Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage Agreement\Cowgirl for Keeps\The Lawman's Redemption\Captive on the High Seas (32 page)

“Madam—” he gasped for air, for calm, lest he appear like the numbskull he was “—my letter?”

She gave him a maternal smile. “Don't worry, my boy. I took special care to see that it went out on the noon train.”

* * *

“So you're telling me Westbourne can't bequeath even one of his properties to Garrick?” Rosamond was tempted to chew her thumbnail, a habit she'd overcome with some difficulty only last year. Percy's revelations about his cousin being replaced as his uncle's heir stunned her. No wonder Garrick seemed surprised that she and her brothers shared ownership of Four Stones with their parents. Yet in spite of his loss, Garrick was still arrogant. Anyone who grew up expecting to inherit an earldom would surely be devastated, even humbled once he was replaced by his uncle's direct heir. Perhaps being an aristocrat gave him that attitude of superiority. How very medieval. Still, she felt some sympathy for Garrick, especially after seeing what he had written to his uncle.

“Not even a rental house.” Percy nudged the porch swing into motion, and Beryl smiled as if he'd handed her the moon. “According to English law, everything Lord Westbourne owns was entailed generations ago and must go to his eldest son, little Viscount Lord Eddington. Even his second and third sons won't inherit, although Westbourne will no doubt make some financial arrangements to provide them with a means to earn their living.”

“Well, I should hope.” Rosamond considered how diligently Father endeavored to help her and her older brothers achieve their dreams, providing money and any other resources they needed. What parent wouldn't do that? And even though Westbourne was Garrick's uncle, he still should be allowed to bequeath him something if he wanted to. “Where does that leave you, Percy?”

He laughed and traded a look with Beryl as if they'd known each other for years. “I'm not related to Lord Westbourne. Garrick and I are cousins through our mothers, who were sisters.”

“Are your properties entailed?” Rosamond knew the question was terribly rude, but if Percy couldn't provide for Beryl, she wasn't sure the romance should go forward. Not if some relative could be born or come out of the woodwork and claim Percy's fortune.

He laughed again, as he often did. “No. My late father earned his fortune from the sweat of his own brow in trade, and I'm his only heir.”

“What a blessing for you.” The anxiety she'd felt for her friend's future ebbed away. Marrying Percy was just the thing for Beryl. In addition to being kind and romantic, he'd grown up knowing how to take care of himself. He'd probably observed his father's hard work, maybe even worked beside him, as Rosamond and Beryl worked alongside their parents.

“Oh, look.” Beryl pointed west toward the road from town. “Looks like the object of our discussion is coming back.”

“I say.” Percy glanced at each of them. “Let's not tell the old boy we were talking about him.” A guilty frown wrinkled his fair brow.

“I can't promise that, Percy,” Rosamond said. “It doesn't seem honest. Besides, I don't keep secrets well. Why not just tell him you explained the English system of inheritance to us.”

“Brilliant. I'll do that.” He didn't seem in the least dismayed by her refusal. “He's truly trying to make something of himself with this hotel business. I'm not certain, but I believe Lord Westbourne contrived the project just for him, and I'll do anything to help him succeed.”

In that moment, with these new insights, Rosamond knew she also wanted Garrick to succeed, knew she'd go far to help him. But not at the cost of building an impractical eyesore in the middle of Esperanza. If he agreed to compromise on some of his plans, she'd change some of hers.

As he rode closer, she could see his shoulders slumped as though he was depressed. He looked toward the house and straightened, lifting his riding crop in salute. Once again, her heart stung for him. She might not think much of arrogant English aristocrats, but in his short time in Colorado, Garrick hadn't displayed the least bit of bitterness toward being replaced as his uncle's heir. She could certainly admire him for that.

* * *

Riding down the lane toward the house, Garrick was dismayed to see he was being watched. If they noticed his dejected mood and asked him about it, he'd blame the altitude. No one needed to know about the letter, any more than they needed to know about the Starlings. He'd go on as if he hadn't written to Uncle. Tomorrow he'd post a letter of apology and pray for understanding.

After Father and Mother died when Garrick was five years old and Helena newly born, Uncle had been a kind, if distant, parent to them. He'd excused and forgiven many childhood mistakes. Surely he'd regard Garrick's letter as a mistake if he sent a speedy retraction.

He pasted on a grin and rode up to the front of the house before remembering that no groom would dash out of the barn to take charge of his horse.
Bother!
He really must get used to these American customs, even if that meant learning how to curry a horse.

“Good afternoon.” He raised his bowler hat in greeting to Percy and the young ladies. “What mischief did you three plan while I was away?”

Percy laughed, and Beryl echoed him—not a good sign. They were already too fond of each other. When Rosamond gave him a faint smile, however, his spirits lifted considerably. Perhaps their association would improve. With her long dark hair curling around her face and shoulders, she looked particularly fetching. Even agreeable. He could only hope.

“Come join us in our mischief,” she called. “I'll have Rita bring out some lemonade and cookies.” From her friendly tone, she could be inviting him to afternoon tea. One would never know they'd parted at odds this morning. Another good sign.

“Must see to the horse first.” He smiled and tilted his head in the direction of the barn. He'd need to tell the groom about riding Gypsy so hard and offer to pay for any harm done. Actually, he could tell the mare had enjoyed the gallop and seemed no worse for it, but one could never be too careful with horses.

“Just leave her with Pete,” Rosamond said. “He likes to feel needed.”

Garrick pondered her remark as he rode Gypsy across the barnyard. Obviously the bow-legged, gray-haired groom was too old for such strenuous cowboy duties as branding, perhaps even herding cattle. Yet, like an old pensioner on one of Uncle's estates, Pete remained employed on the ranch. Garrick could only admire Colonel Northam's sense of
noblesse oblige
toward those who served him. Such generosity must cost him a pretty penny, possibly a sign of sufficient wealth to match Uncle's investment in the hotel.

Pete assured him that Gypsy had suffered no harm and refused the coin Garrick tried to give him. “Just doing my job,” the old fellow protested. Garrick had never encountered an English servant who rejected a gratuity.

As he left the stable, several black-and-white puppies—sheepdogs, by the look of them—scampered out of a stall and followed, tripping over each other in their eagerness to catch him.

“Hello, you little rascals.” He made the mistake of bending down to scratch the ear of the most aggressive pup, only to have the others—five more, he now realized—jump and whimper for the same favor. When Garrick tried to step away, they were just large enough to knock him off balance. He landed on his backside with an
umph
. Barnyard dust flew up to cover his black boots and coat and tan riding breeches. His bowler hat tipped dangerously and dropped to the ground. One of the pups grabbed it by the brim and raced away.

“Come back here, you little beast.”

Garrick scrambled to his feet and gave chase. The pup ducked under the bottom slat of the barn corral, denting and then ripping the black crown on a nail. The little scamp's brothers and sisters were right behind him in hot pursuit, barking and yipping as they ran. Garrick started to climb over the fence but stopped with one foot on the lowest rail. Three of the dogs grabbed the hat and growled and tugged as if it were a rabbit they'd caught for their dinner. In seconds, the brim separated from the crown.

Garrick stepped down, rested his forehead on the rough wood and heaved out a long sigh. What else could go wrong this day?

Chapter Six

A
nticipating Garrick's return, Rosamond left Beryl and Percy long enough to go to the kitchen and ask Rita to prepare the refreshments. When Garrick had offered a smile before going to the barn, she sensed it had been forced, yet she still hoped his time away from her had improved his thoughts as it had hers. Maybe his talk with Reverend Thomas helped him sort things out in some way.

Shortly after she returned to the front porch, the sound of high-pitched barking reached them.

“The puppies!” Rosamond hadn't paid attention to them since returning home. “Let's go find out what they're up to.”

“Capital.” Percy stood and took Beryl's hand. “I'm quite fond of dogs.”

They rounded the corner of the house and saw Garrick resting his head against the top rail of the corral, his clothes dusty and rumpled, his hair blowing loosely in the breeze.

“What on earth?” Rosamond and the others hurried across the barnyard.

“I say, old man.” Percy reached his cousin first. “What happened?”

Garrick turned a frustrated look in his direction and waved a hand toward the puppies. “Those little scamps decided to eat my hat for dinner.”

“Oh, no.” Rosamond's heart sank. “They've ruined it. Oh, Garrick, I'm so sorry.”

Percy burst out laughing and slapped Garrick on the shoulder. “I say, now you'll have to purchase one of those cowboy hats.”

“Yes,” Rosamond said. “And I'll pay for it.”

Garrick shook his head. “That won't be necessary.” Before she could insist, he eyed the puppies and gave a snort of exasperation. “Are they always so aggressive?”

Rosamond shrugged. “I've been away for two and a half years and haven't met this litter. Tolley's supposed to be in charge of their training.” For a moment, she watched them roll in the dust, growling in their puppy ways and chasing each other around in the otherwise empty corral. Before she could stop herself, she began to giggle at their silly antics.

Beryl and Percy joined in, and soon Garrick chuckled.

“Ah, well. It's only a hat.” He heaved out a resigned sigh. “Now, what's this I hear about biscuits and lemonade?”

“I believe they're called cookies, old boy.” Percy looked to Beryl for approval. When she gave him a smile and a nod, he beamed like a boy just commended by his teacher.

“Ah, yes. Cookies.”

As Garrick viewed the two, worry skittered across his brow. Rosamond bit her lip to keep from asking why. She truly wanted to feel kindly toward him, but if he hurt Beryl, she must protect her friend.

They traipsed back to the front of the house just as Rita and Roberts brought out lemonade, cookies and small sandwiches. At the sight of his employer, Roberts almost dropped his tray full of pitcher and glasses.

“Oh, sir!” He set his load down on the small wicker table and whipped a small brush from his pocket as fast as Rosamond's brother Rand could draw his Colt .45. “You must permit me to assist you.”

“Never mind.” Garrick waved him away, giving Rosamond a sheepish glance. “I should like to sit for a moment before I change.”

“As you wish, sir.” Roberts eyed his employer doubtfully, but nevertheless, he and Rita quietly withdrew.

“Did you enjoy your visit with Reverend Thomas?” Determined to be a gracious hostess, Rosamond poured glasses of lemonade and passed them around. At her nod, Beryl offered the sandwiches and cookies.

Garrick took a long draft and released a quiet, satisfied sigh. Then color crept up his neck. Instead of a well-bred Englishman, he sounded more like one of the cowboys as he drank. “Forgive me. I didn't realize how thirsty I was.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Unfortunately, the good Reverend was away on an emergency. I plan to go back on Thursday.” He took a sandwich from the platter.

Rosamond tried to guess why he'd stayed in town for several hours, but wouldn't ask. She'd needed the time away from him. Now she felt as if she were meeting him for the first time, only this time she was prepared. Now that she knew more about his past and knew what Father's expectations were, she could move forward with more confidence. Garrick seemed to be relaxing, too. Maybe they could talk about the hotel after supper. She'd come up with several ideas and would make this consultation go better than their first.

* * *

Rather reluctantly, Garrick carried his portfolio back to Colonel Northam's office. With an hour or so of pleasant chitchat on the porch, a change of clothes, a delicious supper of beef stew and the American version of biscuits, he hadn't yet written down his ideas for compromise. One thing remained firm in his mind: the Palladian facade. A grand building like that would enhance the appearance of the little town and raise its status as a tourist destination for European aristocracy eager for an experience in the Wild West and willing to pay a pretty penny for it. Rosamond might well be right about wealthy eastern Americans wishing to visit the West as well, but he wouldn't have Uncle shamed in front of his friends by offering inferior accommodations.

She entered the room on an airy cloud of rose perfume and wearing a frilly white shirtwaist and a green skirt that reflected in her eyes, intensifying their emerald color. To his shock and horror, Garrick's heart jumped to his throat and then plunged to his stomach.
Lord, I must not develop feelings for Rosamond.
He couldn't marry, couldn't even fall in love, at least not until Helena's future was secure. Not until his own future was settled.

“Shall we begin?” Her agreeable smile suggested this meeting would go well. “If you'll permit me?” She sat at the desk and glanced up at him, those bright green eyes twinkling in the light of the kerosene lamp. Once again Garrick's heart leapt into his throat.

“One thing you may not have realized as you made your plans,” she continued, “is that our winters are long and harsh here in the San Luis Valley. Sometimes it's impossible to do any building. If we're going to please my father and your uncle in a timely fashion, we need to get this hotel built this summer. Agreed?”

Still lost in the fragrance of her perfume and gem-like color of her eyes, he took a moment to grasp what she'd asked. He coughed into his fist and swallowed. He'd spent very little time with young ladies other than his sister. Was Rosamond flirting with him?

“Well?” She blinked, but not in a way to suggest she was batting her eyelashes at him. Still, it was a becoming gesture, and his pulse increased.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He tugged at his collar. This cool, pleasant evening suddenly felt warm. “I'll wire my building contractors first thing tomorrow morning.”

She shook her head and frowned. “It'll take too long for them to arrive. We need to start building right away.”

So she wouldn't compromise. All of his pleasant thoughts fled. “But—”

She held up a hand to silence him. “Please let me explain.”

He gave her a curt nod. Not the most gentlemanly thing to do. He instantly regretted it.

In response, she wrinkled her nose in a rather attractive way, which nonetheless signified her displeasure with him. “Father already ordered the stones to be cut from our local stone quarry. The quarry's over near Del Norte, and they have beautiful pink rock of the finest quality just perfect for our hotel.”

Now Garrick blinked. “Pink stone available from local quarries? And you say the Colonel has already ordered them to be cut to our specifications?” Right away he could envision the carved pediments above the portico, just as Messrs. Henman and Harrison designed it. Like the Parthenon in its heyday, it would gleam in the sunlight. Too bad the local landscape was so flat. Such a stately building should stand on a hilltop like the Acropolis. Still, her information recharged him and made him certain this project would work after all.

“Tell me more.”

* * *

Rosamond couldn't ignore the way her heart tripped when Garrick's handsome face lit up with interest and excitement. She'd been around strong, attractive men all her life yet never reacted this way to a single one of them. To her chagrin, she was behaving like a giddy schoolgirl. In fact, she had to force her thoughts back to the purpose for this meeting.

“The stonemasons who built our town bank used that pink stone,” she said. “Father likes the look of it, so that's why he chose it. When he and Mother first returned from Italy, he ordered enough stones to be cut to supply the outer walls for the hotel. The master mason who supervised the bank project still lives in Del Norte. We'll hire him to adjust your exterior design and a master carpenter to complete the interior. I think we'll both be pleased with the results.”

The amber flecks in his brown eyes caught the lamplight and twinkled like gold. Then he frowned, and the light went out. “What did you mean about adjusting my exterior design? It's flawless. What's more, with the drafts supplied by Messrs. Henman and Harrison, the plans are ready to execute.”

She sat back, resisting that perpetual urge to chew her thumbnail. Instead, she gave him a conciliatory smile. “Do you like the idea of using the stone?”

His guarded look shouted his distrust. “Well, yes. Of course. Who wouldn't agree a stone building is superior to a wooden one?”

She bristled at the haughty tone permeating his words but quickly calmed herself. Father had said to work things out, so she would ignore Garrick's aristocratic attitude. Maybe he couldn't help how arrogant he sounded. His English accent seemed to resonate with an air of superiority.

“Well, then.” She gave him a businesslike smile. “Shall we agree to have the stones sent over right away?”

Puzzlement crossed his face. Had he expected her to argue? “Yes, of course. Right away.” He frowned again. “Although I should like to inspect them first, of course.”

“Of course.” She gritted her teeth for a moment. Another thing she must ignore was his favorite phrase,
of course
. “We can go tomorrow. Rita can pack a picnic, and Beryl and Percy can go with us.”

He frowned again. “Well, perhaps Percy—”

Would he disapprove of every idea she offered? She stood abruptly, not willing to listen any further. “Chaperones.” She brushed past him.

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

Of course. Again!
She whipped around, one scolding finger raised and cross words on the tip of her tongue. At his look of innocent puzzlement, she shook her head, turned and sailed out of the room. She'd get along with him. She
would
.

* * *

What on earth had he said to annoy her? This woman was entirely too temperamental. But then, Garrick hadn't been a model of pleasantness himself, so he must accept some of the blame for their lack of compatibility. Of course, if she simply wouldn't disagree with almost every one of his concepts, if she'd simply acquiesce to his master plans, they could get along famously. But no. She had her own ideas. He huffed out a sigh, a snort, actually. This was what came from trying to accomplish something in partnership with an American, and a female, at that.

He lowered the wick on the kerosene lamp to douse the flame, then followed Rosamond out of the office into the hallways lit by candles in wall sconces. In England, most upper-class houses and businesses used gaslight for illumination. Would gaslight work in the hotel? Or would Rosamond find fault with that idea, too?

Upstairs, as Garrick started to enter his room, Percy offered him a cheerful goodnight, lifting his mood a little. Maybe his jolly cousin could serve as a sort of buffer between Garrick and Rosamond—if he wasn't too busy dancing in attendance on Beryl. But that was a problem for another day. Garrick fell asleep trying to sort out which items on his planning list could be modified and on which ones he must stand firm.

The next day's weather was agreeable, if a little warm. Shortly after breakfast, Garrick made his way to the barn. With no footman to inform the stable boy of their need for a carriage, Garrick volunteered to carry the message, mainly to avoid another conflict with Rosamond. She'd barely spoken to him at breakfast. Nor had Tolley been the most pleasant meal companion. He'd glared at Garrick across the table, his dislike obvious. Of course, he laughed when he learned how his pups had destroyed Garrick's hat, as though he'd instructed the beasts to do it. When Mrs. Northam suggested that her youngest son lend Garrick one of his hats, Tolley had pretended not to hear her, instead asking Rosamond to pass the bacon and eggs.

As Garrick strode across the barnyard, an odd little thought—revolutionary almost—took root in his mind. He'd sensed from the beginning that Rosamond didn't care much for him. While she didn't completely ignore him, as the young ladies in London had, she also didn't seem to respect him. What sort of man did she respect?

She clearly adored her three brothers. Unlike wealthy, indolent English sons, all of the Northam offspring worked alongside their cowhands. Yet, as Garrick had noticed at church on Sunday, they received the community's highest regard. In England, such esteem was reserved for the wellborn, their birthright, so to speak. Perhaps to earn similar regard from these Americans, Garrick should follow the customs of the land and lend a hand around the ranch. He hadn't found the branding enjoyable in the least. Thankfully that job was completed for the year, so he needn't attempt to master the skill. But he might prove useful at other tasks. He sent a silent request upward asking the Lord for wisdom in how to proceed.

Encouraged by the promise of
James
1:5—“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not, and it shall be given to him”—Garrick strode into the barn. On guard against an attack by the rascal puppies, he was relieved to see them curled up in a furry black-and-white mass in the first stall. Only one lifted a sleepy head to eye him before dropping back to sleep.