by Carol Arens
He was Baron Haversmere. The folks looking up at him belonged to the estate and the estate belonged to him. The realisation was humbling. Having a title might be a thing to make a man feel puffed up about himself. It only made Joe unsure because under it all he was just a cowboy.
Here in the moment it was going to take some fancy talk to convince some of these people not to flee their home. Without knowing exactly what he would say, he began with something to the effect of home sweet home and deep roots, courage and dedication. He told them he was convinced the ghostly appearances to be trickery on someone’s part and he promised to get the bottom of the mystery.
At the end of it, those who said they were leaving agreed to wait. Others felt somewhat reassured that the haunting was not real and, if it was real, Baron Haversmere would protect them.
When they walked away it was just him and Ma left standing on the steps. She slipped her arm through his, gazing out at the pastureland.
‘You make a wonderful baron, Son. Your father would be so proud.’
‘I never expected to feel my place here. I was wrong.’ He covered his mother’s hand with his and gently squeezed. ‘In case you have regrets about selling the ranch, I think you did the right thing, Ma. I’m glad you did.’
‘You will be even happier about it once you convince your young lady to marry you.’
‘I’ve been trying.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. And you will succeed. Any fool can see how much she loves you. But, given what she went through?’ She went up on her toes, kissed his cheek. ‘I got over my past when I met you and your father and she will as well. In the meantime you need to shave. Gentlemen do not grow whiskers.’
Olivia must not have got around to mentioning that grooming flaw.
She would, in time.
In time she would get around to many things. All he need do was wait, be patient and trust in answered prayer.
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia was relieved that the afternoon of the party arrived without further mischief from the ghost. Perhaps the vile creature felt a dash of remorse for abandoning a child in peril.
Remorseful or not, she would gladly throttle whoever had left her son in the river.
Thankfully fearful employees had stopped fleeing their jobs.
The only dampener on the party was the weather. It was damp. The damp weather was a dampener. The humour of it nearly made Olivia chuckle in spite of the wind-driven rain tapping at the windows.
London was a rainy place—the Lake District was more so. Parts of it, she had been told, were even wetter than Haversmere.
Luckily, she found rain rather pleasant, but that was only a small part of what she found pleasant. Lately, she found life exceptionally agreeable in spite of the haunting nonsense.
Victor was, well, happy to be his cowboy’s sidekick—yes, sidekick was the word her son was now fond of using.
But cowboy’s son would be better.
Cowboy’s wife—Baroness Haversmere—would be...well, she could scarcely imagine how wonderful it would be.
And suddenly, standing here among a throng of people, chatting, eating and drinking, she knew, beyond any doubt, she wanted to marry Joe.
What a fool she had been to allow hurt and fear be her guiding star. Just because she had rushed into marriage with Henry did not mean she needed to drag her feet with Joe. What idiocy had made her think so? Joe would be no less wonderful for her waiting to accept his proposal. He was who he had always been and who he would continue to be.
She loved Joe. She adored him for the man he was, not because he could fulfil her fairy-tale dreams of happily ever after. All right, he actually could do that, but she no longer had an innocent, untried heart. She knew what love was and what it was not. What a fickle-minded, stubborn-hearted woman she had been!
But no more. She had squandered too much precious time as it was. She glanced about. Where was her Baron?
Oh, just there, all the way on the other side of the room, speaking to the estate manager. It was hard to miss the troubled look shadowing his face.
Mr Smythe was scowling, shaking his head while he passed by vase after vase of spring flowers on his way out of the room.
The next person to approach Joe was smiling, gesturing with her hand at the decorations she, Esmeralda and Roselina had taken such care in planning.
It was a relief to see Joe returning her smile. Perhaps the matter with Mr Smythe had not been so urgent after all.
In a moment she would know for certain. She walked across the room towards Joe, but in her mind she was waltzing the distance to the tune of ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Not a true waltz, but the more intimate one Joe had taught her.
Thought of in the right way, she had been Princess Aurora—asleep to joy until a cowboy baron’s kiss woke her to life.
One thing she knew for certain, she was no longer cursed by the memory of a dead man. Now that she had woken, no one would be able to put her back in the miserable trunk she had created.
She was only steps away when Lord Grantly and his Countess waylaid her.
‘How lovely to see you again, Lady Olivia,’ the Countess greeted her with a bright smile. ‘It seems ages since we encountered each other at the opera—but it has not been, not really. Time just goes by so frightfully quickly, does it not?’
‘Frightfully.’ Unless one was waylaid in conversation. In that case it ticked by slowly. ‘And what a pleasure to see you, as well.’
If they had not been previously acquainted it would have been easier to keep the conversation short, thrifty. But, no, they had mutual friends who must be mentioned, them and their lovely children—their prosperous estates. And of course there was the happy betrothed couple to be rejoiced over.
By the time she was able to gracefully end the conversation, Joe was no longer in the room.
Olivia ducked into the hall before anyone else could engage her attention.
Since Joe had been discussing something with the estate manager, she suspected he might have gone to one of the barns.
It would be wise to go upstairs and get her coat. At that moment she did not feel like being wise, only following her heart—claiming her man.
* * *
Halfway to the sheep barn, she thought that might have been a mistake. She was drenched. Not shivering, though, she was too merry of spirit to feel the cold.
Once inside, she stood for a moment, sluicing water off her face and sleeves. No one was about, but the lamps were burning low. Mr Smythe must be close by, perhaps in his quarters at the far end of the barn.
Hurrying that way, she spotted something odd. Far back in one of the stalls it glinted under a short pile of straw. By the looks of it the thing had been hidden and in a hurry.
She bent down, brushed the straw away. My word—it was a woman’s gown, brown and plain, but with the most unusually shaped buttons.
One of them was missing.
The phantom was here! The wicked person who had left Victor in the river was close by and no doubt planning to cause a scene at the party.
She nearly shouted for Joe, but thought better of it. She wanted the person to be caught, not alerted.
Olivia picked up the gown, tucking it under her arm. She dashed the length of the barn, carefully checking each stall.
Convinced the wretch was not in this barn, she went out the back door, ran the short distance to the horse barn.
Before she drew the door open she heard voices, indistinct, but clearly male and female.
Luckily, the door made no noise when she stepped inside, then closed it behind her. Even luckier, she did not scream, probably because she suddenly felt cast in stone, watching Mrs Lapperton walk towards an open stall. She heard Joe’s voice, but whatever he said was spoken so softly she could not hear distinct words.
The hussy wore nothing but a shi
ft. Hands on her round hips, she swayed into the stall.
Olivia could see nothing of what went on. Oh, but her mind supplied dozens of images of Henry tangled with various lovers—in sweaty sheets, on carriage seats and rugs in front of blazing hearths.
If she could move, she would vomit on the floor—weep and fall to her knees. Rip her gown and lament her situation. How could she have fallen for Henry’s trickery again? She would shake her head to clear her brain, but her neck was stiff. She could not move.
‘Not Henry,’ whispered a still small voice in her heart, struggling to make it to the surface of reason.
Joe. She knew him, believed in him. This was her Joe.
The woman chuckled deep in her throat. Straw shuffled, indicating that she was taking short, slow steps, no doubt to make her hips sway seductively.
‘You and I,’ the voice crooned, sickly sweet. ‘Imagine it—picture it, my handsome lord, the pair of us together—right here in the straw—’
This was enough! There had been a time when Olivia gathered her misery about her, huddled in a corner hiding from truth like—she did not know what like for sure, but something weak and unworthy of womanhood. She began to feel herself again—arms, legs and heart began to rally.
Spirit rising, she curled her fists, muttered under her breath, ‘Thank you, Henry’. His betrayal had given her backbone, strength forged in heartache. How had she not recognised the bitter gift for what it was? Now that she did, she would use it.
Joe would never succumb to that woman’s treachery. She knew who he was—principled, reliable. He was hers! And he was waiting for an answer to his proposal. Oh, but he was about to get it.
As good fortune would have it, a bucket of water was within reach—it was a wonder she had not stumbled on it when she came in. She swirled the water with her fingertips. Good, it was nice and cold.
Mrs Lapperton was purring when Olivia stepped up behind her.
When the water hit her back, the wicked creature screeched. As far as Olivia was concerned, the outrage sounded akin to music.
It was as if the bucket of water had been dumped on every woman who had ever wronged her by dallying with Henry. Vindication made her feel like laughing out loud. So did seeing Joe backed up against the wall, brandishing a shovel in front of him.
Mrs Lapperton spun about, breathing through her teeth. She appeared good and stunned.
Fine, then. Olivia tossed the dress at her. ‘You are missing a button.’
Joe dropped the shovel, cursing under his breath. ‘You—!’ He cursed again, using a worse word, but of course it was not foul enough.
Olivia planted herself between him and the widow. ‘I will marry you, Joe.’
* * *
‘You will do what?’ He had to have misheard. His ears failed to recognise the not part of the phrase.
‘I will become your wife—tonight.’
He leapt, wrapping her up tight to make certain this was real and not a figment of his desire. Real! As soon as he kissed her, felt her give his love back, he knew it. She clung to him as tightly as he held on to her.
‘This is not how it looks,’ he said when he found his breath. ‘I promise it is not.’
‘It looks rather like you were about to clobber the strumpet with the shovel.’
‘She did have me cornered. Lucky thing you rescued me before I had to fight my way out of the stall.’
‘In the future, you can count on me to douse anyone trying to corner you.’
They laughed, kissed again.
Prudence Lapperton gasped, a reminder that, regrettably, they were not alone in the barn.
‘I hardly find having water dumped on me a matter of humour. I’ll catch my death of a chill.’
Olivia went suddenly rigid. She did not step away from him, but pivoted in the circle of his arms.
Lapperton yanked her dress over her hips, scowling as if she had just cause. The woman was about to discover the error of her thinking.
‘Did you give my son a thought after you left him in the river? How chilled he would be if he even survived drowning?’
‘I’m certain I do not know what you mean. And it is rather unbecoming of you to call me names.’
‘You fear names are the only weapon I can use against you that will not end up with you lying unconscious on the floor? But since I am to be married tonight, I would rather it be you in jail tonight and not me.’
Lapperton’s fingers trembled over buttoning her dress, snagged on the empty buttonhole. He couldn’t say it was not a gratifying sight.
It was a fortunate thing he had decided to keep the brass button with him. He had not known the moment proof would be required, only that it would be.
‘We found this near the lake where you left the lambs.’
‘Once again, I have no idea what you are talking about.’
The door at the end of the barn crashed open.
‘I found it, my lord—just like you—’ Mr Smythe stood in the doorway gripping a white sheet with holes cut out for eyes. ‘It is her—ach, good deduction, Lord Haversmere.’
‘The lot of you have lost your minds!’
‘Darlin’?’ Joe said and could not resist giving Olivia a quick kiss with the asking. ‘Is Constable Rollins still in attendance?’
‘I believe so. When I left he was bringing your mother a glass of punch.’
‘Shall we see what the lawman has to say about it, Mrs Lapperton?’
‘Say about what? You can hardly keep your people from fleeing a ghost by blaming it on me.’
‘You are, by and far, the most despicable woman I have had the misfortune to meet.’ Olivia stepped nearly nose to nose with her, clenching her skirt in her fists. Clearly she was within an inch of punching the woman. He would not try to stop her if she did it. ‘And you can be assured, I have met some of the worst. If you think this is about simple trickery, you truly are the fool you appear to be. The crime which we will present to the constable is attempted murder. Everyone here tonight will learn how you walked away from a little boy, left him to nearly drown in the Rothay.’
‘Mr Smythe, please escort this person back to the house. We will join you there in a moment.’
As soon as the door closed behind them, Joe cupped Olivia’s cheeks, turning her face so that he could better see what was in her eyes.
‘Say it again.’
‘She is the most despicable woman I have ever met—or exposing her wicked treatment of Victor—and how did you put it all together?’
‘Neither one of those.’ He kissed her. ‘The other.’
‘I will marry you, Joe.’
‘Tonight—you said that, too.’
‘Have the carriage readied. It is not so far to Gretna Green. We can be married before breakfast.’
He hugged her tight, then held her at arm’s length to better judge the answer to the question he had to ask.
‘Have you taken the time you need to decide this, darlin’? It was not coming upon the widow and me like you did that forced your choice?’
‘Firstly, I have wasted enough good time as it is.’ She tipped her head, smiling at him in the way that made her eyes slant. ‘Secondly, I was on my way to find you, to tell you how desperately I do want to marry you. So, no, my decision had nothing to do with that.’
‘I’m relieved—but blame it—you must have felt betrayed all over again.’
‘Oh, I did—but not betrayed by you. It was the oddest thing, it felt as though Henry sprung out of his grave to wound me again. But, Joe, he no longer can. And that is because of you. Even when I saw her trying to seduce you, I knew you would not succumb.’
‘Never—there is no one else but you, darlin’. There never will be.’
‘I know—and I feel the same—but why was she trying to seduce you?’
‘I’l
l tell you about it on the way back to the house.’
He lifted his coat over their heads. While they hurried from the horse barn, rain beat on it. It reminded him of the time he had kissed her in the alley beside the opera house.
Stopping, he kissed her again. ‘Do you remember?’
She nodded, grinned. ‘I was falling in love with you, even then.’
There was no better place than this to go down on his knee, so he did. When he opened the velvet box, withdrew the ring and proposed again, she held out her hand, waggling her finger at him.
He stood up, eager to call for the coach. ‘Tonight—Gretna Green.’ It was what she had said and he would hold her to it.
‘Tonight.’ She hugged him tight. ‘Let’s get to the house, Joe. On the way you can tell me what Mrs Lapperton hoped to get out of all this.’
They dashed through the sheep barn to avoid some of the rain.
‘What she wanted was Haversmere. I think she planned to turn it into an inn. I’m pretty sure she did this haunting business once before to a fellow who owned an inn in Grasmere. She did try to purchase Haversmere from Pa, but he refused, she told me that much.’
Coming out of the sheep barn, they were hit by rain again—not that he minded, not as long as he could hug his betrothed close beside him.
‘So when your father would not,’ Olivia said, holding tight to him, ‘she began haunting Haversmere the same as she had the inn?’
‘It appears so. I can only wonder how she did not get caught.’
‘Slippery ghoul. But you and Mr Smythe did catch her.’
‘It was because of him that we did. He came to me because he spotted Lapperton in an area she had no business being in. Since she had expressed that interest in buying Haversmere, to me and to Pa both, and been turned down, I wondered if she might try to entrap me—force a marriage to get it.’
‘She did act forwardly around you. She must have thought it a surer way to get her hands on the estate than haunting it.’
‘I said as much to Smythe and he agreed. That is why I made a show of going out alone, just to see if she would spot me and follow. It gave Smythe time to look about for anything that might be amiss, any small odd thing that might give her away.’
