Sensible Arrangement, A (Lone Star Brides Book #1) Page 10

  Alice nodded. “I thought of that after I learned about Mr. Wythe’s position. God knew exactly where to bring me.”

  Marty found the girl’s comment strange. “Why do you say that?”

  “I was in need, and the future looked grim. I didn’t see a way out or a hope for making things work. I was broken in spirit, and I wasn’t in very good shape—even physically—for several months. Though friends were helping, I knew that soon I’d have to take care of myself. And frankly, as I told God one morning, I wasn’t at all prepared to do the job.” She smiled. “God knew I was speaking the truth, so He put you in my life. Now you and Mrs. Landry take care of me, and so I am safe once again.”

  Marty didn’t want to discredit the girl’s faith, so she only nodded and started for her bed. Alice’s next words, however, caused her a great deal of discomfort. “God always knows best. He knows just what we need—even before we know it. He’s always making provision for us.”

  Like He did when Thomas got killed? Like He did when your father and mine were attacked and murdered?

  “And don’t forget to write to your sister, ma’am. Mrs. Landry put some fine stationery on your desk, and there are several choices of pens and ink. She wasn’t sure what you preferred.”

  Marty glanced across the room to her sitting area. “Thank you. I suppose I should write that letter first thing tomorrow.”

  Alice nodded and made her way from the room. Marty settled into bed, wondering if she’d be able to find any peace for her soul. The lies she had told and the truth she had concealed rose up to accuse her. Jake wanted honesty between them, but Marty couldn’t give that.

  She glanced in the darkness toward the connecting door to her dressing room. She could easily cross through to knock on Jake’s door. The thought of trying to explain left her without courage, however.

  “I can’t tell him the truth,” she whispered in the dark. “I can never tell him the truth.”

  Chapter 10

  The Valentine’s party at the Morgans’ residence was unlike anything Marty had ever attended. Even during her time in Georgia while attending finishing school, she had never seen such evidence of wealth. There were at least twenty servants moving in a carefully choreographed dance as they went about their duties. Most were men dressed in smart black suits and white gloves, while a few were women in fashionable black dresses and white aprons. It seemed that the women, however, disappeared with the announcement of the first guests, while the men remained to take outer garments, direct guests to the receiving line, and offer any other needed assistance.

  Overhead, massive crystal chandeliers spilled light upon the visitors. Marty thought the crystals sparkled like diamonds and even wondered if, given the Morgan wealth, they weren’t exactly that.

  Mrs. Morgan greeted Marty with practiced charm, expressing her utter delight to introduce Martha Wythe to society. “I seldom invest my time in these matters,” Mrs. Morgan told her in confidence, “but my husband expressed his desire for young Wythe to be well received.” She smiled in a knowing manner. “And that, of course, demands that his wife be.” She assessed Marty from head to toe. “I can tell we shall be good company for each other.”

  Uncertain how to respond, Marty simply offered her thanks. Mrs. Morgan didn’t seem at all concerned with her silence. Perhaps this was expected. Marty allowed the older woman to position her in the receiving line and make suggestions for how to greet the arriving public.

  “What . . . what should I do?” Marty asked in a hushed whisper.

  “It’s best to keep your comments to a minimum,” Mrs. Morgan advised. “I shall conduct the introductions, and you follow my lead.”

  Marty wanted to laugh. No doubt she feared that Marty and Jake would make unforgivable social mistakes. However, Marty was happy to limit her replies. Most of the people, particularly the women, seemed far more interested in Mrs. Morgan and what she thought of their expensive new gowns.

  “Mrs. Keystone, this is Mrs. Jacob Wythe. She and Mr. Wythe were recently married, as I’m sure you will remember.”

  The pinch-faced woman eyed Marty carefully. “Mrs. Wythe, I’ve heard . . . about you.”

  Marty wasn’t at all sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “Mrs. Keystone, I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

  The woman nodded and turned her attention back to Imogene Morgan. “Mr. Keystone is unforgivably late, but plans to join us for dinner. He was delayed with some sort of business matter.”

  “Our men must attend to duty,” Mrs. Morgan replied. She dismissed Mrs. Keystone by looking to the next couple in line. “Governor and Mrs. Cooper, this is Mrs. Jacob Wythe.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Morgan, you should remember I’m no longer the governor,” Mr. Cooper responded, giving Marty a half bow. Mrs. Cooper smiled rather uncomfortably and bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Marty did likewise and remained silent, since no one had really spoken to her.

  “I want to thank you for joining us tonight.” Mrs. Morgan reached out to touch Mrs. Cooper’s arm. “I know that you’ve had a very busy schedule.”

  “Oh, but I wouldn’t miss your Valentine’s ball for all of the world. I simply couldn’t. I so look forward to this event, and just look at your beautiful gown.”

  Mrs. Morgan touched the edge of the flowing gold-toned fabric that fell from either shoulder to the ground. “Isn’t it marvelous? Mr. Worth’s creation.”

  “But of course,” Mrs. Cooper replied, touching the bodice of her own lavender gown.

  Mrs. Morgan smiled knowingly. “I recognized his work immediately. I must say that color goes well with your complexion.”

  Marty tried not to appear bored at the banter. She thought back to times when Hannah and Will had entertained some of the area’s wealthier ranchers and their wives. There had been social circles in Texas, but life had a way of being less pretentious. Maybe it was because folks there knew they often depended on one another for their very lives.

  The receiving line went on and on until Marty thought she might very well scream in exasperation of the façade of pleasantries. When dinner was finally served, Marty found herself sandwiched between Mr. Cooper and a Mr. Sheedy. And while both were amicable enough, she longed for Jake’s company. The men offered pleasantries, asking how she liked Denver and her new home. Sheedy spoke about some of the houses being built nearby, and Cooper added his thoughts on the growing city. It wasn’t until Mr. Cooper leaned close to comment on her unusual arrival to the city, however, that Marty grew uncomfortable.

  “I must say, I thought you would be a much fiercer-looking woman.” He smiled. “When I read of your heroics in the paper, they made you sound larger than life.”

  Marty paled. “They wrote about me in the paper?”

  “Oh, surely Mr. Wythe showed you the article. He said, of course, that the drawing looked nothing like you. I can see that for myself now. You are a delicate and beautiful woman, and I don’t say that lightly. Sweet talk has never been my style.”

  She glanced around the table to where Mr. Cooper’s wife sat laughing at something the man to her left had said. Marty swallowed hard and met Mr. Cooper’s gaze. “Thank you, I think.”

  He chuckled. “I merely stated the obvious. You hardly seem capable of handling a two-team carriage, much less six large stage horses.”

  Marty smiled finally. “I grew up on a ranch in Texas. I know very well how to handle horses—cattle too. Does that also shock you?”

  Cooper shook his head. “No, Mrs. Wythe, I’m beginning to think you could say most anything, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. You are quite a woman.”

  “What was that, Cooper?” This came from a man opposite the table. Marty struggled to remember who the man was, but she couldn’t place a name with the face.

  “I was merely commenting on our heroine, Mrs. Wythe. Many of you may not realize it, but this elegant young woman is the one and same Mrs. Olson who saved the stagecoach a few weeks ago.”

  There were several gasp
s from the women; obviously they found Marty’s exploits to be unacceptable table conversation. Some women looked away, as if Marty’s actions were vile and unmentionable, while others merely frowned. It was apparent that everyone knew only too well about the incident. Most of the men seemed quite supportive, however—most were nodding their heads and offering her a smile.

  “Is it true that you singlehandedly foiled the stagecoach robbery?” a man at the far end of the table asked.

  “Did you really handle two pistols at once?” someone else asked. It was as if a dam had burst. Questions came at her from every direction.

  Marty looked to Jake, who appeared as uncomfortable as she felt. He pulled on his collar and stared at his plate. Marty didn’t know what to think or say, but the entire party awaited her response.

  “I . . . I should say . . . no. I was only one passenger among many, and I had only one revolver. The driver and his associate were the heroes of the day.” She fell silent, hoping she hadn’t caused problems for Jake. Goodness, why hadn’t he shown her the article in the paper? At least then she could have been ready for this.

  “Well, I heard that the driver and his man were shot nearly to death,” Mr. Morgan threw out.

  Mrs. Morgan and her friends seemed appalled at the reference. She hushed her husband with a look. He shrugged. “I beg your forgiveness, ladies. I did not mean to be crude.”

  Marty would have laughed had the situation not been so important to her husband. So instead, she bolstered her courage. Amidst the fine china, silver, and crystal, she was the odd wooden bowl accidentally left in plain sight.

  “I’m afraid it all happened quite fast. The men were wounded and because of that, someone had to get them to safety,” Marty finally replied. “I did what anyone would have done.”

  “Few women would have known how to drive a team of stage horses,” one of the men commented.

  “Perhaps that’s true, but I grew up on a ranch in Texas. We often found it necessary to learn . . . irregular duties.”

  “However could you manage climbing up that monstrous contraption?” Mrs. Cooper questioned. “I haven’t ridden a stage in years, but I know them to be quite large.”

  Marty nodded. “It wasn’t easy. It took all the strength I could muster. Even so, I’m just happy to know that my efforts helped those men.”

  “I should say so. The paper,” Mr. Morgan said in a voice that suggested his approval, “said that if it were not for Mrs. Olson . . . pardon me, ma’am, Mrs. Wythe’s actions, those men would have died and the stage occupants would have been left to the mercy of the bandits, who might have returned to the scene. Mrs. Wythe deserves our congratulations and admiration.”

  Mrs. Morgan agreed. “She does, indeed. She’s a heroine, and we are glad to have her among us.”

  There was a great deal of murmuring and nodding. Marty offered them a smile. If the Morgans said she was a heroine, then these people were happy to conclude nothing less. The opinion of the Morgans mattered more than the shocking actions Marty had given the city to talk about.

  After that, no one seemed inclined to comment, and the guests returned to more private discussions. Marty found herself engaged in conversation again with Mr. Sheedy and Mr. Cooper. Sheedy, it seemed, had once been a rancher himself. Now, however, he was vice-president of the Colorado National Bank.

  “Of course, I made my fortune in cattle and mining. Good money in ranching if you have the right people involved.”

  Marty nodded but said nothing. She was relieved when someone else spoke to Sheedy and drew his attention from her. Focusing on her plate—a beautiful gold-edged bone china—Marty toyed with her food.

  “Do you not care for the fish?” Mr. Cooper asked.

  Marty shook her head. “It’s not that. With the excitement and all, I find that I’m not very hungry.”

  “These parties can be quite exhausting, so it’s best to keep up one’s strength—especially since there is to be dancing.”

  Course after course was served, and Marty did her best to nibble a little of each offering. She was momentarily relieved when the women were excused to ready themselves for the ball while the men smoked cigars and enjoyed a good brandy.

  Finding herself in a room of strangers, Marty readied herself for the onslaught of questions she feared would come. Mrs. Morgan, however, was good to engage her first. She complimented Marty’s gown, which prompted the other women to do so, as well.

  “I find Mrs. Davies to be the most capable of seamstresses and designers. She is quick to understand exactly what I’m seeking,” the woman introduced as Mrs. Katherine Sheedy commented.

  “Personally, I’m spoiled,” Mrs. Cooper started. “For formal occasions, I must have Worth, or I’m completely out of sorts. The man is a positive genius of design. I believe his creations only get better each year.”

  “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,” Mrs. Morgan answered. “I daresay there will never be another designer quite so talented. It will be a sad day indeed when we lose Mr. Worth.”

  A rather mousy but opulently jeweled woman interjected, “He surely must have a great many students learning from his creative talents. It wouldn’t be right to lose such insight—such vision.”

  “They can learn to emulate the man’s designs,” Mrs. Morgan replied, “but when Charles Worth dies, he will no doubt take his biggest secrets with him to the grave.”

  “Such a disparaging conversation,” Mrs. Cooper said, tsking her disapproval. “We are here to welcome Mrs. Wythe.”

  “Indeed we are.” Mrs. Morgan stepped closer to Marty. “I believe we will all enjoy getting to know you better in the months to come.”

  Marty wasn’t entirely sure that she could offer the same comment and so merely gave her thanks.

  The women contented themselves with allowing maids to retouch their hair and help them into ornate gloves for the ball. Marty was assisted by a very plain young woman who knew her duty well. She had Marty fitted and buttoned in no time at all.

  The beautiful gloves now gracing her hands were quite foreign to Marty. She had owned riding gloves most of her life, and in finishing school she had learned the requirements of wearing gloves for various occasions. Back on her ranch, though, gloves were used for work, and there were very few times she donned them for special occasions. Especially after she stopped going to church. However, her trip to Colorado had changed all of that. Now gloves were almost her constant companions—so much so, in fact, that she gave serious thought to giving them names. She looked around the room at all of the elegant pairs and couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them each having names. What would the social etiquette be for introducing one’s gloves?

  She suppressed a girlish giggle at the thought and tried instead to focus on the conversation directed at her.

  “I visited Texas once,” Mrs. Keystone said. “I didn’t appreciate the climate.”

  Marty nodded. “Many people don’t.”

  “I also didn’t appreciate the insects. You would think they could do something about that.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure what the woman expected, but not wanting to make trouble, Marty only nodded again.

  “I saw Texas as a dry and desolate place.” Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “Mr. Cooper found it necessary to journey there several years ago, and I accompanied him. I was most miserable. The people were some of the strangest I’ve ever met.” She looked at Marty. “At least your accent is tolerable.”

  Marty started to take offense at the remark. It was one thing that Marty found Texas an abominable place, but that this woman should insult the people was another matter. Mrs. Morgan spoke up just then, however, and Marty had no chance to interject her thoughts.

  “It is time. Let us meet our men for the ball.”

  Jake smiled at Marty from across the room. The evening was nearly over, and soon they would return to their home and the imposed pretense of the evening would be behind them. So far, no one seemed the wiser about their arrangement.
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  Retrieving a glass of punch for his wife, Jake was joined by Mr. Sheedy.

  “Wythe, I was delighted to converse with your missus over supper. She’s a smart one.”

  “She is indeed, and beautiful,” Jake said without the slightest hesitation.

  “You did well for yourself. I understand she hails from a ranching background. I was heavily involved in cattle at one time. Hard work, but it can pay off.”

  “Marty grew up ranching—it’s in her blood. Her sister and brother-in-law still have the spread where she spent most of her life. I look forward to seeing it one day.”

  Sheedy took a glass of punch offered by the servant and nodded. “I don’t imagine that will be very soon, however. Times are difficult, to say the least.”

  “Yes, sir, they are. However, I believe we can weather this storm, just like the others that came before. Folks say that things haven’t been the same since the war, but our great nation is exploding with growth and development. Those are the very things that will see us through.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mr. Wythe.”

  Marty joined them at that moment, smiling warmly at Jake. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Wythe,” Sheedy answered before Jake could. “Your husband and I were just discussing your upbringing on the ranch and how he looks forward to one day visiting that very place.”

  Marty threw Jake a quick glance, looking hesitant to speak. He handed her a glass of punch, and she took a sip before addressing Sheedy. “I only hope there will be a ranch for him to visit. With recent hardships, I think my sister and brother-in-law are considering the possibility that they will need to sell.”

  This took Jake by surprise. She’d said nothing of the matter up until this time. “I had no idea things were so bad for them. Perhaps I should write to your brother-in-law and offer consultation. I know a great deal about ranching, and perhaps I could offer financial advice.”