“Both impoverished, no doubt,” she said mockingly.
The glare was more fierce. “They both come from fine European families and they need wives. And so help me, if you dare to embarrass me as you did the last time—blacking your teeth and wearing pants, for the love of Christ!—I will—”
“It was your own fault,” she interrupted with more courage than she actually felt. It didn’t do to show weakness to this man. “You can tell your new candidates that they needn’t look for a wife here,” she said stubbornly.
“They can and they will. You’ll marry who I say,” he told her in an uncompromising tone. “You can rant and rave all you like, but you’ll do it! Otherwise,” he added harshly, “I’ll put you out, so help me, I will!”
She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. Her face went deathly white as she stared at him with eyes like saucers. “Would you, then?” she returned. “And who’d keep your books and balance your accounts, pay your bills and keep you to a budget so the ranch is financially sound?”
His fists clenched by his side. “I fought off Indians and Northerners and people who hated me because I was Irish when I worked on the railroads! And yet even all that was less trouble than you give me every day of me life! You took Eloise from me! Does bookkeeping make up for that?”
She sat down and stared at him, praying that her lungs wouldn’t go into spasm yet again. You could never show weakness in front of the enemy!
Colston let out the breath that was choking him. Only then did he seem to realize what he’d said to her. He moved to the window and looked out, his back ramrod stiff. “That was a bit harsh,” he bit off. “I wouldn’t really throw you out. You’re me only daughter, in spite of everything. But don’t go against me, girl,” he cautioned. “I mean to have respectability, and there’s nothing I won’t do to get it. You’ll marry!”
“A man I don’t even know.” She was fighting tears of rage and impotence. “A stranger who’ll take me to some cold foreign country to die.”
He whirled. “Sure and you won’t die, you little fool!” he exclaimed. “You’ll have maids and other servants to look after you. Someone to cook and clean for you. You’ll be treated like a queen!”
“I’ll be an interloper,” she returned. “Unwanted and hated because I’ve been married for your money!”
He threw up his hands. “I offer you the world, and you want to put labels on everything!”
She was dying inside. He was going to sell her, and she’d never see Eduardo again. Never, never...
“There is an alternative,” he said after a minute.
She looked up.
He studied his boots, caked with mud. “You might consider marrying Eduardo.”
Her heart went right up into her throat. She put a hand to it, to keep it from jumping out onto the floor. “Wh-what?”
“Eduardo!” He stared at her, planted with feet wide and both hands behind his back. “He’s a widower, and what polite society would call a half-breed, but he does have a title. His family is connected to European royalty.”
She laughed, almost choking in the process. “Eduardo wouldn’t want me,” she said bitterly. “He hates me.”
“He might be willing to marry you,” he continued, careful not to mention the conversation he’d had with the man. “Especially if you tried to improve yourself a little, if you dressed up and smiled at him once in a while. He’ll have competition at the ball. Two other men, both titled. It might make him sit up.” He looked away, so that she couldn’t see the unholy glee in his eyes. He’d frightened her enough that Eduardo now looked like salvation itself. He congratulated himself silently on his shrewdness. So much for her stubborn refusal to consider a match of his choosing. She could be won over, with the right words and strategies.
“He’s said that he doesn’t want to remarry,” she continued.
“He’s also said that he doesn’t want to lose his inheritance,” he reminded her. “If his past wasn’t so unpleasant, his old grandmother could help him make another match in Spain, as she did with his late wife. But his wife died under mysterious circumstances and his mother has become embroiled in some new scandal back East. She isn’t Spanish at all—his mother is a Texas heiress who comes from German and good Irish stock.”
“I know that. She lives in New York with her second husband. Eduardo hates her.”
He didn’t know how she knew that, but he didn’t push his luck. He folded his arms over his chest. “It’s because of what his mother’s done that his grandmother is determined to leave her wealth to his second cousin. Not only is he completely Spanish, but he has no scandal about him.”
“Eduardo told you that?”
He nodded. “Some time ago, of course,” he added evasively. “They say the old lady’s coming here to stay with him for the summer.”
“He’ll be glad, I imagine. He loves his grandmother.”
“Pity it isn’t mutual.” His small eyes riveted themselves to her face. “Well, what do you think of marrying Eduardo?”
She swallowed. “I would...be willing, I suppose,” she said with just the right touch of reluctance, “if it would save me from having to live in some foreign place.”
He felt like dancing a jig, but he didn’t dare let his stubborn daughter know how much her acceptance pleased him. Sometimes he even liked her for her spirit—so long as he didn’t remember what she’d cost him with her birth. Honest to God, she was almost a mirror image of him in temper. “Then suppose you go into town as I suggested and find a nice gown to wear to the ball?”
She drew in a long breath. “I suppose I could do that.”
“Go to Meriwether’s, where I have an account. Buy whatever you need.”
She stood up. “Eduardo’s title is only good in Europe,” she began.
He held up a hand. “It’s good anywhere,” he said stiffly. “Even in Texas. He’s only half Spanish, but most people will overlook that because of his European relations.” He gave her a long, unpleasant look. “Considering your lack of beauty and the state of your health, I really think it would be overly optimistic to think that a European would want you. We’ll be lucky indeed if Eduardo is willing to take you on.”
“I’m not so much a burden as you like to think, Father. I do earn my keep. I’m quite good with figures and budgets. Eduardo might even find me an asset, given his present circumstances.”
He shrugged. “You’re useful enough when you’re well. But you’re quite often sick, Bernadette.” He turned away heavily. “It’s the memories you bring back,” he said in a rare moment’s honesty. “I see her face as she died, hear her scream, feel my heart break and break inside my body.” He put a hand absently to his chest. “I loved her so!”
Bernadette actually felt the words. But before she could speak, he turned and went out the door, his footsteps loud and angry, as they always were when he had to confront something unpleasant or irritating.
She stared after him in misery. If he’d turned to her instead of away from her, how different her life might have been. He blamed her for his wife’s death, would always blame her. She could never hope for a close relationship with him, because he didn’t want one. All he wanted from his daughter was an advantageous marriage and her complete absence from his life. He didn’t say that, but he meant it.
She