On the trail to Abilene and back, Nick Brookfield had never mentioned his privileged background or put on airs, but it had been obvious from the viscount and his sister’s clothing and speech that the English Brookfields were as wealthy as they were aristocratic. But Miss Violet had that same lack of pretentiousness that Nick had, Raleigh thought. Just look at how she had come right up to him in town, smiling at him as if he was some knight in shining armor when he’d agreed to help them.
He glanced down at his clothing and chuckled. Even considering his new shirt, his clothing was about as far from shining armor as it could get.
With her wealth and beauty, Violet Brookfield would be a prize for some lucky gent back home in England. She’d probably left a string of beaux there, if not one special suitor. Yet she was no flirt. Raleigh sensed an innocence about her that was very appealing to him.
It didn’t matter, though, because they were of completely different worlds. He was just a cowboy, even if he had risen to trail boss and foreman of Colliers’ Roost. He got a little more pay than the rest of the Colliers’ Roost cowhands, but he slept in the bunkhouse same as they did.
A lot of cowboys never married, and the only women they were comfortable around were the ones in saloons and worse. But Raleigh had decided those women weren’t an option for him—not after that stampede just before they reached Abilene. The Lord had been trying to get Raleigh’s attention for quite a while—during the turmoil and danger of the war, in which he’d fought for the Confederacy, and in that incident when he’d nearly been hanged for something he didn’t do in Blanco. But He’d finally succeeded in the midst of the stampede that had changed Raleigh’s life forever.
Violet Brookfield would return to England one day. In the meantime, he’d have to be content to see her at church, or on the rare occasions that the Brookfields visited their neighbors, the Colliers. It would have to be enough.
And yet he longed to have a wife and children and a piece of land to call his own. His brushes with death had given him a hunger for something more permanent than the life he’d been living.
Maybe someday he could find a Texas version of the Englishwoman. But in the meantime, he thought about what Miss Violet had said about her love of riding.
She’d need a horse for the time she was here, and from what he knew of the Brookfield horses, none would suit her. It was a well-known fact that Milly’s Ruby wouldn’t let anyone on her back but Milly. But he thought he might just have the solution to her need—and it would be the perfect excuse to see her again.
* * *
“Edward, your letter troubled me, of course,” Nick said that night after Violet and Milly had gone to bed, and the two men were alone in the comfortable parlor. “I wanted to sail to England and beat the fellow into a bloody pulp. He’d already begun this sort of behavior when I was on furlough from India, as I recall.”
“Yes...but these are modern times, and one can’t merely get out the dueling pistols, select a second and show up on some patch of green at dawn to blow a hole in the cad,” Edward said.
“Pity,” Nick agreed, knowing his eldest brother’s dry wit was a shield for the protective fury he felt because the scoundrel had come close to ruining their innocent younger sister.
Nick began, “You don’t think—”
“That the blasted roué had already seduced her?” Edward finished for him. “No, I don’t, though it was a close thing. Violet’s incensed at me, of course, for making her give back the hunter and separating the two of them by an ocean.
“I’m sure she thinks I’m worrying over nothing,” Edward went on, “as she firmly believes Gerald Lullington’s blather, even though I could give her chapter and verse on Lullington’s amours.”
“You don’t believe Lullington would dare come to Texas in pursuit of Violet, do you?”
Edward gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “It’s far more likely that upon my return home I’ll hear that he’s already hot on the trail of another impressionable, gullible young miss with a sufficient fortune to repair his tumbledown wreck of a castle and pay off his debts at the gaming establishments in London. He still needs an heir, you know—that sickly lad of his isn’t likely to make old bones. Still, in the unlikely event he did show up here, I know I may count on you to take care of the matter.”
“Indeed. He’d never even get close,” Nick promised, looking Edward in the eye.
“Good man.” Edward steepled his fingers and looked thoughtful. “I don’t think she’ll do anything foolish while she’s here, Nick. She’s expressed excitement about being in Texas—fancies herself an authoress, you know. Wants to write novels about the Old West. Who knows if she’ll succeed, but I’d vastly prefer her having the reputation of being a bluestocking to her being one of the blasted earl’s many ruined conquests. I think this time in Texas will be good for her, and she’ll return to England having realized what a big mistake she nearly made.”
* * *
My love for Gerald is not a mistake, Violet thought, frozen in the hallway only a few feet away. She clapped a hand over her own mouth to smother the impulse to storm in and inform Edward just how wrong he was about Gerald. She’d been padding down the hallway in her bare feet on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water and approached the parlor just in time to overhear Edward and Nick talking about her.
It wouldn’t do any good to argue with Edward again, she thought miserably. She knew her brother loved her and wanted only her good, but he was completely mistaken about Gerald. Edward didn’t believe a man such as Gerald could be changed by love, but Gerald had changed. She was sure of it. Why would he have given her a ring, if he hadn’t meant to love her only and forever? She felt for it now on its golden chain beneath her nightgown and wrapper, and was reassured by the solid feel of it. It wasn’t the big Lullington signet ring with its cabochon ruby, but a smaller copy he’d had as a boy that would fit her smaller finger. Of course she hadn’t dared to wear it openly, and Edward didn’t suspect she had it.
She heard Nick ask Edward if he thought it possible Gerald would come after her.
How romantic, if Gerald followed her across the Atlantic and stole her away! It would be like some medieval knight storming his enemy’s castle walls to rescue his chosen bride.
In her heart, though, she knew Gerald wouldn’t do so. He couldn’t, poor dear. Her brothers thought she didn’t know her love’s financial condition, but she did. He couldn’t afford to leave England right now while his business affairs were so time-consuming. He’d had some setbacks, true, but he’d given up gambling for her sake and was well on the way to restoring his fortune. He’d told her he would use the time they were parted to solidify his holdings and do some redecorating of Lullington Castle so it would be a fitting residence for her when she arrived there as his bride.
She’d be happy to give him control of her money when they were married. They’d use it to make his string of racehorses the pride of England. They’d win the Epsom Derby and every other race, and perhaps even come to America to compete. The Lullington stud would be world-famous for breeding champion racehorses and hunters.
She’d give Nick and Milly no cause for worry while she was here, Violet resolved. She and Gerald would bide their time, and when she returned to England, their reunion would be gloriously romantic. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it? They’d write beautiful, romantic letters, and their love would blossom on the pages they exchanged.
She only hoped Nick wouldn’t make it difficult for her to mail them. She’d manage, after Edward departed, even if she had to use all her ingenuity. After all, she had enough money for postage, if not to book passage back home. She’d spotted the post office when they’d driven through Simpson Creek.
Violet was about to tiptoe back to her room so her eavesdropping wouldn’t be discovered, but then she heard Nick ask, “So, how long can you stay with us? The longer, the better,