by Stacy Henrie
“Change into what?” Her arms were tightly folded again.
Edward cleared his throat. “I’ll put on a suit as I would if we were going to the Sheridan Inn for dinner. And you...well...you can dress in one of those gowns you said you owned.”
“This is a nightly ritual?”
He nodded.
For a moment, her eyes fell shut as if she were summoning patience from deep inside herself. “All right,” she said, opening her eyes. “I shall dress for dinner, darling.”
“Excellent, my dear.”
Spinning on her heel, Maggy marched toward the guest house, her straw hat smacking her pant leg. “But I am not rearranging my hair,” she called back loudly.
Edward chuckled as he headed inside. His good humor continued as he changed into a fresh shirt, trousers, tie, vest and jacket. Normally he looked forward to the quiet that came with taking his meals by himself. Mrs. Harvey ate when she wanted, and McCall felt it important to eat the meals she prepared for the outside staff with the wranglers. Which meant Edward ate alone more often than not. Tonight, though, he found himself looking forward to dining with Maggy. She might be stubborn and far from demure, but he supposed he could see why those qualities were important in a detective, especially a female one.
Had he really almost sent her away hours earlier? He was grateful now that he hadn’t. Did the Lord have a hand in that? Edward wondered as he headed back downstairs. He entered the dining room to find it empty. Should he wait for Maggy by the front door then, or take a seat?
As he was debating what to do, he heard the door swing open and shut, then the clack of heels across the entryway floor. He moved to the doorway of the dining room to meet her. She gripped her trailing skirt with one hand as she approached.
“Suitable for supper?” She did a spin, giving him a full view of her dress.
While it appeared well made, the pale yellow gown looked a few years outdated as Maggy had said, and the dull color of it washed the pink from her cheeks. Surely this wasn’t what a vivacious, engaged young woman ought to wear. Worse still, the carefree, open demeanor she’d displayed during their tour of the ranch had disappeared. She resembled a dressed goose awaiting execution.
“It does suit for supper.”
“But?” She pinned him with a penetrating glance.
Edward shifted his weight as uneasiness coursed through him. “Are all of your dresses similar to this?”
“Yes, I suppose they’re all the same style. Neither noticeably fashionable nor unfashionable. Light colors that don’t catch the eye. No ribbons or trim to come loose and betray that I’ve been poking around where I’m not supposed to be. Simple. Practical.”
Needing a moment to think, he led her by the elbow into the dining room where he pulled out a chair for her.
“What’s wrong with my dress, Edward?” She gave him an arched look as she took a seat.
He helped push her chair in, then sat beside her at the head of the table. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with it,” he hedged. He placed his napkin across his lap and felt relief when Maggy artfully did the same. Apparently, dinner etiquette would not be something they had to master, as well.
Mrs. Harvey’s fortuitous entrance into the dining room kept him from having to think up a polite reply to Maggy’s question. “Evening, sir,” his housekeeper announced as she placed full plates in front of them. “You, too, miss.” She beamed at Maggy.
“There’s been a new wrinkle to the detective plans, Mrs. Harvey.” He hadn’t taken the opportunity to let her know yet. “Maggy will be...” He glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. “I’ve asked her to be my fiancée for the duration of her time here.”
The older woman’s eyes widened. “Your fiancée, sir? Was that your idea to become engaged like that?”
“No,” Maggy interjected as she picked up her fork. “It was mine, Mrs. Harvey. I’m hoping it will allow me to become part of the ranchers’ wives’ club and gather critical information.”
Edward was grateful she didn’t disclose that they already had two suspects among the ranchers. As much as he trusted Mrs. Harvey, he sensed the less he discussed his case with anyone other than Maggy, the better.
Mrs. Harvey trained a shocked gaze at him. “You agreed to this plan, sir? Even after...” She let her words trail out, to Edward’s relief. The woman knew of Beatrice’s deceit, but it wasn’t something he wished to share with Maggy, now or possibly ever.
“Of course. It’s a brilliant one.” He felt Maggy watching him shrewdly.
His housekeeper eyed them in turn once more. “I’ll leave you to your meal then.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harvey.” When the older woman left the room, Edward turned to Maggy. “I’ll offer the blessing.”
Her brows shot upward as she set her fork back down. She looked slightly startled—even a bit chagrined—at his suggestion, but she didn’t appear annoyed. Wordlessly, she lowered her chin. Edward shut his eyes and began to pray. He thanked the Lord for the meal and asked His blessings upon his staff and the investigation, as well.
Maggy’s disconcerted look remained as they began eating. Edward wondered what she thought of faith and religion. If she were truly his fiancée, he would hope to share a similar belief and love of God with her. Beatrice hadn’t. She’d attended church, of course, like the other wealthy families in their social circle, but her faith hadn’t been the anchor that it became for Edward and his sister.
He sampled a bite of food, pushing aside thoughts of Beatrice and the past. “I think you’ll find Mrs. Harvey’s fare quite above any boardinghouse or restaurant.” He shot Maggy a smile. “That’s partly the reason I asked her to accompany me to America.”
“The food is delicious,” Maggy agreed. “So you’ve known Mrs. Harvey a long time.”
It was more a statement than a question, but he nodded anyway.
“What did she mean about you agreeing to our plan ‘even after?’”
Edward stifled a groan, though he wasn’t surprised Maggy had not only caught his housekeeper’s slip but remembered it, too. “Nothing of consequence.” He took another bite, though he tasted little this time.
“Have you been engaged before?” Maggy inquired, her expression one of innocence. But Edward knew better. Her blue eyes were glowing with that same determination and tenacity he’d seen several times already.
He shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Not officially anyway. Though I did believe there was an understanding between myself and a young lady.”
There, he’d told her all he wished to reveal. Even his vague description of his and Beatrice’s time together had resurrected the long-buried sting of her rejection. He didn’t wish to dwell on it anymore.
“What you need is a new wardrobe,” he declared, only too happy to return to the earlier topic. Maggy’s irritation over what he thought of her dresses was far safer and less painful than reopening the past.
She studied him a moment and Edward had a sudden urge to ask what she observed. Did she see the often neglected, thrown-over third son of Lord and Lady Healey? Or did she see the successful rancher?
“A new wardrobe?” she repeated at last. “Is that really necessary?” She made a face as if he’d asked her to roll around in a stable stall.
Edward couldn’t help the upward tilt of his mouth—both at her entertaining grimace and in relief that she hadn’t hounded him for information about Beatrice. “Some women are actually thrilled by the thought of new clothes. Especially when they are at the expense of someone else’s pocketbook.”
“You’re going to pay for new clothes...for me?” Her astonishment both amused and confused him. Had no one ever bought her anything before?
He picked up his water goblet. “I don’t think it entirely fair to ask Pinkerton to foot the bill. Not when you need to be outfitted with an entire new wardrobe.”
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br /> “Entire?” Her eyes narrowed. “What exactly does that mean, Edward?”
Taking a sip, he set down his glass. “You know—day dresses, evening dresses, hats, gloves, possibly even a ball gown. The wives’ club will host their annual summer ball in another month.”
“Why would I need a new hat and gloves?” Maggy retorted, her expression darkening. “It all sounds rather excessive. Not to mention a great waste of money.”
He had the impression she lumped herself in with the clothes as something—someone—unworthy to spend money on. Why would that be? She’d shown such confidence in herself as a detective. Did she not see herself as valuable outside of her profession?
“I agree it may be excessive.” She looked as if she could breathe again, until he continued. “But a waste or not, that is what you’ll need in order to convince these women you are one of them.”
“Fine. If asked, I’ll say my luggage was misplaced and I needed to replace what I lost.” She jutted out her chin as she forked another bite, the tongs tapping the plate with force. “And when am I to be subjected to the joys of obtaining a new wardrobe?”
He chuckled—he was coming to like her cheeky humor. “Tomorrow. That way we can square things up with the livery stable to have transportation at your disposal during your stay.”
“We’re keeping the nag and the buggy then?”
Edward scoffed, shooting her a teasing look. “The buggy, yes. But not that nag. Something tells me you’d appreciate a more spirited horse to convey you to and from club meetings.”
A mischievous smile chased the annoyance from her expression. “I believe that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say all evening.”
Chapter Five
Maggy gritted her teeth, trying to appear patient and serene as the dressmaker tugged, poked and pinned. She felt like a peacock in the ready-made royal blue gown, with as many pins stuck in it as there were in the woman’s pincushion. What she wouldn’t give to see Edward submit to such ministrations. The thought pulled a smile from her. He might not think a new wardrobe so necessary after that.
She’d driven the buggy into Sheridan that morning, while Edward rode beside her on the horse they would switch for the nag. He made arrangements with the livery owner about keeping the vehicle for a few more weeks, then he drove her to the dressmaker’s shop.
It felt strange, and unsettling, to have a man watching out for her like that. And she still couldn’t understand why Edward would throw his money away on clothes she wouldn’t likely wear again once this mission was solved. She needed to be convincing as his fiancée, yes. But to have a great deal of money spent on her? The uneasy feeling returned to her stomach, though a traitorous seedling of pleasure attempted to sprout, as well. When had her father or Jeb ever purchased a gift for her? Never.
Her apprehension began to morph into choking dread as thoughts of the past took hold inside her mind. Maggy tightened her hands into fists and received a scolding look from the dressmaker for not keeping still.
“Sorry,” Maggy mumbled.
She had a job to do. And whether it felt nice or not to have a man’s help, no one else would be doing her work for her. It was past time to do a little sleuthing.
“Ms. Glasen, was it?” she asked the dressmaker, doing her best not to move.
The woman looked to be about Maggy’s own age, maybe even a few years younger. “Mmm-hmm.” Ms. Glasen had said little—beyond asking what sort of gowns were required to replace the ones Maggy had lost, if she had any preferences for colors, and if she was new in town.
“How long have you had this dress shop?”
The dressmaker’s amber eyes lit with pride. “Three years.”
Perfect. That meant the woman might be able to provide Maggy with some useful information. There was no reason the odious task of being fitted for uncomfortable clothes shouldn’t be profitable in other ways too.
“Do you know Mr. Edward Kent?”
Ms. Glasen’s forehead crinkled in thought. “He lives near Big Horn way, right? Owns a large ranch there, I think.”
“Yes, he does.” Maggy affected a tender sigh. “He’s also my fiancé.”
The dressmaker glanced up from her work. “Is that so? I hadn’t heard the gossip that he was courting anyone.”
“It all happened rather fast.”
Ms. Glasen rose to her feet. “I’m finished pinning this one. I have one other gown that may fit you with little to no alterations. Mrs. Druitt decided she didn’t think the purple color would suit her daughter after all.”
“Does that happen often?” Maggy stepped off the wooden box she’d been standing on.
“Now and then,” the other woman admitted. “But I think the dark purple hue will look lovely with your auburn hair.”
She disappeared through a door in the back of the shop and returned a few moments later with another trailing gown. Maggy suppressed a groan. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her favorite trousers and shirt!
After accepting the dress, Maggy slipped behind the dressing screen and carefully traded the royal blue dress for the purple. Unlike the first one, this second gown felt more fluid. She did the buttons up the front, then stepped out to show the dressmaker.
“Ah, yes.” Smiling, Ms. Glasen nodded. “That’s the perfect color for you and the fit is exactly right, as well.” She stepped away from the floor-length mirror, giving Maggy a full view of herself.
And the view startled her.
She couldn’t say for sure that the color enhanced her hair, but the woman staring back at her looked more than confident and determined. She looked almost...beautiful. It was a notion Maggy had never allowed herself to consider before.
Tears burned her eyes as she glanced away, blinking rapidly. “It’s a lovely dress. I’ll take it, along with the royal blue one and the others we discussed.” Ms. Glasen would be making an additional eight dresses for her.
“Wonderful.” The woman beamed again. “I’ll have the royal blue one ready for you to pick up tomorrow and the others next week. Are you staying in town?”
Maggy shook her head as she ducked back behind the screen. “No,” she called over the fabric partition. “I’m staying at Edward’s ranch. My chaperone fell through at the last moment, but we decided with his housekeeper and staff around and me staying in the small guest house, that all would be right and proper.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to make the drive into town tomorrow, too.”
She traded the purple dress for one of her old ones, hanging the other over the screen for Ms. Glasen to wrap. “Not a problem. I enjoy driving a buggy and the countryside is quite beautiful.”
She finished dressing and stepped back into the room. The lovely gown had sidetracked her a bit from probing for more information, and now it was nearly time to leave.
“I wonder what gossip will be shared about me.” She feigned a light laugh. “Being without a real chaperone and now engaged to Edward.”
The dressmaker paused in wrapping up the purple gown. “I imagine the local ranchers’ wives will be a bit surprised.” A hint of pain flickered through her gaze. “They do enjoy new people and topics to discuss.”
Maggy could easily guess what the woman hadn’t admitted—Ms. Glasen had at one time been the source of gossip herself. “Is that who shares all the gossip? The local ranchers’ wives?”
“Mostly, yes.” She tied a string around the paper-wrapped parcel. “They have a rather exclusive club that holds weekly tea meetings.”
“Oh?” Edward had been right! “Do you belong to their club?”
Ms. Glasen shook her head, another trace of sorrow flitting across her young face. “No. You must be married or engaged to one of the local ranchers to join.”
“Who is in charge of this club?”
“Mrs. Dolphina Druitt,” the dressmak
er replied in a slightly flat tone.
This was a new and potentially important piece of information. Mrs. Druitt was the same woman who hadn’t liked the purple dress for her daughter. Maggy would need to see what Edward knew about Mr. Druitt. Did he hold the same authority among the men that his wife seemed to hold among the women?
Keeping her countenance impassive, she asked, “Do you think Mrs. Druitt and the club would accept me into their ranks?”
The dressmaker extended the package toward Maggy. “I don’t see why not. You meet their engaged or married requirement. Of course,” she continued in a tone that hinted at more hidden pain, “if for whatever reason you chose not to marry Mr. Kent, you would be asked to leave.”
It wasn’t difficult for Maggy to piece together Ms. Glasen’s untold story. The woman had likely been engaged to someone and therefore part of the local women’s club, but when she or her fiancé ended the betrothal, the dressmaker had been banished from the group.
She felt a strange desire to offer the woman a measure of comfort. Not as part of a mission or a disguise but as herself. What could she say though?
“Tea meetings sound a bit boring for my tastes,” she admitted with full honesty into the tense silence of the shop.
Ms. Glasen’s tight expression relaxed and her lips curved upward. “I think they’re dull too. Although, the club does host an annual ball every summer that everyone is invited to and that is rather nice.”
The summer ball. Maggy had forgotten. “That does sound lovely. Perhaps I ought to have a ball gown made, as well.”
“I haven’t made a ball gown in ages for someone new.” The dressmaker went to the counter and grabbed up a stack of magazines. Turning back, she eyed Maggy carefully. “I think I know just the thing to make you shine.”
Maggy didn’t want to shine; she wanted to solve this case. Used to staying deliberately hidden in the background, it went against the grain to draw attention to herself. But, this could very well be a means to the end of finding the saboteurs.
