“Miss Templeton, I need help,” Mitch said when Victoria returned the tray to the table between them and sat down again. “I have to return to my ranch, and as good as my children are, they need a woman while traveling out there, especially considering two of the five are girls.”
Victoria glanced again at the children. Even her mother, who’d been busy looking down her nose at the whole situation, also turned. It was Victoria who spoke. “You have four children, and only one of them is a girl.”
“The baby, Emily, is in the care of a nurse right now.”
“And your wife, Mr. MacLeod? Where is she? Is she still in her confinement?”
Mitch’s jaw tightened. “She died in childbirth a month ago. September 4, to be exact. I’m hoping to take the children to our ranch, the one I’ve been building for my family.”
It was all he would say on the subject. For, no matter what, he would not reveal the truth about Emily’s unknown paternity.
Your pride will be your downfall, Mitch. Don’t go thinking it will serve you well. When pride cometh, then cometh shame.
The pastor of the church in Proud Bend, the town closest to his ranch, had spoken the warning before Mitch had left for Boston to collect his family, now that his new ranch was ready. Mitch had also boasted that he would pay off his mortgage within two years, and that he would then have the finest beef cattle within view of Castle Rock. What awaited him here—his wife’s death, the unexpected child—had brought the pastor’s words into sharp focus.
He pushed aside the memory. It would serve no good purpose to dwell on things that brought shame.
“No mother?” Her eyes widening, Victoria interrupted his thoughts. “Poor things.” Her brows then knitted together as she looked over at him. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. Yes, it has been difficult on them.” And me, in a way you’ll never know. Mitch tightened his jaw, holding himself back from saying something that might reveal the betrayal still coursing through him. “Lacewood is seeing to my late wife’s final affairs, for I need to return to my ranch. And I can’t do so without a woman to assist me. Are you going out West, Miss Templeton? I can pay for your fare and a small stipend in return for your assistance.”
It sounded a foolish thing to say, but Lacewood had suggested those exact words. “The trip is broken up by switching engines and lines, but it’s remarkably fast, only three days, two nights,” Mitch added, hoping the solicitor’s optimism hadn’t been misplaced.
Victoria’s mother shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. MacLeod, but my daughter’s fare is already taken care of.”
“I’ll take it.”
Both her mother and Mitch looked to Victoria. She folded her arms. “My fare hasn’t been purchased yet.”
The older woman looked aghast. “But you need to travel first class, Victoria. You need to look your best when you arrive. You won’t get any rest helping this man.”
Knowing he was being ignored, Mitch spoke up. “I can’t afford first class, but I’m told you’ll get your rest. It’s a second-class car, but it’s a Pullman sleeper one.”
He couldn’t guarantee rest. He just said that because dropping the fancy Pullman name might help his cause, although that company no longer made those second-class sleepers, he’d been told. They would travel in an older model.
The mother gasped. “Second class! That will never do!”
Victoria, however, smiled sweetly at him. Too sweetly. “I said I’ll take the job. When do we leave?”
The young porter hefted Victoria’s bags off the damp platform. The early morning’s cold drizzle reflected the mood of the day. Victoria looked sidelong at the four children staring at her from under the cover of the train depot’s narrow overhang, each clutching one small bag. She cringed. Her maid had managed to pare her luggage down to four pieces, but they seemed huge compared to everyone else’s. Yet she needed it all, and she hadn’t even packed a mourning dress.
And why should she? She refused the convention of grieving the man who’d ruined her life. What she wore today was conservative in style and color and quite expensive. It was more than suitable.
Her mother had taken six bags with her. Her departure yesterday had been surprisingly difficult for Victoria, despite the discontent between them and the fact that Mother had come and gone in Victoria’s life several times. With her need for the cool air of Portland in August or the warmth of the Carolinas in February, she was always leaving Victoria in the care of a nanny, but this time their parting was different. Their home must be sold. Discreetly, of course, the assets liquidated as per Mr. Lacewood’s instructions, after consultation with an investor. The staff would be let go, each with a glowing letter of recommendation.
Victoria took one lamenting look down the platform, wondering if she’d see any friends. She recognized no one. A blessing, really, she told herself, all the while fighting disappointment. Mother had asked that this dreadful affair be completed as quickly and quietly as possible and such meant no one must know they were slipping out of town in disgrace.
Once she was settled in Colorado, she would write to the few women she called friends and explain everything. Perhaps by then, time might have softened the emotions roiling through her.
And Francis? Would he call before the harvest soiree that his mother was to host? Shouldn’t she write to him, too? Abigail had not invited his family to Charles’s funeral. Victoria clenched her jaw. Honestly, a funeral shouldn’t require invitations as though it were some exclusive fete. All she could do now was hope that Francis would not call to an empty house.
Oh, who was she trying to convince? She and Francis had shared only a trio of engagements. Not one word in their conversations had ever suggested that he’d been interested enough to come calling. They owed each other nothing.
Which was what Victoria had right now, apart from a few small coins in her purse. Once the young porter had finished stowing all her bags save the one she’d asked to be made readily available, she dropped one coin into his palm as she thanked him. He nodded.
With an edgy exhalation, Victoria watched the porter disappear. What was she going to do when her money was gone? She had good secretarial skills, because of her education, but Walter was expecting her to trade his charity for a marriage to his partner. Mother had married Charles out of convenience. What had that done for her? It had turned her into a poor relation. Victoria firmed her shoulders. Marriage to a stranger? No. As soon as she arrived in Proud Bend, she’d start looking for clerical work.
Her heart lurched at the bitter humiliation.
A sturdy breeze rolled down the platform, bringing with it the foul, oily smoke from the locomotive and forcing Victoria closer to the children to prevent her lovely traveling outfit from catching the soot.
It was a dark green skirt suit in a quiet style suitable for the day. The bustle was small and the tailored waistcoat with its unobtrusive buttons could fit both mourning and traveling. She battled the filthy breeze that seemed determined to lift her skirt.
Victoria searched the platform again. It would soon be time to board. Mr. MacLeod had asked her to be here at 7:45 a.m. sharp, a good half hour before the train was to leave this Sunday morning. Indeed, his children were here, standing dutifully against the wall, staring at her as if expecting her to vanish in a puff of smoke.
“Miss Templeton?”
She turned and found Matthew holding out her small change purse. He was nearly as tall as she was. “You dropped this.”
She patted down the small hidden pocket in her skirt and found it empty. Then, accepting the coin purse, she smiled. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to lose this. It’s