Читать книгу Marrying the Major - Victoria Bylin - Страница 12

Caroline couldn’t fault the major’s logic about having her ride with him on Cairo, but she felt like a sack of potatoes, one in danger of sliding to the ground and splitting open. With her arms belted around his waist, she heard every beat of Cairo’s hooves. She distracted herself with questions about the man before her. Why had he come to America instead of returning to England? What had his wife been like? And the malaria … How did he cope with the fevers? And what provisions had he made for his children?

Unable to stand the silence, she decided the children were a safe subject and surrendered to curiosity. “Major Smith?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to hear about Freddie and Dora.”

He hesitated. “You already know their names and ages.”

“Yes, but I’d like to know about them. What do they like to do?”

“They’re children, Miss Bradley. They entertain themselves.”

Miss Bradley made it clear his earlier kindness was to be forgotten. It annoyed her but not nearly as much as his refusal to talk about his children. He seemed cold again, even austere. Having lost their mother, Freddie and Dora needed their father’s attention, and if his current behavior was any indication, he seemed unwilling to give it. If she’d been blessed with children, she’d have cherished every smile, every new adventure.

She rode with the major in silence, staring straight ahead until they reached the livery stable marking the beginning of Wheeler Springs. A row of buildings included a barber and bathhouse, a dress shop and a mercantile with its doors propped open. The shopkeeper stepped outside with a broom. Seeing their arrival, he waved a greeting.

Major Smith answered with a nod, a gesture that reminded Caroline of a returning soldier in a parade.

Across the street she saw a café with yellow curtains, and she thought of the wonderful food at the café run by Mary Larue, now Mary Quinn. At her wedding, Mary had placed her bouquet firmly in Caroline’s arms, a gesture Caroline knew to be futile. For whatever reason, God had said no to her prayers for a family of her own. Instead He’d brought her to Wheeler Springs to love the Smith children, a cause she intended to embrace.

Halfway through town, the major turned Cairo down a road that led to a three-story house with paned glass windows, a wide porch and a cupola. Square and painted white with green trim, it reminded her of the houses in Charleston.

“Where are we?” she asked the major.

“My town house. We’ll leave for The Barracks in the morning.”

Once broken, the silence between them felt sharper than ever. Where was the man who’d helped her out of the river? The one who gave peppermint to his horse? The closer they rode to the house, the more rigid the major became until she felt as if she were holding on to a lamppost. They were still several paces away when the front door burst open and a little girl came charging across the porch. Dark hair framed her face and accented her rosy cheeks.

“Daddy!” she cried.

The major heaved an impatient sigh. “I gave orders for the children to stay at The Barracks.”

The thought of children being ordered to stay away from their father struck her as heinous. Why would he do such a thing? She wanted to take him to task, but she was in no position to initiate such a conversation … at least not yet. She settled for a calm observation. “Dora is lovely.”

He said nothing.

“You must be very proud of her.”

“I suppose.”

Appalled by his apparent indifference and moved by Dora’s obvious need, Caroline tried again. “Does she like to play with dolls?”

He said nothing, though he hadn’t looked away from his little girl. Did he know what a gift he had in this precious child? Caroline wanted to lecture him, to warn him that such gifts could be snatched in a blink, but then she realized that he knew it. Major Smith was afraid to love his children because he was afraid of dying and leaving them to grieve.

Caroline watched over his shoulder as a boy with the major’s blond hair and stiff posture joined his sister at the top of the two steps connecting the porch to the ground. “That must be Freddie,” she said more to herself than the major. “He’s a handsome lad, isn’t he?”

Major Smith reined Cairo to a halt. “You should be aware, Miss Bradley, that I expect orders to be followed. And I left specific instructions for the children to remain at the ranch.”

She couldn’t resist a bit of defiance. “Apparently not everyone obeys you, at least not when children miss their father.”

Without turning or twitching, the major spoke in a tone just for her. “Courage becomes you, Miss Bradley. Rudeness does not. I suggest you mind your own affairs and leave me to mine.”

He’d snubbed her, rightfully so, considering her position in his household. Stranded on his horse, she wanted to escape his nearness but feared sliding off and ending up in a heap. She settled for releasing her grip on the major’s waist and looking for Jon. He rode up next to them, swung off the packhorse and helped her down with a gentleman’s ease.

“There you go,” he said in a friendly tone.

“Thank you.”

Bessie halted Grandma next to the packhorse. After Jon helped her sister dismount, Caroline asked him to retrieve a small bundle from their possessions. It held gifts for the children and she wanted to present them now. Assuming Major Smith would introduce her, she waited while he tied the reins to the hitching post.

She turned her attention to the children. Dora’s eyes were wide with curiosity. Freddie reminded her of his father, both in looks and in temperament. He had a stoic expression, a sign he’d learned sadness and loss too young. Dora needed a smile and a hug. Freddie needed to know she’d respect his quiet nature. Already Caroline felt challenged by the differences in the children.

Major Smith indicated she should step forward. For the first time since leaving the river, she had a clear view of his face. Creases fanned from his blue eyes, deeper and more numerous than she’d seen this morning. The line of his mouth pitched downward in a frown, or maybe it was a grimace against exhaustion. He wasn’t a well man, and the trip to the stagecoach had cost him. Compassion tempered the frustration she’d felt toward him moments ago.

She came forward as he’d indicated, watching the children for their reactions. Freddie snapped to attention. Dora leaned against her brother and acted shy. Caroline was glad she’d brought the doll. Little Dora desperately needed something to hug.

The major spoke in a firm voice. “Good afternoon, children.”

“Good afternoon, Father,” Freddie answered.

Dora hid her face against her brother.

“Come forward, please,” the major said. “I’d like you to meet Miss Caroline Bradley, your new governess.”

Freddie took Dora’s hand and guided her forward. The protective gesture touched Caroline to the core and reminded her of how the major had gently guided her out of the river. His cold attitude to the children hadn’t always been a wall between them. She suspected that losing his wife and facing an illness had changed him.

When the children reached the ground, they stopped four feet in front of her. Freddie looked up at his father, a soldier ready to take orders. Dora looked at her toes, a little girl who didn’t know what to do. Aching for her, Caroline stepped forward and dropped to a crouch so she could look into the child’s eyes. They were blue like her father’s and no less haunted. A harrumph told her she’d crossed the major, but she didn’t care. He could be cold and distant if he wanted, but Caroline had no such inclination.

She smiled at the shy little girl. “You must be Dora.”

Still looking down, the child nodded.

“That’s a pretty name,” Caroline said gently. “And you’re wearing such a pretty dress. I bet you like to play with dolls.”

Her head bobbed up and she nodded.

“Good,” Caroline declared. “So do I.”

The major spoke to her back. “Miss Caroline, I don’t think—”

“I do.” Ignoring him, she opened the drawstring bag and gave Dora the doll. “I made this for you.”

The major’s voice boomed behind her. “Miss Bradley!”

He sounded ready to court-martial her, but she had to give the book to Freddie the way she’d given the doll to Dora. She took the volume from the bag, stood tall and handed it to the boy. “This is for you, Freddie.”

The major had said little about the boy’s interests, so she’d taken advice from Mary Quinn’s young brother and selected a science book with easy experiments. “We can use kitchen items to make a volcano. That should be fun.”

Freddie’s eyes lit up, but he looked to his father for direction.

Not wanting the boy to be a pawn, Caroline faced the major. She recalled how he’d ignored her when she’d wanted to tell him about the quinine. It went against her nature to be rude, so she gave him a wistful smile. “Forgive me, Major Smith. I was just so excited to meet your children. I’m sure you understand.”

She’d meant to bridge the gap between the major and Freddie and Dora. Instead she felt as if she were in the middle of the river again, only this time Major Smith needed to be led to shore. He looked both stunned and bitter about his poor health. Caroline couldn’t abide his attitude toward Freddie and Dora, but neither would she do him the dishonor of being blunt. His children were present, and Bessie and Jon were watching them with more than idle curiosity.

She softened the moment with a winsome smile. “I do apologize, Major Smith. With your permission, I’d like to speak to Dora and Freddie for a just another moment.”

He made a sweeping motion with his arm. “By all means, Miss Bradley. Speak as long as you’d like. Take all afternoon … take all night.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, she crouched next to Dora. “I thought we could name your new doll together.”

Dora’s bottom lip pushed into a pout, trembling until she finally spoke. “I want to name her Molly.”

Freddie elbowed his sister. “You can’t!”

“Why not?” Dora whined back.

“Because that was Mama’s name.”

The boy had the cold tone of an undertaker, but Caroline wasn’t fooled. He’d built a wall to protect his bruised heart. Dora’s innocent attempt to keep her mother’s memory alive hit the wall like a battering ram. Behind her the major inhaled deeply, a sign he wasn’t as indifferent to his children as he wanted to appear. Hoping to smooth the waters, she touched Dora’s shoulder. “Molly’s a fine name. It would honor your mother, but we need to consider your father and Freddie, too. We can give the doll two names, a special middle name and one for everyday.”

“Do you have two names?” Dora asked.

“I do,” Caroline answered. “I’m Caroline Margaret Bradley. Margaret is after my grandmother.”

Dora looked at her father. “What’s my other name?”

A five-year-old shouldn’t have needed to ask that question. She should have been loved and schooled in family memories. When the major hesitated, she wondered if he knew the answer.

He finally cleared his throat. “Your full name is Theodora Constance Smith. Constance was your mother’s sister.”

Dora’s eyes got wide. “I can’t write all that!”

Caroline took the child’s hand and squeezed. “I’ll teach you.”

Standing, she turned to Freddie. The boy’s expression was strained, a mirror image of his father. She’d have to work to win him over, but she firmly believed God had brought her to this family for a purpose. Not only did the children need a mother, but they also needed a father who wasn’t afraid to love them.

She motioned for Bessie to come forward. “This is my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bradley. You can call her Miss Bessie.” Hoping to earn Freddie’s interest, Caroline spoke to him directly. “She was a nurse in the war.”

Freddie tried to seem bored, but his brows lifted with curiosity. Bessie greeted the boy, then said hello to Dora. Both children enjoyed the attention.

Caroline thought the first meeting went well. She turned to express her pleasure to Major Smith and saw a frown creasing the corners of his mouth. He dismissed the children with a terse order to go back inside, instructed Jon to report their arrival to the stage office, then motioned for Caroline and Bessie to enter the house. In the entry hall she saw a tall black man. When he broke into a smile, she thought of Charles.

“Good evening, Miss Bradley.” He greeted her with a slight bow. “Welcome to Wheeler Springs.”

Major Smith stood to the side. “Ladies, this is Sergeant Noah Taylor. Noah, I’d like you to meet the Bradley sisters, Miss Bessie and Miss Caroline.”

She and this man were peers and equals, employees of the major. Caroline extended her hand. “Please call me Caroline.”

“Yes, Caroline.”

He greeted Bessie with equal aplomb. Behind him a black woman emerged from the kitchen. Tall and graceful, she looked at Major Smith with a mix of dignity and frustration. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Major Smith answered with a nod. “Ladies, this is Evaline. She’s Noah’s wife and will show you to your rooms.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “But first I must apologize.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Does this have something to do with my children being here?”

The woman dipped her chin. “I know you left orders to keep them at The Barracks, but they were lonely for you.”

Caroline loved Evaline on the spot. She’d risked a scolding to do right by the children. The major claimed no one disobeyed him, but his housekeeper had the freedom to follow her conscience. The major gave orders, but he wasn’t unreasonable. Deep down, he cared about people. It showed, if one knew where to look.

Looking wry, he traded a look with Noah. “I seem to have lost all authority.”

The man grinned. “No, sir. Just with Evaline.”

The major harrumphed but made no effort to scold the woman. Instead he seemed to forget all about the transgression. “See to it the Bradley women have bathwater and whatever else they need.” He turned back to Caroline. “Supper will be served at seven o’clock. The children will be present.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

Evaline indicated the stairs. “This way, ladies.”

The housekeeper led the way with Bessie behind her and Caroline bringing up the rear. When she reached the landing, she looked down. At the same instant, the major looked up. Their gazes locked in a test of wills. She’d defied him when she’d spoken to the children, and he’d let her. Neither had he chastised Evaline. The major conducted himself with acerbic authority, but his final decisions showed respect, even a deep caring, for his friends and family. Why would he be so cold on the outside when he plainly loved Freddie and Dora?

They looked away from each other at the same time. Silent but determined to bring joy to this troubled household, she followed Evaline and Bessie up the stairs.

It was a sad day when a man’s housekeeper disobeyed him and he let her. It was an even sadder day when he couldn’t control the governess, or even his own children. Wondering why he bothered to issue orders at all, Tristan went to his study, shut the door and dropped down in the leather chair. It squeaked, yet another act of defiance against his desire for quiet.

He couldn’t be angry with Evaline. He’d been happier to see Freddie and Dora than he could admit. But he’d held true to his resolve to keep his distance. With the malaria threatening his life, he had to stay strong for them. They had to learn they could live without him. The decision had seemed wise until Caroline skewered him by giving Dora the doll. He’d known how much his daughter missed her mother, but he hadn’t realized how alone he’d left his children. It took discipline to stay strong for them, but that’s what a father did … what an officer did. When everyone else succumbed to tears and flashes of temper, an officer kept his wits about him.

At the moment Tristan’s wits were in tatters. He needed another dose of quinine, but he hadn’t taken the bottles from Bessie’s medicine bag because he’d been distracted by the children. Neither did he have easy access to the small supply he’d brought from The Barracks. It was upstairs in his bedroom, and he didn’t want to pass his house-guests in the hall. He’d wait, but only for a bit.

To fortify himself, he picked up the letter that had been delivered before he’d left. Pennwright’s neat script was badly smudged, but he expected the man’s dry humor would be intact. He sliced the envelope with an opener, removed a single sheet and began to read.

Dear Tristan,

I’m writing to you with a heavy heart. Both of your brothers are dead.

Tristan read the opening words again, then a second time. As the ramifications sunk in, his insides shook the way they did before weapons were drawn for battle. The shaking signaled danger and the loss of life … his life … the life in Wyoming he wanted for his children. With his brothers dead, he’d become his father’s heir and the next duke of Willoughby. The clock in the entry gonged six times, a death knell to accent Pennwright’s perfect script.

As if surveying a battle report, he took in the rest of the letter. Andrew had died of cholera, and he’d left no sons or daughters. Tristan immediately thought of his widow, Louisa, alone and grieving without even children to comfort her. She’d broken his heart when she’d married his brother, but he held no bitterness. He only wondered why she jilted him and if somehow he’d failed her. Oscar had died a week after Andrew. Pennwright’s explanation chilled Tristan to the bone.

He died from a gunshot to the head. Your father is calling it a hunting accident.

Tristan knew his brother well enough to read between the lines. Oscar had called hunting the sport of fools. He didn’t like horses, exercise or perspiration. With a heavy heart, Tristan acknowledged what hadn’t been written. Oscar’s “hunting” accident had likely been suicide. Tristan viewed the deed as cowardice, but he understood why Oscar had done it. A man of little discipline, he’d have become the duke’s whipping boy.

Pennwright’s next words carried no surprise, but they jarred him nonetheless.

You, Tristan, are now heir to your father’s title and holdings. He wishes you to return to England immediately to assume your duties.

If Tristan had been healthy, he might have gloated at the irony. The son his father had dismissed as worthless now had value to him. But Tristan wasn’t well … Chances were good his father would outlive him, and Freddie would fall under the man’s influence. The thought chilled Tristan to the bone.

The duke could issue whatever orders he pleased, but Tristan wouldn’t snap mindlessly to attention. He had to protect his son. The duke had turned Andrew into a pampered poodle and Oscar into an alley cat. Tristan refused to be paraded like a pet, nor would he allow Freddie to be turned into Andrew or Oscar.

In the same breath, he recognized the profound responsibility of being a duke. He’d been born a third son, but he’d become a leader of men. By blood and British law, he had a duty to the people of Willoughby and wanted to fulfill his obligation with honor.

But he was also a father and he had to protect his son. Tristan was the only defense between Freddie and the duke. He refused to allow his son to be used and manipulated. Dora would suffer, too. His daughter would be valued solely for her worth as a future wife, not for the charming little girl she was. As long as Tristan and his father were both alive, he had time to come up with a strategy. There was no need to rush back to England, at least not yet.

Weary to the bone, he left Pennwright’s letter on the desk and headed to his room. After supper he’d speak to Jon about ways to protect Freddie. Tristan was a good strategist, but Jon had a more creative mind. First, though, he needed quinine.

He entered his suite and shut the door with a click. He took the dose of medicine, then washed his hands and changed into attire befitting a meal with the new governess and her sister. The women would talk throughout supper and so would his children. Jon would be charming, and Tristan would be stoic. With a bittersweet longing to be well again, he headed for the dining room, wearing the stiff upper lip he was so very tired of maintaining.