Valentine's Rose (4 page)

“I’ll talk to Hardt.” Leashing his anger, Val turned on his heel and headed for the open door.

“Good luck with that!” O’Shea’s chortles followed him out of the bar.

Val spotted an angry horde gathered in the street outside a building just beyond the depot. That had to be the land office. Men quarreled and cursed, a fight broke out as one man attempted to get ahead of another. Those closest to the building had crowded around a news board mounted to an outside wall. Sheets of paper tacked to it were too far away to read. Presumably, these men were anxious to get a look at the list Hardt had posted of qualified suitors. Didn’t appear the railroad agent had returned, or he’d locked his door.

Val reined in his impatience. He’d find the railroad agent, demand to speak with him in private, explain how he’d come by the deed and persuade the agent to give his request special consideration. Why would Hardt refuse? After all, he couldn’t provide brides for every man with a valid claim.

One of the men at the edge of the crowd had been in the saloon earlier. Val recognized him by the dated frock coat that pulled tight across the young settler’s brawny shoulders. He’d paired the fitted coat with an equally aged waistcoat over plaid trousers and scuffed boots. Someone had given him bad fashion advice. That, or he was employed in a traveling medicine show.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I might find Mr. Hardt?”

The man gave him a suspicious lookover for what he thought was a polite inquiry. “You’re that fellow who won the land off Ned Jarvis.”

An interested buyer? Val dismissed the temptation to offer him the deed in exchange for quick cash. He didn’t appreciate being fleeced, and quite selfishly, he wasn’t ready to part with the possibility of a fortune.

“That’s right. I need to speak to Mr. Hardt.”

The man’s gray-blue eyes remained cool. Possibly, the young settler was acquainted with Mr. Jarvis, or suspicious of strangers.

Val offered his hand. “Constantine Valentine.”

The man returned a firm grip, almost painful. “Arch Childers.”

Val’s gaze flickered over Childers’ youthful features, and guessed him to be in his early twenties, younger than many of these men, but few were over forty. Carving a farm out of wild grassland took youth and strength. “Could you tell me where I might find Mr. Hardt?”

“You aren’t from around here.”

Astute observation. “My ancestral home is in England,” Val acknowledged.

“Are you a duke?”

Why did Americans always assume all well-heeled Englishmen were dukes? “My father holds a minor title. Nothing as lofty as Lord.”

“Lord Jesus is the only lord I know.” Mr. Childers’ eyes twinkled as he enjoyed his poor joke. “Check the hotel.” He pointed in the direction. “Reckon Mr. Hardt is holed up there with the women until the drawing this afternoon. But he’s got a few soldiers posted outside, so you might not get through.”

Having successfully talked his way into an audience with royals, Val felt certain he could get past a few soldiers.

“I’ll take my chances.” Val touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you, Mr. Childers.”

As he walked away, the young man called out. “They might let you in if you tell ‘em it’s the
lord
calling.”

Val gave a wave to acknowledge he’d heard. Someone, no doubt, appreciated the homespun humor. Mr. Childers, for one.

At the hotel, there weren’t just a few soldiers. Mounted troops surrounded the place. Hardt must have feared the unhappy settlers would storm the house, steal the women and string him up. Given the mood of that crowd at his office, his concern wasn’t unfounded.

Val devised a strategy. Stroll up to the hotel, as if he were a guest. The soldiers might not stop him. In fact, Childers’ suggestion wasn’t a bad one. He could play that card if necessary. After all, he’d been trained for the role. Squaring his shoulders, he put on his best lord-of-the-manor air. He reached the front porch before a private posted by the door stopped him.

“State your business, mister.”

Officers and aristocrats had one thing in common—the presumption of superiority. Val looked down his nose as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a card. He rarely used formal calling cards anymore, many Westerners having never seen one, but at times like this they came in handy. He held it out to the soldier. “Mr. Hardt is expecting me. Urgent business.”

The soldier’s gaze traveled over Val’s impeccable attire. He barely looked at the card before he opened the door. Val released a relieved sigh. He never thought he’d be grateful for learning how to be officious. He’d have to remember to thank his father.

As he stepped inside, his nose caught the subtle fragrance of ladies’ perfume. Hardt stood beside a hall tree, his attention focused on a short, curvaceous blonde.

Val’s gaze locked on a young woman, the one he’d assisted earlier. She’d pulled off the ugly scarf and untamed curls formed a flaming nimbus around her head. Released, her thick, fiery hair would probably reach her waist. The image of her hair let down, shielding her slender form, nude except for a pair of stockings, sent Val’s senses reeling.

The door shut behind him and the sound reverberated in the wood-paneled hallway. Before he could make sense of why she had such a powerful effect on him, the young woman turned her head and gasped like she’d seen a ghost.

That got the attention of the other two.

Hardt’s surprise quickly transformed to displeasure. “How did you get in here?”

“Walked through the front door. You must be Mr. Hardt,” Val strolled up as if he’d been invited. He didn’t intend to be tossed out before he could open his mouth. Opting for respectful formality, he sketched a slight bow to the ladies. “Constantine Valentine, at your service.”

The two women remained frozen, staring at him. Both were attractive, and to men starved for female company, they would appear as an oasis in the desert. It would be a miracle if a fight didn’t break out at the drawing. His gaze lingered on the statuesque redhead. Her crown reached his nose, which put her at close to six feet. Remarkable.

He returned his attention to the stony-faced agent. “Excuse the interruption, but we have some urgent business to discuss—”

Hardt turned away. “Whatever it is, this isn’t a good time. Come by my office later, I’ll see you then.”

The curt dismissal grated on Val’s nerves. “This afternoon will be too late. By then, a mistake will have been made. One that would be difficult to correct.”

The railroad agent frowned at him. “What mistake?”

Val reached into an inside coat pocket. “This is a deed to land claimed by Mr. Ned Jarvis. He wagered it and lost. I understand you must assign the land to me before—.”

“That’s true. I don’t see how it’s urgent.”

Rude, impatient, with an annoying tendency to interrupt...

Val continued in a polite tone. “I’ve been led to believe Mr. Jarvis plans to secure a bride and assert his right to this claim on that basis, which is why the matter is urgent. I respectfully request that you assign the land to me before he can perpetrate this fraud.”

Hardt took the deed, barely glancing at the paper. “Whose name is on it at this point doesn’t matter. I won’t be assigning land until after the weddings take place.”

“But he signed over the deed,” Val pointed out, nicely.

“He might’ve signed it, but we haven’t assigned him the claim, so he can’t transfer ownership. Being a foreigner, you wouldn’t be aware of the legal intricacies involving railroads.”

“I have a firm grasp on American law...and the loopholes.”

“There are no loopholes in this case, Mr. Valentine. Married men will be assigned claims first. Do you happen to be married?”

Val held his temper in check, no small effort. “Not at present.”

“You could be...” blurted the flame-haired woman.

Her astonishing remark arrested the conversation. Val’s composure slipped and his jaw came unhinged. Had she just issued him a proposal?

The girl blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor. The rosy color rising in her cheeks made her fair skin glow. In spite of her outlandish outburst, she gave the appearance of being innocent. If she wasn’t, she was a fine actress.

The other woman nabbed her arm. “Rose, no, you don’t know anything about him,” she said in harsh whisper. “Don’t sacrifice yourself...”

Rose pushed her friend’s hand away. “Leave me be. I’m not goin’ back.”

“This is madness. He won’t carry through with his threats,” the other woman continued to plead. “He can’t force us to—”

Before Val could decipher the drama, Hardt extended the deed.

“I’ll assign you the claim if you take this one,” he grasped the smaller woman’s arm and pulled her in front of him, “off my hands.”

Her eyes went wide with shock. Then she twisted around, gray skirts swirling, and delivered a hard slap to the agent’s right cheek. In the hushed stillness, the strike resounded like a thunderclap. With a furious cry, she tore free and rushed down the hall.

Val considered applauding. An excellent show, and he hadn’t even had to pay an admission.

Hardt’s skin darkened as the imprint of the offended lady’s hand appeared on his face. His jaw muscles worked as if he were grinding his teeth.

The girl named Rose came out of her startled daze. She turned to the railroad agent, pleading. “Please, sir, don’t be very angry...”

Val discerned the reason for her worry, and the urge to protect her gripped him. “If you’ve threatened these women—”

“Threatened?” Hardt faced him with a frown. “I don’t threaten women. They signed an agreement. I’ve been tasked with matching them up. Some of them, like Miss Muldoon, are more cooperative.”

By offering herself to a man she’d just met? Val couldn’t imagine why Rose Muldoon had
cooperated
in such a manner, unless she felt pressured. “Doesn’t appear they’re pleased with your matchmaking methods.”

“They’ll be less pleased if riots break out,” Hardt returned.

He had a point. Since the women had arrived, the town had turned into a powder keg. These ladies represented the spark. The process of
matching them up
, as Hardt put it, needed to be managed, but arranging marriages was clearly outside of his wheelhouse. It would be easier to feel sorry for him if he weren’t so arrogant.

The agent turned to the woman at his side. His harsh demeanor softened, the only hint he might possess a shred of humanity. “Are you certain about this one? I won’t hold you to your offer to take the first man who walked through the door.”

His cryptic remark elicited another warm glow on Miss Muldoon’s cheeks. She gathered her tattered shawl and wrapped it around the upper half of her faded dress, perhaps assuming he’d questioned her because of appearance. Still, she held her shoulders back and lifted her head, a pauper who carried herself like a queen.

Remarkable.

“I’m certain...” She hesitated, darting a questioning glance in Val’s direction. “If he is.”

A smile came to his lips, unbidden. He admired her courage and found her boldness charming, and he didn’t want to crush her spirit, but Hardt couldn’t be serious about foisting this girl off on him.

The agent once again held out the deed. “Mr. Valentine, you may propose to Miss Muldoon now, or you can get in line with the others and take your chances. Either way, I won’t be assigning claims until all these ladies are settled in agreeable marriages.”

Val was speechless. He’d come in here to persuade Hardt to assign him a piece of land, not give him a bride. Marriage would come with strings—strings that would have to be severed. Better not to entangle this innocent girl. His future waited across an ocean in a different life and with a highborn lady. Not with a poor Irish lass, no matter how beautiful or brave.

On the other hand, if he walked away, he might as well bid adieu to the land, and to a fortune. There was no guarantee he’d get another chance, and he refused to skulk home empty handed, and prove what everyone thought about him—that he’d never amount to anything.

A small worry line appeared between her eyebrows, which were the same unusual color as her hair. Seeing her distress, he offered her an encouraging smile.

She blushed and lowered her lashes, and her fingers tightened on the ends of the shawl. So, she wanted him, did she?

The responsive tightening in his groin took Val by surprise. That wasn’t what he had in mind at all. If he married her, he’d do it only so he could get control of the land. When he sold it, he’d give his wife a generous portion, along with an annulment.

With a tidy sum settled on her, Rose would be free to find another man to her liking, or wealthy enough not to marry, if she so desired. Looking at it that way, marriage could be good for both of them.

Barring further examination, Val went to one knee. If he thought about this for long, he’d lose his nerve or change his mind. He looked up—something he rarely did—and reached for her hand. “Miss Muldoon, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

––––––––

T
he wedding took place two hours later in the front parlor of the Lagonda Hotel.

Mr. Hardt rounded up a man of God in a black suit with a string tie, saying the nearest priest lived fifty miles away. Val, as he’d told Rose to call him, was in a hurry to claim his new property, and Mr. Hardt said they had to be married before he’d sign off on the deed, so Rose greed to be wed immediately. If she balked, her fine gentleman might change his mind.

The other women had gone into a flurry of activity moments after Val proposed. Delilah offered Rose a beautiful fitted jacket and bustled skirt made from pale pink silk. The hem came only to mid-calf, like something a girl might wear. Hope, the tallest lady next to Rose, provided extra petticoats with lacy hems, which extended the skirts another two inches so she wasn’t indecent. Rose hated putting on the bulky boots, but she couldn’t squeeze her feet into anyone’s shoes. Susannah suggested she simply wear stockings, and Miss LaBelle had donated a pair of decorative garters to hold them up. Susannah collected wildflowers for a bouquet, and her son Danny escorted Rose to her handsome prince. It seemed like something out of a dream. Rose considered pinching herself, but if she was dreaming, she didn’t want to wake up.