Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Three Graces:
BELLE OF THE BALL
Pam McCutcheon
Copyright © 2003, 2014 by Pam McCutcheon
Printed in the United States of America
Parker Hayden Media
PO Box 75881
Colorado Springs, CO 80970-5881
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN: 978-1-941528-03-7
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover art credits:
Cover design: LB Hayden
Girl © Vita Khorzhevska/Shutterstock.com
Fan by Capgros
Chapter One
Colorado Springs, 1882
Belle Sullivan sighed as her mother fussed over her and her two sisters, all lined up for inspection in the front parlor. Belle just wanted to get through this ordeal with the minimum of bother, but it was not to be. One would think they were being presented to Mama’s idol, Queen Victoria, for heaven’s sake, instead of merely waiting for a few young men.
“Oh, Belle.” Bridey Sullivan clucked her tongue in frustration as she straightened Belle’s bodice and tugged futilely at the wrinkles in her close-fitting skirt. “How do you ever expect to catch a husband looking like that?”
Belle shrugged. She’d heard it all before, in endless detail. Her rusty red hair was too unruly, her complexion too freckled, and her manner too tomboyish.
Belle cared little for her appearance. All she wanted was to stay in the bosom of her family for the rest of her life, but Mama was determined to kick all of her baby birds out of the nest—so long as the new nest was lined with the best feathers, of course. But now that Belle was nineteen and without a beau who might turn into that most coveted of possessions—a husband—Mama was becoming frantic. She obviously saw this outing as an opportunity to rectify that situation.
Not that Belle was totally opposed to the idea, especially since the young man who had asked her out was Christopher “Kit” Stanhope, the second son of a viscount. A remittance man who seemed to do nothing but idle about, he was scorned by the hardworking self-made men of Colorado Springs, but the women found his aristocratic upbringing, education, and refined ways irresistible.
And Belle was no exception. When Kit Stanhope had asked her to step out with him, she’d been thrilled that such a handsome man, fribble though he might be, was interested in her. She had long admired him from afar, thinking him the most attractive man of her acquaintance, but assumed she could not catch his interest.
But somehow, she had. Perhaps he was one of those few discerning men able to see beyond appearances.
“She doesn’t care how she looks, Mama,” Charisma declared. At eighteen, Charisma came in for her share of Mama’s attention, too, though with her height and sleek strawberry-blond hair, her appearance was usually without fault. Always blunt, Charisma added, “And I don’t know why you should either.”
Mama looked horrified. “Not care? Where would you girls be if I didn’t care about your futures?”
Happy and a whole lot better off, Belle thought, but unlike Charisma, Belle knew better than to say it out loud.
Obviously trying to distract their mother, Grace, the youngest member of the family at seventeen, twirled around the parlor, looking like a glowing candle in her new dress and bright red hair. “I think we all look lovely,” she exclaimed.
But where Grace went, disaster was sure to follow. The Sullivans, used to her clumsiness, deftly rescued one urn and two figurines as Hurricane Grace whirled by. They were unable to catch two more knickknacks, but they hit the plush carpet and didn’t break. In fact, that was why the carpet was there in the first place—because of Grace’s little accidents.
“Oh, do be careful, Grace,” Mama exclaimed as she replaced a figurine on a table. But Grace’s attempt at distracting their mother didn’t work, and Mama returned stubbornly to her favorite subject. “Do you want to dwindle into old maids like Miss Keithley? Living alone in that huge house all by herself with nothing but cats and no husband to call her own?”
“It. doesn’t sound so bad . . .” Belle muttered. At least Miss Keithley went about in society, had a place of her own, and didn’t have a mother nagging at her constantly. Besides, Belle liked cats.
Mama whipped around to glare at her. “Now, you listen to me, young lady. You have it a whole lot better than I did in my day.”
Belle exchanged rolling eyes with Charisma and Grace and pretended to listen, but they’d heard it all before. Mama had grown up poor, supporting herself from a young age with factory jobs and, later, working for other peoples’ families. She'd married miner Patrick Sullivan for love, but the early years of their marriage had been troubled by poverty and hardship.
When Patrick had finally hit the mother lode in the Grace of God Mine six years ago, Bridey had vowed to ensure her three daughters would never have to live the harsh life she’d had to endure. Once the mine was producing ore at a steady rate and didn’t need Patrick’s constant presence, she’d insisted on moving their small family to Colorado Springs. Having heard tales of the city they called Little London, Mama was eager to join the British aristocrats and denizens of polite society and leave her past far, far behind.
But though life was certainly easier for the Sullivans, Mama’s ambitions to become a leading light of society hadn’t panned out. Papa’s indifference to the trappings of wealth hampered her, and though Mama had worked hard to overcome her own humble origins and lack of polish, she just tried too hard.
Undeterred by her lack of success so far, she had decided to focus all her hopes on her three daughters. Through them, she hoped to achieve the status she longed for. And to Mama, the height of success lay in obtaining an invitation to the annual Founders’ Day Ball in July. If not for her, then certainly for one of her daughters. But since only the elite of Colorado Springs were invited, Belle feared Mama would never get her wish.
“I’m doing this for you,” Mama finished as she tried unsuccessfully to smooth Belle’s wayward curls. “You’ll be much happier married to men of breeding and substance, I assure you.”
“But you married for love,” Charisma protested. “Why shouldn’t we?”
Belle stifled a grin. Trust Charisma to blurt out the unvarnished truth.
Mama bristled. “Mind your tongue, girl. Of course you should marry for love. But remember, it’s just as easy to fall in
love with a rich man as it is a poor man.”
Charisma frowned. “But—”
Belle cut her off with an elbow to her side. There was no use arguing with Mama on this subject. At this rate, they’d never get out of here. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Belle said sweetly. “My elbow slipped. Did I hurt you?”
Charisma glared at her but took the hint and kept her mouth shut.
“Well,” Grace exclaimed, “I’m looking forward to this drive. When will our escorts arrive?”
It was the right thing to say, for it finally distracted Mama. Relaxing into a smile, she said, “You have plenty of time, girls. First, I want to tell you a story. Come, sit down.”
They all seated themselves, taking care to make sure Grace was sandwiched between them and far from any breakables—not an easy task in the fashionably-cluttered parlor.
“Did I ever tell you the story of how your father proposed?”
The girls shook their heads. They’d heard plenty about the hardships, but very little about the more pleasant moments in the early years of their parents’ marriage.
“Well, it was in the Garden of the Gods, the very park you’re visiting this afternoon.” Mama clasped her hands together, and her eyes turned uncharacteristically dreamy. “I was very much in love with your father, and he seemed to feel the same way about me, but he wouldn’t declare himself. So, when several of us went to Colorado Springs on a visit and stopped off in the Garden of the Gods, I tried to ignore him and concentrated on the rock formations. I found all of them interesting, but the Three Graces formation just . . . spoke to me.”
“What did it say?” Charisma asked with a grin.
Mama quelled her with a glance. “I placed some wildflowers at their feet and wished with all my heart that your papa would ask me to marry him. He proposed to me then and there,” she said with a wistful sigh. “That’s why you’re named for the Three Graces.”
The girls exchanged glances. They’d known who they were named for, but had never heard why before. “I thought their names were Greek and hard to pronounce,” Grace said.
“Well, yes,” their mother admitted. “But I named you for what they represent—beauty, charm, and grace.”
Poor Mama. She had chosen entirely the wrong names for her daughters. Plain Belle had no beauty, forthright Charisma lacked charm, and Grace was . . . somewhat less than graceful. But it was a sweet story, and Belle said as much. “Why are you telling us this now?” Belle knew her mother well enough to know she had an ulterior motive.
“Well, offering flowers to the Three Graces and making a wish for a husband worked for me. Maybe it will for you three, too.”
“You want us to ask for husbands from a bunch of rocks?” Charisma asked incredulously.
“Weil, it couldn’t hurt,” Mama said. They all knew Charisma too well to be offended by her bluntness, even Mama.
“But we’ll look silly,” Belle protested. “Besides, we don’t have any flowers.”
“You will,” her mother said with confidence. “Your escorts are bound to bring you posies.”
“What if they don’t?” Grace asked.
“Oh, they will. I reminded them myself.”
Belle groaned inwardly. It was rare enough for a young gentleman to call on one of the Sullivan girls—more than once, anyway—but Mama’s interference would make it even worse.
“What did you say to them?” Belle asked, feeling humiliated already. “Did you embarrass us?”
“Of course not. I simply reminded them of their responsibilities as gentlemen.”
So, she had embarrassed them. Oh, dear. What would Kit Stanhope think of her? “Oh, Mama. How could you?” It was the first time such an eligible young man had invited her on an outing, and she felt awkward enough already.
“Well, I have to be sure my girls are treated right, don’t I? I know what’s due you, and they’re going to treat you like proper ladies or I’ll know the reason why.”
And, to Mama, being proper ladies meant being escorted by proper gentlemen. Though Mama considered Kit Stanhope the catch of the town, Charisma’s and Grace’s escorts were just as acceptable. Charisma’s intended beau, young George Winthrop, was the son of a wealthy rancher, and Harold Latham had a secure future in his father’s bank.
Belle and her sisters sympathized with their mother’s ambitions and, though they didn’t entirely understand why those goals were so important to her, they loved her and wanted to make her happy. However, they had met with too many rebuffs from the people Mama was most anxious to impress and preferred to spend time with those who weren’t so hoity-toity.
But they didn’t want to let their mother down, so they had agreed amongst themselves to do everything in their power to make the outing a success. For once, they hoped to please her.
“We’ll do our best to make you proud, Mama,” Belle promised, and Charisma and Grace nodded their agreement.
“Including the flowers and the wish?” Mama asked.
Belle exchanged resigned glances with her sisters and spoke for the three of them. “Yes, Mama. Even the flowers and the wish.” After all, what could it hurt?
The knocker sounded then, announcing the arrival of their escorts. Sudden queasiness attacked Belle’s midsection. What could she do or say to such a distinguished young gentleman as Kit Stanhope? Belle knew she couldn’t capture the heart and hand of such an illustrious figure, but could she make Mama proud?
The gentlemen were shown into the parlor, and Belle’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she beheld her partner for the day. With his slightly wavy white-blond hair, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones in a patrician face, and erect carriage and air of confidence, Kit Stanhope looked every inch the distinguished British gentleman. And even Belle could tell his attire was the height of fashion.
He smiled with a slightly mocking air as his gaze swept her, and for once, Belle wished she had paid more attention to her appearance. Oh, dear. Maybe Mama was right—maybe such things did matter.
In fact, all three gentlemen looked splendid, and Belle felt positively dowdy beside them. She and her sisters wore the best money could buy—their mother made sure of that—but they didn’t have the inbred ability to carry it off quite so well.
And, just as Mama promised, the gentlemen had brought posies. When Kit bowed slightly and presented Belle with his floral offering, she couldn’t help but remember that Mama had practically forced them to bring the flowers, and it robbed the moment of any pleasure she might have felt. Belle stole a glance at her sisters. From their expressions, it seemed they felt the same way, and the moment turned awkward.
The silence was broken by Charisma, of course, who declared bluntly, “Shall we go? I’d like to see the rock formations, especially ‘Kissing Camels’ and ‘Seal Making Love to a Nun.’”
Mother looked horrified and quickly corrected her, giving Charisma a stern look. “No, dear. The proper title is ‘Seal and Bear.’”
George looked pained at his companion’s bluntness, and Belle felt her spine stiffen. Nothing put her back up more than someone who criticized her family. “An excellent idea, Charisma,” Belle said smoothly. “We shouldn’t keep the horses waiting.”
“Yes, let’s go,” Grace declared. Suiting action to words, she stepped out briskly and promptly trod on Harold’s foot. When he bent over to clutch at the offended appendage, Grace whirled in remorse and caught him in the eye with her elbow.
Harold let loose with a yelp and Grace apologized profusely as she backed away—right into a knick-knack-laden table. With the ease of long practice, Belle and Charisma covered for her by surreptitiously righting the table and steadying Grace.
Though Harold now looked as fully pained as George had earlier, Belle figured he had cause. But Grace was so horrified that Belle murmured, “It’s all right—just a little accident. Come, the horses are waiting.”
The others helped smooth over the incident and it was a subdued, if slightly wary group, who arrived outside—unscathed fo
r the most part. A carriage awaited them, and Kit handed Belle into the front seat while the others seated her sisters in the back. Then Kit drove while George and Harold rode alongside.
It was a good arrangement. During the drive to the Garden of the Gods, Grace was unable to inflict any more damage on poor Harold, and Charisma’s distance from George made her less likely to offend him by blurting out anything untoward.
But Belle was so concerned about keeping an eye on her sisters and their escorts’ reactions that she gave very little attention to her own companion. All she knew was that he looked wonderful and smelled even better—all manly and woodsy. It was a pity they hadn’t had a chance to converse much, especially since she just adored his upper-crust British accent, but perhaps she could get to know him a little better once they reached their destination.
They finally came to a stop, and as Kit helped her down from the carriage. Belle felt a little thrill course through her at his touch. She glanced shyly up into his handsome face to see if he felt the same and saw nothing but aloof politeness.
Darn—she hadn’t made any sort of impression at all. Well, maybe it was time to let her sisters fend for themselves. They were big girls now and shouldn’t need Belle to watch after them.
Belle hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings, but she did now as Charisma declared, “Why, it isn’t a garden at all.”
Belle looked around. No, it couldn’t be considered a garden, though there were a few wildflowers here and there. Instead, huge rock monoliths in odd shapes thrust up from the earth, towering high above them. Some were gray but most were made of red sandstone, the rusty color providing a vivid background for the green spring foliage. The result was slightly otherworldly and utterly breathtaking. “Haven’t you been here before?” Kit asked.
“No, we haven’t,” Belle said. At first, it seemed odd that they hadn’t. Then she realized that anyone who knew Mama wouldn’t wonder at it. Mama rarely let them leave the confines of the town, declaring there was nothing of interest beyond the borders of Little London. Except the real London, of course.
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