Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

D alton stole little glances at Miss Eastwick and wondered if she'd notice. She didn't glance his way once, something he wasn't used to. As one of the most eligible bachelors in Denver, he was sure she had to know who he was. Had Mrs. Pettigrew not told her? But his eccentric neighbor wasn't one to follow the usual pattern of a meddling matchmaking mother. She was a matchmaker, sure. A professional one. But ever since Xavier died, she hadn't been herself and hadn't made a single match that he knew of. She'd talked about getting back to work, so maybe the woman had made one or two matches already. He'd have to remember to ask her about it.

"Fine day, isn't it?" he asked to get a conversation going.

"It's cold."

Dalton smiled. "Yes, but I like the brisk air."

"Freezing air, you mean." Miss Eastwick held her head high, and he looked at the stack of envelopes in her free hand.

"Who do we have to deliver an invitation to first?" Dalton asked.

She brought them to a stop, untangled her arm from his, and looked at the first envelope in the stack. "Oh." She looked at him, pulled the invitation from the stack and handed it to him. "This is for you."

"What?" He took the envelope from her and smiled. "Well, well, so it is." He was about to stuff it into the pocket of his jacket but stopped. "Shall I open it?"

She took in their surroundings, looking as if some wild animal was about to jump out from behind a bush and eat them. "Do as you wish."

He studied her with concern. Was that fear in her eyes? "Are you quite all right, Miss Eastwick?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" She swallowed hard then looked away.

Good grief, he hoped she wasn't as odd as Mrs. Pettigrew. He was of a mind to take a wife next year, and Miss Eastwick intrigued him for some reason. Offering to escort her on this little errand would give him the chance to get to know her. Though perhaps he should have thought to have a maid or footman accompany them.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a small nod. Dalton fought the urge to tuck a finger under her chin and bring her face to his. He wanted to look into her eyes and make sure the fear in them had dissipated.

"We should get going." She looked up the street and back. "Now that the first invitation has been delivered."

He smiled and looked at the envelope in his hand. "That reminds me." He opened the envelope, pulled out the invitation and read it. "You are cordially invited to a ball at the Pettigrew mansion on December 20th for a night of holiday festivities." He smiled at Miss Eastwick as he put the invitation back into its envelope. "Well, this is good news."

Her eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

Dalton sighed. "Adelia, that is, Mrs. Pettigrew, hasn't been herself since she lost Xavier. I dare say this is the first party she's had since he died. It will be good for her." He offered his arm again and she took it.

"Has she always been so… odd?"

Dalton chuckled. "Odd, strange, eccentric. But one cannot help but love her. She has a way with people, and before you know it, you're eating out of her hand. It's uncanny, really."

She smiled, and he noticed the dimple on the left side of her mouth. "I believe you're right. Mrs. Pettigrew has run circles around me already. I don't know if I'm coming or going."

Dalton laughed at that. "Indeed, she does have a way about her. Anyone else would insist I shoot those silly goats and be rid of them. But she sends funny little notes to me."

"Why do you have goats?"

He grinned. "It's a long story. A friend from college, he's a few years behind me and will graduate in the spring. He borrowed them from a rival college, and well, stashed the goats in my stable."

"What?" She stopped them again. "Aren't you going to return them?"

"I've talked to my friend and suggested he do just that. But he's stubborn. I keep telling him he's going to get himself arrested if he isn't careful."

"So, the goats are the rival college's mascots?"

"Yes. Though why they have more than one, I have no idea." He gave her a sheepish look. "You think me a fool, don't you?"

"Not really. But you should set your friend straight before you get arrested for stealing livestock."

"I believe the rival college would consider it more of an abduction." Dalton hoped he wasn't blushing when he'd said it. But the sad truth was, she was right. The animals needed to be returned. He'd have to get a hold of that blasted Clairmont and tell him to come get his goats. He could keep them in his family's stable.

"Who's next?" he asked.

She looked at the next envelope in the stack in her hand. "The Dougherty's."

"They're just up the street." He smiled at her and got them moving again. After delivering the invitations—there were only six—they headed to the print shop.

"How far is it?" Miss Eastwick asked.

"About a ten-minute walk. Are you tired?" he asked with concern. At least she didn't look frightened now.

"Not at all, I was just wondering." She stole a glance at him, her first, and he smiled. They continued on and almost reached the print shop when he heard an all too familiar voice.

"Why, Mother! Look who it is!"

Dalton stiffened and tried not to cringe.

"What's wrong?" Miss Eastwick asked.

He sighed. "Rebecca Harrington and her mother." He caught sight of the pair crossing the street, heading straight for them. "Both act as if … well, I'll tell you later. Please, don't say anything and let me take care of them."

She nodded and his chest warmed that she trusted him enough to let him handle the two.

"Mr. Simpson, how nice to see you," Mrs. Harrington gushed. "Rebecca was just commenting on the dance the two of you shared at the Johnson's ball. Goodness, can you imagine how people would talk if you had danced two dances?"

"Two dances are hardly uncommon, Mrs. Harrington," he said dryly. He noted Rebecca's eyes were riveted on Miss Eastwick.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Mrs. Harrington asked.

"Of course," he said. "Mrs. Harrington, Miss Harrington, may I introduce you to Miss Eastwick. She's a guest of Mrs. Pettigrew's."

"How nice," Rebecca said, glaring icicles at the young woman. "Are you a relative?"

"No, a friend," Dalton answered for her. "We're running a few errands for Mrs. Pettigrew."

"It's such a shame she never throws balls or parties anymore," Mrs. Harrington said.

Miss Eastwick opened her mouth, and Dalton quickly pulled her closer. "Yes, but I'm sure she'll get back to doing so."

Miss Eastwick looked at him but said nothing, thank goodness.

He smiled. "We must be going. Good afternoon, ladies." He tipped his hat and led Miss Eastwick into the print shop. As soon as the door closed behind them, he sighed in relief. "Forgive me, but I dare not mention the ball. As far as I know, the Harrington's didn't receive an invitation. Mrs. Harrington can get quite upset when left out of things. Rebecca too for that matter."

Miss Eastwick studied him, her eyes roaming his face before meeting his. "You do not wish to hurt their feelings?"

He made a face. "I confess, it's more for self-preservation."

She giggled, a hand to her mouth, then noticed Mr. Hatch behind the counter. "We'd best take care of Mrs. Pettigrew's business."

"Yes." He steered her to the counter, and they gave Mrs. Pettigrew's order to Mr. Hatch, a white-haired, thin man with a ready smile.

Mr. Hatch read it and nodded. "Tell Mrs. Pettigrew I'll have these ready a week from today."

"Very good," Dalton said. He tipped his hat to the printer and headed for the door. "Now for that treat."

"Treat?" Miss Eastwick said.

"Yes, at the bakery. Mrs. Pettigrew did suggest it." He looked through the shop door's window to make sure there was no sign of Rebecca or her mother, then ushered Miss Eastwick outside. After determining the coast was clear, he led her up the street toward the bakery. "They have all sorts of delicious treats at Baumeister's Bakery. I happen to know that the cream puffs are some of Mrs. Pettigrew's favorites."

"I noticed you called her Adelia earlier," Miss Eastwick pointed out. "You know each other that well then?"

He gave her another warm smile. "I do. I finished my studies last year and have settled into my father's empire. He's in steel and textiles. Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew have always followed my education and attended any celebratory gatherings. They've been a great encouragement."

"Did they not have any children of their own?" she asked.

He stopped them. "You mean you don't know?"

She looked at the ground. "Mr. Simpson, you should know that…"

He held up a hand. "You don't need to explain things to me, Miss Eastwick. I understand that Mrs. Pettigrew has come to your aid for whatever reason. It's one of the things I admire about her." He looked into her eyes and saw a mix of confusion and fear in them. "Whatever it is she's helping you with, you can trust she'll stand by you and do whatever it takes to fix things."

She swallowed hard, and he swore her eyes misted before she looked away. "That's… nice to know," she hedged.

"It's true. If Xavier were still alive, he'd do the same thing for you."

She brought her eyes to his once more, and his heart went out to her. He had no idea what the trouble was, but the look on her face made him want to help. "Your business is your own, Miss Eastwick, but do let me know if I can assist you in any way."

She blinked in surprise and tried to take a step back, but he held her fast.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be all right," he soothed. "Now come. We must buy a few cream puffs for Mrs. Pettigrew. I hate to think of her disappointment should we return empty handed."

She gave him a tiny smile, and they moved on.

Dalton's chest warmed as they walked. He'd have to ask Mrs. Pettigrew if he could be of assistance regarding Miss Eastwick. Besides, trouble or no, he still wanted to get to know her better. Besides, it would be nice to have a buffer between him and Rebecca Harrington and her relentless pursuit of him. The Harringtons were sure to ask around and try to find out what they could about Mrs. Pettigrew's houseguest. But as Miss Eastwick had recently arrived, there wasn't much.

They reached the bakery, went inside, and Dalton let the wonderful smell of cinnamon and apples envelope him.

"Mr. Simpson, how are you?" Mrs. Baumeister asked in her German accent. "How are your parents?"

"They're fine. I'm here on behalf of Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Say no more, I know what she wants. A dozen cream puffs?"

"A dozen?" Miss Eastwick said in shock.

"They're not all for her," Dalton pointed out.

"Goodness, I should hope not." A hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." She lowered her hand, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

Dalton swallowed hard. She was lovely in that moment, and a little lost. "What would you like?" He motioned to the shelves behind Mrs. Baumeister.

She studied them, and Dalton knew he'd spend as much time with her as he could from that point on.