Joe’s gut felt as sour as a tub of lemons until he heard Roselina laughing from the parlour. The sound had a way of setting things right inside him. It had ever since the first time she’d smiled at him while he held her and tickled her fat baby feet.
‘That’s a mighty fine fur coat you have on, Little Sister,’ he said, coming into the parlour and seeing Sir Bristle express his adoration by reaching for her face with his great pink tongue.
‘Help me take it off!’
He lifted the dog’s paws off her shoulders, then ordered him to sit.
‘What made him come charging into the party like he did, do you think?’ Roselina petted the wide head, gazing into the dog’s amber-brown eyes as if she might find an answer.
‘He’s got a sense for trouble and Mrs Shaw was in it.’ He shrugged.
‘It’s possible, I suppose. And she is not Mrs Shaw. She is Lady Olivia. Her father was the Earl of Fencroft—it’s her brother, Heath Cavill, who is now, though. They live in the big house on the other side of the garden.’
‘How do you know all that?’
‘It is important to know and so I do.’ She reached for the table beside her, plucked up the blamed fancy hat. She set it on his head, then gave it a tug. ‘Honestly, Joe, did you not wonder why our appointment for noon tomorrow is at Fencroft House?’
‘I’ve been trying to figure a way out of it more than where to go.’
He snatched the hat off his head and tossed it over his shoulder. Let Sir Bristle chew it to threads was how he felt about the thing.
Roselina glowered at him. She curled her hands into fists, slammed them on her hips when he knew full well where she would rather slam them.
She’d been brought up a lady and so contented herself with a glower.
‘Don’t act a beast, Joe.’ With that she spun about and flounced from the parlour, her half-plaited braid swinging.
A beast? Just because he didn’t wear fancy shoes and walk with a dapper cane did not mean he was a beast.
There was the bit about punching a man in the face. If that made him a beast, he’d do it again.
He only hoped that Lady Olivia—not Mrs Shaw, but Lady Olivia—was recovered from the ordeal. No woman ought to go through what she had.
Yet he sensed she had been through worse. It seemed to him the looks folks gave her after the Sir Bristle episode went deeper than the situation called for.
As if perhaps she had been at the heart of something unfortunate in the past.
He could ask Roselina, she claimed to know so much.
Perhaps not, though. Lady Olivia’s secrets were hers to share or not.
If they met again, which was likely since she had been ordered to be his instructor in all things restrictive, she might confide in him.
Once he agreed to be tutored in the art of looking like a gentleman, camaraderie might strike between them.
The problem was, he didn’t think there was a blamed thing wrong with who he was. Putting on satin breeches would not change him.
By sugar, if it wouldn’t change him, why was he fighting the idea?
He had promised Ma and Pa that he would find Roselina a husband. Not just any fellow either. One who deserved her and would make her happy.
It was not as if Pa hadn’t warned him to purchase clothing more appropriate for a London drawing room. He just hadn’t figured it would be so all-fired necessary.
In spite of his sister’s warnings, he’d marched into that ball all pride and bluster, feeling that who he was inside was who folks would see.
He sure hadn’t expected to feel every eye judge him before he had even said howdy.
Even now he felt looked at. Which was odd since the sensation of feeling watched was immediate, not a memory.
He glanced at the garden. A pair of cats frolicked in and out of the bushes, but that wasn’t the cause of it.
No lamps glowed in the windows over at Fencroft House, which did not mean he was not being watched from a dark one.
He looked from one to the next, studying shadows.
Ah, just there!
Something shimmered in a shaft of moonlight. He squinted, saw a skein of fair hair catching the light. Someone was sitting in a chair beside the window, but it was too dark to make out who it might be.
A chill skittered over his skin. Since it was a pleasant chill, not one warning of danger, he suspected it might be Lady Olivia.
When he thought about it, though, just because a sensation was pleasant did not make it less dangerous. Could be it was more so.
He liked the woman. Liked her child, too.
It would be prudent to keep in mind that he was only here until his business was completed. After that he was going home. The last thing he wanted was to tow a broken heart across the ocean. Most especially Lady Olivia’s broken heart.
There was something about her that drew him. And it was not only the fact that she seemed vulnerable—a pretty widow in need of someone to watch out for her. No, it was more the ‘pretty’ part that tugged at him. And yet, it was more than that even. He had met many pretty women in his life, had been in love with one of them even. Whatever drew him to the widow was more than her lovely frown, the slant of her sky-blue eyes.
He did not know her well enough to know precisely what quality about her tickled his attention but, by sugar, he felt it.
The fact that he could not quite get her out of his mind did not change his feelings about leaving heartache in his wake. There was a time and a place for romance and this was neither of those.
If he decided to keep tomorrow’s appointment, and he was beginning to think it was the right thing to do, he would have to keep close rein on his heart.
It wasn’t so hard to imagine the pretty widow lassoing it and holding it captive.
The fellow who admitted them into Fencroft House looked more of a gentleman than Joe did.
When a servant appeared more dapper than the son of a baron, challenging times lay ahead.
Hopefully Lady Olivia was up to the chore of transforming this tumbleweed into a pruned hedge. A hedge that would just as soon present thorns as a willing stem.
‘What are you thinking, Josiah? I don’t like the look of it,’ Roselina whispered while they followed the butler past an open set of doors that looked as though it ought to be a drawing room.
The house was huge, every inch of it elegant.
‘That I do not want to be addressed as Josiah.’
‘Perhaps not, but remember, Lady Olivia is not likely to be any happier about having to train you than you are to be trained.’ A twittering of birds ushered out of an open door up ahead. ‘But trained you will be. Once you go home you can be as thorny as a bramble, but just for a while, please Joe, learn to act a gentleman.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said because promising was more than he could manage.
They followed Mr Ramsfield into the most amazingly green and leafy indoor place Joe had ever seen. It was as if the outside had grown inside. The only thing to distinguish one from the other was a glass wall. What separated the ceiling from the sky was more glass.
The birds were caged, but he wasn’t sure they were aware of it since the aviary was nearly large enough to take a stroll in.
The air was heavily scented with some sort of blossom.
‘Look,’ she whispered. ‘I think that’s an orange tree.’
‘Could be.’ He’d never seen one, but knew they were plentiful in parts of the United States. He’d never thought to see one for the first time in London. Who would have expected that?
In the next second, he didn’t think of another blamed thing.
The widow stood near a door that must lead to the garden separating her house from their apartment. Lady Olivia was bent over from the waist, industriously cleaning a smudge off of Victor’s cheek.
The show of maternal devotion shot straight to his heart.
But why?
He’d seen mothers with their young countless times and he’d never felt struck dumb over it.
It must be because he had a connection of sorts to them due to the fact that he had reunited the two of them in the cemetery, had felt a part of the deeply moving event.
‘Lady Olivia, your guests have arrived,’ the butler announced, each syllable crispy enunciated.
‘Good afternoon. What a pleasure it is to see you again.’ Her greeting was even more properly delivered than the servant’s had been, so much so that he could not tell whether it was sincere or not.
Probably not, which just might illustrate the first lesson of the day. Recite what was expected. Speak with courtesy even if the words you want to express are less than hospitable.
Truly, he hoped this was not the case. That her welcoming smile was actually an indication that she was pleased to see him.
Because he was more than pleased to see her. It was the single bright spot in this situation.
‘Yee-ha!’ Young Victor began to dash towards him, but his mother caught his collar, drawing him back firmly. ‘But, Mother, it’s my cowboy!’
‘You may not claim people as yours. You know this. Apologise to Mr Steton at once.’
‘But I claim you as my mother.’
Clearly Lady Olivia was at a loss as how to respond. She looked into her son’s eyes for the longest time while she seemed to be searching for a logical response.
‘How about this, Victor?’ Joe felt compelled to speak up. ‘You claim me and Roselina as your friends. If your mother approves, there is no harm in it. Folks claim friends every day and are proud to do so.’
‘Yes, that will do.’ He could not help but notice she said so rather reluctantly.
Roselina stepped forward and extended her hand to the boy. ‘May I claim you as my friend?’
‘Yes, miss.’ Victor did not shake her hand, but executed a gentlemanly bow over it.
Joe figured that was lesson number two. Do not shake a lady’s hand in greeting.
‘Good day, my lady.’ He tipped his Stetson in the same show of respect he always paid a woman.
She tilted her head to the side, her brow lifted ever so subtly in question.
Ah... He removed the hat, tucked it under his arm, then executed the bow, although not as skilfully as Victor had.
‘Are you willing to take instruction from me, Mr Steton?’
‘Oh, he is, my lady!’ Roselina answered for him, no doubt fearful that he would refuse.
‘Yes, Lady Olivia. Willing and grateful.’
Very well then, where to begin?
Watching her son pull on Mr Steton’s sleeve while tugging him towards the orange tree, it was obvious.
Teaching the cowboy to execute a proper greeting would be a difficult thing while Victor insisted everyone watch him climb the tree.
The smile on his round, fair face all but broke her heart. It was not a cowboy her son yearned for. It was a father.
She could hardly blame him for wanting one of his own—but what was she to do about it?
With Miss Hopp having the day off to tend to family matters, it was evident that Olivia would simply need to carry on as best she could with Victor consuming her pupil’s attention.
‘May I take Victor out to play in the garden, Lady Olivia?’ Roselina asked.
‘That would be an excellent idea,’ she said. Apparently Victor thought so. He leapt from the second limb of the tree, landed on the ground with a thump and a grin. ‘Thank you, Miss Steton.’
‘Oh, but please call me Roselina! It would give me the greatest pleasure if you did.’
Many people made such a statement without meaning it. Proper words to be uttered was all it came to.
Not so with this fresh young lady. It would be impossible not to be touched by her sincerity.
‘You have a lovely name, Roselina. I will be happy to call you by it, but only if you call me Olivia.’
By allowing the familiarity there was a bit of a risk. It would only follow that she be on the same terms with her brother.
What was it about him that she feared? Nothing that had to do with him, certainly. He seemed to be a decent young man.
Looking at her feelings truthfully, she knew it was her own weakness she feared. Josiah Steton made her feel things she had not felt in a very long time—if she had ever genuinely felt them.
There was a picture in one of Victor’s books that depicted a cowboy throwing a lasso. The noose end of it twirled through the sky with whatever it meant to capture not drawn on the page.
It was rather too easy to see her heart as the target. If she were not vigilant in her feelings, she feared that rope might catch her.
If only Josiah Steton was not so handsome. More than that, if only he were not so decent.
Oh, but he was both decent and handsome.
Dangerous. She could nearly hear the hiss of that rope coming towards her.
As soon as he became a ‘gentleman’ young women would be tripping over their skirts for his attention.
It would be wise to keep her heart safely sequestered, the same as it had been since her husband’s death.
‘Might we play with Sir Bristle?’
Roselina looked at Olivia, dark brows lifted, waiting for consent.
Instinct warned against it. He was a large beast and part-wolf. But Roselina and Mr Steton seemed to trust him, so perhaps...
‘All right, yes. Just stay close by where I can hear you.’
Roselina clapped her hands with as much pleasure as Victor did. They dashed outside, then raced each other across the courtyard towards the house next door.
Hearing their laughter warmed her, brought back memories of when she had been light of heart.
And then she had wed.
What would happen when Roselina married? It was too sad to think about. Better to direct her attention to the task at hand.
‘Well,’ she said, gazing up into a pair of eyes, not quite green, but not quite brown either. Straightforward, honest-looking eyes that might be her undoing if she allowed it.
‘Well?’
Well! She had completely lost her train of thought—jumped aboard the one that led to getting lost in a masculine smile. She knew too well where that locomotive would derail.
‘Shall we sit?’ She indicated the small table set for luncheon.
He pulled out her chair for her. She sat, wondering how to proceed.
‘It is my thought that, in spite of—’ She indicated his clothing with a sweep of her hand. ‘In any case, you are at heart a gentleman already. All that is needed is a spot of polish in your dress and your speech.’
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s what Roselina tells me.’
‘Your sister is a lovely young woman. I believe Victor is a bit smitten with her.’
Josiah Steton actually winked at her! ‘Everyone is.’
Her heart beat triple time responding to the genuine warmth in that expression. The lasso came for her, she ducked.
Of course, this would not do. If he executed that gesture in a social situation debutantes would swoon. The floor would be littered with skirts and petticoats of all colours.
She would need to correct this behaviour first thing, just as soon as her light-headedness passed.
‘Do you not worry that she will—’ it really was none of her business, yet it was not right to remain silent when sweet Roselina might fall victim to the same fate Olivia had ‘—be taken advantage of?’
‘My sister is a canny judge of character. She’s had to be with so many seeking her attention.’
‘I hope that is true.’ Prayed it was.
‘Lady Olivia, I have to ask—is it truly necessary for me to turn into someone I am not in order for her to marry well?’
‘The Duchess believes it is and so here we are.’
‘I would like to know what your opinion of it is.’
‘I agree. If gentlemen of quality are to court your sister, you must. The more suitors you have to choose from, the better off she will be. But may I speak bluntly?’
‘I imagine you always do.’
‘I do, of course. I’ve learned that I must and—’
‘Didn’t mean to say I don’t approve. I do. So speak as bluntly as you like.’
‘Oh, all right then—I only think, if she is set upon marriage that you must be diligent in whom you choose for her. Be wary of philanderers.’
His chest rumbled in a deep, subtle chuckle. She nearly had to catch her heart in cupped hands to keep it from—no matter, she did catch it.
‘The fact is, I’ve little choice in which fellow she sets her sights on.’
‘Oh! But you must. She leads with her heart, I think, she cannot give it away without due consideration—by you, Mr Steton. No matter how she believes there is no other man—’
Olivia clapped her hand over her mouth. How had she let those words escape her? She had all but admitted her greatest mistake.
But that was not right. Had she not gone through what she had, she would not be Victor’s mother. Nothing could make her sorry for that.
Which did not mean she ought to bleat it all out to a stranger.
‘Will you call me Joe? Given our situation, it would be fitting.’
No doubt it would. Refusing would be a simpler thing had she not already set a precedent with his sister.
Calling him Joe would make him less of a stranger. This undertaking would be best accomplished by keeping him one.
He tilted his head in askance. The gesture made his eyes twinkle and his mouth quirk. The man was a tease.
What was wrong with her? She ought not to even be looking at his mouth.
She could not possibly call him Joe—not aloud at any rate. And yet, given how much time they would be spending together, Mr Steton did feel rather formal.
‘But your name is Josiah, is it not?’ It was what she had heard the Duchess call him.
‘It is what I was born with, but no one calls me by it.’
‘I will call you Josiah.’ Yes, it was perfect—not intimate in the least. ‘You must get used to it. Since it is how the Duchess refers to you, other people will as well. And it does sound rather distinguished.’
‘It’s my pa who is distinguished, not me.’
‘Is he? May I ask why he is?’
‘For being Baron Haversmere.’
Haversmere! Josiah’s father was known in society, for all that his visits to London were for only part of the year. The Baron was congenial and well liked.
It all made sense now. Roselina was not simply an American wanting a title. She was a lady by birth. It was only fitting that she wed for social position.
‘I’m acquainted with your father. But he is not here with you?’
Josiah pursed his mouth, his brows furrowed. A shadow deepened his expression.
‘His health prevented it this year. So here I am.’
‘To find a suitable match for your sister...’
‘That first. But once I’ve done it, I’ll go north to the estate and see to matters there. After that I plan to sail for home.’
Lord Haversmere had always seemed vigorous, so healthy and strong. She dearly hoped his illness was not serious.
She would never forget his compassion when Oliver died. He had attended the funeral. His sadness over her brother’s passing had been quite sincere.
Now understanding Josiah’s connection to Haversmere, she did not feel he was such a stranger.
Which did not mean she would call him Joe. Josiah was a fine name and she would use it.
‘When you do return home, please give Lord Haversmere my best regards.’
He nodded, smiled, but under it she sensed that he would give anything to be there now. London must be vastly different than where he had come from.
‘You and I will succeed in this business of spinning you into a gentleman, Josiah. Your father will rally at once when you tell him of the fine match Roselina has made.’
Knowing who he was—who he was connected to—put her more at ease.
However, she did not necessarily want to be at ease—not with a cowboy.
At least knowing he intended to go home made her job easier. Or, if not that, safer. It would be a simpler task to resist becoming overly familiar with a man who would only be in London for a short time.
Yes, indeed. He would be here and gone quicker than that wink of his could capture her. Because certainly it had not already done so. She was far too prudent a person to allow that to happen.
The sooner she transformed him into a dapper gentleman, the sooner he would succeed in his business and depart—which was what both of them wanted.
Was it not?
‘I suggest that the first thing we need to do is get you used to finer clothing.’ She smiled brightly at the idea. ‘As they say, clothes make the man.’
‘I was born bare as a jay. Wasn’t any less of a male child for it.’
Funny how a frown did nothing to detract from his handsome appearance.
‘After that we will begin lessons in genteel speech.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Hmm. With work, she would educate him in proper speech.
But the grin, the wink? She doubted it could be tamed.
Worse. She suspected she would rather it not be.
Joe watched the garden from his bedroom window. Sure was a lot of rain in England. He didn’t mind it so much since it kept things clean and refreshed.
But the reason he was standing here staring out the window didn’t have to do with the weather. It had to do with getting a glimpse of Olivia Shaw.
He should not be thinking about her, how blue her eyes were, how they slanted up at the corners and yet only looked sharp when she was out of sorts. He hadn’t known her long, but already he knew this about her.
He’d also noticed how her lips were shaped like a bow, sitting merrily atop a gift. When she tried to press them in severity, they still looked agreeably plump.
He ought to turn away from the window, do something else. It was not likely that she would venture into the garden in a downpour.
But wait! A movement caught his eye in the window directly across the garden from this one.
Victor had spotted him and was waving his arm while bounding up and down.
Sir Bristle must have sensed it because he trotted up, shoved his nose under Joe’s hand, then thumped his tail against the desk. Joe caught a vase of flowers just as it began to topple.
A young woman came to the window, glanced at the rain, then picked Victor up and carried him away.
Since it was unlikely that he would see Olivia before their appointment this afternoon, he gave up the effort.
Maybe he shouldn’t call her Olivia, even in his mind, since she had yet to give him leave do so. Blame it if he wouldn’t, though. Who was in his mind to hear it but him?
Now that he had agreed to being gentrified, he did want to succeed at it.
It might please his instructor if he came knowing something, even if it was only how to greet her in a proper way.
Sir Bristle followed him out of the bedroom.
‘Mr Bowmeyer has brought the mail,’ Roselina greeted him with a frown while shuffling though the envelopes one more time. ‘There is nothing from Ma or Pa.’
‘You can’t expect there to be. We haven’t been here long enough. Besides, the spring calves will keep them busy sun up to sundown.’
‘But I miss them, Joe.’
‘Are you sure this is what you want? You can go home and marry an American fellow.’
‘I am sure and I’m thrilled as can be to be here—do not think I regret coming. I just miss them.’
So did he. He missed them and every acre of land on the ranch. The sooner he accomplished what he’d come for the sooner he could get back to the place he called home. The place where he intended to raise a fine family, to help their roots grow deep in rich Wyoming soil.
He’d always known in a vague way he would enjoy having children of his own, but now, knowing Victor, seeing the bond between him and his mother—by sugar, the idea of having a family tugged at him in a very real way.
He only hoped he could find a woman as fine as Olivia Shaw to be their mother.
‘Will you teach me something?’
‘Depends upon what it is, I suppose.’
‘It’s something gentlemanly. I would like to surprise Lady Olivia this afternoon. Show me how to greet her properly.’
‘What will you be wearing when you greet her?’
‘What I have on.’
For all that he had agreed to become ‘refined’, he found it hard to commit to stuffing himself into the clothing it required.
‘You will not succeed, then.’
‘Just tell me what to say. I know it’s not “Howdy, ma’am”.’
‘It is all very complicated, Joe. While you were learning to rope cows, other gentlemen of rank were learning manners.’
‘Not the fellow in the Duchess’s garden—Waverly—wasn’t that his name? Seems he was learning something else.’
If Joe caught him even glancing at Roselina or Olivia, he would do worse than bloody his nose.
‘You know quite a lot considering the short time we’ve been here. Have you heard anything about him?’
‘He is a marquess. That’s one down from a duke, so folks act deferential to him. But they do talk.’
‘What do they say?’
‘Nothing pleasant. He’s married, his wife is expecting a child—their second. He is a wanton rake who preys on defenceless widows. He charms the bloomers off them and leaves them to their shame.’
‘I doubt if saying “charms the bloomers off them” is proper etiquette.’
‘Quite so, but I am speaking to you in the privacy of our rooms. What polite people do say is that he dallies with affections. You can tell by the whispers and frowns it’s worse than that.’
‘You must keep away from him.’
‘Oh, I’ve nothing to fear. I’m a virgin debutante. He would have no interest in me.’
‘Virgin debutante? Is that a respectable phrase? I doubt it.’
‘Again, it’s only us. In society I would be referred to as an innocent young lady.’
‘You are an innocent young lady.’
‘Who had the advantage of growing up on a ranch. I know what goes where and why. I’m quite safe. It’s our friend Lady Olivia he has his sights set on.’
Not if Joe had a say in the matter.
Blame it, he did not! Except that he was a gentleman, regardless of his clothing or speech. A gentleman protected a lady, belonging to him had nothing to do with the obligation.
Roselina might consider herself safe. Joe did not. It was going to be a tough thing for him to agree to let her marry any man.
‘What do I say instead of “Howdy, ma’am”?’
‘Try this. “It’s a pleasure to see you again on this fine day, Lady Olivia.” And be sure and remove your hat when you say it.’
He would if he could bring himself to put the blamed thing on.
‘It’s not a fine day. It’s raining.’
‘The weather has nothing to do with it. It is a fine day simply because you are in her company.’
It would be fine for him. He was not certain Lady Olivia would feel the same way.
The widow was grateful to him. He figured it was the only reason she agreed to help him—except, maybe gratitude was not all there was to it.
There was something between them, shimmering under the surface of caution.
They were wary of each other. And yet it was as if whatever that thing was, it was drawing them together. It wasn’t logical. They barely knew each other. Perhaps that was why the feeling was so downright bewildering and yet—compelling.
He feared to discover what it was, but not as much as, maybe, he wanted to.