"So what do you say, Morgan?" a local businessman asked. "You'll go?"
"Go?" He jerked his head up. To Military Plaza? Did they know about Christina already? "Go where?"
"To England, man."
"England? Me?" What had he missed? Cole crushed the note in his fist and quickly shoved it into his pocket. "Why in the world would I want to go to England?"
Elizabeth Delaney sighed as she smoothed a straying strand of graying hair back into her coiffure. "Cole, you haven't been paying attention, have you?"
That quickly, he was thirteen again, mortified at being scolded by the woman he held above all others. "I'm sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I'm afraid I was distracted by a message I just received." Another sin to place at Christina's feet.
Elizabeth's tender smile offered both forgiveness and encouragement. "Word has reached the Historical Society that one of the missing copies of our Declaration of Independence may well be in England. We suspect it was included in papers sent to the Republic of Texas's legation in London some forty-odd years ago. My father, the Earl of Thornbury, has heard a rumor that an Englishman whose family had ties with the Texas embassy in London may have it in his possession. We have unanimously chosen you as our representative to investigate this rumor and, we hope, to track the document down and bring it home."
They what? Cole shot an incredulous look around Elizabeth Delaney's parlor, where the cream of San Antonio society sat smiling at him. "Wouldn't that be a bit like sending a chuck wagon cookie to the ballet?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Cole." Elizabeth Delaney's elegant eyebrows dipped into a frown as she added, "You are every inch the gentleman—when you wish to be, anyway—and I am certain you will hold your own with any peer of the realm."
"She's right," piped up the distinguished owner of a local bank. "You're a home-grown aristocrat, Morgan. You ooze that Texan-born-and-bred pride, but you do it within acceptable bounds for Polite Society. It's a talent, I say. One that will serve you well on this quest."
Aristocrat? His father had been a gardener and his mother a laundry maid in England before immigrating to Texas. Before he could pose another protest, the butler nudged him in the back, reminding Cole of the note. I need to talk to Jake.
But first, he needed to get out of going to England.
He shook his head slowly, then motioned toward his best friend, Elizabeth Delaney's son and the new Chili Queen's brother. "Jake should go. The earl is his grandfather, after all, not mine."
"No." Jake folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, eyeing Cole keenly. "I have a new client. Remember? The trial is scheduled to begin in six weeks, but I intend to ask for a delay. This case could drag on for some time. I won't be going anywhere for the foreseeable future."
Cole scowled. He'd forgotten about the murder trial. Maybe it was kismet that he was reminded at this particular moment of the man accused of murdering a family member during a fit of rage. So I won't strangle Christina. I'll just make her wish I had.
He threw a pleading look toward Jake. "Maybe this... quest... could wait until the trial is done? You know I just bought that ranchland west of town, and I'd hoped to spend my extra time during the next few months getting that operation up and running."
Elizabeth Delaney shook her head. "I think a delay is ill-advised. This is the first good lead we've had on any of the missing copies of the Declaration since we started looking two years ago. I strongly feel we dare not waste a moment investigating the matter further."
"You'll do fine, Cole," Jake said, a spark of mischief in his green eyes. "I agree with my mother on this one. You are the perfect choice."
Fine. Thanks for nothing, friend.
As payback, Cole crossed the room and offered a handshake to Jake. "Thanks for the support," he drawled, allowing just a touch of sarcasm to enter his voice as he transferred the crumpled note to the other man's hand. Then, with his back toward the august assembly in the parlor, he gazed out the window toward the rose garden his father had planted for Elizabeth Delaney. Go to England? His father would turn over in his grave.
Samuel Morgan had cursed his native country for the last six years of his life, ever since a duke's son decided to see what it was like to "swive a breeder" and had raped Sam's pregnant wife. In the attack Rosemary Morgan lost both the child she carried and the promise of having any more. When the young lord was let off with little more than a reprimand, Sam took the question of punishment into his own hands and almost killed the bastard before gathering his wife and son and running away to Texas.
"Cole?" Elizabeth asked.
England. It was the last place on earth Cole wanted to visit. But Elizabeth wanted him to go. The woman who'd rescued a shattered eight-year-old at the funeral of his parents and taken him to raise as one of her own seldom asked a favor of him. Since he'd gladly lay down his life for the lady, he couldn't refuse this request. "All right," he said with a sigh, turning back to her. "I'll do it."
At least he saw one bright side to the plan. In England, he'd be far away from Christina and her shenanigans.
Elizabeth offered him that certain smile she reserved for special occasions, the one that made Cole feel ten feet tall.
"Excellent. I knew we could count on you." She turned to one of the other committee members and asked, "George, do you have the information I requested containing the particulars of this rumor so that Cole may make his plans?"
"I'm still waiting on one name, Elizabeth," the fellow answered. "I hope to have everything ready by the end of the week."
"Very well." To Cole, Elizabeth said, "I'll see you get what you need as soon as possible."
He nodded, suddenly looking forward to the trip in spite of himself. He hoped their information was right. Finding one of the missing parchments would be personally rewarding.
The Republic of Texas's Declaration of Independence was a historically significant document. Unfortunately, when the capitol burned two years earlier, the lone copy the State of Texas had possessed had gone up in smoke. That's when the Historical Preservation Society of San Antonio had decided to instigate a search for the remaining four copies that had disappeared after the Constitutional Convention in 1836. Cole believed the quest a worthy one and he'd be honored to assist in bringing the document home, though he'd be doing it for Elizabeth as much as for history's sake.
At that point, a choked-off exclamation told Cole his friend had finally read the note. Cole watched as Jake's complexion went red, then white, then red again. Obviously, he liked his sister's new avocation about as much as Cole did.
Watching Jake Delaney's temper build took the fire out of Cole's own anger. She was Jake's sister, after all, not his, despite the fact they'd been raised in each other's pockets. Let Jake take care of the termagant. He'd been happy enough to abandon Cole to an unscheduled sea voyage.
As the meeting's discussion turned to a question of what should be done about the deteriorating condition of the Alamo, Jake quietly rose from his seat and slipped out of the house. Cole ducked out behind him. This confrontation between brother and sister was one he didn't want to miss.
"I can't believe her!" Jake exclaimed when Cole caught up with him halfway along the stone path to the carriage house. "What was she thinking? How could she do this? She's a Delaney. Delaneys have a reputation to uphold."
"Maybe you need to clarify what kind of reputation," Cole suggested.
Jake made a growling noise low in his throat.
All of a sudden, Cole wanted to laugh. With Jake taking responsibility for his sister, the burden was off his own shoulders, and he could see past his immediate anger. How typical for Christina to pull a stunt like this. They should have known the last few months of relative peace wouldn't last.
"Look, Jake," Cole said, hoping to ease the tension a bit before they reached the square. If Jake lost control in public, he'd turn a scandal into a Scandal. "It could be worse. She didn't steal a horse or rob a train. She didn't run off with a patent medicine salesman."
/> Jake appeared to find the first two items soothing. The third obviously got his goat. He knifed a glare at Cole. "We don't know that. You know who's in town, hawking his wares on the plaza? Dr. J. L. Lighthall, otherwise known as the Diamond King."
"The Diamond King," Cole repeated. "Isn't he the one who pulls teeth?"
"With lightning dexterity. Women are obsessed with the talent in his hands. He's a handsome scalawag and flashy dresser, and he gives a nightly speech from a gilded chariot that resembles a circus wagon while his minions walk through the crowd selling Lighthall's so-called medicine."
So Chrissy had been spending her evenings listening to this charlatan's drivel? Cole heaved a disgusted sigh. Apparently Christina Elizabeth Delaney had managed to do something exceptionally stupid this time. Considering her vast experience with idiotic acts, surpassing previous efforts took some doing.
The girl had been a pest all her life. She used to drive him and Jake crazy when they were children, trailing at the older boys' heels from the day she learned to walk. By the time she'd turned six, they'd dubbed her "Bug."
Somewhere between the age of nine and twelve her adulation for her brother and his friend had evolved into competition toward them. That's when the more serious trouble started. Dressed as a boy, she once entered a horse race and ran against them both. Beat them, too. He and Jake had had a hard time living that one down. Then there was the time she played that outhouse prank on the headmaster of Royal Oaks Boys' School and set Cole and her brother up to take the blame. Such incidents went on for months until the night she followed them to the Gentleman's Club and got an eyewitness education of what the world's oldest profession was all about.
One good thing came out of that night, however. The Delaneys sent Christina back east to finishing school, and they'd all enjoyed three years of relative peace prior to her return.
Those Yankees had finished Christina, all right, Cole thought darkly. A tomboy had traveled north. A certified flirt made the trip back south. Over the course of the past five years since coming home to San Antonio, she'd broken seven marriage engagements, innumerable hearts, and now, by the looks of things, the backbone of her brother's patience.
Cole didn't ask whether Jake wanted his help. Instead he climbed into the shotgun seat of the coal-box buggy and waited for his friend to take the reins.
After a good five minutes of brooding silence while he drove toward the plaza, Jake started talking. "I can't believe her. Ever since Pa died, she's acted wild as a turpentined cat. Why does she have to be so different from other girls? Did my family make it happen? Did the Yankees do it to her? What do you think, Cole?"
What Cole thought was that he should choose his words carefully. Instead, as usual, he was blunt. "She's wild because you've let her get away with it. The girl has played you like a hoedown fiddle since the day we buried your father. You should have taken her in hand years ago, Jake."
"I know," he acknowledged with a sigh. "I just felt so guilty."
"You shouldn't. Your father sent her off to school, not you. She shouldn't have followed us to the whorehouse."
"You know how close she and Father were. She missed sharing the last three years of his life because I told him what she did."
"No." Cole resisted the urge to slap some sense into his friend and instead replied in a patient tone. "No, she missed sharing the last years of your father's life due to her own actions. You are not the responsible party, Jake. She is."
He shrugged, but sat a little taller in his seat. They rode in silence another few minutes until they passed one of the local Catholic churches. Cole's grin was wry as he cocked his head toward the front doors. "I still say it could be worse. She could be at Frank Simpson's wedding causing a scene."
Jake shut his eyes and shuddered at the thought.
One of Chrissy's old fiancés was getting married tonight. Cole wouldn't put it past her to waltz into the church and tell ol' Frank she'd changed her mind and wanted him after all. The fool would take her back, Cole knew, even at the altar in front of the priest.
Because Christina Elizabeth Delaney was beautiful. Punch-in-the-gut gorgeous. Cole wasn't exactly certain when the gangly, gawky girl had been transformed into a well-rounded woman with thick, fiery hair, warm malachite eyes, and full, pouty lips that begged a man's kiss. All he knew was that one day he looked up and there she was, breathtaking and alluring.
It had been a disconcerting moment for Cole.
Luckily, his knowledge of her true nature kept him thinking straight. He'd realized long ago that a good disposition in a woman was much more important to a man's happiness than physical beauty. Christina's own mother was responsible for the lesson. To Cole's mind, Elizabeth Delaney was as near to perfection as a woman could be. She was charming, witty, gracious and graceful. Her manners were impeccable, her social skills unsurpassed. She was a Lady with a capital L and Cole had honored and respected her all his life. He hoped when he was ready to marry he could find a woman much like Elizabeth Delaney.
He observed aloud, "Isn't it curious how different your sister is from your mother? One would think two females in the same family would be a good deal more alike."
Jake snorted. "They're as alike as night and day. Of course, Mother was reared in England, so that probably accounts for some of the difference. Remember those stories Pa used to tell about my grandfather? 'Strict disciplinarian' doesn't begin to describe it." After a moment's thought, he added, "You know, I've never looked at it this way before. It truly is amazing to think that Mother and Chrissy belong to the same family. I mean, can you even begin to picture my mother joining the Chili Queens?"
"About as well as I can picture your Christina taking tea with the Queen of England." After a moment's pause, he added, "That word makes me shudder."
"Queen?"
"No. The other one."
"England." Jake considered it a moment, then shrugged. "It'll be fine, Cole. You'll track down our missing Declaration. I have faith in you." Then Jake's mouth settled into a glum smile and he added, "Shoot, I think you have the better end of the stick. You get to travel to England and maybe see their queen. I have to stay here and deal with ours."
Cole nodded. Christina Elizabeth Delaney, Chili Queen of San Antonio, Texas. "It's enough to turn a man off beans, isn't it?"
* * *
Christina Delaney laughed as she whirled across the plaza to the tune of the Mexican street band.
Wearing a white peasant blouse and a flowing scarlet skirt, she flashed a smile at the handsome vaquero who was her partner and lifted her hands above her head to clap in time to the beat. She loved to dance. She loved to lose herself in music, to feel the rhythm of the song deep within her soul. When she danced, she felt free to be herself.
Chrissy especially loved that feeling.
The yen for freedom had been a part of her since childhood, and she suspected it had its roots in the innumerable times she had watched her brother and Cole go off on an adventure while she was made to stay behind in deference to her gender. For a long, long time she had hated being a girl. She'd tried to deny her femininity, to overcome the liability of being female. Then, in a series of experiences that began with a broken heart and ended with her first severed engagement, she learned the power of being a woman.
After that, Chrissy embraced her womanhood with enthusiasm.
As the song ended, she hugged her dance partner, accepted his kiss on the cheek, then took up with another man for the next dance as the music started anew. She knew she acted recklessly, knew she'd launch San Antonio society tongues wagging with the scandal, but she truly didn't care. The last battle with her mother had driven her to it.
For months she'd tried to conform to Elizabeth's wishes. She'd dressed respectably, acted properly, and tried to get along. She'd even joined the Garden Club despite the fact the flowers they surrounded themselves with invariably made her sneeze. She had felt trapped like a frisky filly in a small corral, but she'd given it her best effo
rt.
Did her mother notice? Hardly. Did she praise Chrissy's efforts? Seldom. Did she ever tell her she loved her? Never. Not ever. Not once in Chrissy's recollection.
On the other hand, Elizabeth Delaney sure managed to notice and express her disapproval when Chrissy did something so objectionable as to attend the Garden Club meeting with her hair down. From her mother's reaction, you'd have thought she'd committed the crime of the century. Chrissy had reached the end of her rope. She quit trying to be what she was not. She might have been born to Society, but she fit better with those down here in the plaza.
Plaza de Las Armas, or Military Plaza, was an open-air bazaar for hucksters, nighthawks, and peddlers at whose stands might be purchased everything from a pair of spectacles to a serape. But the features which made Military Plaza different from other city squares in the South were the open-air restaurants serving chili con carne and other pungent Mexican dishes to customers seated on small benches around cloth-draped tables. Lanterns and smoldering mesquite fires provided the light. Raven-haired senoritas waited tables and sang out to the cooks: "Un medio tamales y chili gravey, un plata frijoles, un enchilada y tassa cafe."
One stand, however, proved different from the rest. While most of the queens were of Spanish descent, Anglo-Saxon aggressiveness had asserted itself and, this very night, had earned for a certain red-haired, light-eyed woman the acknowledgment of queen of all queens. As announced by the official tabulator a short time ago, on account of her beauty, vivacity, aptitude of repartee, and of course, the superior quality of her chili, Miss Chrissy Delaney had been voted Queen of the Chili Queens of San Antonio, Texas.
Chrissy had started to cry. Acceptance. What a delicious dish.
Then, the band had struck up the music, vaqueros tossed down their sombreros, and Chrissy began to dance. Forty-five minutes later she was still dancing, barefoot now, her eyes alight, her face flushed, and her smile as wide as the West Texas plain. She swished her skirt, showed a little ankle, threw a few kisses, and glanced up to see her brother and his starched-shirt, disapproving, hypocritical sidekick, Cole I'm-perfect-and- you're-not Morgan.
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 31
