by Janet Dailey
She nodded her head slightly at the compliment, but didn’t reply. Setting his hat on his head, he walked away toward the street doors. Lorna watched him go and lingered a few minutes in the lobby, loath to go back to the room just yet to wait for Benteen to return.
Just then a murmur went through the lobby, and heads turned toward the staircase. Lorna’s curious glance swung to it and saw her, the older woman she’d seen at the top of the stairs the day before. This afternoon she was wearing a biscuit-colored traveling suit with a stylish hat to shade her face. She descended the stairs with slow, regal grace, seemingly oblivious of the stir she was creating. Lorna noticed the way the woman never looked directly at people and thus didn’t invite them to speak to her.
The woman’s wandering course took her to the side of the room where Lorna was standing. She gave the impression she was waiting for someone. When the woman noticed Lorna, she smiled faintly and nodded to her. This recognition by someone so obviously important brought a rush of excitement as Lorna returned the gesture.
With a studied casualness the woman suddenly wandered over to Lorna. The small smile on her lips took Lorna’s attention away from the stare of the woman’s dark eyes. It seemed impossible that this lady was actually seeking her out.
“We seem to be the only women here,” the woman remarked with a brief glance at the male population in the lobby.
“I’m sure none of them are looking at me,” Lorna replied in all sincerity.
A soft laugh came from the woman’s throat. “How flattering of you to say that.”
“It’s the truth,” Lorna assured her. It would be impossible for her to compete with the woman’s looks, clothes or poise. She was the epitome of everything beautiful and sophisticated.
“Let me introduce myself. I’m Elaine Dunshill, wife to the Earl of Crawford.”
Then she had been right about the woman being one of the titled aristocracy. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, your ladyship.” Lorna made a little curtsy, as she had been taught in Miss Hilda’s School. An eyebrow was slightly raised by Lady Elaine at the proper reference. “I’m Mrs. Lorna Calder.”
“From Texas.” It seemed more statement than guess.
“I am,” Lorna confirmed with vague surprise. “How did you know?”
“That soft, drawling accent of yours,” she explained. “Nearly everyone in Dodge City seems to be from Texas.”
“That’s because of the trail herds.” She summoned the boldness to ask, “Where are you from?”
“England. My husband and I are on an extended tour of America. When my husband was younger, he spent a year in the West. The stories he tells about his adventures.” The woman widened her dark eyes to indicate they were endless. “He’s decided to relive some of it. Actually we’re on our way to San Francisco.”
“I’ve heard it’s an exciting city,” Lorna admitted.
“Yes.” She seemed indifferent, and glanced toward the street doors. “At the present, I’m waiting for my husband to bring the carriage around. He wants to drive out and look at some of the herds. He cherishes the dream of someday being the proprietor of a large ranch in the West. Are you waiting for your husband, too?”
“Yes.” In a way, it was partially true, although it wasn’t precisely her reason for being in the lobby. “He rode out this morning with a cattle buyer to show him some steers he wants to sell.”
“You and your husband are here in Dodge City to sell cattle?”
“Yes, but we’re only passing through on our way to the Montana Territory. My husband has some land there that he’s going to run cattle on. It will be our new home,” Lorna explained.
“Then you have left Texas for good?” The English lady appeared mildly interested by that discovery.
Some of Lorna’s regret must have shown in her expression, because the blond-haired woman guessed, “It must have been very difficult to start out on a new life.”
“It was.” Which was something of an understatement, but Lorna didn’t want to confide how painful it had been.
“Do you and your husband still have family in Texas?” she inquired.
“Benteen’s father passed away shortly before we left, but both my parents live there,” Lorna explained.
“How sad for your husband,” Lady Elaine murmured. She lowered her lashes to conceal any hint that the news was of significance to her. The last potential problem was gone. Too many years had passed for her to feel anything but relief. Always keen in her observations of small details, she noticed the rough and reddened hands of the young Calder wife. She experienced a rare surge of compassion, perhaps because her thoughts had briefly turned back to her own harsh years. “I hope you won’t be offended, Mrs. Calder, but in the short time I’ve been in the West, I have discovered how damaging this climate can be to a woman’s skin.”
Lorna reddened and tried to conceal her hands in the folds of her dress. She was well aware of the contrast between her skin and the woman’s creamy smooth complexion.
“I have a lotion that my chemist prepared specially for me. I should like to have my maid bring some to your room. It does wonders, I assure you.”
“It’s very generous of you,” Lorna murmured.
“Women need to look out for each other. Actually, we do a much better job of it than men.” Again there was that faint smile. “I’ll send my maid to your room with some of my lotion.” The street door opened and an elegantly dressed gentleman entered. “My husband is here with the carriage. I must leave. It was a pleasure talking to you, Mrs. Calder.”
“Good day to you, your ladyship.” Again Lorna made a small curtsy and received a gracious nod before the woman turned and glided across the lobby.
Lorna had expected the lady’s husband to be some dashing and handsome nobleman, but the man Lady Elaine greeted was much older than Lorna believed the woman to be. He wasn’t at all handsome. Except for his clothes, he looked dull and ordinary. He ruined Lorna’s fantasy that Lady Elaine was wedded to a Prince Charming.
She was so engrossed in the titled couple that she almost didn’t see Benteen enter the hotel. The elegantly dressed woman was facing away from him. She received no more than a passing glance from him to ascertain it wasn’t Lorna as he walked by. A second later he spied his wife across the lobby. At first he thought the rapt look on her face was for him, and his stride quickened, but it vanished when she saw him.
Benteen didn’t realize how many little things in their relationship he’d taken for granted. Like the way she used to turn to him when he touched her, the special excitement in her eyes when he looked at her, and the way she always watched for him. But not anymore. He tried to steel himself not to feel the loss.
Lorna hadn’t turned out to be the loving, amenable wife he had thought she would be. At times she was too assertive, too ready to disagree with him, and too critical of his actions. He blamed Mary Stanton’s influence for the way Lorna had started talking back to him. Those new qualities in her rankled him, yet he strangely admired her passionate spirit, her strength of will, and her unbending pride. When she angered him, he wanted to break her—as he had nearly done when he’d raped her. Yet Benteen had the uneasy feeling that if he ever succeeded in making her kneel to him, he would cease to care. It was an odd contradiction that he didn’t understand.
He was trying not to care for her so much, so he wouldn’t be scarred if she left him. If he couldn’t hold her, he wanted to be able to turn his back on her and block her existence from his mind. That’s what his father should have done.
“I didn’t expect to see you in the lobby,” he remarked when he reached her. “I thought you’d be in the room.”
“I was just on my way there,” Lorna replied.
“Who is the young woman?” Con Dunshill asked of his wife. She usually expressed no interest in those of her own sex, so he had been surprised and curious to see Elaine in conversation with a young woman, especially one not of her class.
“I really do
n’t know,” she lied, to make it appear that the girl’s identity was of no import to her.
Her husband’s attention was diverted by the appearance of the man who had volunteered to accompany them out to see the herds of Longhorns. Lady Elaine slid a glance across the lobby at the young woman who was her daughter-in-law.
An alertness stilled her wandering thoughts when she saw the tall, lean cowboy talking to Lorna Calder. Her sharp gaze studied his hewn features. The resemblance was there, a rougher version of Seth Calder, but it was Benteen. Her son whom she had abandoned so many years ago.
She felt no guilt about it. She’d had enough trouble talking Con into taking her away with him. A child would have complicated everything. Besides, Seth had doted on the boy. Benteen had served as an anchor to keep Seth in Texas rather than come after her. If she had taken his son, Madelaine knew Seth would have torn up the world until he found him.
Madelaine—Lady Elaine—was convinced that some women were cut out for the role of mother, and others weren’t. She wasn’t. There wasn’t anything associated with Benteen that she had found remotely satisfying or pleasant. The pregnancy had been terrible. She had nearly ruined her figure. During those long, torturous hours of labor she had cursed Seth repeatedly for planting this child inside her. When she finally expelled the thing from her that was causing so much pain, she was only glad to be rid of it. She had no desire to see it or hold it; only with the greatest reluctance did she let the infant suckle at her breasts. She left it to Seth to see to many of the baby’s needs.
In her opinion, no woman should be obliged to have a child when she was only sixteen. It seemed she had never been young or carefree. Always it had been work and responsibility—the kind that threatened to ruin her beauty. She used to dream about fine clothes and jewelry, and tons of money that she could spend any way she wanted. Then Con had ridden up one day to water his horse, and Madelaine had found the way to obtain the riches she’d dreamed about. Madelaine Calder had become Elaine Asher.
It had been relatively easy to manipulate Con Dunshill, second in line of succession to the Earl of Crawford. At first she’d had to be content to be his consort. He had showered her with expensive gifts and clothes, taken her to the finest places in San Francisco and later New York. She convinced him that only his persuasions had prompted her to leave her husband and son, weighting him down with guilt. When she had intercepted a telegram from his family ordering him back to England, she conveniently mislaid it and trumped up a story that she’d gotten hold of a Fort Worth newspaper and learned of the death of her husband and son. By the time she “found” the telegram, Con was ready to take her to England with him as his fiancée. She had already acquired a good deal of sophistication. Together they came up with a background that would convince his family she would be a suitable bride. As the stories go, they lived happily ever after.
She had taken great pains not to have any more children, letting the other Dunshill wives provide the sons to continue the line. Con assumed that he was sterile, which gave her another hold over him. For all his education, he lacked the ability to scheme and maneuver people. Elaine had learned well and had secretly amassed a small fortune of her own.
It was a rather novel experience to know that the man standing across the room was her son. He moved slightly, giving Elaine a better view of his face. He had grown into a virile man. The more she looked, the more she saw. Ruthless determination, ambition, and the drive to succeed. She recognized those qualities in him, because they came from her. What a team they could make, she thought, then sighed.
“It took longer than I thought,” Benteen said. “Were you able to keep yourself amused?”
“Just before you came, I was talking to that lady I told you about,” Lorna said. “And she is a lady. Her husband is an English earl. She’s right over there by the door. You passed her when you came in.”
Benteen half-turned to look as the petite, well-dressed woman walked out of the hotel on the arm of a gentleman.
“Why was she talking to you?” he asked.
“I guess because I was the only other female present.” Lorna wasn’t really sure herself. “She was very kind. She’s going to send her maid to our room to give me some of her special lotion for my skin to heal its roughness.”
“Can’t you get something for it? We don’t need charity from her kind,” he insisted tersely.
“It isn’t charity,” Lorna retorted. “It’s no different than when Mary lets me use some of her thread to mend your clothes. Women do those things for each other.”
Benteen had the urge to order her to refuse it, but he had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t assert his will on her.
The minute she mentioned Mary’s name, she was sidetracked by the thought of her friend. “Did you see Mary when you rode out to the herd?” she asked. “She said that she and Ely wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of days. They are still there, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Ely’s making repairs to their wagon to get it back in shape.”
“I didn’t think Mary would leave without telling me good-bye.” But she was relieved just the same. “It seems as if I’ve always known her,” she mused. Life seemed to be made up of constant good-byes. “It’s hard to accept that I’ll probably never see her again either.”
“I sold the cattle.” Benteen changed the subject, not liking the sense of guilt her remark gave him.
Lorna realized she hadn’t inquired about the success of his morning’s outing. Cattle, always cattle. “I hope you got a good price for them.” It was a perfunctory comment, offered out of duty rather than interest.
“Eighteen dollars a head.”
“Is that good?”
“That’s what they pay for prime—sometimes twenty,” he replied to assure her it was a very good price. “There’s a big demand for beef in the European markets. That’s what is keeping the price up.”
His words were reminiscent of other remarks she’d heard at the lunch table. A smile teased the corners of her mouth when she also remembered Bull Giles’s biting comments.
“Did I say something amusing?” His gaze narrowed.
Lorna quickly wiped the smile from her face as she decided not to test the extent of Benteen’s sense of humor. “No, not at all. I was thinking of something else.”
“Have you eaten?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” She wasn’t going to conceal anything from him. “All the tables were full except one. Mr. Giles suggested that we share it.”
“Giles? Bull Giles?”
“Yes. He’s arrived here in Dodge.” She included the obvious information.
“As your husband, I have the right to request that you have nothing more to do with that man,” Benteen stated.
“I haven’t given you any cause to make that request,” Lorna replied coolly. “Besides, we’re leaving tomorrow. More than likely Mr. Giles is another person I’ll be telling good-bye and never seeing again.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. Is there a particular reason why you keep bringing it up?” Benteen grew stiff.
Lorna wished devoutly that she hadn’t. It was too depressing. “No. No reason,” she said in a dispirited tone. A wry smile tugged the corners of her mouth up. “I have grown up some, Benteen. Now I can tell people good-bye and not cry all day about it.” This time she changed the subject. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Shall we go into the dining room, then?” she suggested. “I’ll have a cup of tea while you eat.”
That evening, Lorna retired to their hotel room after dinner while Benteen again made his excuses not to stay. Too restless to sleep, Lorna sat on the bed and read the newspaper he had bought earlier.
She was surprised by a knock on the door. It seemed unlikely that Benteen had come back so early, and he had a key to let himself in. She doubted that Bull Giles would be so bold as to come to the room. She glanced at the valise near the bed where she kept the pistol Benteen had given her
.
“Who is it?” Lorna demanded, and moved to the end of the bed closer to the valise.
“I am Lady Crawford’s maid,” came the precisely spoken reply. “She sent me by with some lotion for the madam.”
Lorna hadn’t exactly forgotten about it, but she thought the woman had. She crossed the room and unlocked the door. When she opened it, the maid was standing outside. She wore a black dress with a pristine white apron and a ruffled cap atop her head. She looked as starched and stiff as her clothes, as she made an inspecting glance at Lorna.
“The lotion, madam.” She seemed to sniff her disapproval as she presented Lorna with a small jar.
“Will you express my gratitude to her ladyship, and give her my regards?” Lorna requested with equal formality, and clutched the jar tightly in her hands, treasuring the thought that its contents might make her skin as smooth as Lady Crawford’s.
The maid appeared vaguely surprised that Lorna was capable of civilized speech. “I will, madam.” She made a brief curtsy and turned on her heel to rustle down the hall in her starched dress.
The lotion seemed to be all that Lady Crawford had claimed it to be. Lorna swore she felt a difference the minute she applied it to her face and hands. If she used it sparingly, it would last a long time. She could hardly wait until Mary tried some of it.
Most of her elation faded when she thought of her friend. She had hoped she’d be able to persuade Mary to continue on with them. But Benteen had said they were making preparations to leave. With the strain of her marriage, it was going to be a very long and lonely journey to the Montana Territory.
Again Lorna was asleep when Benteen returned in the early morning. She didn’t hear him undress and slide into bed beside her, taking care not to touch her.
The first rays of the sun were shining through the window when he stood fully clothed beside the bed. “Wake up, Lorna,” he said briskly.
She stirred and rolled over to blink sleepily at him. For a few seconds there was warmth in her eyes for him; then it faded.
