Читать книгу A Texan's Honour - Kate Welsh - Страница 7

New York City

September 1878

“Mister Reynolds,” his cousin’s butler said as he entered the study. Alexander looked up from the map he’d been studying as the tall gray-haired man continued, “A young woman claiming to be a friend of the countess has arrived. She seems a bit … nervous, sir. I thought perhaps you would be kind enough to explain that the earl and countess have sailed for Ireland.”

“It is rather late.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Alex took a sip of his cognac, cautious as always to assume the careless persona he showed the world. Soon he would be free to let go of that facade. Soon that character and everything that had created him would be in the past and he could figure out who the hell he really was.

“Not looking forward to disappointing the lady, Winston?” he pretended to tease. “You never have that problem when I ask you to send a persistent mamma on her way.”

Winston stiffened to his tallest, most formal self. “This is different. Disappointing teary-eyed, exhausted females is not my forte, sir.”

“You think it’s mine?” Alex asked carefully. Was it?

“Not at all. But as I mentioned, she seems to be worried. And fretful. I suppose I could awaken Heddie—”

“No. No,” Alex said on a sigh. Mrs. Winston worked hard every day and was doing more than usual closing up Jamie’s house and with little help. He on the other hand had been doing nothing but marking time until what he thought of as his real life began.

Dammit. Why couldn’t this woman have waited another day to show up on his cousin’s doorstep? “I suppose I should earn my keep around here.”

Winston’s left eyebrow rose imperiously. “I believe you did that into perpetuity in San Francisco. You saved the lives of the earl and countess, their child and the lives of the entire household staff.”

And all he’d had to do to accomplish that was to kill his own father. Alex knocked back the rest of his snifter of Jamie’s best cognac.

The guilt from that night and from the years of hesitation and half measures that had preceded it threatened to crush him. He would have done it years earlier had he known it would come to that. He hoped so at least. It would have saved others endless heartache, his own years of regret and several lives.

“I’d best be off to handle this dirty work for you,” Alex joked, forcing his thoughts into the present. “Where did you leave the young lady? Not on the doorstep, I hope.”

“Sir! Of course not. I showed her to the front parlor.”

Alex forced a grin. Sometimes it was exceedingly tiring to pretend a lightheartedness he didn’t feel. “I never thought otherwise. Take a breath, Winston.” He stood to go in search of … “The young lady in question, Winston, what is her name?”

“Mrs. Patience Wexler Gorham.”

Alex rose. “I should hurry, I suppose. It has been my experience that women named Patience have little of the virtue to call their own.”

Winston nodded smartly, then withdrew. Alex strode down the stairs and along the hall of the New York town house. The house spoke of his cousin Jamie’s success. But, even more, of his determination to get out from under Alex’s father’s shadow.

Alex had always pretended to be the carefree one but somehow Jamie had managed to blossom into all that was sunshine and light. He smiled. Seeing Jamie so happy made everything he’d done since he’d turned twelve worthwhile.

Meanwhile Alex had spent years as a phantom and now he couldn’t quite find his way out of the darkness. It was his turn to crawl from behind the shadow that had been Oswald Reynolds, just as Jamie had done. The next step on that journey was leaving New York to begin his new life on the Rocking R, the Texas Hill Country ranch he’d bought. He was counting on the completely foreign, totally sunny atmosphere to free him of some of the weight on his shoulders. Of the darkness in his soul.

Because he couldn’t seem to do it for himself.

He stepped into the doorway of the parlor, a lovely, light-infused room with Louis Quinze furnishings, gleaming white woodwork and golden brocade-inset wall panels. Three exquisite crystal chandeliers kept it bright even at night.

But the beauty of the decorating paled in the presence of the lovely creature standing near the fireplace. He stared for a long moment at her reflection in a mirror on a side wall. Her profile was delicate, her green eyes heavily fringed with dark lashes and her hair a rich auburn.

Alex’s heart bumped in his chest when he cleared his throat and she spun to face him. Disappointment flooded those crystalline eyes. Winston, you rotter.

He cleared his tight throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gorham,” he said. “I come the bearer of unfortunate news. My cousin, Jamie, and his wife sailed this morning for his estate in Ireland.”

“No,” she cried. Her creamy complexion went instantly pale. “Oh, no! What am I to do now?” She looked suddenly as if all the starch had gone out of her. Wobbling a bit, she made a grab for the mantel.

Alex knew an overwrought woman when he saw one. The hand gripping the solid surface would hold her upright only so long. He reached her just in time to catch her before she could pitch forward on her face. He scooped her up then laid her on the settee. But she didn’t awaken. Not even when he went from patting her hand to stroking the lovely creature’s smooth cheek. He looked down upon her and found himself, just for a moment, tumbling headlong into love.

Then he got his head round straight. Lust. This was only lust. And look what pain that had wrought in his life so far! He’d lost all right to the child born of what he’d thought was love, but now knew to have been that baser emotion.

“Oh, dear. I was correct, then. The young thing is more than a bit upset,” Winston said from the hall, pulling Alex out of haunting memories.

“I’d say that is the greatest of understatements. Call your wife, would you, Winston? I think the lady may need a woman when she wakes.”

“But, sir, what are we to do about her after that?”

Alex sighed. This was a complication, to be sure, but what else could he do? “It is quite late and we can hardly send her out alone into the dark of night. I don’t think the earl would mind if we gave her a room till morning if she is in need of lodging.”

“I believe Lady Meara’s room could be readied in a thrice, sir. Heddie made it up and put the dust covers in place this afternoon.”

“I’m as sorry as I can be about having to awaken your wife but I think proprieties should be followed as much as possible.”

Winston nodded. “I’ll wake the wife and send her along then I’ll go and uncover everything. You can bring the young lady up while my wife dresses.”

Alex sighed in relief. “Thank you, Winston. I confess I’m completely at sea as to what to do for her. Or to say to her.”

“Perhaps you might listen when she wakes, sir.”

Alex frowned. Not what he wanted to hear. He could actually feel himself being pulled into a situation he wanted nothing to do with. Yet … “I suppose that means first I would be expected to ask what it is she came here to accomplish.” He wasn’t sure what good he’d be to her. He was barely any good to himself these days.

He received a reprieve of a sort because Mrs. Gorham—Patience—had not awakened by the time Winston returned. The butler reported that he’d readied the room and that his wife was dressing as quickly as possible.

Not knowing what else to do for the young woman, Alex lifted her slight weight into his arms and carried her up to little Meara’s room. He laid her on the counterpane and stepped back.

Looking around the room he smiled helplessly. It held the stamp of Meara, the child he could never claim as his own though he was her true father. Several years earlier Jamie had married the woman Alex had loved. She had given birth to Meara seven months after their nuptials. Alex, absent from England at the time, had had no idea he’d left Iris pregnant when he’d gone off on a mission. She’d died some months after Meara’s birth in a fall from a horse. Legally Meara was Jamie’s daughter. But more important, Jamie loved Meara no less than if she was his natural child. In fact, Jamie said he loved her more because she was Alex’s daughter. Alex shook his head in consternation. The inner workings of his cousin’s mind were ever a mystery.

His heart aching for all that would never be, Alex walked to the window and looked out, concerned to see a man walking up and down the street, checking yards and obviously searching for something. He glanced at the bed.

Or someone.

A moan from their guest told him his temporary housemate had decided to join him. He walked to the bed, grabbing a small chair on his way, and sat next to her.

Her eyes drifted open then widened in what could only be named terror. Judging from the way she sprang into a sitting position and shrank away to the other side of the bed, no doubt the person who had her so frightened must be a male. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” she gasped and looked around frantically. “Where am I?”

“At the home of your friend, Amber, in her stepdaughter Meara’s room,” he told her. “You swooned when I told you the earl and countess had gone from America to Ireland.”

She blinked and colored before she took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m so terribly sorry to have caused such an uproar. I traveled all day and I haven’t eaten. I won’t trouble you further,” she added and began to scoot away toward the other side of the bed and the door. “I must get on my way.”

Alex wrapped a staying hand around her delicate arm, tilted his head and considered the pretty young woman for a long moment. He took in her frozen expression, as well, and carefully let go of her arm. “Where will you go? You seemed not to know what you would do now that the countess is away.”

Tears welled up in her startling eyes, magnifying the multihued qualities of their green color. He had never seen their like. “But that isn’t your problem,” she whispered as if forcing the words forth.

“But I fear it is of interest to a certain man moving furtively along the street, checking yards.”

She sucked in a breath and cast her fear-filled gaze toward the window.

“Perhaps you need help, even if only from the cousin of the earl?” Alex asked, shocked to his toes to hear himself ask the question. Why could he not learn to mind his own business? He was to leave in the morning.

She blinked and hesitantly leaned back against the headboard. “Alexander? You’re Alexander?”

He forced a smile, though he loathed that name having heard it on his father’s lips one too many times. “My reputation seems to have preceded me. I hope what you’ve heard hasn’t been all bad.”

“On the contrary. Amber calls you a hero. She wrote about the problems in San Francisco and how you saved them all from certain death. I am sorry it cost you so much personally.”

Alex pushed thoughts of that night out of his mind. He relived it often enough in his nightmares. “I did only what I had to do. The question is how may I help you? We—Winston and I—already assume you’ll stay the night.”

She looked at her hands where she’d rested them in her lap. “That is very kind of you but I don’t wish to put you out. Or to cause you trouble. My father is a powerful man.”

“I assure you, powerful men rarely frighten me. I cut my teeth on a father who probably makes yours look like a petulant angry kitten. We seem to have troublesome sires in common. So tell me. What is so forbidding about yours that you would flee him?”

She sighed, staring at him as if weighing her options. The expression in her startling eyes clearly put him in the dubious category of the lesser of two evils. Truly, nothing new to him.

“I am a recent widow. My marriage was more on the lines of a prison sentence—though the prison itself was quite lovely.” She looked down again as if ashamed of her next statement. “My husband was very disappointed in me as a wife. To spite me, he went through his fortune in his last years. He left me penniless at his death. I had no choice but to return to my father. Father blames me for the problems in my marriage and now has arranged another marriage. Soon.”

Alex was incredulous, though why he would be after his treatment at his own father’s hands he did not know. Perhaps because she was so utterly angelic he couldn’t imagine any man, especially her father, not being softened by that endearing grace. “Your father blamed you?”

“My husband spoke ill of me to Father. And my father also holds a great grudge against me. My husband refused to allow me to travel, you see. Impatient to see her only daughter and how I was enjoying the wonderful marriage my father had arranged for me, my mother and brothers came to visit. She departed swiftly when she saw how unhappy I was. They were killed on their return trip. All of them.”

Alex’s own father had certainly been capable of such disloyalty. “And so your father blames you for their deaths and not your husband or the driver of the carriage?”

“My husband was a friend of Father’s and, as I said, he often spoke ill of me so I would have nowhere to go if I tried to flee my marriage. He claimed I’d grown full of myself and that I’d declared Mother would need to visit me if she wanted to see me. At least she left knowing the truth.”

“You said you’re recently widowed. For how long, if I may inquire?”

“Three months.”

He blinked. He knew Americans were less formal in general than the English but not in the upper echelons of society. Bedraggled as she had been on arriving, she was clearly from that group. “And yet, you said he wishes you to marry again soon.”

“The man is another of his friends though quite a bit younger. Mr. Bedlow has long wanted me.” She shivered and, though Alex could tell she tried to hide the reaction, he saw nonetheless.

“Father told me he has arranged our marriage for two weeks from now.”

“Am I to understand you don’t wish this man’s attention?”

She cast her gaze at her knotted fingers. “I refused the marriage, and more specifically the man, so Father locked me in my room. He told the servants they were not to feed me until I agreed to marry Mr. Bedlow. He made a mistake, though. Amber had come into my life at Vassar.” Patience’s smile was just a touch mischievous. “She taught me to climb trees. And the tree outside the terrace of my room has grown quite a bit since I lived there before my marriage. It was an avenue of escape. And I took it. I must admit, as afraid as I was of falling, my greatest fear was that if I fell and therefore failed to make my getaway, the fall might not kill me.”

Alex was truly horrified at the thought of a young woman preferring death to marriage to the man chosen for her. He wondered if his mother had had similar feelings when she’d been told of the marriage his grandfathers had arranged. And now he knew his father had eventually killed her. Or rather Alex had, by sharing the knowledge of his father’s misdeeds with her. If only she hadn’t found the courage to stand up to Oswald Reynolds over the earl’s murder.

If only he’d kept his own counsel.

Just then Mrs. Winston bustled in carrying a tray. “Time enough in the morning to make plans and decisions. Off with you now, Mr. Alex,” she ordered. “And here’s a bit of a snack, dearie. The husband says you fainted. Nothing a bit of soup and tea won’t cure.” She pinned Alex with a hard glare when he didn’t move. “What is it you’d be waiting around for, Mr. Alex?”

After assuring Patience that she’d be safe for the night, Alex stood and left, cursing his own cowardice. Had he not called upon Jamie’s love-able harridan of a housekeeper in the first place, he’d still be sharing a few more moments with their guest. Then he cursed his own stupidity and reminded himself that the only things he felt for Mrs. Gorham were lust and pity and he’d sworn not to let either emotion rule him in the future.

Patience stared after the admittedly handsome Alexander Reynolds as he left, having chivalrously promised to keep watch on the house while she slept. He’d been so kind. And had not even blinked an eye at all she’d revealed.

But really—what had possessed her to blurt out her shameful personal history? She tried to gain solace from the knowledge that she hadn’t spelled out the full spectrum of the degradation her husband had subjected her to.

But the question remained. In spite of all she already knew about Alexander Reynolds from Amber, she was unsure if she could trust him or any man ever again.

“You can trust that one,” Mrs. Winston said.

Patience jumped nearly a foot and her head instinctively snapped around to stare into the kindly face of the housekeeper who’d shooed Alexander away. It was as if she’d heard Patience’s thoughts. Her doubts. “How could you know what—?”

“What you were thinking?” the woman finished, her gray head canted. “Uncertainty is written all over your face, dearie. And I know he’s trustworthy because I’ve seen a lot in the years I’ve worked for the Quality. Their station doesn’t always mean they’re good people. The earl and his cousin are. Now, let’s get you fed and ready for bed, shall we, Mrs. Gorham?”

That name almost always thrust her back into those humiliating days that had ended only three months ago. No matter how much she managed to block out the memories, those awful days were still there waiting to haunt her when she least expected. She’d heard it said that time healed all wounds, but she was sure anyone who believed that had been given a decent amount of time. Instead, she had more poisonous memories to keep the others company. The newer ones, however, hurt worse because they were wounds delivered by her own father’s betrayal.

With slightly narrowed eyes, she concentrated on the older woman, fighting the painful thoughts. After a long moment she managed to say, “I know it is considered a breach but please call me Patience.”

The kindly woman smiled, gentle understanding in her warm expression. “Then you should call me Heddie.”

“Gladly,” Patience said.

“Now that we have that settled, come sit over here, and eat. I want nothing left on that tray when I come back, hear?”

Patience nodded then let the woman help her to a small sitting area as she fought back tears. No one had fussed over her this way since her mama’s death. Had she lived, would her mother have rescued her as she’d promised that fateful day? Patience would never know. Just as she would never know if the accident that had taken her mother and brothers’ lives had been an accident at all. She’d always feared her husband had had a hand in forcing that carriage off the cliff. The evidence of the tracks on the road had told the story of negligence at best, murder at worst. But she hadn’t been questioned. She didn’t believe there had even been an investigation at all.

“Eat up, now. I’m off to find something for you to sleep in.”

Patience dug in as ordered. The simple fare was delicious, the soup tasty and warm, the bread crisp and sumptuous. It had been so long since she’d eaten.

Although she’d been taught to take small bites in order to converse with guests throughout a meal, this evening, all alone, Patience fairly wolfed the food down. Her mother would have been mortified. Tears filled Patience’s eyes. Penelope Wexler was long gone.

Mrs. Winston returned not long after and dropped a nightgown on the bed. “There you go, dearie. Oh, done already? My you were near starved, weren’t you?”

Embarrassed, Patience dropped her gaze. “I’m so sorry. You must think me terribly unmannered to have all but inhaled my food that way.”

“What I think is that you were in great need of nourishment. Now let us get you out of those clothes so you can get some sleep. Mr. Alex sent up some brandy. You should drink it. It may help you sleep. Problems can be handled in the morning.”

Patience nodded and stood. Heddie helped her undress and put on the nightgown that must belong to Amber, judging from the small size and exquisite quality. Wondering what was to become of her, Patience climbed back onto the bed Mrs. Winston had turned down. The brandy did help and she fell into an exhausted sleep rather quickly, though it was a sleep haunted by the past and future.

She wakened several times with a start, thinking the man Alexander had seen out of the window had somehow found her. Each time she roused she was greeted by a small gas flame glowing in a wall sconce across the room. It illuminated the area enough so she could see that no one but her was in the room.

Hours later the morning sunshine slanted through the bedroom window, rousing Patience from her restless slumber. Though her sleep had been disturbed by nightmares, she had still slept. She hadn’t felt this rested since that awful interview with her father when he’d proclaimed her fate and banished her to her room until she capitulated.

She pursed her lips and swung her feet to the floor. He must be furious, surely having discovered her missing by now. And with Amber gone for Ireland, Patience had no one to turn to.

What am I to do?

If only there was some way for her to get far enough away. She walked to the window and cautiously peeked through the airy curtains, wondering if the man Alexander had seen was indeed someone in her father’s employ. Was he still lurking out there? Her stomach knotted. If he was, how would she be able to escape again?

The bedroom door opened slowly and Patience whirled, half-expecting one of the men from her nightmares to be standing there. But it was only Heddie backing in with a tray in her hands. The mixed scents of coffee, warm bread, bacon and fried eggs entered with her.

“Mr. Reynolds asks that you stay in your room until he’s taken care of some pressing matters. He wants to make sure it’s safe for you to come down. He was quite adamant.”

“How can it not be safe inside the earl’s home?”

“He said he isn’t sure about your rights under the laws here in the United States. Or his for harboring you. He thinks it would be unwise for you to risk being seen until you have a plan and he knows no one can legally force their way inside to look for you.”

Her heart fell. She knew the answer to that. She had no plan and no rights with a father as powerful as hers. With his connections at city hall things went his way in spite of the downfall of Boss Tweed and the Tammany Hall political machine. That was why she had run here. Amber’s husband, the Earl of Adair, had as much power here and abroad as her father. She’d hoped the earl would be able to help her find a safe haven. She was beginning to fear there was no such place.

“I should dress and be on my way,” she told Heddie Winston. “I don’t think Mr. Reynolds understands whose runaway daughter he’s taken in. I am nothing more than Lionel Wexler’s chattel.”

Mrs. Winston smiled kindly and shook her head a bit. “You should know Alexander Reynolds isn’t afraid of your father, dearie.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t believe he’s afraid of anyone. Considering the man who raised him, I can’t imagine there is a person alive who could intimidate Mr. Alex.”

She took the tray to the sitting area where Patience had eaten last night. “Now you sit right over here and eat your meal. When you’re done, have a good soak. The bath is the door at the end of the hall. I’ve left a robe in there and I have someone brushing your dress out and fixing the torn hem. She’ll bring it up when she’s finished and then she’ll draw your bath. I’ll see she tidies up in here while she waits to help you dress.” Heddie turned back and motioned to the slipper chair. “I washed out your chemise and I’m about to iron it the rest of the way dry. Everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

Patience ate what she could, no longer as ravenous as last night. Trying not to notice the time passing, she bathed, dressed and let the young maid fool with her hair. Then she paced. Three hours after Heddie Winston left her, Patience had run out of tolerance with hiding in a child’s room. She had begun to feel like a prisoner again.

Opening her reticule, she spread the jewelry her mother had brought along on that fateful visit just before the accident that had taken her life. It had been her grandmother’s and her mother’s. She fingered it now, remembering with a sharp pang the day her mother had given the items to her. And the shame she’d felt as she’d hidden it, guarding it under a loose floorboard in her closet. She’d made sure no one knew she had it, especially after her mother’s death and her father’s subsequent desertion. For the five remaining years of her marriage, she’d kept it hidden from her husband, at first unable to use it for escape. Following her mother’s departure that day, he’d kept her a virtual prisoner.

Finally he’d had a heart attack that had left him so wasted, the worst he’d been able to do was strike her on the back of the legs with his cane as she passed him. She’d learned to wear extra petticoats that made the attacks as ineffectual as he’d been in bed.

He’d blamed her for that, too!

And so she’d endured, knowing she had nowhere to go, hoping Edgar Gorham wouldn’t live much longer, thinking she’d be able to use his wealth to build a life for herself once he was gone. He’d lived two and a half years longer, though, and all she’d been able to do was fight against his attempts to crush her spirit. She was unsure of how well she’d succeeded.

She fingered the pieces of her heritage nestled in a handkerchief, hating the thought of selling the only visible tie she had to her mother and grandmother. But she had no choice. She could not enter another marriage to a man she despised. She needed to thank Alexander and be on her way.