To Love a Lady
Titled Texans: Book One
By Cynthia Sterling
Copyright 2000 by Cynthia Sterling Myers
Cover Design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers
This book was originally published
in print under the title Nobility Ranch
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be copied or re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination, with the exception of real historical personages who may be mentioned in passing.
Chapter One
Texas Panhandle, January, 1882
As Lady Cecily Thorndale stepped down from the train that had brought her at last to Texas, she wondered why she’d waited until she was twenty-four years old to run away from home.
“I never dreamed the rest of the world would be so different from Devonshire,” she said to Alice, her lady’s maid, as the two stood on the station platform. She glanced toward the trio of brightly-dressed women who’d sat near them for the last day on the trip. “Or that I’d meet such interesting people.”
“Where are we, Lady Cecily?” Alice’s voice took on a plaintive whine as she set her carpetbag on the platform next to her mistress.
“Didn’t you hear the conductor? We’re in Fairweather, Texas.” Cecily gathered her fur-lined cape more closely around her throat and scanned the area around the platform. In this case, fair weather also meant cold weather. A bitter wind whistled across the platform and white smoke poured from the chimneys of the square-fronted, wooden buildings facing from the depot. The roughly dressed men and women who crowded the board walkways in front of the shops were heavily bundled against the chill. Beyond the buildings, an expanse of frost-bitten land stretched toward the horizon, washed in the copper light of the setting sun.
She took a deep breath, and the cold air stung her nostrils with the aromas of sawdust, cinders, and manure. Texas even smelled different from home. She put one hand to her stomach, hoping to calm the nervous quiver there. You’ve come all this way, Cecily, she silently scolded herself. Don’t act the coward now.
Alice sniffed. “Begging pardon, m’lady, but I don’t see what’s so fair about it.” She scowled at a cowboy walking past; he tipped his high-crowned hat and gave her a lewd wink. “Well, I never!” Alice gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air.
Cecily bit back a smile. Alice was too stuffy for her own good sometimes. Granted, the wink had been improper, but then, so had Alice’s look of disdain. “As soon as Nick fetches our trunks, we’ll set about locating Lord Silsbee,” she said.
“If Nick Bainbridge remembers to come back for us.” Alice shook her head. “I don’t trust that one m’lady. All he’s talked about since we left England is seeing cowboys and riding horses and such. I’m thinking we’d be better off never having brought him along.”
Cecily gave Alice a tolerant look. Despite the maid’s harsh words, Cecily suspected she secretly had tender feelings for handsome Nick. “We couldn’t very well travel half away across the world with no man to escort us,” she said.
Alice pinched her lips into a thin line. “Perhaps we should have selected someone older, someone more responsible.”
“Like Davis?” Cecily raised one eyebrow in a mocking look. “I’m sure Lord Marbridge wouldn’t have appreciated losing his valet. Of course, there’s always Hopkins – he’s only sixty if he’s a day. Or what about Foster? Now there’s someone I’d hardly call suitable. He stutters every time he looks at me.”
Alice looked away, cheeks stained bright red. She cleared her throat. “I do hope his lordship isn’t angry with us for coming,” she said.
Cecily’s stomach gave another nervous lurch. “I’m sure Charles will be delighted to see us.” She spoke with more conviction than she felt. After all, in his last letter, Charles had expressed a desire to postpone their wedding yet again. She’d traveled all this way to convince him to change his mind. “I imagine he’ll be impressed that I took the initiative to pay him a visit.”
“About as impressed as Lord and Lady Marbridge will be when they receive that letter you wrote aboard ship.” Alice gave her a scolding look. “Really, m’lady, running all the way to America without telling a soul – it’s not at all like you.”
Cecily frowned. Of course it wasn’t like her. But what else was she to do? She was of little use to anyone as Lady Cecily Thorndale of Devonshire. Truth be told, no one outside of her parents was likely to miss her in the least. And even they hadn’t been able to hide their eagerness to have their spinster daughter safely wed and out from under their roof. At least Charles needed her, even if he didn’t realize it yet. Every successful man needed a wife to look after him.
“Come, let’s wait inside the depot.” She started forward, but stopped to allow a group of men to pass. Each paused and tipped a hat in greeting. Cowboys, she’d heard them called. They all wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed hats, colorful scarves knotted at their necks. Their long coats reached almost to their ankles, and hung open to reveal trousers stuffed into the tops of tall, high-heeled boots. She tried to imagine dapper Charles, who was known for his finely tailored suits, attired like one of these men. He’d look quite handsome, she decided. But then, Charles, with his chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, had always been devastatingly good looking. Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again.
As a group, the men halted, their attention focused somewhere behind Cecily and Alice. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the three women who had traveled with her on the train. Madame LeFleur and her daughters had boarded at the station in Beaufort. Cecily had admired their fine silk and satin gowns and impeccable manners, and she’d invited them to share tea with her in the dining car. They had entertained her with stories of their life in Texas, tales of romance and adventure that made Cecily’s proper English upbringing seem stifling indeed.
Catching Cecily’s eye now, Madame LeFleur smiled and came forward. “I would say again how much my girls et moi enjoyed traveling with you,” Madame said, her voice heavily accented. “If we can be of any assistance while you are in town, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“How kind you are to offer,” Cecily clasped the older woman’s hand. Up close, it was apparent that Madame was well into her fifth decade, but the artful application of cosmetics made her look much younger, at least from a distance. Cecily had never known women who so obviously used cosmetics, but customs in America were different, she supposed.
“Do you ladies need help with your luggage?” One of the cowboys stepped forward. He grinned at Madame’s youngest daughter, who had the unusual name of Fifi.
“Why sir, how kind of you to offer.” Fifi simpered and fluttered her eyelashes. The low-cut bodice of her watered silk gown would have been deemed improper for daytime wear in Devonshire, but then, Cecily reasoned, the French were known for risqué fashion, were they not? Still, the young woman must be freezing.
Other men stepped forward to shoulder the many trunks and bandboxes stacked around the LeFleur family. “I’ll carry my own, thank you,” Alice snapped at a black-hatted youth who tried to relieve her of the carpetbag.
“Where to, ma’am?” A tall, robust fellow who balanced a brass-bound trunk on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all, addressed Cecily.
“Oh, but I’m not actually with these ladies,” she said, flustered by the way the man stared at her, as if he were trying to see through her enveloping cape. “We only met on the train.”
“Everybody hold it right there!”
A hush fell over the group as a man in a black hat, with a thick black moustache, strode down th
e platform and came to stand directly in front of Cecily. “Put down that trunk, George. These ‘ladies’ aren’t going anywhere.”
“Is something the matter, Sheriff?” Madame LeFleur stepped forward.
For the first time, Cecily noticed the silver star pinned to the man’s coat. He glared at the older woman. “The sheriff in Beaufort warned me you were headed this way, Madam. I don’t intend to allow your kind in Fairweather.”
Madame LeFleur gave the sheriff a withering look. “And what do you propose to do to stop us? As you Americans are so fond of saying, it is a free country.”
“I intend to take you into custody for the evening and put you on the first train out of town in the morning.” To her horror, the sheriff took hold her Cecily’s arm and snapped a pair of manacles on her wrists. “You can take your whoring ways some other place. This is a peaceful, law-abiding town and I intend to see that it stays that way.”
Cecily gasped and tried to struggle away from him, but he held her fast. “Sir, I’m afraid there’s been a terrible misunderstanding,” she protested. “Madame LeFleur and I only met on the train. I am not. . . I would never. . . Oh, this is a terrible mistake.” She gaped at Madame and her ‘girls’, understanding washing over her in sickening waves. The cosmetics, the bright, revealing dresses – these women were prostitutes. And to think she had tea with them!
“Unhand her, you brute!” Alice launched herself toward the sheriff, carpetbag raised like a weapon, but another man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.
“Hey there! You leave her ladyship be at once!” The footman, Nick Bainbridge, appeared around a corner, carrying two valises. He dropped the cases and launched himself toward the sheriff’s men.
Cecily gasped as one man turned and slammed his fist into the footman’s face. Nick groaned and sank to the dirt, unconscious.
“Get the rest of them, men, and we’ll take them over to the jail.” The sheriff nodded to several other armed men who had gathered around them.
“Please, you must listen to me,” Cecily cried.
“She is right, Sheriff,” Madame LeFleur said, as one of the lawman’s assistants manacled her wrists. “She is not one of us. She is a true lady.”
Still holding fast to her, the sheriff studied Cecily with narrowed eyes. “What’s your name?” he demanded. “Your real name?”
She straightened her back and held her head up. “Lady Cecily Anne Thorndale,” she announced. “My father is Earl of Marbridge.”
“He could be the king of England for all I care.” The sheriff continued to glare at her. “What are you doing in Fairweather?”
“I came to meet my fiancé, Lord Silsbee.”
“Is that so? Well I’ve got news for you, Missy. There’s nobody in these parts by that name.” He tugged on her arm. “You’re coming to the jail with the others until I can figure out what you’re up to.”
She cried out in alarm as he almost pulled her off her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alice struggling with her captor. The maid was beating the man about the head and shoulders with the heavy carpetbag. With a grunt, he released her. “Alice, run!” Cecily cried, as the sheriff dragged her toward the jail. “Find Charles!”
The maid gathered her skirts and fled, darting in and out of the crowd on the platform. Cecily sighed and stumbled after the sheriff. Her friends in Devonshire would be horrified if they learned Lady Cecily Thorndale was being carried off to jail with a trio of prostitutes. And Charles – surely he would see this was all a horrible misunderstanding. Wouldn’t he?
* * *
Charles Edward Worthington, Lord Silsbee, steeled himself as he slit open the thin blue envelope just handed to him by Hiram Perkins, Fairweather’s postmaster cum storekeeper. Removing a single sheet of paper, he held the letter up in the afternoon light pouring through the front window of Perkins’ Mercantile and winced as he recognized his father’s handwriting. It was never a good sign when the earl chose to write himself, rather than delegating the task to his secretary. He scanned the cramped lines of writing that filled the page – script as rigidly upright as the man who’d written them.
The clamor of the busy store receded as he read his father’s words:
You must return at once. Your absence places an unnecessary strain on my affairs. I am counting on you to oversee the renovations at Camden House and to take charge of the East India investments. Likewise, you have been negligent in your duty to solidify our relations with Marbridge by taking Cecily to wife.
Charles scowled and turned to his valet, Gordon, who had been reading over his shoulder while appearing not to do so. “Why doesn’t he plague one of my brothers with this? There’s nothing on this list Reg or Cam or one of the estate managers couldn’t just as well see to.”
“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I don’t expect your brothers could marry Lady Cecily in your stead.” Gordon had perfected the perfect British valet’s knack for stating painfully annoying truths without a trace of smugness on his face.
Cecily. Guilt stabbed at Charles whenever he thought of his fiancé. Lady Cecily Thorndale was a pampered, beautiful child. He’d been wrong to agree to his father’s scheme to marry him off to the girl.
He carefully re-folded the letter in thirds and slid it back into the envelope. “We’d best be going, or I’ll be late for dinner.” He led the way through the half-dozen ranchers and townspeople who milled near the store’s entrance, greeting each by name. “Hello, Bryce. Good evening, Dillon. Good to see you, Joe. No, I haven’t got time to stop. I’m due at the Educational Society’s soiree. Bad form to keep the ladies waiting, don’t you know.”
“Would you like to dictate a reply to your father’s letter, m’lord?” Gordon asked as he followed Charles out into the street.
“I ought to write and tell him I’ve no intention of returning home any time soon, and certainly no intention of rushing into marriage with Cecily Thorndale.” Charles buttoned his coat close around him as the January cold hit him full force. Like everything else in his new home, Texas weather offered variety; two days hence he might be strolling the streets in shirt sleeves.
“Pardon me, m’lord, but I thought you were quite fond of Lady Thorndale,” Gordon interrupted his thoughts on the weather.
“Nothing’s wrong with Cecily.” He automatically touched the brim of his hat and bowed as he passed a trio of matrons. The women smiled and blushed like school girls. “Cecily is perfect,” he continued. “As I recall, she is the perfect hostess. A charming dancer, competent musician, talented in watercolors and needlework. From birth, she has been groomed to be the proper British lady. She’ll make a perfect wife. For someone else. I’m too young to wed.”
Gordon coughed behind his hand. “I believe your father had been wed six years by the time he was your age, m’lord.”
Charles gave his valet a haughty look. “That’s all well and good for you to remind me. Father spent his youth roaming the globe. I’ve done precious little with my days.” He fixed a cheerful look on his face and raised his hand in greeting to a pair of cowboys lounging outside a saloon. They whooped and raised their hats in answer.
Gordon glanced at the cowboys, then back at his master. “I always thought it was your choice to remain home and learn the family business.”
“Hah!” Charles snorted. “You should know as well as I, choice had precious little to do with it. I’ve spent my life shadowing the earl because he chose for me to do so. Just as he chose for Reg to enter the service and Cam to take up the clerical collar. Just as he’s chosen for me to marry Cecily. Deuces, Gordon, I hardly know the girl.”
They paused at an intersection and waited for a freighter to guide his team across. He cracked his whip and gave them a gap-toothed grin. “Howdy, Charlie!” he called.
Charles returned the greeting. “I say, Gus. Do be a good fellow and look me up when you’re back in town. I haven’t forgotten you owe me a drink.”
The freighter passed and the two
men started across the street. Charles picked up the conversation once more. “Grant you, I’ve a mind of my own, but I find it easier to play along with the earl, then live as I please behind his back.”
Two freckle-faced boys raced toward them. They skidded to a halt in front of Charles. “Penny for your thoughts, Lord Worthington,” the older one said, beaming up at them.
“What do you say to two pennies? If you hurry, you can catch Mr. Perkins before he closes up shop.” He flipped two coins into the air. The boys snatched them up and ran off, calling their thanks over their shoulders.
“That’s all very good, m’lord, but how do you propose to break your engagement without unpleasant repercussions?” In that maddening way of his, Gordon refused to drop the topic. “Marbridge might very well press suit.”
Charles’s shoulders sagged. “If I keep putting her off, Cecily’s bound to tire of me and find someone else,” he said. “I’m surprised she’s stayed on the shelf this long, really.”
Gordon nodded. “Yes m’lord, as I remember Lady Thorndale is quite attractive.”
Attractive enough to make a man forget his good sense. It was the only explanation Charles had for his initial acceptance of the idea of marriage. Once he’d put some distance between himself and the girl, he’d realized what a mistake his proposal had been. “Someone else is sure to come along and make her a better offer and I’ll be off the hook, free for other pursuits,” he said.
Gordon looked skeptical. “And what would that be, m’lord?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But the day I marry, I might as well lock myself in a dusty old clerk’s office and throw away the key.” He looked away, along a line of storefronts, each more ramshackle than the next. Light spilled from their windows, making patterns on the darkened street. He thought of the perfectly proportioned architecture of his father’s estate house, every brick arranged in absolute symmetry, every day of life within those walls a replica of the one before. “You saw the letter – the earl’s already planning to saddle me with duties. I’ll have retainers and tenants and clerks all looking to me to take care of them. Not to mention a wife and family.”
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