A man must never know when a lady has determined he is to be her groom. Better to lead him to the altar unaware than allow him to believe he did not do the choosing.

—MISS PENCE

July 13, 1887
Beck Ranch near Fort Collins, Colorado

Her best friend Gussie Miller was in trouble. The letter had arrived in that morning’s mail—mixed in with a half-dozen missives from fellows who begged for Charlotte’s attention or her hand in marriage.

Just last week Gussie had sent three lengthy descriptions of her adventures in New York, complete with final fittings for gowns, visits to milliners for just the right hats, and a trip to a lovely place in Newport for an outing with numerous others of their set. Now it appeared that while Gussie was in Newport, her papa had struck a business deal that had nothing to do with his interests in railroads and manufacturing and everything to do with Gussie.

Help me, Charlie. I can’t possibly marry a fellow I’ve never met, even if he does own a castle and hold a string of titles. I just want to have my debut and think of marriage later. To someone I choose, not the man of Papa’s choosing.

The words leaped off the page and lodged in Charlotte’s heart. How many of their set had done exactly the same thing? Marriages of convenience between girls termed Dollar Princesses by the press and the titled European men who took them and their money away to drafty old houses in need of repair.

Well, it wouldn’t happen to her best friend. It couldn’t.

A plan most brilliant and only slightly devious kept Charlotte busy most of the morning. Of all the boys who’d begged for attention since her return from London, George Arthur provided the key to her jail cell—and Gussie’s.

With a bit of practice, she just might be able to convince Papa he was the one. What Papa mustn’t discover was that Mr. Arthur would be the one who got her off the ranch and into Wellesley next term, not the one she would marry.

Today she merely needed to make Papa believe he had a future son-in-law on the hook and that Charlotte must go to Denver to reel him in. While in Denver, she would see to ending the ridiculous arrangement to marry Gussie off, then declare her own engagement off as well. If she played her cards right, Papa would believe that nothing could aid in her recovery from the busted betrothal except attending Wellesley as originally planned.

She went over the finer points of the strategy and found nothing wanting. With enough encouragement from Charlotte, Gussie’s Englishman would fall head over heels for her and forget his deal with Mr. Miller. And as for George Arthur, all Gussie had to do was bat her blue eyes a few times and convince him she was the better bride. In the end, neither man would be wed, and both women would get exactly what they wanted.

It was a brilliant plan.

Charlotte put on her most convincing expression and marched to her father’s office with three of George’s best declarations of undying love in her hand. She paused to stage a crazy-in-love expression then entered the room.

Her father looked up from his reading, and his face filled with concern. “Are you unwell? You look as if you’ve eaten something disagreeable.”

Charlotte frowned. “No, Papa, but I’ve something of an important nature to discuss with you. I have letters here. Declarations of a certain man’s intentions. I wish to pursue this further.”

He closed the book and set aside his reading spectacles. “So Viscount Hambly has come to his senses?”

“I fail to see why you’re so enamored of the viscount,” she snapped. “Any man looking to marry for money cannot possibly be in his right senses.”

Papa stared at her for a moment, and then he slowly shook his head. “You truly do not understand, do you? Hambly’s a good man who happens to be in an unenviable position right now.”

Charlotte shrugged, but couldn’t help remembering their kiss. Kisses, she corrected.

“A position, I might add,” her father continued, “that is not of his own making nor truly his to resolve. That he’s taking on the responsibility and doing something honorable for his family is quite impressive.”

She turned up her nose at the glowing compliments. “You don’t know him as well as I do. If you did, you’d change your mind.” She lifted the letters in her hand. “Now, George Arthur, on the other hand, is—”

“Tell me about this painting Bill Cody has requested,” Papa interrupted. “Will it be another of those Wild West show posters, or has he requested something for his home?”

Charlotte resisted the temptation to flop against the cushions of the settee and make a scene, for that would merely prove her father’s assessment of her maturity correct. Instead, she lowered herself with all the grace and deportment she could manage and then let out a long but dignified breath. “It is a rendering of his favorite horse. I did a sketch while in London.”

“I see. Then perhaps you’ll finish it soon, with all the time you have on your hands here.” Papa reached for his letter opener and opened the topmost envelope on the stack of mail before him, then began to read.

“Father,” Charlotte said when she could no longer keep her silence. At her use of the formal title, Papa’s brows rose, but he did not look up from the letter. “I wish to dispute your claims.”

“Which claim would this be?” he said evenly, still not looking at her.

“The claim that I am a child and not capable of choosing the right path for myself. Were you to admit the truth—”

“Were I to admit the truth, I’d remind you that you’ve been trying to convince me you were grown since you were still young enough for me to rock you to sleep.” He lifted his gaze, but only for a moment. “As yet, there’s been very little argument for it, and your behavior only testifies against it.”

“That’s completely unfair. Perhaps in the past I might have made a few missteps in judgment, but I assure you I have—”

“Missteps?” Her father’s inelegant snort was quite out of character. “Darling, I seem to recall a certain incident in London that had you riding around Earls Court like Annie Oakley and shooting holes in Bill’s hat.”

“I started quite a trend in London.”

“Indeed.” Papa seemed to be considering something. He leaned forward. “George Arthur, eh?” He shook his head. “He comes from good stock, I’ll admit, but you’re only entertaining his offer because he doesn’t have the starch in his spine to stand up to you.”

“George adores me,” she protested, her only defense against the truth.

“Adores you,” Papa echoed with a shake of his head. “He allows you to lead him around as if he didn’t have a thought of his own.” He paused. “Am I wrong, Buttercup?”

He wasn’t.

“Exactly,” he continued. “And though marriage to a docile man might make for smooth sailing on your part, I warrant a man willing to take on the challenge of loving you by standing up to you on occasion will make for a much more interesting and longstanding match.”

“But Papa, I—”

“I’ve said my last word on the subject of George Arthur beyond this question: are you so intent on escaping the ranch that you’d lie to me? Or do you have another plan for poor George?”

Caught. And yet she couldn’t possibly tell him about the plan she’d concocted to free Gussie.

As if amused by her discomfort, Papa chuckled. “Take my advice and find your paint box and canvases. That will give you plenty to fill your time.” He paused as the mantel clock chimed, then looked down at the page still in his hand. “Bill’s last letter reminded me he’d be sending some of his performers again soon.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, grateful for the brief respite from her frustration. “Please, not again. The last time Colonel Cody’s friends came to visit, the buffalo got out and trampled Gennie’s roses.” She sighed. “You’re already investing in the show. Must you also provide free room and board to its performers? It’s unbearable here with a veritable circus in the house.”

Papa gave Charlotte a cross look. “You’ve just proven my point. Only a child wouldn’t see past a bit of inconvenience to provide for a need.” He exhaled a long breath. “Are you truly saying I should refuse them?”

“Well,” Charlotte managed, “when you put it like that, I suppose not.”

“That’s my girl. Now, I suggest you get busy on Colonel Cody’s commission.”

“I’ve got a good start on it,” she said, “but I find the ranch too distracting. I need to go back to Denver. It’s the only way I can paint.”

Papa looked as if he might respond, but then he shook his head and went back to his reading. He turned his chair to face the opposite direction, dismissing Charlotte.

She clenched her fists, crumpling George’s letters. She would find a way to get to Denver. Gussie needed her. She made one more stab at her original plan. “About George.”

“The discussion is closed.”

“Because I am a child who cannot decide for herself?” Charlotte’s anger flared. “So, Papa, were you and my mother children when you—”

She couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t rattle the dead bones of the mother she barely remembered to make her point.

And yet a quick glance at her father told Charlotte her point had been made. As he leaned back in the well-worn leather chair and closed his eyes, lamplight played over hair that time had woven with strands of gray.

“You’re being unreasonable, Papa,” she said in what she knew sounded like the whine of a child. “Why, as soon as—”

“Charlotte,” he breathed with what was likely the last of his patience.

She’d gone too far. “Not Buttercup?”

Papa’s eyes opened, and he met her stare. “No. Not this time.”

“Meaning?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Meaning I’m done humoring you.”

“Wonderful.” Charlotte kept her tone light, her expression teasing even as her heart slammed a furious rhythm against her chest. “For I wish to be taken seriously, not humored, and as such, I shall be on the next train to Denver to see to a situation with Gussie. And when the new term begins, I shall be at Wellesley.”

Her bravery in short supply, Charlotte waited a moment before daring to look at her father. To her relief, all she saw was a curious expression.

“How can you be both married to George Arthur and attending university, Charlotte? And what’s going on with Gussie that requires a visit?”

The clock over the mantel ticked at an even pace, and from outside, a horse’s whinny drifted in on a fresh breeze.

Her father allowed the letter to drop from his fingers. “My guess is this is some sort of elaborate plot you’ve hatched. Knowing Augusta Miller, she’s only going along with whatever you’ve decided to do. Same temperament as the Arthur fellow, that one.” He appeared ready to continue his argument then let out a long breath. His expression hardened. “A married woman no longer needs her father’s money beyond whatever is settled on her before marriage. A single woman, however, belongs at home with her father until she can prove herself trustworthy enough to be allowed to attend university. That’s the end of the discussion.”

“And should I strike out on my own?” She paused for what she hoped would be dramatic effect. “Would you send me off with nothing?”

“You won’t.”

“I might.” Papa’s eyes narrowed, and Charlotte hurried to amend her statement. “That is, I could. Would you leave me penniless?”

“Don’t try me, Charlotte.”

So he would disown her. Or at least divest himself of her care. This knowledge caused Charlotte to see even her pretend flight into George Arthur’s arms in a different light.

The idea was unconscionable, as was remaining here amongst the cattle and the odd cast of characters who came and went due to her father’s soft heart. But leaving Gussie to a fate she did not deserve was worse by far.

“Do you wish me to waste away to nothing here in this horrible wilderness?” Charlotte rose, unable to contain herself any longer. “What sort of father would allow this when he could easily send me to a suitable university to study mathematics?”

Papa’s expression softened. “The sort who would rather have his much-adored daughter safely home rather than in the keeping of someone unworthy of her.” He barely paused to take a breath. “I will give my permission for you to marry the first man I feel can truly be a husband to you and not a fool who allows you to carry his pride in your pocket-book. At this juncture, the only man in the running is—”

“Don’t say it, please.”

As much as she longed to argue the point, Charlotte knew she couldn’t. What George lacked in gumption he made up in adoration. It was a decent trade.

Until one considered the issue of finances. Or rather the lack of them.

But at least he didn’t frustrate her to distraction like a certain British astronomer.

“And in the meantime?” she asked.

“In the meantime I will continue to petition the Lord that the right man makes himself known.”

“I thought you’d already found that man,” she quipped.

Now she’d done it. Papa’s spine straightened, and he appeared near apoplexy. “I have.”

He allowed the silence to stretch between them, broken only by the tick of the mantel clock and little Danny’s squeal from somewhere upstairs.

Charlotte knew when Papa would tolerate nothing further from her. She’d get to Denver somehow, and then to Wellesley after that, but prodding an already furious father would serve her no purpose.

“Well, then, I shall go and find my paints.” Charlotte offered Papa a smile worthy of Miss Pence’s best instruction, balanced the imaginary egg on her head, and moved across the carpet.

“Excellent idea,” he snapped. “If only I’d thought of that. Try to keep out of trouble while you’re at it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Charlotte responded with as much sarcasm as she could manage. “You know I’ve never given you a moment’s worry.”

The comment carried her almost to the door before Papa’s chair squeaked, indicating he now stood. “Buttercup,” he called. “Come back here.”

She complied, albeit slowly.

“I am furious with you,” he said. “Absolutely beyond understanding why you must be so difficult.” He paused to take a deep breath. “And yet, it’s true. You do have quite a head for business. What if I gave you a chance to make your first deal as a junior member of the firm?”

“You’re inviting me into the firm?” Hope rose inside her, as did suspicion.

“Pending your agreement to my terms, yes.”

She reached for the door frame and held on tight. Had she misheard or was her father actually giving in? “And what might that be?”

He returned to his chair and regarded her for a moment. “You know my feelings about Viscount Hambly.”

“Oh, Papa, no. Must you continue to bring up that man? I know you hold him in the highest esteem, but truly—”

“First lesson in business, Charlotte. A smart businessman—or woman—listens more than speaks.” The chair creaked as Papa leaned back and looked at her, shaking his head. “Never judge the worthiness of the deal until it has been presented in its entirety.”

“All right,” she managed with the proper amount of contrition. “Please continue and I’ll not interrupt.”

Whatever the deal, she’d likely agree to it if it meant she got what she wanted. Her only prayer was that the irritating viscount was not part of the arrangement.

“Sit down.”

She did. Quickly and quietly.

“You wish to attend Wellesley,” Papa said after a moment. “And I will allow it.”

Charlotte kept her smile in check, but inside, she jumped with glee. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He reached for his pen and studied it a moment before setting it aside. “The remainder of the bargain is this: To secure a position as a junior partner upon your graduation from Wellesley, you will have nothing further to do with your Mr. Arthur. And I mean nothing. No flirtations, manipulations, or communications of any sort. Do you understand?” When she nodded, he continued. “Now for your friend Gussie. She will be spared the arranged marriage the two of you are so keen to prevent.”

“Oh, thank you,” Charlotte said as she jumped to her feet. “I couldn’t have agreed to Wellesley in good conscience without helping Gussie too. But how did you know? About Gussie, I mean?”

Papa’s brows rose but he said nothing. Likely whatever he knew of Gussie and the mystery royal came from his friend Mr. Sanders at the Pinkerton Agency. Papa did have his connections, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte returned to her seat. “Do continue.”

Her father took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please understand that though you are hearing this for the first time, I have been thinking very seriously about this arrangement since I returned from Leadville. Also, you must know I wish only the best for you.” He paused. “You do know how very much I love you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. As much as she and Papa butted heads over just about everything lately, the fact that he adored her was never in dispute.

“All that remains, then, is for you to agree to the final terms of the bargain.” Papa’s gaze swept the length of her. “Upon graduation from Wellesley, you will return to Denver to take a position as full partner on the board of Beck Enterprises. And you will marry Alexander Hambly.”

Had she heard correctly? “Marry …”

“Yes, Charlotte,” he said in his sternest voice. “Marry. After a four-year engagement, during which you will complete your education.”

“But, Papa, I …” She couldn’t find the words. “He will never agree to it,” she finally managed.

“Leave that to me. I wish to know whether you agree.”

Four years was an eternity. Anything could happen.

“And you’re certain Gussie will not be forced to marry whatever duke or earl her father’s found for her?” she asked.

“I’m certain of it,” Papa said. “And for the record, the fellow is a viscount and a rather likeable one, at that.”

“So let me be clear,” Charlotte said in her most businesslike voice. “What happens if, theoretically, the engagement is called off? By Mr. Hambly, of course,” she hastened to add.

“It won’t be. Hambly’s a man of his word. But in any case, you cannot be held responsible for a broken engagement unless …” He shook his head. “Oh, no, I’ll not be offering any sort of opportunity for you to get out of this. The deal is a marriage to Hambly four years from now in exchange for a place on my board, and that’s final.”

“Even if Alex does not cooperate?”

“Buttercup,” her father said, “have you ever met a man who refused to cooperate with you?”

The truth, and they both knew it. And then she remembered something. Hadn’t the viscount told her in great length about the ways a marriage could be annulled? Surely she could strike a bargain of her own with the awful man.

Four years from now, of course.

Charlotte jumped to her feet and launched herself into her father’s arms. “Yes, Papa, I agree.”

He tucked her head under his chin and enveloped her in an embrace. “You’re certain?”

“I am. Very certain.”

Certain that four years was long enough to figure out a solution that did not involve a lifelong marriage to Alex Hambly, no matter what Papa said.