Читать книгу Unclaimed Bride - Lauri Robinson - Страница 10

Constance had put it off long enough. She’d been scrounging up courage all evening. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the dark hall to Ellis Clayton’s office and, before she lost her nerve, rapped on the door. He hadn’t joined them for dinner, nor had he been back from the barn when Angel showed her where she could take a bath—which had been heavenly. But an hour ago, while staring out her bedroom window, she’d seen him cross the yard, once again hoisting his coat collar up against the snow. After checking her image in the mirror and making a few minor adjustments to her hair, she’d left her room. The past half hour, she’d paced the upstairs hall, listening to his downstairs movements. She may have found an ounce of courage, but a solution to her current situation remained as far away as England.

The opening of the door made her flinch. She’d knocked, so the action shouldn’t have startled her, but it did.

Ellis lifted a brow. “Miss Jennings? Is there something you need?”

Tugging the shawl about her shoulders and twisting her fingers deep in the yarn, she nodded. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have a minute.”

His lag increased her anxiety. She curled her toes to keep them from twisting her about for a fast exit. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped back, holding the door wide, and waved an arm for her to enter.

Thick carpet softened her footsteps. The office was as elaborate as the rest of the home. Totally unexpected in the wilds of Wyoming Territory, but in some ways, so similar to her childhood home in Richmond, she wanted to sigh with memories. Shelves stacked with books from the floor to the ceiling covered two walls, and a large fireplace not only warmed the room, but provided a friendly glow. A massive desk sat in the center of the room, positioned so one could gaze out the large windows framed with olive-colored drapes that were tied back to sway along the glass panes from ceiling to floor. The familiar scent of leather-bound books filled the air and had Constance taking a deep breath.

“Have a seat,” he offered, pointing to the set of matching armchairs in front of the desk while he walked behind it.

Memories snuck forward, of her father stationing himself just as Ellis was. She’d often sat on the corner of Papa’s desk, thudding her heels against the wood. Now wasn’t the time for childhood recollections. She had to quell her nerves, and offer her proposition, which would include sharing some of her past. Ellis deserved an explanation in exchange for his kindness if nothing else, but there were some things she’d never be able to tell anyone.

The mantel clock ticked away, mindless to the noise its steady movement created. Constance took another deep breath before she began, “I’d like to start by saying thank you. I know Angel put you in a predicament by offering me lodging, and I appreciate how you handled the situation.”

Ellis leaned back in his chair, eyeing her in an interesting way. Almost as if he was cautious or surprised. Even without his thick coat and big brimmed hat, he was a large man. As he folded his arms, the dark brown shirt stretched over the bulk of chest, straining the buttons holding it together.

He didn’t offer an acknowledgment. Her mouth had gone dry, she wet her lips before continuing, “I would like to explain my situation, and hopefully work out an agreeable arrangement.”

One dark brow, the same rich shade as his hair, arched, but he quickly relaxed it. Ellis was good at hiding his emotions, and reactions, but she’d already seen that. “I—” she started again.

“Excuse me, Miss Jennings,” he interrupted, “where exactly are you from?”

She wasn’t surprised. He’d want facts not justifications. “I was born and raised in Richmond, Virginia. My family owned a tobacco plantation. Prior to the war, that is.”

“And afterward?”

“There was nothing left afterward.” She’d never been back to Virginia, but had heard everything was gone and believed her source.

“Your family?”

“Nothing left, Mr. Clayton. They all—my father, mother and three brothers—perished in the war. My brothers died on the battlefields and my parents during the raid that left our home nothing more than ashes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said respectfully.

She nodded. Years had eased the pain, but the loss would forever live in her heart. Memories of a happy childhood helped. As did her belief someday she’d find a place she could call home again.

He leaned forward and rested both elbows on the edge of his desk. “How did you survive? If you don’t mind my asking?”

“I survived because I wasn’t there. When the war broke out, my parents sent me to England. I had two great aunts in residence there and I lived with them.”

“When did you return to the United States?”

So this is how it would be, him asking questions, her answering. It wasn’t as she had planned, but it might be better. Once in a while she tended to ramble and could accidentally say more than she meant to. She’d already done that once today. “A few months ago.”

“Really? The war ended a dozen years ago.”

“I know. After my family perished, there was no reason for me to return. Besides, my aunts were elderly and depended on me to care for them. One died in December of last year. The other in January of this year.” Constance hoped that was enough to satisfy his curiosity, but not so much that he’d want to know more.

“I see,” he said. “It’s my understanding you lived in New York?”

A quiver rippled her spine. Ashton must have shared that bit of information. Keeping her chin up, she nodded. “Yes, that’s where I saw Mr. Kramer’s request and responded to his call for a wife.”

His expression said he wasn’t satisfied with her answer, but once again, he didn’t ask specifics. Instead he offered, “I’m sorry about Ashton’s untimely accident.”

“Thank you. I am, too. Though I had never met him, I mourn his loss.” It was the truth. Without Ashton, her future looked pretty bleak. “Could you share with me how he—it happened?”

“Angel didn’t tell you?”

Fighting the urge to fidget, Constance refolded her hands in her lap. “No, but then I didn’t ask her to. I apologize, Mr. Clayton, Angel is a wonderful girl. Very bright and compassionate and understanding, but I do not feel it would be appropriate for me to ask her about such things.”

A faint grin curled the corners of his lips and a shine appeared in his eyes. “Don’t apologize, Miss Jennings. Angel can appear more mature than she is. I appreciate you recognizing she is still a child.”

This man loved his daughter above and beyond all. Constance remembered a time when she was such a daughter. History made her warn, “She won’t be a child for much longer though.” She often wondered if she’d “grown up” the instant she’d arrived in England.

His smile increased, but was accompanied by a somber nod. “Unfortunately, I’m aware of that.”

Her heart pitter-patted, acknowledging the brief connection she and Ellis Clayton shared. There would come a time when this man would have to say goodbye to his daughter, and it would affect both him and the girl—deeply. The only time Constance had seen tears in her father’s eyes was the day he’d set her on the ship to sail for England. Though she had many other memories—happy and good ones—that was the one that stuck in her mind like a splattered drop of paint. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn’t dissolve. It had barely faded over the years.

With one hand, Ellis wiped his face, as if erasing the smile. It worked, because when his hand went back to rest on the desk his face was serious. “I guess I should tell you, since you’ll no doubt hear it from half the territory.”

She frowned, utterly confused for a moment.

“About Ashton’s death,” he said, eying her critically.

“Oh.” Her cheeks stung. She wiped her palms, which all of a sudden had grown clammy, on her skirt. “Yes, Mr. Kramer’s death. How did it come about?”

“He took a fall off a horse.” Ellis’s gaze settled over her shoulder for a moment. When it returned to her, he added, “Doc said a broken rib punctured his lung.”

She pressed a hand to the thud behind her breastbone. “Oh, my.”

“He was bedridden for three days before he died. Some may tell you he hung on because he knew you were on your way.”

She gulped. Ellis Clayton certainly didn’t mince words. Sorrow that she’d never meet Ashton Kramer, nor get to know a man who’d awaited her arrival made her sigh heavily. “The poor man.”

Ellis didn’t linger nor stay on one subject for an extended length. “So, are you going back to New York? Or Virginia perhaps?”

His question caught her slightly off guard. Her mind was still processing Ashton Kramer’s untimely death. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I left New York for good. And I haven’t been back to Virginia since I was eleven.”

“Eleven?”

“Yes, that’s when I went to live with my great aunts.”

His frown was back, tugging his brows deeply together. “So you’re twent—”

“Six. I’m twenty-six.” There were days when she felt a hundred and six. Hoping to avoid any further questions about herself, she asked, “Have you always lived in the Wyoming Territory?”

“No, my wife, Christine, Angel’s mother, and I came out here shortly after we married. Before the war broke out. She died when Angel was six.”

“How?” She bit her lip at how fast the question shot out.

“Childbirth.” He pushed away from his desk and walked to the fireplace where he removed the grate, stirred the flames with a gold-handled poker and then added a couple split logs. He replaced the poker and the grate before he turned back around. “What are your plans, Miss Jennings?”

He still mourned the loss of his wife. Constance easily saw it—for it was the same thing she’d seen in the mirror for years. She’d already witnessed enough to understand Ellis’s depth and character. He must have treasured his wife. Once, not so long ago, Constance had thought she might have that—a husband who’d cherish her, and had married the man. But Byron hadn’t treasured her, nor had he bothered to tell her he was already married. The truth, and the way she’d discovered it, had been demoralizing and humiliating.

The memories, painful and degrading, made a heavy sigh escape before she could stop it. “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Clayton, right now I have no idea what I’m going to do.” For the past nine months she hadn’t had a concentrated plan that propelled her forward. She’d thought she had, more than once, but fate had stepped in and left her reeling in another direction over and over again.

Ellis opened his mouth. Unwilling to let anything else slip, she quickly changed the subject. “But I would like to offer, or suggest, an arrangement.”

He contemplated her statement, silently and thoroughly it seemed, before he walked back to his chair. “And that would be?”

“I mentioned that I took care of my aunts. They had a country estate outside of London. I managed the household for them, and would like to offer you my services in exchange for room and board until I can decide what I should do.” His silence forced her to add, “I’ve also had experience tutoring children. I know Angel is a very smart young woman, but it’s my understanding she hasn’t had any formal education. I could offer those services as well.”

His chair squeaked as he repositioned. He wasn’t quick to respond, which had her nerves ticking beneath her skin in tune with the mantel clock.

“How long do you plan on staying, Miss Jennings?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

“Several things.” Including if the lies surrounding Byron’s death found their way to Wyoming. If so, her chances of starting over would be greatly diminished. She had no proof she hadn’t killed Byron, just as she had no proof he’d caused her injuries and left wounds that changed her life forever.

Ellis watched the emotions playing across Miss Jennings’s features. Her expressions told him more than her words, in some instances. In others, he’d been downright surprised by what she’d said. Snap decision-making wasn’t his way; he’d left that up to Christine and more recently Angel—hence the mail-order bride sitting in his office. Yet he knew firsthand how quickly life could leave a person vulnerable and hopeless.

Unable to stay seated, he pushed out of his chair again and walked to the window. The snowstorm continued to blanket the earth, and hinted that it would hang around for the next day or so. It was early for such a dumping, but stranger things had happened. Ellis turned and met the apprehensive eyes watching and waiting for his response to her offer.

“I have a cook, Miss Jennings.”

The straight, fine wisps of black hair that had escaped her loosely pinned bun fluttered against the elegantly curved line of her neck as she primly shook her head. “I know, sir, and I don’t wish to undermine the job Mr. Beans is doing.”

“Beans,” he corrected. “Just Beans, there’s no mister.” Beans had a great aversion to being called mister. Just as Ellis had an aversion to being called sir. He worked for a living and didn’t appreciate a title he felt was held for those who were born of honor or suggested one man was of higher rank than another. It reminded him of the slave days—something else he had greatly disliked.

She gave a graceful nod. “I apologize. Beans does a fine job. The stew I had for supper was quite delicious.”

“Yes, he does,” Ellis agreed, but then had to admit, “For the ranch hands. It would be good for Angel to learn more about the kitchen. She tries, and does a good job, but …” An invisible draw made him turn back to the window. High above the earth, beyond the hovering snow clouds, a tiny star twinkled and then shot across the sky. Blinking, he searched for more, but the clouds once again obscured the view. His daughter needed a woman’s touch. He’d known it for some time. “Angel could use some formal education as well. She’s a sound reader and has a head for numbers, but there are other things she should be studying. Things she should be learning about.”

He hadn’t turned around, and wasn’t ready to do so yet, either. His daughter was the reason he woke up every morning. For the past few years he’d wondered about sending her to a school out east, but the thought of being separated from her made him ignore the considerations as quickly as they formed. Miss Jennings’s arrival seemed like a good solution, but … He sighed. There was more to it than that.

Turning about, he leaned back, resting his backside on the windowsill. The wood was cold and penetrated his wool pants, but it wasn’t overly bothersome. “You can’t see it right now, but out the window behind me, on the far side of the backyard is a small barn. It says Angel’s Barn across the front doors. Angel painted the letters several years ago.”

Constance nodded again. It had been years since he’d seen someone as elegant and refined as her. He wanted to close his eyes, block the view and the memories of when he’d lived in Charleston and come across stylish women every day. Not that he’d been attracted to them. Simply put, the memories reminded him of how long Christine had been gone.

“I haven’t been out to her barn for a week or so, so I don’t know for sure,” he said, pulling his mind out of the past, “but the last time I was there she had a one-legged rooster, a blind porcupine, a skunk …” Nothing about the animal came to mind. “I don’t really know what’s wrong with the skunk other than it wants to live here. There were also a couple of birds, a squirrel that ate too much butter and a litter of motherless rabbits.”

Constance had a serene smile on her petal-pink lips, as if the array of Angel’s pets didn’t surprise her.

He gestured toward the other side of the window. “Although I’m sure he’s hibernating right now, sometimes there’s a bear out in the north pasture. Teddy was a half-dead orphaned cub when Angel found him.” He had to huff out the chuckle pressing on his lungs. “He never fails to startle a cowhand or two when he decides to wander through.”

“Have you ever considered just getting her a dog?” Constance asked.

That made him crack a smile, but he forced it to leave as quickly as it had appeared. “There are several of those around here, too. As well as cats and kittens.” He pushed away from the window, moving toward his desk. “For Angel it’s not about the companionship. It’s the nurturing. The act of healing, of saving something no one else cares about.” It was hard to describe to someone who didn’t know Angel. “There have been so many critters over the years I couldn’t name them all if I had to. Some have died, some have stayed around, others have healed up and left, never been seen again. Then there are those, like the bear, who wander past every once in a while.”

“I have a feeling I’m being compared to one of Angel’s animals.” A grin lifted the corners of her mouth, but her eyes held a touch of conviction.

“With all due respect, Miss Jennings, I don’t mean to offend you, nor do I wish to be rude, but yes, you are like one of her animals. And when Angel sets on healing a critter, no one changes her mind.” He half sat on the corner of his desk.

“Because she couldn’t save her mother.”

The whispered words echoed around the room, making Ellis shiver. The softness of Constance’s expression made his throat swell. The thickness was raw and gritty. “She’s not looking for a mother.”

“That’s not what I mean, Mr. Clayton,” Constance said, shaking her head. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. It’s just that I can relate. Losing people we love can leave us wanting to protect others from experiencing the pain.”

The authenticity in her eyes and voice was too sincere for him to acknowledge. It made a part of him feel vulnerable—something he refused to let into his life. Shifting his weight, he mulled the decision he’d already made around for a moment before saying, “I’ll accept your offer of an arrangement—household management, including cooking and tutoring Angel, in exchange for wages that include room and board until spring. That should give her time to do what she feels she needs to do.”

Constance gave a slight nod, not as confident as it had been earlier, which was just as well. He had more to say before he completely agreed to her suggestion. “I appreciate you coming to me and sharing part of your story. I know there’s a lot you haven’t told me, but I respect your privacy. I do, however, want you to know I’m going to deal with this situation just like I do when Angel hauls home an animal. I’ll stand back, not interfere unless she asks …” He paused so his next statement would be more effective. Holding Miss Jennings’s gaze, he added, “Or if I feel she’s in danger. If that occurs, I will put an end to the arrangement—immediately.”

The color had drained from her face, but she held her stiff posture. “I understand, Mr. Clayton, I wouldn’t expect any less. I assure you, the last thing I’d want is to see Angel injured.”

He held her stare. “There are many types of injuries, Miss Jennings. The ones we can’t see are often worse than the ones we can.”

She blinked, and respectfully bowed her head. “I agree, sir.”

The word grated his nerves too deep this time. “I’d appreciate if you called me Mr. Clayton, or simply Ellis.”

“Very well, Mr. Clayton.”

“I’ll run some figures by you tomorrow as far as pay is concerned. I ask that you complete a list of duties you feel should fall to your position.”

“I’ll have it ready first thing in the morning. I’d also like to document the funds I already owe you.” She clarified, “The coat, scarf and mittens.”

He stood and extended a hand. “Very well, Miss Jennings. I wish you a good night, then.”

She rose and gave his hand a surprisingly firm shake. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton. I appreciate the opportunity.” Pulling her hand from his, she nodded. “Good night.”

Straight-backed and head held high, she left the room. It wasn’t until the door quietly snapped shut that he repeated, “Good night.”

A log rolled in the fire, shooting sparks against the wire mesh grate. Ellis walked over and rather than remove the grate, slid the poker between the grate and the stones. Breaking apart the glowing log until it was little more than small-sized coals that would soon die out, he wondered about the arrangement he’d just agreed to. Constance Jennings hid a very large secret. It was written on her face as bold as the headlines of the Territory Gazette.

His brother Eli still ran the family plantation back in the Carolinas. He’d write Eli, ask a bit about pre-war plantations near Richmond. Protecting Angel came before all else, which meant learning more about Constance Jennings. After replacing the poker, he went to his desk and penned a short letter before he blew out the lamps and made his way up the stairs.

The lamp in his room had been lit, as well as the fire set. Tugging his shirt off, he paused near the dresser where the picture of Christine, taken shortly before her death, sat. He picked up the silver filigree frame. “I saw you tonight,” he whispered, “shooting across the sky. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She didn’t answer of course, but his mind did. Christine always knew what she was doing, and had rarely, if ever, been wrong.

He set the picture down. “There’s always a first.”

Day comes early on a ranch, and a morning that carried a blizzard meant the first set of chores would take twice as long as usual. Ellis donned layers, knowing how the wind could steal away the body’s heat, and made his way down the front set of stairs. A scent caused him to pause on the bottom step. Coffee? Beans never entered the house in the morning. He and Angel dealt with that meal themselves.

He made his way to the swinging door off the foyer.

“Good morning, Mr. Clayton.” She didn’t turn from the stove.

The fine hairs on his neck stood. How had she known he was here? He’d barely pushed the door open, and it didn’t squeak. “Miss Jennings,” he greeted, stepping into the room.

“Coffee’s on the table. The biscuits will be done in a few minutes as well as the gravy.” Her trim hips swayed as she stirred a spoon about in the pan.

“I usually wait until after chores and breakfast with Angel.” He hadn’t meant to sound as rude as it came out, but his nerves were ticking again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed with the storm you’d need to be out early this morning. I’m sure it’ll keep if you want to wait.” She pulled the pan off the heat and set it near the back of the stove before she spun about. Dressed in the same dark blue outfit she’d worn last night while they’d talked in his office, he wondered if she’d slept.

There were no bags under her eyes. Actually, she looked quite rested and healthy. Her black hair was neatly pinned in a bun, and she’d tied a flour sack around her waist for an apron, which enhanced the feminine curves he had to drag his eyes off.

He gripped the back of the closest chair, but needing something more to do, snatched the steaming cup off the table. The wondrous smells filling the kitchen had his stomach growling. “As long as it’s ready, I might as well eat. It may be a while before I make it back in.”

“Wonderful.” She spun back to the stove.

Did she mean it was wonderful that he wanted to eat, or wonderful that he’d be gone for a while? He sat, scratching his head at the conflicting thoughts. It was almost as if he was in the wrong skin, the way his nerves twitched and itched. Mere seconds later, a plate of biscuits smothered with glossy gravy was set down in front of him. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She hovered near the table. “Angel gave me a tour of the house last night. I assumed our arrangement would start this morning.” Tugging her fingers apart, she pointed to a sheet of paper on the table.

Written in slanted, perfect penmanship, was a long list of duties. He didn’t take the time to read them all. “Yes, that’s fine.” He picked up his fork. “I’ll meet with you later today, to go over your wage and such.”

“Very well,” she replied, walking across the room. “Enjoy your breakfast. There’s more on the stove.”

There were times she acted like a scared little girl, others where she appeared to be a wise old woman and still others—especially when a slight hint of an English accent filtered her words—where he was convinced she should be sitting in a tea parlor surrounded by ladies-in-waiting. All in all, she made him feel as confused as a cat with two tails.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.

“I’ll wait for Angel.” She transferred the pan of biscuits into a basket and covered them with a cloth, and then stirred down the bubbling gravy.

He pulled his eyes back to the breakfast before him, and lifted his fork. Beans had never made something taste this delicious. The gravy had big chunks of sausage and had soaked deep into the golden-brown biscuits. He ate two helpings before he excused himself to gather his outerwear from his office.

A scraping noise said someone was in the front parlor when he reentered the foyer. Walking to the doorway, Ellis paused. Crouched down, Miss Jennings swept the cold ashes from the fireplace in the large front room and deposited them in the ash bucket. Frowning at the sight, he said, “Thomas Ketchum is my wood man.”

She flipped loose strands of hair aside with the back of her hand as she turned. “Excuse me?”

The action teased his mind, made him think of her attractiveness. “Thomas,” Ellis repeated, reminding himself of what he’d been saying. “I pay him to cut wood during the summer and tend to the fires in winter. He does other things as well. Part of his job is to clean out the fireplaces and keep them burning all day. He should be in any minute.”

She finished the job, replaced the ash brush to its holder and then stood. “I thought that was just because you were gone yesterday. He comes in even when you’re home?”

“Yes. That’s his job.” He gestured toward the front door. “A ranch this size requires a lot of wood. It takes one person dedicated to it.”

Wiping her hands on the flour sack, she said, “I do apologize. I’ll remember that in the future.”

He nodded, but a feeling as if he’d just chastised her for no reason settled in his chest. Shrugging against the sensation, he went to the door and stepped out into what might prove to be one of the biggest blizzards of all time.