Morning sunshine streaked through the window curtain of Olivia’s chamber, casting the shapes of roses on the bed.
‘Mother, hurry!’ On his knees, Victor bounced on the mattress.
‘Almost ready.’ She tugged on her skirt while giving her appearance a glance-over in the mirror. Once again she would need to wear her hair unbound.
If Helmswaddle were here Olivia would have asked for a dozen curls. Ever since last night she felt curly—bouncy and light-hearted.
Something had shifted within her and it felt—
Well, honestly, she felt like she used to a very long time ago. Looking forward to the day, she expected good things to peek out from around every corner.
The knockdown Mrs Lapperton had unknowingly deflated her with no longer stung. She would delve deeply into the reason why, but Victor was hopping about like a grasshopper, impatient to be on their way.
In the end the precise reason for her change of heart did not matter, as long as it had changed. Besides, it had not likely been only one event to open her eyes to the true-hearted character of Joe Steton.
But that was not right. Early on, her eyes had been open. Anyone could see he was trustworthy. It was her heart which had stubbornly chosen not to see him.
‘Joe is going to ride his horse without us,’ her son whined.
She ruffled Victor’s hair. ‘Do you not recall that he promised to wait for us?’
He nodded, his expression so very trusting. ‘A cowboy never breaks his promise.’
Or a heart. At least this cowboy did not.
‘There’s your bonnet, Mother, put it on quickly. We’ll need to run to the stable as it is.’
She looked at the pretty headpiece hanging on a hook and decided that while fashion demanded she wear it, the sunny, warm morning did not.
‘I’ll race you to the hall, my son.’
Victor’s eyes grew round, his face flushed with excitement. ‘You know how to run?’
He dashed off and was halfway down the hallway before she could call out behind him that she used to be quicker than all her friends.
By the time she got to the hall she was out of breath, but from laughing as much as running.
‘I won!’ Victor danced in a circle, pumping his fist in the air. ‘Can’t wait to tell Joe!’
Olivia stopped laughing when she spotted Betty and another maid standing in front of the big clock in the hall and wringing their hands in their aprons.
‘Is there a problem?’ Olivia asked, her breath still short.
‘Oh, yes, my lady! The clock has stopped.’
‘Is there not a key to rewind it?’
Betty opened her hand to reveal an ornate brass key. ‘I daren’t use it. You see, it is stopped on the exact minute the Baron’s mother died, Lord rest her sweet soul.’
The only thing odd about it was that someone recalled the exact moment. It had been a great many years since the lady’s tragic passing.
‘Has it been some time since the clock has been wound?’
‘It has, but,’ the younger of the two maids said, her fingers trembling, ‘this can only be the work of the—well, I can hardly say it out loud.’
Olivia plucked the fancy key from Betty’s hand. She set the clock hands to the correct time and then wound it up. ‘I am certain there is no ghost.’
‘You ought not have done that, Lady Olivia.’
‘No harm will come to me, or to anyone else, because I wound the clock.’
For all that she had assured the women there was no ghost, it was not because she did not believe in ghosts.
Indeed, for Olivia, there had been a ghost.
The shade of Henry Shaw reached beyond the grave, had prevented her from trusting anyone—even her own brother, Heath.
But no more. Just as she had dared to step forward to wind the clock, she would dare to step into the love that Joe offered.
If Henry even lifted a finger from the grave, she would stamp on it—no, better, she would dance on it. She was finished with allowing him to stand between her and love.
And it was love. Joe had not said the word, but her heart recognised it. It also recognised that she had never shared the emotion with Henry.
She had blindly adored him for a time, but words were all he had ever given her. False words which wounded her as nothing ever had.
Now, here was Joe, who, even without ‘the words’, had freely given himself.
She opened the front door and took a long cleansing breath of Haversmere air.
As surely as the hallway clock was ticking, the ghost of Henry Shaw was put back in the grave where he belonged.
‘Let’s race to the stable!’ Victor dashed away from her and down the front stone steps. ‘I’ll go slow so you can win!’
But she had won already.
Her victory over the past made her feel as though she could outrun anyone, dance like a fool on the white puffy clouds dotting the sky and never stop smiling.
But she was not a fool. Not this time.
Since they were to spend the morning riding and fishing, Joe decided to wear his buckskin jacket. It had been hanging in the wardrobe for too long.
He could nearly smell Wyoming on it.
Victor tugged on the sleeve, urging him to hurry with what he was doing, but he didn’t.
Helping Olivia on to the saddle of a dark, sturdy-looking horse, he lingered over the job. When his hands rested too long on her waist, he let go, petting the horse’s black mane.
This was a fell pony, Mr Smythe had explained. A good-tempered mount that would suit Olivia well.
Blue stood paces away, clearly as impatient as Victor was to be on the way.
Because Blue snorted, and Victor was madly eager to be put on the saddle in front of Joe, he stepped away from the pony’s saddle.
Olivia bent down, indicated that he ought to come closer, that she had something to whisper in his ear. She smelled like the lush pastures of Haversmere.
‘I see you, Joe,’ she murmured, then sat up tall in the saddle.
Four words and his life seemed to fall into place. At least it would once he knew for sure she trusted what she saw.
Joe picked up Victor, set him on the horse, then mounted him.
‘Giddy up, Blue!’ Victor shouted, then they were off trotting across lush meadows.
The child’s excitement raced through Joe, took him back to a time when—
When he sat on a horse in front of his father, shouting and whooping like Victor was now. He remembered—saw so clearly the land falling away, heard the pounding of hooves tearing across the meadow, clods of moist dirt flying every which way. He seemed so far off the ground, as if he were flying. He felt his father’s laughter on the back of his neck and his strong arm curled around his ribs.
Victor let go of the saddle horn, spread his arms wide and flapped them.
‘I’m a bird!’ he shouted and it was Joe’s turn to laugh.
He had to do it through a leak of tears, though. To remember something of his past here at Haversmere squeezed the emotion right out of his eyes. Hopefully this was only the beginning of recalling his past here.
They rode for the river to do a bit of fishing and to let the horses rest.
Olivia spread a quilt on the grass, then set out lunch while he and Victor sat beside the rushing water and dipped their fishing lines in the water.
These moments had to be a reminder of what Heaven held in store. By sugar, it could be nothing less.
Victor’s line tugged down, jerking in a battle with an unseen fish.
For a second it was not Olivia’s son on the bank, leaping and shouting, it was Violet Steton’s son.
It was not the grown-up Joe cheering for Victor’s success, it was his own mother. He saw her so clearly it nearly brought him to his knees. She wrapped him up, lifted him off the ground and said how proud his father was going to be when he saw the catch.
‘Joe?’ Olivia called out, then began to rise from her spot on the quilt? ‘Are you well?’
He nodded, not quite able to express how very well he was.
Victor bent over the fish flopping about on the bank. ‘Can I eat it, Joe?’
Then, just like that, Joe remembered how elated he had been eating the fish he had caught that long-ago day.
‘Let’s see if you can catch enough for all of us.’
An hour later, seven trout lay on the bank. Victor knelt beside them, no doubt picturing a feast.
After Victor’s excitement calmed, the three of them sat on the quilt to eat the lunch Cook had sent along. With a great yawn and a pat to his belly, Victor fell asleep, his head on Joe’s lap.
His blond hair rustled in the soft spring breeze. Joe touched the strands, felt the lingering warmth of sunshine in the curls. The desire to protect this child felt nearly physical. If a natural-born father felt any different he’d eat his hat—the top hat—not the Stetson.
‘I’m beginning to remember things,’ he said quietly. ‘Just now, watching your boy sleep, I recall what it felt like to lay my head on my mother’s lap and just drift away. Nothing has ever felt so peaceful as that, I think.’
‘Victor will remember this and you in the same way.’
The question was, would Joe be remembered as a cowboy he once knew or the father who held his small hand, watched him grow and helped him to become an honourable man?
‘What did you mean when you said that you saw me?’
She scooted across the quilt so that they sat shoulder to shoulder, both of them gazing down at Victor.
‘I see you, Joe, who you are.’ She looked at him then, her eyes catching the blue of the sky—or maybe it was the other way around. She touched his cheek, gently drew one finger along his jawline. ‘What it means is—I love you.’
‘You won’t be sorry, darlin’.’
Never, not one day or minute would she have cause to regret what she had just told him.
‘I know that. I would hardly hand you my son’s heart if I did not.’ She covered his hand with hers where his fingers still nestled in Victor’s curls.
‘I love you, Olivia.’ Simple words and yet powerful—life-changing. He bent low, whispered against Victor’s plump pink cheek, ‘I love you, too, Son.’
Olivia started to cry, but she was smiling so the tears pooled in the corners of her mouth.
A breeze came up so Joe snatched up his jacket, settled it over his and Olivia’s shoulders, drawing them close. The jacket’s shadow cast a patch of shade over Victor.
Funny, but the leather no longer smelled like Wyoming.
Later that afternoon Joe rode Blue into Grasmere. It wasn’t his first choice of where he wanted to be. No matter that the village was as charming as the poets claimed it to be, he would rather be at Haversmere, wooing Olivia.
First thing, he would to pay a visit to the jeweller. He had a marriage proposal to make. For it, he needed a ring, along with something for his boy.
His boy! If the grin on Joe’s face got any wider, it might pop his ears off.
The idea of having a wife and a son filled him with such high spirits folks were bound to wonder why his feet didn’t touch the stones when he walked.
A proposal while they sat beside the river earlier today would have been nice, appropriate for the moment, but he had hesitated.
Appropriate was fine, but something well thought out, planned to make the moment even more special for her would be better.
To ask ‘the question’ during a romantic waltz, the steps slowed down for the intimate occasion, would be a thing to cherish for ever.
She hadn’t taught him to dance yet, but he would shuffle about as best he could. Olivia deserved nothing but to feel cherished.
Joe tied Blue to a post in front of the bakery. The scent of gingerbread drifted out of the open door. He would bring plenty of that delectable bread home.
The image of a small crumb-dotted mouth warmed his heart.
‘Lord Haversmere!’ He recognised the warbling voice, blame it. ‘I have been beside myself hoping to see you again.’
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Lapperton.’ He ought to say how nice it was to see her. It would be the thing a gentleman would say. ‘I hope you have been well.’
That sounded polite enough. He did not wish the woman ill after all. He just did not wish to be in her company.
‘As well as I might be, I suppose.’
Of all the bad luck! She fell into step beside him while he walked towards the jeweller’s shop.
‘A widow on her own can only be well enough, do you not think?’
‘It depends upon the widow, I imagine.’ Olivia was doing a fine job of running Fencroft in her family’s absence. He would point that out, but did not wish to engage her in conversation. ‘Is there something in particular you want to discuss?’
That was a rather broad hint that he did not wish to linger in her company.
‘How did you know?’ She took a deep breath, no doubt a strategy intended to lift her bosom to its best advantage. It was not the first time he had seen a forward lady use the tactic. ‘Perhaps it is because we are both Americans and share an affinity.’
That was unlikely, but he did not express the thought out loud. All he wanted was to be on his way home—to Haversmere.
It was interesting how being away from the estate made him long for it in the same way he had longed for the ranch.
Returning memories were binding him to Haversmere much more quickly than he expected. He had to have been happy here as a child.
It might not only be the past deepening his connection to the estate. Thoughts of spending the future here with Olivia and Victor might be causing it as well.
‘Have you come to spend a day or two at my inn?’ The shameless turn of her mouth made it clear why she wanted him to.
‘I prefer the comfort of my own home, Mrs Lapperton.’
‘Of course, but may I say how sorry I am for the trouble at Haversmere?’
‘What trouble do you mean?’
‘Why, the haunting, of course. Naturally, I do not believe it. But some folks here? Anything that is not easily explained they deem to be of the spectral realm. Don’t you know, I heard someone only this morning claim they saw Mr Wordsworth and his sister, Dorothy, strolling arm in arm into the bakery.’
‘You need not be concerned for Haversmere. It is not haunted.’
‘No doubt that is true. I only hope you have better luck convincing your staff of it than poor Mr Miller did. When his inn appeared to be haunted, they all quit. Tourists were afraid to lodge there and he went bankrupt—penniless.’
‘Is there some reason you think the same will happen to Haversmere?’
‘Naturally not, not with someone like you in control.’ She cast her gaze over him in a slow, lingering perusal that made him feel all but violated, right here in broad daylight. He was only grateful that Olivia was not here to witness it.
She’d said she trusted him and he believed it. None the less, after all she had been through over the years, trust would be a fragile thing for her.
‘Good day, Mrs Lapperton.’ He supposed he ought to tip his hat. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and Olivia had gone to great lengths to transform him into a refined fellow.
For the sake of all her hard work, he did it—but he could not bring himself to smile before turning towards the jeweller’s shop.
‘Just one thing, Lord Haversmere,’ she called after him. ‘You might be relieved to know that Mr Miller did not end up as destitute as he might have. My late husband left me with a great deal of money and I was able to purchase the inn. It is more successful than ever.’
‘That is fortunate. Again, good day.’ He continued on, but she caught up, snagging the fringe on his coat sleeve.
‘I’m telling you this because I am interested in opening another inn and Haversmere is a perfect spot for it. I will pay handsome money for the property.’
‘Haversmere is not merely property. It is home to my family and to many others.’
‘Those are the very words your father told me.’ The woman was still smiling, but something, a shadow or a dark thought, crossed her eyes.
‘You asked my father to sell?’
‘Indeed I did, this time last year.’
She sighed again, but her attempt to draw attention to her prominent feature was wasted.
Joe tipped his hat to a woman passing by pushing a baby in a pram, which was far more pleasant than being toyed with by the widow.
‘I’m certain he would have, had he not—oh, but he did pass away and so—’
This time he did not wish her good day or tip his hat. He spun away without a polite parting word.
What Joe was certain of was that his father would not have considered selling Haversmere any more than Joe would.
There had been a time when he might have entertained the idea. The funds would have allowed him to purchase another ranch in Wyoming.
No longer, though. Not now that he was beginning to see a life here—to recall the one he’d had.
All of a sudden he recalled something. It crashed upon him, cut him to the heart.
Joe had sobbed on the day his father carried him away from Haversmere, his tender heart had shattered.
Pa had cried that day, too.
He felt the widow’s stare niggling at his back even after he closed the jeweller’s door behind him.
Olivia watched Roselina smiling across the trout platter during dinner. And no wonder she was—‘Freddie’, as she had begun to refer to her intended, had not ceased grinning at her.
Which in turn made Olivia smile, which also in turn made her happy to be free of the woman she had been only weeks ago.
The bitter, suspicious Olivia would have warned Roselina to be careful about giving her heart away so freely. Indeed, she would and had done exactly that.
Where was that woman? Not here tonight, and Olivia desperately hoped she would never return.
This evening she wanted to do nothing more than rejoice for Roselina and her young man. While it was true that difficult times would come, there was nothing to say their love would not grow even stronger for having faced them.
‘I caught one trout for each of us and one more for whoever is really hungry.’ Victor counted them out loud, looking as pleased with his fish as Roselina did with her Freddie.
‘You should have seen him land those trout,’ Joe said. It touched Olivia, hearing genuine pride reflected in the comment.
Seeing the way he looked at her child—loving him, devoted to him—it was only one of the reasons she loved this man.
Even now she could scarcely believe she had revealed how she felt. She had promised herself she would never make herself that vulnerable again.
But she had and did not regret it. Even though she had placed both her heart and Victor’s squarely into Joe’s care, she did not think she had made a mistake.
Victor’s cowboy was a man to be trusted.
‘I met Mrs Lapperton in town this afternoon.’ Joe addressed the comment to his mother.
A pin aimed its shiny point at her happiness. She neatly deflected it. Even if Joe had enjoyed speaking with the widow, what could she say about it?
Yes, they had declared their love, but they were not bound to each other by an engagement.
An engagement was a very serious matter. If Joe did propose, she would take a long time before giving him an answer.
‘I am sorry to hear that, Son. What a disagreeable woman.’
‘More disagreeable than the first time we met.’
It was a relief to see him frown in regards to his encounter with the widow. She could hardly deny that it was not.
‘She told me she made Pa an offer to buy Haversmere. Did he ever mention it?’
‘No. If she did, your father did not take the offer seriously enough to tell me.’
‘Let’s not think of her,’ Roselina declared. ‘We have a party to plan.’
‘Yes, let’s do! We have a great deal to celebrate,’ Esmeralda Steton declared. ‘Seven fine trout to eat and an engagement to celebrate. As I see it, the gathering ought to be of an open-house style. All our neighbours should be invited, everyone from our own people to those in Grasmere.’
While they ate, Roselina and Joe’s mother got down to the details of the gathering: colours, flowers, food, and music.
‘It sounds grand!’ Freddie said with a grin at Roselina.
‘How long do I have to learn to dance?’ Joe wiped his mouth on a napkin, glancing about with his brows lifted.
‘Not nearly long enough.’ Esmeralda shook her head, looking discouraged. ‘Two weeks is all.’
Joe stood, reached for Olivia’s hand. ‘Shall we begin my lessons?’
Now? Oh—well, why not? There was nothing she would rather do than be with her handsome student, teaching him new skills.
‘I’ll take Victor to Miss Hopp and we will begin.’
‘Teach me to dance, too!’ Victor dabbed his mouth with the napkin the same as Joe had done, then stood up, matching Joe’s posture.
‘How would it be if your mother and I put you to bed and then tomorrow I will teach you what I have learned?’
Esmeralda’s gaze shifted between Joe and Victor. Olivia suspected she understood the deep bond growing between them.
Her smile shifted, settled on Olivia. She lifted her wine glass, then winked.
Lady Haversmere was a woman who could look at a person and see the heart of them. But then she was a mother, so perhaps it was not so unusual when it was her children she was looking at.
Olivia had no trouble at all seeing Victor’s heart, knowing how badly he wanted his cowboy to become his father.