Sweet White Lies
How can one sweet white lie cause this much trouble?
Sight unseen, Emilia Higginbotham’s parents will present to her the groom of their choosing at her birthday soirée. With one sweet white lie, she turns the table on their plans and selects the most ruggedly handsome cowboy in the room to claim as her secret betrothed. Little does she know he is the one that her parents had chosen.
Jasper Weatherby has come to town immediately from a cattle drive, summoned by his father to meet the bride they have arranged for him. He knows nothing about her except that she is from a wellto-do family in Colorado and her dowry is substantial. Side-tracked by an amusing, yet audacious gal who coaxes him to go along with her pretense, he soon realizes she is the one he was sent to marry. Sweet white lies lead to misunderstandings and bigger untruths for Emilia and Jasper. Can they recover from the deception and uncover true love out of sweet white lies?
Chapter 1
Salida, Colorado June 1883
“I won’t do it!” Emilia Higginbotham stamped her foot in protest, turning her back, she crossed her arms over her chest. “And you can’t make me!”
She peeked out of the corner of her eye to see if her behavior was working. No surprise to her, it was not. She’d seen a girl act this way back home in Georgia outside of church. She had managed to dissuade her parents from their way of thinking.
Of course, that was over ice cream. This was much more serious than a frozen treat on a hot summer day in Atlanta. This was for the rest of her life, until one or the other died. Wasn’t that the promise: ’Til death do us part? Besides, she was older than that girl now, much older. Practically spinster age. This birthday that her parents were determined to ruin with a marriage arrangement would be her twentieth.
Her family had established themselves well near a tiny new town called Salida in Colorado. It meant “exit” in Spanish. That certainly was an appropriate name for it. The way she saw things, few people came here to stay. They came here to exit from the harsh Rocky Mountains and find a better way of life in California or even Oregon. She’d lived here three years, and in that amount of time, Salida had established a post office, a bank, a schoolhouse, and even an opera house. There was a new building popping up every week.
But she had no idea why. Who’d really want to live here? Perhaps it wasn’t such an exit after all, now that she thought about it more thoroughly.
The main business district had talented craftsmen setting up shops. While it was not Atlanta, she had to admit, it was a town full of gifted people and the quality of merchandise she and her mother could purchase was outstanding. Father invested heavily in land and that had paid off significantly, because those who did want to settle
here bought small portions of that land from him and Father had become quite wealthy in this short period of time.
Still, it wasn’t Atlanta!
Acting like a child was not going to win her any favors with her stern, business-minded father. Especially not today! Her father’s mind was made. There was no changing it. He was more stubborn than the Nubian goats they raised. Unfortunately, this particular subject had been put off as long as she could manage to divert their minds to other, more important topics.
With her twentieth birthday filling her parents’ minds with worry for her future, she now faced the inevitable— marriage.
“It is time, Emilia.” Her father spoke purposefully, making his long mustache puff out whenever his words passed from his lips. It was amusing to watch. As a child it made her laugh, but she didn’t dare let her amusement show now. He was serious and determined to have his way.
“Your mother and I have put a lot of thought and effort into this social event. We will celebrate your birthday, of course, but the truth of the matter is… well, it’s all for the sole purpose of you meeting the man we have painstakingly chosen to be your husband. He comes from a good family—”
“You mean a rich family!” She uncharacteristically interrupted her father while he was speaking. Lifting her chin a notch, hoping the defiance disguised the tremble her bold outburst had caused.
He paused, mouth agape, the next words still hanging on his lips. Her outburst had stopped him from uttering them. With a deep, patience-seeking inhale, he closed his mouth and lifted his bushy brows. “Yes. That term can accurately be applied to the Weatherbys’ financial status.”
“But Daddy!” She resorted to whining.
“Mister Alastair Weatherby” —her father leaned toward her for clarity— “is a self-made man. His son, Jasper, will be no different. As we have built our… financial status by purchasing and selling land, they have built their successes through raising, breeding, and selling cattle. Both are a lucrative business these days. You will want for nothing—”
“Except true love,” she muttered under her breath.
“And… your mother and I” —he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, when she knew he had. Her father had excellent hearing— “can go to our graves knowing you are well taken care of.”
“Oh Daddy, you and mother are young!” She twisted her fingers, trying her best to convince him there was time. “You’re healthy! Let’s not worry about going to your graves. You have years, decades, in which to enjoy life. Please, don’t make me marry this… Jasper Weatherby. What sort of man is named Jasper? He sounds like a Nancy-boy.”
“Emilia Louise!” Her father barked. “I will not have such low-bred language spoken by my only daughter in my house! Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she heard your coarse language!”
“I’m sorry, Father.” Emilia assumed the appropriate humble, ashamed posture. “It’s just… how can you honestly expect me to marry a man named Jasper? It sounds like an evergreen tree. I would be just as likely to call him Cedar, or Birch… Willow—”
“Jasper Weatherby is a fine name” —Oliver Higginbotham shook his head— “and you will adapt to calling your husband whatever you work out between the two of you. Your mother called me Mister Higginbotham until you were born. Only then did she start referring to me affectionately as Oliver… and now Ollie.”
A smile twitched under her father’s long mustache. A crimson blush filled his cheeks. She never saw such strong emotion in his face except when he spoke of her mother. Their marriage of convenience had turned into a marriage filled with tremendous love and admiration for both of them. Could she hope for the same… with a man named Jasper?
The door to his den opened slightly. “Ah, here is my lovely bride now,” he announced.
Emilia’s mother floated into the room. “Well? Have you convinced your daughter to attend our soirée?” She smiled at Emilia with hope in her eyes.
Father bristled, his mustache puffed slightly. “How is it that when she’s being… difficult, you refer to her as my daughter?”
Mother turned the hopeful smile into a mischievous grin and focused it on him. “Because, Ollie Dear, when she’s being difficult, she most resembles… you.” Maria teased with a playful touch on his nose. But there was a twinkle in both of her parents’ eyes. She knew they were not arguing.
“Mother…” Emilia continued with a loathsome whine when she spoke. She hated acting this way, but desperation was strangling her at the moment. “Must I go?”
“Yes, darling. You must. This is for your own good. We know best. You would be wise to remember that.” Her mother tipped her head slightly, then lifted her chin.
“Argh!” Emilia stomped out of her father’s den, defeated. He wasn’t the only stubborn goat in this family. When her mother’s mind was made, it was even more solidly set than her father’s.
Emilia trotted up the stairs and flung herself on her bed. The tailored ball gown hung on the door of her wardrobe. Mother had picked it out and the local seamstress, Mrs. Tucker, had made it for her birthday soirée without seeing Emilia at all. She kept a card file on everyone from the first time she took thorough measurements and could create perfectly fitting gowns without a single new measurement. Emilia peeked through her lashes at the dress, hanging there, taunting her.
She had to admit the gown was beautiful. The light blue, silkblend rococo print with short trumpet sleeves, layered over a champagne colored sheer fabric that fell gracefully from the waist over taffeta of the same cream shade. The square neck delicately trimmed with a hand-made lace, a Tucker signature to most gowns, that softened the look of the bodice.
Emilia lifted on her elbows, glaring at the gown. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t wait to see it on herself. Not having gone with Mother for fittings, she had never laid eyes on it until now, and she had certainly never worn the thing. The color was exactly right to accentuate her brown eyes. It would make her the belle of the ball… but she had no desire whatsoever to go to this party. It was a farce! Her birthday would end in an engagement and a public announcement that the Weatherbys and the Higginbothams were
uniting their families by wedding their children and combining their two businesses into one monstrosity that would control land and cattle for thousands of miles.
She turned onto her side so the gown was behind her and huffed.
Ilsa Brown, the house maid, tapped softly on Emilia’s door.
“Come in.” Emilia sighed.
“Your mum asked me to, and I quote, ‘hurry you along.’” The maid smiled sheepishly.
Emilia sighed. “I’m sure she did.” She couldn’t be angry with Ilsa. She was the closest thing Emilia had to a friend here in Salida. With an enormous sigh, Emilia lifted herself off the bed and sighed again, hoping for an empathetic effect. “Oh, all right. But I promise you this. I am not going to enjoy this birthday soirée one bit!”
“My job is not to make you enjoy anything. My job is to help you get dressed.” Ilsa said jovially.
Emilia glanced at the ball gown with yet another sigh. “It is a beautiful gown.”
Ilsa gazed admiringly at the frock. “Yes ’em, ’tis that.”
Emilia sighed once more and began the arduous task of getting out of the day dress she currently wore and into the formal attire. Guilt swamped Emilia heart for being so unappreciative of her parents’ gift. There were many a girl in Salida who’d give her eyetooth to have such a lovely dress to wear. Emilia was blessed and she knew it.
Blessed and cursed at the same time. Because her parents were so wealthy, her future would be determined not by true love, but by a solidly sound business arrangement.
Ilsa brushed Emilia’s hair until it had a golden-brown sheen, then she twisted, and braided, and pinned it into a lovely design that flattered Emilia’s heart-shaped face.
“Anything you can do about these sun spots?” Emilia glared at her reflection in the mirror. She had always hated the dots on her face.
“Actually, there is.” Ilsa smiled. “Try this.” She pulled a small jar from her apron pocket. “I made this from the goats’ milk. It’s good for your skin and I added an herbal pigment to help cover up unwanted age spots for your mother. Let’s see what it does for those
freckens” —She used the old Scottish word as a term of endearment — “Although, I think they are adorable on you.”
“Oh, Ilsa.” Emilia chastised the maid. “They are called freckles in America. You know that.”
“Yes, I forget sometimes. Been calling ‘em freckens all me life.”
Emilia frowned while Ilsa went to work. Touching her little finger gingerly to the creamy, beige content, she dotted Emilia’s face and then smoothed it out, hiding her discolored spots.
Next, Ilsa lifted a tiny rouge jar from Emilia’s table and opened it. Emilia’s mother had given her the rose-colored pâté when she turned sixteen. The maid lightly touched the thick cream and made three dots along Emilia’s cheek bone, then smoothed it out, blending it with the beige. “Here, put some on your lips.” Ilsa handed the tiny jar to her.
Emilia did as told and popped her lips, making a smacking noise that made them both giggle.
“You look lovely, Miss.” Tears filled Ilsa’s eyes.
Emilia looked more closely at her reflection. Did she look lovely? Well, she looked as good as she could. Ilsa was talented with hair and kind as a mourning dove. Emilia stood from her dressing table and turned to have a look in the full-length, oval mirror.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. Taking in all of herself, ball gown, light makeup, and hair done up so expertly. She did look… dare she say, lovely.
“Thank you!” she uttered in an awestruck whisper.
“You’re quite welcome, Miss.” Ilsa smiled and stepped over to her bedroom door, opened it, and stood back for Emilia to exit.
Her destiny awaited her, ready or not. * * *
Jasper Weatherby leaned on his saddle horn with the rising sun to his back. He watched the long shadows made by his men and their horses as they funneled the divided herd into each livestock car. This cattle drive ended here in Salida.
The train depot was new, about a year or so, and much more convenient than the eastern route for getting his father’s herd to
market. While the trek to Salida was further, it was better than trying to herd the bovine over the continental divide and then through Denver City streets where they would get too stressed and even wounded. Salida provided for an easier transition to market with the cattle retaining their profitable market weight and health. Thus, better sales for the Weatherbys.
He looked forward to lying on a soft bed at the hotel before riding home. At least the ride home to Alma and the Flying W Ranch would be at a quicker pace than the one that brought him here with two hundred head of cattle.
“Mr. Weatherby?” a boy shouted.
He turned, shielding her eyes with a flat hand to see who called his name. The leather saddle moaned under his weight. “I’m Jasper Weatherby.”
The boy ran even faster toward him and leaned up on tiptoes with an envelope Jasper recognized as a telegram.
“Thank you.” He fished out a silver dollar from his jacket pocket and flipped it in the air for the kid to catch, which he did.
“Gee. Thanks, Mr. Weatherby!”
The boy ran off before Jasper could correct him as he always did when anyone addressed him so formally. “My name’s Jasper. Mr. Weatherby is my father.”
His words were lost in the breeze. The boy was long gone. He sighed as he tore the end of the envelope off and pulled the folded telegram into the sunlight. Then he sighed even harder.
“What are they up to?” he muttered as he read over the faint inkprinted words a second time.
“I’m in no shape for a social event. Tomorrow? It’ll take a week’s worth of soaking in a bathtub to scrub off all this grime. All he wanted was a long rest and to head home at early light.” He resisted sniffing the underside of his arm, knowing full well he stank to high heaven after running these cattle along the western trail. The cattle would be shipped further west to San Francisco and he would soon pocket a hefty profit from the marketeer for his father. His hopes of falling into a soft mattress in the Manhattan Hotel were dashed with the telegram’s arrival.
His parents would arrive soon and check into the Manhattan Hotel. He was to join them this evening for a birthday party, dance, meetn-greet, whatever his folks wanted to call it, for a local gal named Emilia Higginbotham— what kind of name was that?
The Higginbothams had made a lucrative marriage arrangement with his parents. The party would be an opportunity for him to meet his bride, celebrate her twentieth birthday, and announce their engagement. That was why his parents were joining him for this auspicious occasion. They wanted to be present for the public announcement.
His days of being a free man were coming to an end. His parents were determined it was time he settled down. He couldn’t imagine himself married! Sure, it was a fine institution for his parents and some of his friends, but he’d never seriously considered himself the husband-type or under the controlling whims of a female. He’d seen how his friends changed as soon as they said “I do.” It was not for the faint of heart.
But it seemed, lately, it was the only thing his mother thought about since he reached what was considered adult status. Now she and his father had made a business arrangement for him to have a wife. A wife with a substantial dowry, according to the telegram. Was that the only item of importance when choosing the woman he’d spend the rest of his life looking at from across the breakfast table? He loved his parents, but he loved his life as a bachelor, too. Why couldn’t his mother realize he would gladly settle down when he was ready? He wanted to find a gal that was right for him. A gal that he knew in his heart was the one.
A shiver ran down his spine. The last of the bovine entered the last livestock car. He turned his steed to address the marketeer. The man licked his finger and counted out the paper money until he had what was owed the Flying W Ranch. Jasper folded the bills and stuffed them in his inside breast pocket.
“Been a pleasure doing business with ya.” Jasper said as politely as he knew his mother would have wanted and shook the man’s hand.
Turning to his waiting men, he shouted, “All right boys. Here’s your pay.”
He divided out their portions of the earnings, including his own pay so he could get a room, and the profit for his father’s coffers he stuffed back into his vest pocket. “Let’s secure some hotel rooms and get some rest. You’ll be heading back early tomorrow morning.”
“Hotel room?” Cheyenne Ferguson laughed. “Nah, boss. I’m gonna find me a saloon and rent me a room upstairs, if you know what I mean.” He said with a wink and a wicked grin.
Jasper nodded, but he didn’t approve. That just wasn’t how he had been raised. “Well, just make sure you’re ready to go at sunup. My folks are meeting me here… for some business we gotta take care of in Salida, so I’ll put Cookie in charge” — he met the older man’s gaze to confirm he accepted the new assignment— “He’ll see you all get home all right. We don’t want to leave anybody behind, so don’t give him no trouble.”
“Don’t you worry none about Cheyenne, boss.” James Black trotted off beside Cheyenne, several others rode alongside them. Only two of his men, Cookie, the chuckwagon master, and Scout, a native employee and friend who did as his name implied, scouted ahead of the herd to ensure they had plenty of streams and shade for the cattle, joined Jasper to check into the hotel.
Cookie squinted one eye. “I’ll make sure they get home, Jasper. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
What did he know? Had Jasper’s father told the old hand about this matchmaking party happening in Salida? Not unless his parents had known they were going to do this before he left on the cattle drive. Otherwise, why would they inform him with a telegram? Telling him of their plans while he was home would have been less expensive. But Jasper had to admit, it would have been less effective. Now he had no choice but to meet his parents and attend the party.
Jasper nodded to the two morally respectable men with a smile. He was too tired to get into what Cookie might or might not already know. They rode in silence to the Manhattan Hotel. He asked for three rooms, so they’d each have the privacy they deserved after
sleeping together under the stars, paid for the three rooms out of his own pay, so it didn’t come out of their pay, as a reward for their good behavior. Then he bid them good rest.
Alone in his room, he did sniff his armpit. “Whew!”
It was disgusting even to himself. He smelled like campfire smoke, cattle, dirt, and soured sweat. Not a pleasant odor to be walking into a birthday dance for his future wife. His imagination began to wander. Her name was Emilia. He thought he liked the name, Emilia, but he just couldn’t abide by the idea of getting married. He was young, still. Never sewed a single wild oat, as they say. He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he’d never done it, and if he married this gal his mother and father had chosen, he never would.
Should he join Cheyenne and James at the saloon for one last chance to go to tiger town. Maybe later, right now that soft mattress was calling to him. After a nap, he’d decide what he could do to enjoy his last few hours of being a single man.
Jolted awake by a knock at his door, Jasper sat straight up. “What?”
“Jasper, Darling, it’s Mother.”
“Mother!” Jasper repeated, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind. “I just woke up. What room are you in?”
His mother called the room number through the door. “So, we’ll see you in a bit? We should go down together.”
“Uh, I don’t know.” He stood beside his bed. “I was thinking I should buy Emilia a birthday present. I may just meet you in the ballroom.”
“Oh, how nice. Yes, you should do that.” Mother’s voice softened. “All right, then. We’ll see you at the party.”
Glancing at himself in the small mirror behind the water bowl and pitcher. He had not planned on attending a formal affair, he had nothing with him to get gussied up, as his mother would want. Sure, he could probably pick something up for himself off the hook at the mercantile when he found a suitable birthday gift for Emilia, but the desire to dress up in an ill-fitted suit was not in his bones.
Stepping into the hall, cautiously looking for his parents in an effort to avoid them, he strode to the front desk. “May I have my
clothes brushed, and my boots polished, please. And could you send up a bathtub?”
The man behind the counter seemed tickled pink to accommodate his every wish. Such a different attitude from when he and the other two checked in. Obviously, Father had let the hotel know who they were. Jasper rolled his eyes. He hated being pretentious. His father seemed to thrive on it.
Once he had cleaned up, he’d go to the mercantile. He couldn’t arrive without having his present for the birthday girl wrapped nicely for her to open. What kind of cad shows up at his intended’s birthday party without a properly adorned box? Besides, he needed a diversion from his lingering cattle-drive aroma, his gift should be just such a distraction, and an excuse to prevent his mother from knowing what he was wearing until it was too late.
If his future bride didn’t like the smell of cattle and dirt, then she wasn’t right for him anyway. The sooner he discovered her tolerances, the better. He just hoped she wasn’t long in the tooth and ugly as the day is long. A substantial dowry usually meant there was something lacking in her appearance or personality. What had his folks gotten him into? He wasn’t sure if he should pray for a pleasant appearance or a pleasant personality. Did he have to settle for one or the other?
After all, this was the woman he’d be looking at first thing in the morning and last thing at night. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Lord, don’t let her be ugly!” he prayed, then headed back to his room for that hot bath while the valet gave his leather jacket and britches a good brushing and his boots a good clean shine.
Chapter 2
Emilia chewed the inside of her cheek as she and her parents rode to the Manhattan Hotel for her party. She faced the thin gap between her father and mother. Father had to allow for the fullness of her skirts by positioning his legs far to his right, while her mother angled away from him to avoid entangling with Emilia.
Emilia was glad for the horse drawn carriage her father had ordered the yardman, Bill Ferguson, to lease for their trip into town. Riding in the wagon would have been uncomfortable, and when they arrived, her hair would be a complete mess from the breeze, not to mention how dirty her dress would be, and they would look like rustic provincials who didn’t have two coins to rub together.
Being a land baron, her father certainly had more than two coins. He had built a lovely home that sat above Salida in the mountains. It was a handsome estate with three stories and a basement. Emilia appreciated its grandeur after living more lowly in Atlanta, Georgia. Her father’s success here in Colorado was not wasted on her sensibilities. It was the insistence on her marrying a complete stranger that had her sensibilities ruffled like a rooster standing with his tail feathers to the wind.
It was her twentieth birthday and yet, it was ruined by this betrothal nonsense being forced upon her. She moved from chewing on the inside of her cheek to chewing on her lip. She had to figure a way to convince her parents this was not a good idea. But how? They were dead set on going through with this lucrative business deal. Did her father care nothing for her happiness?
“You’ll want for nothing.” Her father had said. Well, she would want for something! She knew she would. She’d want for a husband who loved her with all his heart and wanted her to be happy above everything else. Simply married and wealthy was not enough for her. What if he was ugly! Or old! She had not thought to even ask about this Jasper Weatherby. She only knew his name and that he was a cattle baron’s son. Surely, if he was the son, he would not be old. Could she hope he would not be hideous to look at either?
Emilia swallowed.
“What is it, Dear?” Her mother looked concerned.
“Nothing.” Emilia quickly answered before she blurted out her mind’s true thoughts. “I’m a bit nervous, is all.”
“Well,” Father chuckled. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ve been to parties like this before.”
“Yes, but—” She closed her mouth. There was no need to remind Father that this birthday party would end with an announcement that she would be wed soon. This evening, she would have to stand in front of everyone, smile, and look like the happy, blushing brideto-be, while inside, she was afraid she would be ill from fighting the vapors. She stared out the little window instead.
“Oh, come on, Darling.” Mother coaxed. “You love birthdays! This one is simply extra special!”
Emilia pressed a smile toward her mother and gave an agreeable nod, to make Mother happy. In truth, Emilia was fighting tears.
Soon, the driver stopped the carriage. The Manhattan Hotel, which sat on the Arkansas River in the center of downtown Salida, was beautiful. Built with locally quarried granite stones, it had a low-rise castle look about it. Emilia had to admit, this was the perfect place to throw a party. The ballroom was enormous, and the staff were graciously accommodating. Her mother knew how to put together a soirée that would be the envy of the whole town, and maybe a few nearby.
They were intentionally forty-five minutes later than the hour that the guests had been told to arrive. Another of her mother’s social schemes, allowing Emilia, the guest of honor, to arrive poignantly as if she were the queen or something just as worthy. Her father exited the carriage first, put out his hand to her mother, who stepped down gracefully.
Emilia prayed she could move as smoothly. She was known to step on her hem and trip easily, or lose a shoe and end up hopping until she found it. She gathered her skirts in one hand, gripped the inside of her shoes with curled toes, and reached for her father’s hand with the other. Slowly, she emerged. The taffeta skirts rustled as she
moved through the small door. At last, she stood, in one piece, with her parents, and drifted to the entrance of the hotel.
The string instruments could be heard playing, as they ascended the lovely wooden staircase toward the ballroom. Stone and wood adorned everything from walls to windows. And every window gave way to a view of the river and mountains. It was a lovely hotel.
Her nerves were balled up and it was a struggle to float, as she had been taught, toward her grand entrance. The birthday girl! Would her fiancé be the first to greet her inside? She had no idea what Jasper Weatherby looked like. Would she make a fool of herself by not realizing it was him?
She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and paused outside the doors that were about to be opened, ceremoniously, just for her.
“Are you ready?” Her father asked as he grasped the ornamental door handle. Her mother took ahold of the other handle. Together they would open the door, and Emilia would walk in.
She nodded, with a single jerk of her head, and closed her eyes again.
She felt the whoosh of air as the doors opened. The string instruments swelled louder as the barrier was released for the music to spill into the hall. She drew in another deep breath and opened her eyes. Anticipating an overwhelming reception from those inside the ballroom.
Couples were dancing, people were walking past the door, some were talking along the perimeter of the room, a waiter carrying a tray of edibles walked by, while another crossed the opposite direction with a tray of fluted glasses filled with bubbling champagne held over his shoulder. Emilia stood there— smiling brilliantly— unnoticed.
Her father stepped into the room and cleared his throat. No one heard him. He snatched a glass of champagne, and a spoon from the other waiter with food, and tapped the silver against the bell-like glass. The tinkling drew the attention of those closest to him.
“May I present!” Her father projected his voice over the noise as if he were on stage at a theater. “Miss Emilia Higginbotham, birthday girl and honoree for the evening!”
The people gasped, and laughed, and someone began clapping. It was contagious, soon the entire ballroom stood looking at her, and applauding her appearance. Heat filled her cheeks. She feigned humble dismissal of their applause, and shook her head, dismissing the attention as nonsense. Her father handed her a fluted glass, and then her mother, and lifted his own high over his head. “Happy Birthday! My Darling Daughter! Emilia!”
The crowd did the same and the chant was echoed throughout the ballroom. “Happy Birthday, Emilia!”
She sipped her drink and smiled graciously at everyone who caught her eye. Where was this man to whom she was to be betrothed this very night? Why hadn’t he approached her or made a toast. Jenny Sanders, her best friend, ran to her, squealing about how beautiful she looked. Hugging Jenny, she looked around for someone who might be the man she would soon wed.
“Come.” Jenny grinned. “You must get a dance card. I’m sure all the men will want to sign it.” Jenny pulled her over to a table with the embossed cards and pencils. Emilia lifted one and wrote her name across the top. She slipped the ribbon over her gloved wrist and stood back with Jenny to see who asked her for the first dance. The string quartet resumed playing and the couples resumed waltzing or dancing to what the musicians played next. Emilia watched the couples walk elegantly and sway through three other dances before she had had enough.
Was the man she had been promised to in marriage even here? She looked across the ballroom at all the faces. No one seemed interested in her at all. Whoever this Jasper Weatherby was, he either had not bothered to come to her birthday party, or he was ignoring her entirely. Did she want him to find her and sweep her out on the dance floor? Just then, the doors opened again, and in walked a ruggedly handsome cowboy. How she wished her betrothed could be this extremely stunning man. Her heart pounded. Could others hear her silly heart? Then an idea came to her. She bit her lip, acting on the idea before she returned to her senses, and marched toward the cowboy.
He looked out of place, glancing around for the appropriate location to put the little decorated box he held. Was it a birthday present for her? What else could it be? She marched up to him, closer than she should without introductions, and clasped his arm as if they were old friends.
“Play along, and I’ll give you ten dollars,” she hissed.
Jasper looked at the woman clasping his arm with a mischievous grin. Who was this little minx? Did she think him a vagrant off the streets who wandered in looking for food? Surely she realized he was an invited guest with the gift in his hand. Had his disdain for dressing formally left him to appear needy? He chuckled to himself at the idea that ten dollars would entice him to play along with whatever scheme she was about to do.
Rather, it was curiosity that caused him to see how this played out. Cautiously, he let her drag him across the ballroom, handing off his gift to a helpful hand that came from nowhere. He was here to meet Emilia Higginbotham and her family. Would they be upset to see him allowing this unruly gal to lead him into some game of… whatever this would turn out to be? Ever vigilant, he was prepared to state he had nothing to do with this woman’s game, should it turn into an awkward or unkind situation.
He wished, not for the first time, that he had some idea of who he was here to meet. At least then he could be aware if she or her family were watching this impromptu interaction.
He stumbled and then matched her pace, surrendering to whatever prank this was. Soon, they stood in from of a man and woman who could easily be her parents. She had their combined features. His eyes, her hair color and high cheekbone structure, the jaw of the father and the beauty of the mother. Someone had snatched his gift and put it wherever they were being held. So his hands were free.
The mother was engrossed in some tale, and turned upon their abrupt appearance, with her mouth gaping with surprise.
“Mother, Father.” The woman spoke breathlessly. Her confidence seemed to have faded while they traversed the room. He felt a slight tremble in her hands, although her grasp on his arm had not lessened. “I tried to tell you earlier, but you were not listening.” She began. “I cannot marry the man you have chosen for me.”
Whoa! Is that what this was about? Jasper nearly jumped away from her, but her grip was tighter than he had imagined the little gal was capable of. Did she cling to him for strength or tomfoolery?
Her mother gasped and her father clinched his jaw. Her mother’s eyes darted to see who might have overheard her outburst, and her father followed through with clinching his fists into white-knuckled balls. Was he about to punch Jasper in the nose? She had his right arm clamped down at his side, could he defend himself with his left arm?
“And why not, may I ask?” Her mother breathed. “Because.” Emilia raised her chin a notch. “This is my fiancé.” She jerked his arm a little for emphasis.
Jasper opened his mouth to protest he had no knowledge of her claim. He turned to glare at her. But the pleading bulge of her eyes caused him to close his mouth.
He was here to meet his future bride, not this crazed woman who claimed him to be her fiancé! How did he get into such a pickle so soon? He had just arrived. How could he get out of this mad woman’s clutches? He stiffened, prepared for someone to take control of her. What could he say to make anybody around them understand he had nothing to do with this little theatrical display? What was she really up to? Why had she chosen him out of everybody else in this ballroom to make her declaration?
She darted a glance toward him. He met her gaze. A slight smile took over his mouth. She was lovely and didn’t seem to have a glint of crazy in her eyes. What was this about? Furthermore, who was she? Where was his true fiancée and her family? Surely by now, they were watching this boisterous exchange. Prepared to deny everything, he stood statue still except to lift his chin and look her father directly in the eyes. He opened his mouth to say, “Sir, forgive
me, I do not know this woman.” But before he could utter a word, she continued with her fabrication.
“We met several months ago, and he and I have been secretly betrothed. He is why I cannot marry the man you have bargained for my hand.”
The father locked eyes with Jasper. How many marriage arrangements had been planned for this evening’s gala? Could he convey with his eyes that he was innocent in all these claims she was making? He felt like the father was gawking at him like a gunfighter in the street, looking for a weakness or a twitch, so he could lift his side arm and kill him graveyard dead.
“Uh.” Jasper moved at last. “I can see that this has caught you off guard.” He peeled his arm out of her grip. “I’m just going to go over there.” He pointed at some arbitrary location away from the parents. “And let you talk this out.”
He scurried through the people and found a table with mugs of beer already poured and little crackers topped with what looked like sliced sausage and cheese. He filled a little plate and grabbed a mug and moved into a corner where he could hide for a little while. He had to think. Where were his parents? What had the vixen gotten him involved in? Would walking away resolve the dilemma? Had his future in-laws seen the entire altercation?
He didn’t know who that feisty little gal was or why she had commandeered him to be part of her joke, or whatever that was. If his parents saw him standing with her, spouting claims of being betrothed for several months, his mother would probably march him out to the nearest woodshed and tan his hide, regardless of how old he was. His mother’s switches knew no bounds and his twenty-seven years did not prevent her discipline. He had been sent here for a purpose and he couldn’t embarrass his parents by getting mixed up in some other family’s sordid affairs.
He looked across the ballroom. That little gal was not with her parents. Where had she gone. He scanned the crowd. She wasn’t terribly tall or easy to find. Neither were his parents. Where were they? He wanted to get this meeting and announcing his engagement over with and get back to his hotel room.
“Hey.” The vixen slid up beside him. He jumped as if a rattlesnake had shaken it rattler at his feet.
Chapter 3
Jasper followed his mother across the ballroom to where his father stood at a counter for drinks other than water or lemonade. A sharply dressed bartender expertly blended the contents in a metal canister with ice and covered the top to precisely shake it five times.
Ah, Father’s preferred drink. A Gentle Martini, he called it. Father looked undone. What had happened to cause them to arrive so late and in such a state? Perhaps Jasper was relieved that they had arrived late and avoided his little theatrical charade that the audacious gal he had left across the room caused. She had dragged him into a lie for her own sake. There would be no shock on his parent’s part when it was revealed the vixen was to be his betrothed.
Glancing at his mother’s pale, weary face, he realized there was cause for concern for both his parents’ well-being. They were never late to anything! Ever! Something devastating had to have happened to keep them this long.
“What’s wrong?’ Jasper focused on his father’s pale cheeks and tautly compressed jaw.
Alastair Weatherby accepted the drink and tossed it back like it was a one-ounce shot of whiskey, handed the man the glass and gestured for another.
“Father! Tell me, what is wrong?”
He turned to Jasper gasping for breath from the nerve-taming vodka and vermouth. He swallowed hard, “I have never in my life experienced such a thing. These passenger trains will be the death of me. I swear, I intend to invest in our own Pullman when we get back home.
“Now, Dear, it wasn’t the railway’s fault… we made the mistake.” His mother tried to soothe him. She turned to Jasper, “And we met some very nice people today. I promised to send the missus my momma’s Dutch apple-caramel pie recipe.”
His father’s face burned a brighter shade of anger. “I don’t want to discuss it. It’s all sorted out now. We don’t have to keep bringing up
my grievous mistakes—”
“Grievous— Father! What happened?” Jasper exclaimed with much less patience than he had ever been allowed to address the patriarch.
Father sighed forcefully.
“We picked up the wrong travel case, Dear.” Claudette Weatherby blurted. Her cheeks instantly filled with a flush so red, Jasper wondered if she would succumb to the vapors.
His father darted a hostile glare at her, sighed heavily, again. “Yes. We have spent this entire time searching for our correct luggage. Thank God, the person who had taken ours by mistake returned to the station to resolve the error. But it took a coon’s age to sort it all out.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry.” Jasper pursed his lips to stay the chuckle that tried to get him into deeper trouble. “But you’re here now, and everything is all right?”
“Yes, Dear.” Mother replied with a nervous smile.
Father slammed back the second martini. “Now, let’s meet your future in-laws and get this wrapped it.”
Jasper sighed. “Right. Uh, about that—”
He glanced around, wondering if the little vixen was staying put with her friend in the opposite corner. He didn’t want her interfering with this important next step in his journey of enslavement by marriage. Drawing in a deep, settling breath, he followed his parents to another part of the ballroom.
The two fiddles and bass played spirited dance tunes as the three Weatherby’s ignored the dancing couples. His father perused the people, finally landing his gaze of the target of his attention. He led the family purposefully to a couple who was sitting regally, next to a table strewn with ribboned gifts and a two-layer cake that had piped icing spelling out Happy Birthday Emilia across the top layer. Sugar flowers cascaded along the edge and over the sides. A display of talent to be sure.
The closer they got, the farther Jasper’s gut sank to his knees. This cannot be!
Jasper let his father and mother go first, since Father knew the man with which this arrangement had been made.
“Ah, Oliver Higginbotham!” Father addressed the man seated.
Mr. Higginbotham replied, “Alastair! You made it, at last.” He and his wife stood.
“Yes, I must apologize. It seems there was a mix up with our luggage and it took us a while to sort things out and get changed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” The man bellowed a laugh. “Train travel is a blessing and a curse, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Father glanced back at Jasper, gesturing for him to move closer. Jasper struggled to loosen his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Never had he been so cotton-mouthed. Perspiration saturated his shirt. Thank God he still wore his leather coat, or they would notice the stains encircling his armpits. He grabbed a frosty glass of champagne as the waiter walked by and downed it in one gulp.
“May I introduce my lovely wife, Claudette Weatherby.” Father put his arm around Mother’s back and presented her with a slight shove.
“My wife, Maria Higginbotham.” Oliver stated.
Mother curtsied slightly and shook the mother’s hand. Jasper hung back a little, dreading this moment. He drew in another calming breath and prepared himself to step forward when Father introduced him, but he also anticipated the explosive reaction when Mr. Higginbotham laid eyes on him for the second time.
“Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham,” Father began formally. “I am proud to introduce to you our son, Jasper Richard Weatherby. He has just completed a most profitable cattle drive to market here in Salida. We neglected to inform him about this soirée, and I’m afraid he was not properly prepared to dress formally, as he should. My apologies.”
Father bowed his head.
“Oh, that’s quite alright.” Mr. Higginbotham replied. “I, of all people, understand mixing business with pleasure. Right, Dear?”
There was an awkward silence. Jasper assumed Mrs. Higginbotham was supposed to reply but had not and everyone waited a moment to see what she would say. Jasper took the moment to look around the ballroom once more. Would that vixen
