickly across a table? Once it had even been the massive walnut desk in Father’s study. The danger of getting caught by that stern patriarch had only heightened the thrill.
He unbuttoned his pants, stroking her breasts and wishing she were Wannie. He lusted for Wannie, but a proper girl wouldn’t let him between her silken thighs until the ceremony was over. Not that he intended to give up this wanton Irish slut. This was a man’s world—always had been. Even if a woman knew her husband was keeping a mistress, what could she do about it once he had gotten control of all her wealth and property?
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
“Nothing but how much I want you,” he lied, stroking her breasts. Somehow, he was going to have to tell Maureen he was announcing his engagement. Surely this lovely slut could understand that a man of his social position had to marry a girl of impeccable background. Wannie filled that requirement as the daughter of a duchess. Even his humorless father seemed to approve of her. Good! Maybe now the old man would loosen the purse strings a little. If not, it appeared the Evanses had plenty of gold that meant nothing to them, and as a son-in-law, Cleve could surely get his share of it.
Maureen shook her flame-colored hair loose on the coverlet, then pushed up her skirt above her long, slender legs. “See? I told you I was wearing no drawers.”
He ran his hand up her hot thigh, wondering what Wannie looked like naked. The image heightened his passion and he rolled over on the maid, thrusting hard into the core of her while she moaned and clawed his back.
Just before he reached that peak of ecstasy, he thought that whoever said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it, too, had never met Cleve Brewster!
FOUR
Wannie rested, washed up, and changed into a light yellow cotton dress, then joined Alexa on her way downstairs for tea.
Alexa led the way, talking about the parties they would have. “Wannie, your brother could be a real handsome blade with a bit of social polishing and some decent clothes.”
“Keso never cared much about clothes,” Wannie admitted with a rueful laugh. “He probably grabbed the only suit in the store that would fit him.”
“He does have breathtaking shoulders,” Alexa sighed, “and he’s so tall!”
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” In fact, Wannie thought, Keso had a much better physique than Cleve. She knew she should be glad her friend was so enamored with Keso, but Wannie was surprised to realize that wasn’t quite true. How selfish, she thought with a flush of shame.
They went into the drawing room that was done in rich creme and jade brocades with fine Oriental rugs on the polished wood floors. Mrs. Brewster sat on a damask Victorian sofa, wearing a patterned green silk dress. With her bulk and plain face, she looked somewhat like an oversized frog, Wannie thought, and then chastised herself.
Bertha Brewster favored Wannie with a smile. “My dear, sit near to me so we can talk. Alexa, please pull the bell cord for old Jeeves so he’ll bring the tea.”
Wannie sank into the chair, looking about in wonder. “It’s such a grand house!”
The plump matron beamed at her. “So glad you like it, since you will be the mistress here someday.”
Alexa pulled the bell cord on the silk-papered wall and came over to join them.
“It’s so exciting,” Wannie said.
Mrs. Brewster regarded her a long moment. “Give your husband a son, and your position will be secure.”
“Sons!” Alexa snorted. “Don’t women count for anything? It isn’t fair.”
The plain dowager surveyed Alexa over her spectacles. “Life isn’t always fair, Alexa,” she said calmly. “To survive in a man’s world, you do whatever it takes. You’re luckie
r than I was because you’re pretty.”
Wannie shifted uncomfortably. “You have done a grand job here—Mr. Brewster must be proud.”
The older lady made a noncommittal shrug. “He’s proud of his son and therefore, I am mistress of Steel Manor. I hope, my dear child, you, too, will be realistic and not be swept away by romantic twaddle.”
Twaddle? The relationship between Cherokee and Silver seemed so warm and vibrant. Wannie decided it would not be polite to dispute Cleve’s mother.
The homely matron looked at Wannie’s hand with satisfaction and nodded. “That’s the Griswold diamond, you know—came down through my family. The Brewsters come from a fine, blue-blooded lineage, but unfortunately, not much wealth.”
“Oh?” Wannie didn’t know quite what to say.
“I’m glad to see you appreciate jewels and the finer things in life.” The older woman patted Wannie’s hand and smiled. “The daughter of a duchess! Yes, you will make a fitting wife for dear Cleve.”
The elderly butler entered just then, bearing a heavy silver tray with a gleaming tea service monogrammed with an ornate “B,” and set it on a table before the mistress.
Wannie’s eyes widened at the beauty of the silver. “It’s beautiful.”
Bertha Brewster nodded. “Someday, my dear, you, too, will continue the Brewster legacy. You’ll sit in this drawing room and pour tea from this service for your daughter-in-law.”
Wannie stared at the ornate tray of tiny sandwiches, cookies, and the gleaming silver tea pot.
Mrs. Brewster poured. “Lemon or cream?”
“Cream, please,” Wannie answered.
The three of them enjoyed their tea and the delicious pastries. Although Wannie didn’t want to admit it, she would have felt more at home back in the log cabin with Silver pouring coffee into crockery mugs. But she would learn to love it here, she thought as she nibbled another small pastry.
Finally, Mrs. Brewster had other duties to see about, so Alexa retreated to her room and Wannie decided to tour the house. It was indeed a marvelous mansion—just the kind she’d always dreamed of. She could throw endless parties, wear the latest ball gowns, and own boxes full of jewelry. She looked at the big diamond on her hand. Yes, she could have all that and eventually be mistress of Steel Manor. She should be very happy, yet there was something missing. What was it? Wannie wished she could sit and have a long talk with Keso to see how it looked from a man’s point of view. Because of their rocky start in life as orphans, the pair had always been so close. She had missed him terribly all these years she had been away at school. Now they would be separated permanently.
Well, maybe not. Perhaps Cleve would build her a summer home in Denver; possibly his father’s large company did business there. She wasn’t quite sure what it was Cleve did at Brewster Industries and when she had asked, her fiance had brushed her off by shrugging that he was a vice-president and that was enough for her to know. Maybe it was. Wannie smiled. She was the luckiest girl in the world to receive Cleve Brewster’s proposal—everyone said so. With a smile, she went upstairs to get ready for dinner.
Cleve met her at the foot of the stairs as twilight came on. “That peach-colored silk is ravishing against your hair, my dear. You are breathtaking, you know that?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, this was the romantic dream she had once had. He smelled of fine cologne, tobacco, and bourbon as he kissed her lightly on the lips. “Oh, Cleve, what will your parents think if they see us?”
“That you’re as proper as both of them.” He laughed and caught her hand. “Which, I suppose, means you’ll make the perfect Brewster wife.”
“I hope to be more than that to you.” She didn’t want to be like Cleve’s mother.
He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I can hardly wait.”
She heard footsteps and Alexa came down the stairs wearing a dark blue silk dress. “Is dinner being served?”
“Not yet, cousin,” Cleve said. “We’re waiting for everyone to gather.”
Keso strode down the hall toward the pair, hesitating as he reached them. “I—I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I had the maid press my suit.”
He really did need an expert tailor, Wannie thought, but she only said, “You look fine, brother.” She gave his arm a comforting pat.
The front bell rang and old Jeeves hurried to answer it. “Evening, sir,” he said and bowed as Mr. Brewster entered. “How was your ride around the estate?”
“Fine. Ian’s just bought us another champion mare—don’t know what I’d do without him.” Cleveland Brewster came over to join the trio.
Keso said, “I met your head groom today—fine fellow.”
The foyer lights gleamed on Cleveland Brewster’s balding head. “Yes, Ian O’Hearn’s been with me for over a quarter of a century and he knows his place; not many servants like that these days.”
Keso frowned. “With that attitude, I’m surprised he stays. There must be other positions open to a top groom.”
Mr. Brewster frowned. “Of course there is; matter of fact, a number of my friends have tried to steal him, but he’s loyal to this family. I expect he’ll be here until he dies.”
“He doesn’t seem to have any personal life at all,” Cleve said and smothered a yawn.
“Ian doesn’t have time for any personal life,” his father said. “His whole life is serving this family—not a bad thing for servants.”
Wannie winced at the selfish, insensitive remark. Keso looked as if he were about to say something. Wannie glared at him and he seemed to reconsider.
“I’ll go change and clean up,” Mr. Brewster said and left.
Eventually, Mrs. Brewster joined them. She was wearing a dress of a brownish hue that was certainly expensive, but not very becoming. “Good evening, all.”
Everyone greeted her, but Wannie noted that she had not come from the master’s suite. Evidently, the pair did not share a room. When the older Brewster rejoined them, he gave his wife an absent-minded nod—quite different from the way Silver greeted Cherokee when he returned home.
Old Jeeves entered. “Dinner is served.”
Cleve took Wannie’s arm. “Do me the honor, my dear.”
“And I know,” Alexa simpered, “that Keso would like to escort me to dinner?”
“It’s your house,” Keso said. “Don’t you know where the dining room is?”
Wannie wanted to go through the floor with embarrassment as she saw the shock followed by amusement on the other faces. However, Alexa laughed and took Keso’s arm. “Besides being handsome and strong, you are so witty! You may escort me.”
Wannie struggled to keep annoyance from her features. Surely her brother wouldn’t fall for such a silly flirtation, but he glanced at Wannie and then positively beamed at Alexa. “Miss Alexa, my strength is at your service.”
Wannie gritted her teeth. Who did Keso think he was, Sir Galahad? Except Keso wouldn’t know who Sir Galahad was. They all went into dinner.
The room was huge and the furnishings, china, and silver magnificent. A crystal chandelier hung over the long, polished mahogany table and the monogrammed table linens were of the finest white damask. She paused a moment, drinking it all in.
Keso looked around in awe.
Mr. Brewster paused while seating his wife at the end of the table and smiled with satisfaction. “Someday, Wannie my dear, you will preside over dinners here as Mrs. Cleveland Brewster, Jr.”
He went to the opposite end of the table where Cleve was pulling out Wannie’s chair next to his father’s.
Wannie caught Keso’s eye and nodded toward Alexa, indicating he should pull out her chair. He did, but he seemed very uncertain about what was expected next. There was only one other empty chair at the long table and Keso came around and sat down across from Alexa. Wannie’s heart almost bled for the big Indian; he was completely out of his element here. On the other hand, Cleve had been born to this life.
Wannie looked down the table and beamed at
Mrs. Brewster. “You are to be complimented—your home is so well-managed.”
The plump woman nodded. “Women of my class are expected to be able to handle the everyday business of managing servants and merchants. I’m sure you’ll do every bit as well, my dear.”
The glow from the gleaming chandelier sent a million points of light reflecting off the crystal goblets and the heavy silver.
Across from her, Cleve smiled. “Like the place, my dear?”
“It’s beautiful.” At that moment, Wannie was glad she had learned proper etiquette from the other girls at Miss Priddy’s school. Her heart went out to Keso, who looked very uncomfortable at the formal table and was watching her every move closely so he wouldn’t make any embarrassing blunders. Already, servants were scurrying about with great silver-covered dishes and platters.
Old Jeeves poured the deep red wine into the fine crystal goblets.
Old Mr. Brewster stood, holding up his goblet. “I would like to make a toast to the happy couple,” he said proudly. “May my only son and his bride live long and prosper here at Steel Manor.”
“Hear! Hear!” Everyone said as they sipped the wine.
Then they settled down to polite conversation while Jeeves carried a great platter of roast beef around the table.
Wannie glanced over at Keso, who was eyeing the spread of silverware next to his place. “Is this all for me?” he asked. “Or shall I pass some of it down the table?”
Wannie winced. She thought she heard even old Jeeves snicker. “Uh, brother, everyone has the same silver—you’ ll use it all as different courses are served.”
“Seems as if we’re dirtying a lot of extra forks and spoons for nothing,” Keso said.
This time, even Alexa was hiding a smile behind her napkin.
“Look, old man,” Cleve said genially, “we’ve got lots of servants—dealing with dirty tableware is their business.”
Keso shrugged and tucked his napkin in his collar, then looked around.
Wannie was torn between being embarrassed and feeling sorry for him. She took her own napkin and made a grand gesture of spreading it on her lap so that Keso would do the same. Then everyone began to eat.
Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15) Page 5
