Chapter 15

Fifteen

The first inkling Owen had that something might be amiss was the sight of four of the men he'd hired to guard Camilla milling about the front lawn of his country house, all of them toting rifles.

He urged George into a gallop, then swung from the saddle as he reached the closest man, Andy Sklenicka, who'd worked for Chesterfield Nails for over ten years, but more importantly, knew his way around a weapon.

"What happened?" Owen demanded, earning a shake of the head from Andy in return.

"There was a titch of a situation."

Trepidation was immediate. "A ... titch?"

"It was the darndest thing."

As far as responses went, that was hardly informative.

"What was?" Owen asked.

Andy gave a jaw that sported at least a week's worth of stubble a scratch. "Well, you see, there was these two riders comin' upon the house real quick-like. But they must've not seen all of us streamin' out of the woods and roundin' 'bout the house to confront them, cuz they just kept a-comin'—until your meemaw started hollerin'."

"Meemaw didn't have the good sense to stay out of sight and let all of you who've been hired to protect the house do your job?"

"I ain't touchin' the subject of whether your meemaw has good sense or not, Owen. You know she terrifies everyone half to death. Don't reckon I wanna get on her bad side."

"A fair point, but what happened after Meemaw started hollering?"

"The men pulled up their horses, one of them asked something about the rifle your meemaw was aimin' at him, and then..." Andy gave his chin another scratch. "Your meemaw went'n shot the hat clean off that man's head."

"I knew I never should've stopped at the factory instead of escorting Camilla here."

Andy waved that aside. "Now, no need to start all that frettin'. You 'bout have an army hired to see after that little lady, and she's well-protected. Ain't no one would've gotten near her, not with Nems, Miss Luella, and your meemaw keepin' watch over her. Everyone done knows that Nems is a better shot than even Luella, and that's sayin' something. And 'fore you forget, your little lady was ridin' in a wagon with that surly pig. Ain't no one with any sense a'tall gets close to that beast, although..." Andy frowned. "Seein' as how your meemaw keeps company with the sow, well, it might be sayin' somethin' about her sense after all."

Owen stifled a sigh because, as was often the case when trying to get to the crux of a story being told by a man who preferred meandering his way around a tale instead of spitting out the most pertinent details, he still had no idea what had actually transpired.

"Can I assume the men who came after Camilla have now been secured?"

"Secured? Why'd we want to do somethin' like that? Turns out them men are personally acquainted with your little lady. The situation was just a hellacious misunderstandin', and your meemaw is feelin' somethin' awful 'bout ruinin' that man's fine hat." Andy smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. "I think that's why she's cookin' up a storm, makin' chicken and apple dumplings." He tilted his head. "There was some bone of contention between your meemaw and the little lady about an apple pie. Not sure what all the ruckus was about, but from what me and the boys could figure, the little lady didn't want to get nowhere near that there recipe. She did, at one point—odd as I was thinkin' this was—suggest your meemaw give it to Mr. Leopold Pender-Something-or-Other, and that left your meemaw mutterin' about matchmakers being bona fide menaces."

Owen didn't know whether to laugh or get back on his horse and ride to saner pastures.

"I think it's past time I get my hands on that particular recipe and hide it before it causes a full-out war between Meemaw and Camilla," he said.

"A man's got ta do what a man's got ta do," Andy said as he shifted his rifle to his other shoulder. "I'm off to patrol the perimeter again, but don't you be worryin' none that if any real trouble shows up that me and the boys ain't up for taking care of it. That little lady is in fine hands with us around."

"I'm sure she is," Owen said before he strode into motion, slowing to look over his shoulder a second later. "Would you see George settled in the stable before you head out on patrol, and ... a word of advice. You might want to stop calling Miss Pierpont a ‘little lady.' Turns out that particular phrase is considered an insult to the feminine set."

"Huh, and here I thought I was makin' progress understandin' ladies in general, seeing as how I recently started callin' on Miss Annabelle Stuckley, and she done tuckin' told me that I was a real ladies' man."

Owen frowned. "Are you sure she meant that as a compliment?"

"Hard to say since Miss Annabelle seems ta have a full-up schedule and hasn't been able to find any spare time for me to get down to the business of any courtin'."

"I'll have to ask Miss Pierpont if being called a ladies' man is a positive thing."

"Don't know why it'd be considered anything else, but you let me know if your little ... ah, er, not lady, but Miss Pierpont believes differently." Andy took hold of George's reins and began leading him away.

Striding into motion again, Owen settled for merely nodding to Constantine Daroma, George Bringmann, and Frank Dopkiss, knowing full well that if he slowed his pace, the three men he'd also brought on to protect Camilla would launch into their renditions of Meemaw shooting at a stranger. Since all the men believed, as Andy did, in meandering about with any tale they told, it would take at least thirty minutes to hear them out—thirty minutes he wasn't willing to lose, not when he needed to learn exactly what the situation was with the two men who'd apparently come to call.

Setting his sights on the house, he moved up the front steps, across the portico, then through the door.

The sound of laughter coming from the back of the house drew Owen down the marble hallway, but he stopped in his tracks just outside the receiving parlor at the sight that met his eyes.

What had been a cavernous and empty room that echoed because of lack of furniture the last time he'd been in the house, which had only been a little over a week before, was now filled with a variety of pieces, some of which were still wrapped in brown paper, a stack of what seemed to be paintings propped up against the wall where Luella was standing.

His sister wasn't alone, but with an older gentleman whose hair was standing on end, which suggested he might be the man who'd had his hat blown off by Meemaw. The man didn't seem overly concerned about that, though, since he was currently in the process of attempting to level a painting on the wall, inching along as he kept the painting hoisted in the air, his inching continuing when Luella took to shaking her head.

Owen turned his attention to the opposite side of the room and discovered Lottie and Bernadette tossing suggestions at Edward, who was maneuvering an attractive, yellowish-colored couch in front of a fireplace bricked in river stone.

Frankly, he wouldn't have thought to purchase such a couch on his own, given the feminine color, which, even to his untrained eye, suited the yellow walls of the receiving parlor. That there were two wingback chairs in the same yellow pushed to the right of the French doors suggested all the pieces might be part of a set, but not being proficient with furniture trends in general, he couldn't say for sure.

Before he could question where all the furniture had come from, or even who the gentleman was helping Luella, a glimpse of a lady's ivory skirt swishing around outside the French doors captured his attention.

His feet were in motion a second later, but he came to an abrupt stop when he caught sight of Camilla standing on the brick terrace. She was looking quite unlike her usual self, given that her hair was covered with one of Meemaw's kerchiefs, there was a streak of dirt running across her cheek, and she had an apron wrapped over her gown, something Owen thought looked incredibly charming.

All thoughts of how charming Camilla looked disappeared in a trice, though, when he realized there was a man standing beside her—a man who was bending his head close to Camilla and whispering something into her ear, something that was causing her to smile.

Owen's stomach took that moment to begin doing some odd topsy-turvy business, which was curious to say the least because his stomach never gave him issues. Nor did he usually feel a spontaneous urge to escort a man who was evidently a guest in his home straight out the door and on his way, which was probably better for the man than the other urge Owen was feeling, one that involved his Colt Dragoons and ...

"Mr. Wetzel," Luella called out, pulling Owen from what were curious ponderings indeed. "Could we borrow you for a moment? Mr. Pendleton thinks he needs another set of eyes to get this dratted painting straight."

Owen backed away from the door and stepped behind a large potted plant he'd never seen before, not particularly caring to have to exchange the expected introductions and pleasantries just yet with a man he was considering doing some manner of bodily harm to, something that might very well annoy Camilla since she'd certainly appeared to be enjoying the man's company—and enjoying it a bit too much, in his humble opinion.

Thankfully, Mr. Wetzel didn't see him as he strode over to join Luella, where he immediately said something about a little more to the left, earning a dramatic sigh from Mr. Pendleton.

"Owen, what are you doing lurking behind that plant?" Camilla suddenly asked, sticking her head around the plant in question and leveling a frown on him.

It was rather annoying, earning a frown from her when Mr. Wetzel had earned a smile, and a far too delightful smile at that.

He pushed aside his annoyance and summoned up a smile of his own, hoping that might result in Camilla smiling back at him.

Unfortunately, she merely took to looking at him in concern. "Is something the matter?"

Since he couldn't very well admit he'd taken to lurking about in order to avoid giving in to a very great temptation to pummel one Mr. Wetzel for being the recipient of Camilla's smile, Owen forced himself to keep his smile firmly in place. "I can't think of a thing that's the matter."

"Then, again, why are you lurking behind that plant?"

"Ah, well, I'm, ah..." His smile widened when the perfect answer sprang to mind. "I'm doing some bug inspection. I once had a plant that was infested with critters, and they invaded the house and caused all sorts of havoc before I was finally able to get the situation under control."

She cocked her head to the side. "One bug-infested plant caused havoc throughout an entire house?"

"It was a surprise to me as well."

"I'm sure it was, but there's no need to worry about that plant. It came directly from the greenhouse Luella has out in the woods somewhere. Since she's an amateur horticulturist, I imagine she's pretty diligent when it comes to garden pests in general."

"Luella's an amateur horticulturist?"

"You didn't know that?"

"Are you going to lecture me again about how well I don't know my sister if I admit I didn't?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you know where all the furniture came from that's now in this room."

Owen blinked. "I figured you were responsible for it."

She blinked right back at him. "While I'm certainly an efficient sort, I'm not that efficient."

Owen stepped from behind the plant, his gaze traveling around the room again, lingering on Mr. Wetzel, who was now browsing through a stack of paintings. Owen gestured toward the man. "Can I assume that gentleman is responsible, which may explain why you were smiling at him earlier?"

Camilla frowned. "You say that as if I don't smile often."

"You don't smile that warmly often," he corrected.

"I'm sure you're mistaken about that, but no, Charles Wetzel isn't responsible for the furniture or all the paintings in the room, which means you should definitely brace yourself for a lecture regarding your sister."

Owen rubbed his jaw. "Luella acquired all these items?"

"She, besides being an amateur horticulturist, has developed an interest in interior decorating."

"Since when?"

"There hasn't been time to get all the details from her, but I know for a fact that she's amassed quite the collection of furnishings over the past few months, and she made a point to mention that if she'd had more notice about guests arriving, she'd have had everything already in place by now."

"If I'd known about the furnishings, I'd have sent her a telegram so you wouldn't have had to worry you were going to be living in a country house with nothing more than a few chairs and beds."

"But you being unaware of Luella's acquisitions suggests you really don't know your sister well these days, but luckily for you, you're going to be spared an immediate lecture because I have something of greater importance to discuss with you, which is why I'm delighted to discover you've returned from the factory."

"You didn't seem delighted when you were frowning at me just a few moments ago."

"Because I couldn't figure out what you were doing behind that plant, but now that we've settled that, I'm no longer frowning, which means..." Her eyes began to sparkle. "I can finally tell you about an unexpected circumstance that's arisen that I've been dying to share with you."

"Does it have anything to do with the two gentlemen who've come to call?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said before she took hold of his arm and began, not drawing him over to be introduced to the two men who were evidently responsible for the unexpected circumstance, but hustling him straight across and then out of the room.

"Where are we going, or better yet, why did you just avoid introducing me to the gentlemen I was told had come to call on you?" he asked as she tugged him down the hallway.

"Leopold Pendleton and Charles Wetzel, two very dear friends of mine who've been sent by the Accounting Firm to provide me with extra protection, are intending on staying here as long as I'm here. That means they'll be available for introductions after we've had a chance to speak privately."

The knot that had been in his stomach ever since he'd seen Camilla smiling at Charles Wetzel began to unravel.

"They're only here to protect you?" he asked.

"That was their original intention, although..." She tugged him into an empty room painted in a robin's-egg blue, not that he'd known what the color was called until Luella corrected him when he'd said it was merely blue a month before. "Protection may not be their only mission now since there's been an intriguing development."

"There's a development?" was all he could think to ask as the knot began reforming in his stomach, undoubtedly due to the idea he was relatively certain this development centered around one Charles Wetzel—a far-too-smiley gentleman if there ever was one.

"I think Beulah may have just found herself a ... beau."

Owen's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You heard me, a beau—and not just any beau, but Leopold Pendleton, an upstanding gentleman who is already more than smitten with your grandmother."

"I was only gone three hours," Owen pointed out as the knot in his stomach loosened yet again, although he couldn't quite ignore the touch of queasiness that was beginning to take the knot's place.

"The smitten-ness happened within seconds, a direct result of Beulah impressing Leopold with her shooting abilities."

"One would think this Leopold would want to put as much distance between himself and Meemaw as possible, not set his sights on, ah, courting her."

"Love works in mysterious ways, but your grandmother is crafty, which is why I need your help to get Beulah to accept the idea that Leopold is perfect for her."

Owen blinked. "You want me to help you arrange a match between Meemaw and some gentleman I've never met before?"

"Did you miss the part where I told you that Leopold's an upstanding gentleman?"

"I don't care how upstanding he is. He has no business courting my grandmother."

Camilla waved that aside. "Don't be a child."

"I'm not a child, merely a concerned grandson."

"I would think my validation of Leopold would be enough to alleviate any concerns you have. But since that doesn't seem to be the case, know that he's a widower, possesses a very large fortune, and is a member of the Four Hundred."

"That tells me next to nothing about the man."

"It tells you that he's respectable."

"No, it doesn't. It merely tells me that he's from the world you inhabit, which isn't a world Meemaw would ever be interested in."

"Leopold isn't like most men involved with the Four Hundred because he led quite an adventurous life before he settled down to become an established member of society. He's no stick in the mud and would keep your grandmother highly entertained, as well as assure she's never lonely."

"Meemaw has never complained about being lonely."

"That's simply because she's one of those suffer-in-silence types."

"She's rarely silent."

"True, but I doubt she'd want to burden her grandchildren with the notion her life hasn't been all sunshine and lima beans, something she apparently finds absolutely delicious."

"You don't know what lima beans are?"

"I will after supper, as Beulah calls it, instead of dinner, because, as I just said, she's whipping them up for me right now."

"You don't actually whip up lima beans. You just boil them."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever find myself in a kitchen, in front of a stove, boiling water no less, which I readily admit I've never done before. However, none of that has anything to do with Beulah and Leopold. You need to believe me when I say they're perfect for each other. And before you think the smitten state is one-sided, know that Beulah turned decidedly flustered after Leopold kissed her hand. Beulah doesn't strike me as the type who gets flustered often."

Owen's mouth dropped open again. "Leopold kissed my grandmother's hand?"

"Twice."

He spun on his heel. "I believe it's past time I had a word with this man."

"Absolutely not," Camilla argued, snagging hold of his hand and pulling him to a stop. "The last thing their burgeoning romance needs is for you to turn all blustery over the expected behavior from a gentleman when he makes the acquaintance of a lovely lady."

"There isn't any burgeoning romance transpiring right now, nor, if I have a say, will there be any burgeoning in the future."

"That's just wishful grandson thinking on your part. And while I understand that it's uncomfortable to think about your meemaw as a woman a man might want to court, you need to pull yourself together and do what's best for her. She's not ancient, you know, and I imagine she'd love spending her days with a dashing gentleman to keep her company."

"I saw Leopold in the receiving parlor just a moment ago and I'm not certain dashing is the word that springs to mind to describe him."

"Of course he's dashing, although I suppose he's looking a little windswept still, what with how Beulah did shoot his hat off his head, leaving his hair rather untidy—not that Leopold has noticed that state." She smiled. "He's much too interested in pulling information out of Luella regarding your grandmother to concern himself with shot-up hair."

"What kind of information could my sister possibly lend Leopold that would aid his romantic intentions toward Meemaw?"

"I'm sure Leopold is interested in the basics—such as what Beulah enjoys doing throughout the day, what types of books she reads, what type of chocolate she prefers, and what her favorite flowers are."

"He will not be plying my grandmother with chocolate and daisies."

"How delightful to learn your grandmother and I share the same proclivity for daisies."

"Which is surprising, but do not tell Leopold I told you what Meemaw's favorite flowers are. The last thing I want to see is this house blanketed in daisies."

Camilla crossed her arms over her chest and took to looking grumpy. "Why is it surprising to learn I enjoy daisies?"

"Because Curtistine and Pauline told me that proper ladies prefer roses."

"And they would be mistaken about that, but returning to your grandmother, as you may suspect by now, it's difficult for me to resist becoming involved with matchmaking pursuits when I know the match in question is worthy of my attention."

"Hence the reason Lottie and Edward went traipsing off to Stone and Thomas together earlier," Owen muttered.

"I had nothing to do with that. Edward merely mentioned he wasn't certain what essentials he should be picking up and Lottie volunteered to accompany him. The only input I had with that situation was to suggest Bernadette travel with them as chaperone, and then Mr. Timken, after telling me that nothing screams inappropriate chaperone quite like Bernadette does, insisted on accompanying them." She smiled. "If I'd actually been dabbling in matchmaking with those two, I'd have gone as their chaperone because I'm very good with gently steering conversations in a way that allows a couple to become better acquainted in a seamless fashion."

"There will be no gently steering any conversations between Meemaw and Leopold."

"Gentle isn't what I had in mind, not when Beulah seems to be slightly reluctant to accept the idea that a handsome gentleman might be interested in courting her. She's already turned slightly contrary about the matter and tried to distract me from extolling all of Leopold's many stellar attributes when I tracked her down to the kitchen."

"Meemaw's very good with distractions."

"Truer words have never been spoken. Do you know that she sent me the sweetest smile as I was telling her about Leopold's proficiency with a variety of weapons right before she asked me to fetch her apple dumpling recipe?"

"That doesn't sound like much of a distraction."

"It is when she had an ulterior motive in mind—that being the apple pie recipe sticking up in the A section of her recipe box, just waiting for me to grab hold of it." Camilla released a bit of a huff. "Thankfully, I noticed before it was too late and suggested she ask Leopold to procure the dumpling recipe instead of me."

"I'm beginning to get a better understanding why some of the men outside said there was a bone of contention between you and Meemaw, especially when it seems you've uncovered the secret of the family recipe."

"Too right I have, and know that the bone of contention revolved around the fact that, after I mentioned Leopold and the recipe, your grandmother called me a matchmaking menace, snatched her recipe box straight out of my hands, then marched out of the room, probably to hide the box so I couldn't get the recipe to Leopold."

Owen frowned. "You don't seem overly concerned that Meemaw called you a menace."

"I'm more complimented than concerned because Beulah is a formidable woman, and that she considers me a menace suggests she realizes I'm formidable as well. All that's left to do now, and with your cooperation of course, is to wear her down and have her come around to the notion that a Chesterfield wedding will certainly be transpiring in the future, but just not one that has me and you as the couple exchanging vows."