Fate's Intervention (30 page)

“
A
ll right, enough of that,
”
her
father
scolded lightly.
“
What I was saying is that men have a lot of pride, and that a woman
’
s words can easily quash that pride, so it is never a good thing to bring up their faults. Nor should you treat them like fragile simpletons when they
’
ve suffered an indignity, or dote over them excessively when they experience a trauma.
A
little doting is good, but not pity doting. It doesn
’
t go over well, unless, of course, you
’
re trying to destroy their manhood.
”

“
I will try to keep that in mind.
”

“
It will serve you well if you do,
”
her
father
said, slapped his thighs, and stood up.
“
Now, I need to get some rest before supper and you have some telegrams to see to.
”

“
It will have to be left up to Nancy to prepare the evening
’
s fare since I have to take a ride into town. Where do you suppose Matthew is about now?
”

“
Well, he
’
s been gone a week, so he should be nearing Shashoni before too much longer,
”
her
father
said, ambling toward the foyer.
“
What you need to do is send an emergency wire to Matthew care of Frank Darrows over in Shashoni. I
’
d also send one to Lou Cartridge over in Thermopolis. That way if he misses the one, he
’
s bound to get the other.
”

“
That
’
s
mighty costly, sending off two telegrams,
”
Marcelle said, walking quickly past her
father
,
and pulling open the parlor door.
“
Maybe we should let Mark Daragh cover the cost. He should have offered to pay for them or even to send the telegrams himself.
”

“
Yeah, well he didn
’
t, and I
’
m willing to fork out the cost if it
’
ll get Matthew here fast and get rid of Mark Daragh faster. The man makes my skin crawl.
”

“
You and me both,
”
Marcelle said, rubbing her arms to ward of the imaginary chill.
“
Well, I
’
m going to head on, or I won
’
t make it back before dark.
”

“
You be careful.
”

“
I will. You just get some rest while I
’
m gone and I
’
ll see you at supper
–
o
r not. Maybe I
’
ll come down with a serious illness between now and then so I can avoid having to eat with the man.
”

“
I
have
a serious illness and I have to entertain the buffoon, so if I have to, then no imaginary illness is going to prevent you having to do so as well
–
understand, girl?
”

“
I understand that you don
’
t want to keep company with him on your own.
”

“
The
n we understand each other perfectly. I will see you this evening. Have a safe trip, dearest.
”
With that, her
father
headed to his room. Marcelle watched him go, but her mind wasn
’
t on him. She was wondering just what sort of parent could spawn an alluring mesmeric man like Matthew, and a few years later produce a dandy with a monstrous character like Mark.

“
The telegram
ha
s
arrived,
”
Marcelle shouted, barreling into the study. They had been waiting news from Matthew for a week to no avail, their guest growing more tiresome with his boorish behavior. To make matters worse, he
’
d started making none-t
o
o-subtle overtures toward Marcelle who was going out of her way to avoid him as if he had leprosy.

“
Well, what
’
s it say, girl? When is he returning?
”
Her
father
questioned, eagerly.
Obviously,
he
’
d grown weary of their visitor as well, and the strain was showing on his face.

Marcelle ripped open the seal and read the telegram aloud,
“‘
Brother is a nuisance. Stop. Sorry for trouble. Stop. Back soon. Stop.
’“
Marcelle flipped the page over looking for anything more.
“
That
’
s
it?
”

Her
father
leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily,
“
That
could be as little as a day or two more weeks for all we know.
”

A
knock on the door sounded and they tensed instinctively.

“
Come!
”
Peter shouted and shrugged at his daughter. They were hoping that it would be
Nancy
, since neither cared to see Mark, but when the door opened, Mark
sauntered
in, impeccably dressed as usual.

Marcelle instantly stiffened which made Peter stiffen. He didn
’
t like seeing his daughter put on guard. Peter rubbed his temple at the headache that began to form and prayed that Matthew
’
s telegram ensured a quick return
–
despite its vagueness.

Marcelle also felt a headache coming on, which she did
each
time she
found herself
in
Mark
’
s company. His manners were usually impeccable, as they were now as he formally bowed to Marcelle, but it was his eyes that made her insides quiver violently. They always seemed to hold a look that said,
‘
I know you want me
’
, which, of course she didn
’
t and never would
;
and
his mouth would
form a
lopsided grin that he probably thought made her heart flutter, which it didn
’
t. She just wished he wouldn
’
t look at her and grin at her as if he knew something that she didn
’
t.

“
I heard Marcelle
’
s enthusiastic exclamation and
came
about my brother
’
s telegram,
”
he announced, moving further into the room, his attention now focused on Marcelle
’
s
father
.

“
A
re
you pursuing my daughter
’
s hand, sir?
”
Peter said suddenly, surprising them both with the heated question.

“
Father
?
”
Marcelle gasped, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“
Sir
?
”
Mark exclaimed at the same moment
and came to
a dead halt in the middle of the room.

“
You take liberties addressing my daughter by her given name, sir, so are you declaring yourself to her?
”
Peter had tolerated Mark
’
s snobbery and exaggerated tales over dinner, but he would not allow him to treat his daughter with anything less than the respect she deserved.
A
ddressing her informally without permission or without intent to court her told Peter that Mark considered his daughter less than a lady. Well, she was a lady, and he
’
d not have this snot-faced kid treating her otherwise.

“
Father
!
”
Marcelle protested again. Mark
’
s use of her given name put her out as well, but she certainly didn
’
t want to provoke a courtship over it.

Mark
’
s face reddened, but otherwise he gave no further indication
that Peter
’
s anger flustered him
.

“
Your daughter is a beautiful woman,
indeed
”
he answered with his usual emotionless reserve,
“
a
nd
if
it
was
my intent to remain in Wisconsin, I would be honored to call upon her, but as that is not likely to occur, I will offer my humblest apologies to both you and your daughter for any offense given.
”
He bowed formally to her
father
and then turned his attention to Marcelle. The look in his hazel eyes caused a shiver to run down her spine. Peter
’
s dressing down did not outwardly appear to affect him, but his eyes belied the calm demeanor. If she had been made of wood, his gaze would have seared her to ashes.
“
My sincerest apologies to you as well, Miss
Weatherman
,
”
he said tightly.
“
I would never intentionally do anything
to
cause you distress.
”

Marcelle smiled tightly, but didn
’
t reply. The continued look in his eyes said that he would indeed cause her harm if she crossed him and that he
’
d enjoy the infliction of said harm. She wondered if he
’
d given her
father
that same look as well. Probably not, she thought, or her
father
would have kicked him out on his
tail end
before he
’
d finished speaking. Perhaps she should inform her
father
of her concerns. Maybe her
father
would rid them of Mark Daragh sooner if she did.

“
Very well,
”
her
father
said, turning to address his daughter,
“
Give him Matthew
’
s telegram, dear.
”

“
But,
father
. . .
”

“
Now, Marcelle,
”
her
father
said firmly.

Nothing seemed to upset the perfectly-reared-for-society, Mark Daragh, but she had a feeling that if he read Matthew
’
s telegram, his flawlessly crafted veneer would crack. Was her
father
aware of that? Is that why he insisted on giving Mark the telegram? The gleam in his eye as Mark scanned the contents, confirmed her suspicions. He was trying to provoke the peacock, and it worked.

“
Why that . . . a nuisance, am I?
”
He muttered, glaring at the telegram.
“
Just who does that peasant-excuse for a brother think he is, anyway?
”
He closed his eyes and drew in deep breaths that Marcelle assumed was a means for calming down. It apparently didn
’
t work, for he viciously crumbled the paper in his fist, turned and tossed the wadded mess into the fireplace, then without so much as a
by your leave
, he stormed from the study. Faster than either had seen him move, he took the stairs two at a time and vanished into his room, the door slamming behind him.

“
So
the man has a temper. I was beginning to think God created him using a block of ice,
”
Marcelle grinned thinly, although she
’
d already had a glimpse of the hot-tempered fire beneath that icy facade.
“
Maybe he
’
ll be too distraught to join us for the evening meal,
”
Marcelle said hopefully. Her
father
smiled, but it held no humor.