Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

D alton entered his father's office with a smile. He didn't know what Father wanted to talk to him about, and meetings this late in the day were rare. He hoped whatever news Mr. Dalton Simpson Sr. was about to give him, didn't dampen his good mood.

"There you are, my boy," Father said. He motioned to a chair on the other side of his huge mahogany desk.

Dalton sat, his eyes gliding over the room. His father's office was all dark wood decorated with reds, dark greens and brass. "What did you wish to discuss, Father?" He looked at his sire, giving him his full attention. Father was a stickler for good manners.

"Son, your mother and I have been talking, and we think it's time for you to marry."

Dalton let a chuckle escape. "Funny you should mention that." He sat straighter in his chair. "I've come to the same conclusion."

His father smiled. "You have?" He leaned forward in his chair and eyed him. "Has a certain young lady caught your eye?"

"Indeed, one has." Dalton smiled back. "I met her just today."

Father sat back, a confused look on his face. "Today?"

Dalton shook his head. "That's not exactly true. I met her yesterday but was formally introduced to the young lady today by Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Mrs. Pettigrew?" Father said with a huff. "Oh, well, hmmm…"

Dalton watched his father fidget. "Is something wrong?"

Guilt flashed in his father's eyes. "It's just that Mrs. Harrington has been having tea quite often with your mother of late."

Dalton stood. "What?" His mind raced. When would Mother have had… "Oh, morning tea, I take it? When the two of us aren't at home?"

"Quite," Father said and motioned to Dalton's chair. "Sit down."

Dalton eased himself into the chair. "I didn't think Mother liked the Harringtons."

Father shrugged. "Women, it still amazes me how often they change their mind. Mrs. Harrington has been working on your mother. It's only a matter of time before she sets her sights on me. My guess is she's hoping your mother will do it."

Dalton's face screwed up in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

His father tapped his fingers on the desk a few times. "It seems Mrs. Harrington has it in her head to marry you off to Rebecca."

Dalton was out of his chair so fast this time, he almost knocked it over. "What?!"

Father calmly shrugged, folded his hands and rested them on the desk. "Now that you've been warned, tell me about this young lady you were introduced to."

Dalton sat a second time, his chest tight. He'd no more marry Rebecca Harrington than a lamb would wed a wolf. She'd eat him alive and probably ruin the family while she did. He tolerated the Harringtons and nothing more. Mr. Harrington, who owned a diamond mine or two in Africa, was always traipsing off to check on them. The man was rarely home, and Dalton didn't think it was right for him to spend so much time abroad, neglecting his affairs here along with his family.

"Son?"

Dalton jumped. "Sorry. Yes, the young lady. Her name is Miss Eastwick, and she comes from Philadelphia. Her parents are both deceased, and she's here seeking Mrs. Pettigrew's help."

"So, the matchmaker hopes to make a match, does she?" Father rubbed his salt and pepper beard a few times. "What of her family, did she not inherit?"

"She's… not from the upper classes of Philadelphia, Father."

Now it was his father's turn to jump from his chair. "What?!"

Dalton held up a hand. "Calm yourself. Her father owned a couple of businesses and did quite well with them I'm told. For whatever reason, Miss Eastwick sought Mrs. Pettigrew's help. Perhaps there are no eligible bachelors among her class in Philadelphia this season. And she can't exactly attend social functions without proper escort."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right." Father retook his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.

Dalton watched him. His father was a shrewd businessman who was a stickler for tradition and doing things properly. Including choosing a wife. He was lucky his parents hadn't arranged a marriage for him and were allowing him to choose his own bride.

"Has Mrs. Pettigrew found a match for the young lady?" Father said, breaking into his thoughts. "Is she looking among our class? She must have a sizable dowry if that's the case."

"I'm not sure, Father. I only know she's Mrs. Pettigrew's guest, and that Mrs. Pettigrew would like me to accompany Miss Eastwick while she helps with a Christmas ball."

Father's eyes lit up. "Mrs. Pettigrew is hosting a ball? How grand!"

Dalton held his hand up again. "A small Christmas ball. I received an invitation. For all of us," he tacked on.

His father breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. It would be a slap not to receive one, especially if it's a small gathering. Mrs. Pettigrew must be doing better."

"I believe she is," he said with sincerity. Everyone knew how hard Adelia Pettigrew took her husband's death. And, as the richest woman in Colorado if not the entire western United States, being in her good graces was paramount. Only a fool would turn down an offer to do business with the rich widow, and a small Christmas ball was the perfect spot for it.

"This young woman you speak of intrigues me, son," Father said. "You have plans to court her?"

"Mrs. Pettigrew has asked me to accompany her on some errands over the next few days. That will suffice."

"You'll know that quickly if the two of you will suit?"

"I will." He sat back in his chair. "While running a few errands for Mrs. Pettigrew today, Miss Eastwick and I ran into Rebecca Harrington and her mother. Neither said anything about having tea at our house."

"Hmmm, that woman is plotting something to be sure. You'd best mind yourself around Miss Harrington. She's liable to lay some trap for you."

Dalton shuddered at the thought. "I will, Father. I appreciate the advice." Not that it wasn't something he didn't already know. Rebecca Harrington, though beautiful with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect figure, was also sly and reminded him of a viper hiding in tall grass, ready to strike some poor unsuspecting victim as they walked by. Unfortunately for him, she seemed quite adept at putting herself in his path. Today was proof enough of that. If only he and Miss Eastwick had been quicker, they'd have made it into the print shop before the Harringtons made it across the street. "Was that all you wanted to speak to me about, Father?"

"Yes, my boy. I look forward to meeting your young lady at Mrs. Pettigrew's Christmas ball. Your mother will be ecstatic that we received an invitation."

"Of that I have no doubt." Dalton stood, reached across the desk and shook his father's hand. "Thank you for the advice."

Father nodded. "Now if I could only convince your mother. I have no idea what Mrs. Harrington's been telling her, but it's caught her attention." He left his chair. "I'd best find out what it is before the ball." He arched an eyebrow at Dalton. "Did Mrs. Pettigrew say if she sent the Harringtons an invitation?"

Dalton's breath caught. "I'm not sure, but I can ask. Mrs. Pettigrew had Miss Eastwick and I delivering invitations today. Abigail and Mr. Tugs delivered the rest."

Father gave him a sage nod. "Well, mind yourself."

"I will." Dalton gave him a curt nod and left the office. He fought the urge to returned to Mrs. Pettigrew's. Perhaps he should invite the matchmaker and her charge to tea? Yes, he could do that. They could decide on a time, and he could talk about the list he'd been given.

He stopped just outside his father's door. "But Mother has been having morning tea with Mrs. Harrington. Devil take it." Indeed, the last thing he wanted was to be in the same room with Miss Eastwick and Mrs. Harrington. The latter would be quick to try to make short work of the former, in any way she could. Mrs. Harrington had Rebecca on a pedestal and wanted everyone to pay homage to her.

He put on his hat and left the building, walking home. The cold late afternoon air helped him think, and he needed to keep a clear head if he was to study the lovely Miss Eastwick.

Dalton found himself walking past his house and approaching Mrs. Pettigrew's. He shouldn't be here, had no reason to be… until he spied Miss Eastwick standing in a small garden not far from where he knew the kitchen to be. Unable to help himself, he went through the gate and approached her, a smile on his face. "Where's your coat?"

She jumped, dropped the basket in her hands, and spun around. "Mr. Simpson! You startled me."

He gave her a slight bow. "My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you." He looked at the basket and scooped it up. "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, um, puttering about. Mrs. Pettigrew wanted some things from her herb garden." Her cheeks flushed. "Well, that's not entirely true. Her cook did."

He chuckled as he watched her. She'd changed into something more appropriate for the work. Someone of her class wouldn't think twice about working in a garden or solarium. "Do you enjoy gardening?"

"I do. My mother and I kept a fantastic flower garden." She rocked toe to heel a few times, and he offered her the basket. She took it and blushed.

Dalton breathed in the cold air, his chest warming at the sight of her. "It's kind of you to help this way. I'm sure Mrs. Pettigrew's cook appreciates it."

She nodded and looked away, her blush deepening. Was she embarrassed?

"There's no shame in helping the person helping you," he said gently. "I think it's admirable you're helping out."

A tiny laugh escaped her. "Do you now?"

He stepped closer, picked up the scent of lavender, and wondered if it was coming from her chestnut hair. "I do." He looked at the tall hedge separating the side yard from the grounds behind the house. "Has Mrs. Pettigrew shown you the lake yet?"

She gaped at him and spun to the hedge. "Lake?"

"Yes, Mr. Pettigrew liked to fish, so they put in a lake so he could. It's more of a large pond, but everyone refers to it as a lake. They've a fine stable too and a hedge maze."

She held the basket before her and stared at the ground. "I'm afraid I haven't seen any of it yet." Miss Eastwick raised her face to his and looked him in the eyes. "I was with you, remember? I only arrived yesterday."

"I see." He looked into her big brown eyes and smiled. "I'll insist Mrs. Pettigrew give you a tour of the grounds. Better yet, I'll ask her if I can."

She blushed again. "Goodness. What will she think? This isn't your home."

"No, but I know it, and the woman is often busy." He glanced at the house. "She must be since she's having you help out."

Miss Eastwick gave him a weak smile and nodded. "Yes, I suppose so." She nodded at the kitchen door. "I should get inside. Mrs. Fraser is waiting."

He grinned. "Ah, yes, Mrs. Fraser. You definitely don't want to keep that battle-ax waiting." His eyes became fixed on her hands. He took one, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "Until tomorrow."

Her eyes widened, and she bobbed him a small curtsy.

Dalton smiled in amusement. "Your cheeks are quite red, Miss Eastwick."

"It's the cold." She made to move past him, and he let her. His kiss had her flustered, and his chest swelled at the thought. "Tomorrow," he called to her, just to see what she'd do.

She stopped at the kitchen door, her eyes downcast, and bobbed another curtsy. Miss Eastwick then disappeared into the manse's kitchen.

Dalton's face broke into a wide smile as he turned, whistling a happy tune, and headed home.