Waiting For Spring Part 21

As she started to nod, a thought a.s.sailed Charlotte. "You said the shop couldn't be profitable unless it was larger."

"That's true." Though he'd been leaning forward, Barrett settled back in the chair. "That's the real reason I wanted to talk to you tonight."

Of course. This was why Barrett had seemed so apprehensive. He hadn't been certain she would agree to sell him her store. After all, until they found the baron, they had both agreed it would not be safe for Charlotte to open her school. In the meantime, she needed the income from elan to pay her expenses. The prudent course would be to tell Barrett he would have to wait until she had the school established, but Charlotte wasn't feeling prudent. She didn't want to do anything to destroy Barrett's happiness. If she had to, she could run her business the way she'd heard some dressmakers did, by conducting all the meetings and fittings in her clients' homes. It wouldn't be as convenient as having a showroom, and she'd probably lose some sales, but it was a small price to pay for Barrett's happiness.

"You want my shop." She made it a statement, not a question as she tried to tamp down her disappointment. It wasn't Barrett's fault that she had hoped for a different outcome from tonight.

"Yes, but-"

She wouldn't let him apologize. She wouldn't let him rationalize. Friends didn't do that to friends. Before he could continue, Charlotte said, "You may have it."

Though she had expected to see relief reflected on his face, Barrett appeared almost annoyed. That was undoubtedly her imagination. She had just given him what he wanted. Of course he was not annoyed.

"You haven't heard everything," he said.

"I've heard enough. It's a fine idea, Barrett. An excellent one." When he looked as if he were going to say something, Charlotte continued to outline the reasons Barrett's plan was ideal. "Mr. Yates will be able to move to Arizona, you'll have the future you deserve, and the citizens of Cheyenne will have a newly expanded place to buy their dry goods." If only she didn't feel so horribly empty inside, everything would be perfect.

Barrett said nothing, and the silence stretched between them, an awkward silence as Charlotte wondered why he wasn't responding. Hadn't she said what he wanted to hear? What more did he want from her?

At last he cleared his throat. "Now may I tell you why I invited you to dinner?"

Blinking in confusion, Charlotte stared at him. "You already have."

He shook his head. "That was the prelude. Yes, it's true that I would like to buy Mr. Yates's store. It's also true that I would like to expand it by incorporating what is now elan, but none of that matters unless I have what I want most in life."

Pausing for a moment, Barrett stretched his hands out, capturing hers in his. "I'm supposed to be the man with the golden tongue," he said, his lips twisting with irony. "Folks say I can convince anyone of anything. Now, when it matters more than ever before, I feel like a tongue-tied schoolboy."

He cleared his throat again. "You know what a difficult winter this has been. I've been like everyone else in Cheyenne, waiting for spring. I told myself that everything would be better then, and it will be, if you . . ." He stopped abruptly. "There I go, getting ahead of myself." Though he shook his head in apparent self-disgust, his eyes sparkled.

Charlotte stared at Barrett, her breath catching at what she saw in his eyes. When he'd spoken of buying the dry goods store, she had seen enthusiasm. When he'd recounted the story of helping the customers, she had seen satisfaction. But now his eyes reflected something softer and yet stronger than either enthusiasm or satisfaction. Love.

Barrett raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on them. "I love you, Charlotte. I love you with all my heart, with every breath in my body."

She started to smile. This was what she had hoped for. This was what she had dreamt of. She tugged Barrett's hands and turned them over, slowly raising them to her lips so that she could return the kiss he had given her, but he shook his head. "Please let me finish."

As she nodded, Barrett's lips curved into a smile. "The store is important, but if I were there alone, it would be meaningless. I need more. I want more. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you and David. That's what is important to me. Will you do it, Charlotte? Will you make my life complete? Will you be my wife?"

Her heart pounding so furiously that Charlotte feared it would break through her chest, she nodded. "Yes, Barrett, I will."

Dreams did come true.

25.

His dreams were coming true. He could feel it in his bones. Slowing the horse as he reached the outskirts of Cheyenne, Warren grinned. He'd ridden harder than normal, but there'd been no choice, not unless he was willing to waste another day, and that was something he wouldn't do. Though he didn't like to abuse good horseflesh, he didn't want to wait until morning. That was why he was still riding, though it was well past sunset. He might be tired, the horse might be winded, but he was here.

He had it all planned. The red-hot fury he'd felt when he'd realized that Widow Crowley had tried to outsmart him had faded, but in its wake, he'd found a new resolve. She would pay for the time he'd waited for the money. She would pay, and so would that brat of hers.

Two days ago, all he'd wanted was the money. Now he wanted more. He deserved more. It was no longer enough to send her a demand for the money or to wear his mask when he confronted her. Now he wanted to see her face when she realized who he was and what he intended to do. That was why he'd decided that he needed to visit Charlotte tonight.

Her shop would be closed, so he wouldn't run the risk of encountering any of her customers. He didn't want anyone-especially Gwen-overhearing their conversation. That was why he'd tell Charlotte they had business to discuss and that it would be best if they went to the store. She'd agree. Just as she'd agree to tell no one of his demands. Of course she would, for Warren was a most persuasive man. He'd make sure she knew that her son's life was at stake. Silly Charlotte wouldn't realize that he had every intention of killing both her and the boy. That was the only way he could ensure her silence. Besides, if Charlotte were dead, the victim of an unfortunate accident, Gwen would have no one to turn to but him.

Warren's grin widened. By tomorrow, he would have the money-his money. And the next day he would ask Gwen to marry him. His grin turned into a chuckle. In less than forty-eight hours, his future would be secured.

Once he'd hitched the horse, he climbed the steps leading to the second floor apartment and knocked on Charlotte's door. The time of reckoning had arrived.

"Warren?" Gwen's eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door. "I didn't expect you," she said as she ushered him into an immaculately clean kitchen. "Did Barrett send you? Has something happened to Charlotte?"

Warren stifled a curse. This wasn't going the way he had planned, for Jeffrey's widow was not here.

"Where is Charlotte?" His words came out harsher than he'd planned, causing Gwen to flinch. Careful, Warren, he admonished himself. You don't want to lose control now. Gwen must never know what you've done and what you intend to do. Sweet, innocent Gwen would not marry a murderer and a thief.

"She's having dinner with Barrett." Gwen tilted her head to one side in the gesture he found so endearing. "At his house. I don't know what came over me. Of course there's nothing wrong. It was foolish of me to think otherwise. I was just so surprised to see you."

Warren's mind began to whirl. Though there would be an unfortunate delay, perhaps he could turn it to his advantage. He might be able to learn something from Gwen, and even if he didn't, he'd have the pleasure of her company.

"May I stay for a few minutes?"

Gwen started to nod, then shook her head, her indecision apparent. "I'm not sure it would be proper, since we have no chaperone."

"Didn't you say Charlotte was with Barrett at his house?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but there are servants there. No one's here but Rose and David, and they'd hardly qualify as chaperones, even if they were awake."

Her protests only heightened his determination. Everything she did and said underscored what a perfect wife she would be. Once they were wed, no one, not even the most persnickety member of the committee, would question Warren's suitability for the Cheyenne Club.

"Please, Gwen. I missed you while I was gone. No one will know I'm here." Warren's thoughts flew to the horse that was. .h.i.tched in front of the store. It was a gray, and grays were not common in Cheyenne. That had been part of the gelding's appeal. It was also the reason he never rode to Sylvia's. That was one place where he could not afford to be recognized. This was another. He hadn't expected to be here long enough for anyone to notice his horse, and so he hadn't taken his normal precautions, but now . . . Warren tossed caution aside. "I'd like to spend some time with you," he told Gwen.

She hesitated again, then nodded. "All right. Come in."

As she led him into what appeared to be the parlor area of the apartment, Warren saw that she was wearing house slippers. Perhaps that was another reason she was so reluctant to invite him in. A lady like Gwen would feel uncomfortable entertaining a man in her slippers. But soon, if everything went the way Warren planned, he would see her house slippers every day. He grinned at the prospect of sharing a house and a life with this woman.

While Warren waited until Gwen seated herself, he looked around the room. Since he'd been inside Mr. Yates's store, he was familiar with the basic dimensions of the apartment. He'd known it would not be large, but to Warren's surprise, there was no sign of wealth. To the contrary, the furniture was well-worn, and though a table had been placed over it, he spotted a hole in the carpet. Apparently Charlotte had not lavished any of Big Nose's gold here. It made no sense. If he had all that money, he wouldn't be living in a small apartment with used furnis.h.i.+ngs, but he didn't pretend to understand the workings of a woman's mind. Perhaps Charlotte had a conscience and knew the money wasn't hers.

As he settled himself on the chair Gwen indicated, Warren nodded. That must be the case. Hadn't Jeffrey mentioned that his wife's father was a minister? It figured that a parson's daughter would have scruples. Warren almost laughed out loud. Charlotte's scruples meant more money for him.

Tiny furrows appeared between Gwen's eyes. "Are you certain nothing is wrong?"

"Why would you think anything is amiss?" Plenty was wrong, but Warren didn't want to worry Gwen.

"Your expression when you were looking at the room. I never saw you look quite like that."

Warren shrugged as he feigned nonchalance. He hadn't realized Gwen was so perceptive. He'd have to be careful after they were married, especially on the days when he planned to visit Sylvia's. Whatever else he did, he couldn't let Gwen learn about that side of his life.

"If I'm looking strange, it must be because I'm so tired." Determined to change the subject, he made a show of looking around the room, this time keeping his expression neutral. "This is the first time I've seen where you live. It's not what I expected."

Gwen seemed surprised, but at least she was no longer studying his face. "Why not?"

"I thought it would be bigger." He wouldn't say that he had thought it would be nicer, because the furnis.h.i.+ngs weren't Gwen's fault. He knew she had little money. That was why she lived here, working as a glorified servant for Charlotte Crowley, a woman who could afford a mansion. It was Charlotte who was to blame for these modest surroundings. Tamping down his anger, Warren searched for proof that Charlotte Harding, proprietor of elan, was actually Jeffrey Crowley's widow. The parlor was barren of personal touches other than some children's toys and a sewing basket.

"I'm surprised you have no photographs of your family here." He gestured toward the mantel and the wall. "Most homes I've visited do."

Gwen looked at the bare walls as if seeing them for the first time. "There's a portrait of Mike in my bedchamber." A faint blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered if she'd broken some rule of etiquette by mentioning her sleeping quarters. "I keep it out because I don't want Rose to forget her father."

This was the opening Warren needed. As casually as he could, he asked, "And Charlotte? Does she have a picture of her husband? What was his name?" He paused for a second, as if racking his brain. "Jeffrey?"

Though he hadn't intended it, confusion clouded Gwen's eyes. He must have sounded like he was cross-examining a hostile witness. He'd have to be more careful. Gwen shook her head slowly. "There are no photographs of him, but it doesn't matter. I'm sure Charlotte's like me, and she'll never forget her husband's face. As for David, the poor child wouldn't know if there were a dozen portraits of his father."

That might be true, but the absence of photos struck Warren as suspicious. Only a woman with something to hide would have changed her name and hidden all evidence of her past. Warren stared into the distance, acting as casual as he could. "She must have loved Jeffrey very much if she can't bear to see reminders of her marriage."

It was the wrong thing to say, for Gwen started to bristle. Perhaps she thought he was questioning her love for Mike, since she kept his portrait on display. "Why do you keep saying *Jeffrey'?" she demanded. "I don't believe that was his name."

But it had to be. There couldn't be two Charlotte Hardings in Wyoming Territory. "Then what was his name?"

Gwen pursed her lips. "I don't know. Charlotte doesn't talk about him very often, and when she does, she refers to him as *my husband.'"

"Then she never mentioned Jeffrey Crowley?"

"No."

"And she never told you she lived at Fort Laramie?"

"No." Gwen's face began to flush. "Warren, I don't know where you got those ideas. You must be mistaken." She looked at him, her eyes dark with anger. "I know Charlotte. She's my dearest friend. If what you're saying were true, she would have told me."

"Unless she's a liar."

Charlotte sighed as she wrapped her arms around Barrett's neck. Never had she dreamt that his kisses would be so enticing. At first they'd been feather light, teasing her with a gentle brus.h.i.+ng across her lips. And then he'd deepened them, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her with an intensity that left her breathless and longing for more.

"Oh, Barrett, I love you," she whispered when they broke apart.

"I will never, ever tire of hearing you say that." His words were little more than a murmur before his lips captured hers again. When at length he ended the kiss, he kept his arms around her waist and smiled at her. "I have so many questions for you, but when you're this close, it's hard to remember them."

With obvious reluctance, he dropped his arms and stepped back a pace, leaving Charlotte feeling oddly bereft. Her eyes lighted on the ormolu clock. Was it possible that it had been less than half an hour since they'd entered the parlor? So much had changed in so little time. Half an hour ago she hadn't known what was in Barrett's heart. Now she wore his ring-the most beautiful ring she had ever seen-and they were making plans to marry.

Barrett's lips curved into a crooked smile as he gestured toward the chairs they'd used before. "I'd better keep my distance. Otherwise all I can think about is kissing you again." He waited until she was seated before taking the other chair. "There, that's better. Now I can ask my questions. Let's start with the most important one. When would you like to be married?" He reached out and clasped her right hand between his, leaving the left one with the exquisite opal resting on the chair arm. "If it were up to me, I'd say tomorrow, but I know that brides need more time to prepare."

His impatience was endearing, warming Charlotte as much as his kisses had. "Tomorrow sounds wonderful, but it wouldn't be right." She hoped Barrett would understand her reasons. "We need to wait until after Easter. I know not everyone adheres to convention, but my father felt strongly that Lent was a time for solemn reflection. That's why he would not marry a couple during Lent. Even though he's no longer here, I want to abide by his wishes."

"Certainly." Barrett tightened the grip on her hand. Though his words were matter-of-fact, his expression was anything but. His eyes sparkled, and his lips curved into the sweetest of smiles, leaving her no doubt that this man who'd haunted so many of her dreams and even more of her waking moments loved her. "Will that give your sisters enough time to come here? I imagine you want them with you."

"I do," she admitted, "but not if it means delaying our wedding." As dearly as she loved her sisters, she loved Barrett more. Perhaps she was being greedy, but she wanted their life together to begin as soon as possible. Charlotte raised her left hand, smiling at the ring that changed colors as she moved it, revealing new depths and beauty. Still smiling, she met Barrett's gaze. "Let's not wait for my sisters. Elizabeth couldn't come until school ends, and that's months from now. I don't know whether Abigail is able to travel at all. She might be in a delicate condition." Barrett's nod told Charlotte he understood her reference. "What about your brothers?" she asked, mindful that her family was not the only one to consider. "Will they come?"

"Not both of them. They can't leave the store for that long, and by now Camden's bride may also be in a delicate condition. Let's pick a date and see how many of our family can make it. If none of them can, we'll visit them on our wedding trip." Barrett uncrossed his ankles and leaned forward. "Easter's April 10. Would April 11 be too soon?"

Charlotte chuckled, amused and yet pleased that he was as eager for their marriage as she. "It's less than four weeks, but I can be ready. If Abigail can't come, I'll ask Gwen to be my attendant." A thought a.s.sailed her. It wasn't only her life that was about to change. "I've been selfish. I haven't considered how this will affect her and Rose." While it was possible that Warren would marry her, Charlotte could not a.s.sume that.

"I'd hardly call you selfish." Waiting until the clock finished chiming the hour, Barrett added, "Gwen can stay in the apartment, if that's what's bothering you. I won't need the s.p.a.ce for the store, and I a.s.sume you and I will live here." His eyes brightened. "Would you like to see the upstairs? I'm not sure what you'll want to change for the school."

How could she have forgotten the school? The prospect of becoming Barrett's wife must have turned her brain to cornmeal mush.

"What about the baron?"

Barrett had a ready answer. "I'm going to hire a Pinkerton to look for him. The baron may be clever, but he's no match for a Pinkerton. So, Charlotte Harding Crowley soon to become Charlotte Landry, let's talk about your school."

"Are you certain you don't mind the idea of having a school here? You've seen how noisy David can be. It'll be much worse if we have a dozen or so pupils." When Barrett didn't respond immediately, Charlotte added, "Perhaps I should reconsider. It might be better if it wasn't a boarding school."

"Better for whom?" Barrett rose and settled her hand on his arm. "If you're worried about me, don't be. This house has been quiet for too long." He opened the door and escorted her toward the lovely carved staircase.

"It won't be quiet if we have children living with us."

"And that's good. It'll be alive." Barrett waited until they reached the second floor before he spoke again. "So, we're agreed. We'll be married on April 11, and then we'll begin planning for your school and my new store."

He led her along the hallway, opening the doors to each of the six bedrooms. Though less ornately furnished than the first floor rooms, it was obvious to Charlotte that a great deal of planning had been involved in decorating chambers that would rarely have been used. The first two rooms on each side had connecting doors, and though the wallpaper in each was a different color, the patterns were similar enough to be pleasing. One side, which Charlotte immediately appropriated for the girls, was predominantly pink and lavender, while the other was decorated in shades of blue and green. The two rooms that formed a suite at the back of the house were clearly Barrett's personal domain, and Charlotte felt a twinge of uneasiness entering them. Boasting maroon drapes with gold ta.s.sels and a matching bedspread, the main room was masculine, and yet not overly so. Charlotte could imagine living here. And the smaller room, which reversed the color scheme, appeared almost feminine.

"What do you think?" Barrett asked when they returned to the hallway. "There are another ten rooms on the third floor. They're smaller, of course, because they're intended for servants."

"Or teachers." Charlotte looked around the second floor. "This is perfect." It could easily accommodate the dozen pupils she thought she might have eventually, and if the need arose, she could expand the school to twenty. "We'll have the girls here," she said, gesturing toward the pink and lavender rooms. "The older girls in the front room, the younger ones next to them. And the boys will be in the blue and green rooms."

Barrett's lips twisted as if he were trying to squelch a smile. "And the last two rooms?"

Charlotte felt herself blus.h.i.+ng. How silly. She had been married before, and yet she was acting like a schoolgirl. "They're for us," she said as calmly as she could. "We can turn the gold room into a sitting area. It'll give us a quiet place to escape."

"A sanctuary." Barrett's lips twisted into one of the crooked grins she loved as he added, "Or a nursery."

"How can you even suggest that?" As Warren watched, the blood drained from Gwen's face. "Charlotte wouldn't lie to me."

Though he wished there were a way to spare her, there wasn't. Eventually Gwen would know the truth about her so-called friend. "She did. I'm certain of it. The woman you know as Charlotte Harding is really Charlotte Crowley, Lieutenant Jeffrey Crowley's widow. He was stationed at Fort Laramie until his death." Gwen needed to know that, but she most definitely did not need to know that it was Warren who had killed the hapless lieutenant.

Gwen's light blue eyes flashed with anger. She didn't like the truth, learning that dear, sweet Charlotte, her best friend, was a liar. "I won't believe it. I . . ." Before she could complete her sentence, a child started to scream. Gwen jumped to her feet. "It's David. He probably realizes that Charlotte isn't here." She gave Warren a stern look. "Good-bye, Warren. I need to comfort David, and you need to go. I don't want to hear any more of your lies about Charlotte."

Though she gestured toward the back door, Warren did not move. He wouldn't leave. Not like this, with anger between them. With a small harrumph, Gwen entered the room off the kitchen, switching on the light. "It's all right, David," he heard her say, her voice gentle now that she wasn't speaking to him. "Everything will be all right."

Just as everything would be all right between him and Gwen. He would wait until the child was asleep, and then he'd make her understand.

Settling back in the chair, Warren listened as Gwen crooned to Charlotte's son. "There, there. Mama will be home soon. It's time to sleep." Her voice rose and fell as if she were singing. It was a soothing sound, and yet the child continued to wail. "All right," she said when it appeared that David was not responding to her comforting words. "I'll read you a story. Mama always has a book on her nightstand. We'll find a good story." The word story seemed to have penetrated the boy's brain, for his wails subsided into little whimpers.

Warren heard Gwen's firm footsteps and suspected she was picking out a book. He closed his eyes, wondering how long she would have to read before Charlotte's brat fell asleep. But there were no sounds other than a brief gasp. Warren opened his eyes, curious about whatever had surprised Gwen.

Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, her expression distraught. "You were right, Warren," she said, holding out a Bible. "Charlotte lied. The proof is here."