But I love him.”

Three words that had sent Eliza into banishment. And for what? So Mama could host teas in her honor with her New Orleans friends buzzing about and offering up their sons as a substitute?

Hardly a fair trade for either of them. But that was Papa. Send out the edict and order the punishment before hearing what anyone had to say.

What happened to the days when she had her father wrapped around her pinkie? When all she had to do was run to him and anything Mama said would be overturned in favor of what Eliza wanted?

To the days when she could talk her way into or out of anything, including a trail ride. The thought of that last ride, of what happened, ripped a fresh wound in her heart.

As she always did, Eliza sealed the wound and tucked it back where it belonged in the deepest recesses of her heart, returning her mind to the topic at hand. The topic of her parents and their ridiculous determination to live up to a command that Papa had issued nine years ago on a night that all of them would like to forget.

She sighed. Eliza loved her mama and papa dearly, but neither of them cared to hear what she had to say when it came to Ben Barnhart.

Benjamin Franklin Barnhart had one foot in the traditional world of the Old West and the other solidly on the trail back east where he would surely be inaugurated as president one day.

“Only you would turn down a man with more money than you, and the political clout to make even more,” Eliza had thrown at her father in their last argument. “And all because of what happened on the Chisholm Trail nine years ago.”

Those words had her bundled up and hauled off to New Orleans before she could even get word to Ben that she was going. She’d been here the better part of two months, and the man hadn’t made a single attempt to find her or to get past the security in the form of a rotating pair of deputies Papa had secured through a local agency. Not only did they protect the Gentry home, but the men also shadowed the Gentry women whenever they left the house.

That stung.

It also made her realize that maybe what she thought was love actually wasn’t. Not that she was ready to admit that to her parents.

Plink, plink, plunk.

Eliza whirled around to face her cousin, who was once again treating the ivory keys on the harpsichord as if they were bugs in need of smashing. “Justine, truly, must you make such a foul racket?”

The girl, barely out of the nursery, offered an expression that told her exactly how she felt about the criticism of her musical abilities. “Why are you so mean?”

A fair question. She hadn’t been herself since arriving in the city of her grandparents’ birth, but that was no reason to treat Justine so poorly. The child had followed her around like a shadow ever since her arrival with the only aim, as far as Eliza could tell, of becoming a friend as well as a cousin.

Ever since Justine’s papa had died, his much younger wife had spent more time touring the Continent than she did with her only daughter. Mama complained to her sister about leaving the girl to be raised by a governess, but apparently those complaints fell on deaf ears.

Eliza ought to have more patience with the girl. She did try, but Justine was just so persistent and always underfoot.

Eliza let out a long breath and put on a smile. “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s not your fault. I am just feeling out of sorts. I haven’t seen a falling star in months. In fact, you cannot see the stars at all here in the city. It’s an abomination.”

Instantly Justine matched her grin. “I know just the thing for that. When my governess was out of sorts, she sent me to the kitchen for something sweet.”

“Why you?” Eliza said as she settled onto the chair beside the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the balcony facing Coliseum Street. “She is the governess. Shouldn’t she be fetching her own sweets?”

Justine shrugged. “Apparently she and Cook don’t get on, so she’s banished from the kitchen. Something about a gentleman.”

“Isn’t it always?” Eliza mused as she spied a maid hurrying toward them.

“For you, mademoiselle.” The girl handed her a letter and hurried away.

“Is it from that man in Texas?” Justine asked in a singsong voice. “I’ve heard all about him, you know. He’s no good but he’ll be president someday. That’s what my mama says. Doesn’t matter if he is president. His family is the sworn enemy of our family. That’s what your mama says.”

“Sworn enemy?” Eliza’s chuckle held no humor. “That’s an awfully dramatic way to describe a disagreement between my father and his. I do hope Mama isn’t actually saying that.”

“I might have exaggerated slightly,” Justine admitted. “But that was the general idea. Something about a vow your pa made that the judge took exception to. Your pa thinks he ought not to be considered as a suitable husband, and his pa thinks he’d be marrying beneath him to wed a Gentry. Or something like that.” She paused to look up at Eliza. “I bet he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

“Very. And Ben is going to be a politician, so he is quite charming.” She turned the letter over to reveal the name of the sender. Beatrice Cunningham?

How odd. Though the Cunningham family owned land adjacent to Eliza’s family home back in Texas, she hadn’t seen Beatrice in ages.

Eliza settled onto the settee near the window and broke the seal on the letter. Three lines in, she stopped reading as anger rose along with the twin pains of disappointment and disgust.

She crumpled the page and then stared down at it. So that was why Ben hadn’t come charging after her to pledge his undying love. He’d been pledging it to Beatrice. And to who knew who else, according to the letter.

“Bad news?” Justine asked.

“For Ben it is.” Eliza rose and walked to the foyer. “Mama!” When there was no answer, she shouted again. “Mama, where are you?”

And then she did what Papa always did when he was looking for her out on the ranch. She whistled. After that, things happened quickly.

Mama practically flew down the stairs with several maids trailing in her wake. By the time she finished lecturing Eliza on the impropriety of loud noises in polite society, her face was flushed and she’d exhausted herself to the point where she plopped down in a most unladylike manner on the settee.

“If you ever do that again,” she managed as two of the maids fanned her, “I will…”

“Banish me until I’ve learned my lesson?” Eliza supplied. “You and Papa already did that. Well, guess what I have. Now I want to go home.”

Mama sat bolt upright. “I promised your father you’d stay a full three months, maybe more. I cannot just take you home now.”

“Of course you can.” Eliza put on her best smile and settled beside her mother, causing the maids to scatter. “You have my word that I am absolutely not interested in Ben Barnhart. In fact, I don’t care if I ever see him again.”

Her beautiful mother, so at home in these fine surroundings, gave away nothing of what she might be thinking. Though Eliza had longed to look just like her with glossy dark hair and eyes the color of coffee laden with cream, she had inherited the fiery red hair and, according to Papa, the fiery temperament of his people.

When Eliza had a thought, there was no hiding it. At least she had not yet figured out how.

“I don’t believe you,” Mama said.

She shrugged. “I got a letter today from Beatrice Cunningham. Remember the strange girl who was always madly in love with cousin Travis?”

“The little blond?” At Eliza’s nod, her mother continued. “Yes, I do remember her. She certainly wasn’t cut out for ranch life, and neither was her mother. The two of them moved north ages ago. Why in the world would she be writing you now?”

Eliza handed Mama the crumpled remains of the letter from Beatrice. “Read it. You’ll like the part about how she is no longer in love with Travis.”

Mama unfolded the letter carefully. Too carefully. It was all Eliza could do not to pull it out of her hands and complete the job for her.

“For goodness’ sake, Mama. Don’t be so delicate. I can summarize by saying that Travis’s loss is Ben Barnhart’s gain.” She paused to shrug. “It appears that Beatrice and Ben have fallen in love. She’s forgiven him of his philandering—including his momentary flirtation with me—and is to marry him in the spring in Washington, DC. Pending my approval, that is?”

Mama’s dark brows rose as her eyes scanned the page. “Of all the…” She shook her head and returned the letter to its crumpled state and tossed it onto the rug.

“I take it you have an opinion?” Eliza said.

“My opinion is that girl doesn’t want your approval at all. She just wants to gloat. It certainly wasn’t a momentary flirtation that landed you here. Had your papa not intervened, you’d be the one wed and Beatrice would be crying in her teacup in Boston or Baltimore or wherever it is she and that mother of hers escaped to.”

Oh my. Mama did have an opinion.

Though it was true that Mama was a fierce defender of her three children, even to the point of standing up to Papa when she felt one of his edicts was unfair, it had been a source of much irritation to Eliza that her mother had actually agreed with her father on this banishment. Or perhaps Mama had just wanted a nice visit with friends and family.

None of it mattered now. The ferocity with which her mother defended her was enough to sway Eliza.

“Honestly, Mama, she can gloat all she wants. I cooperated with you and Papa, but only because Ben promised he’d come and fetch me as soon as he could manage it.” She shrugged again. “It seems he got distracted. Or never intended to follow. Not that it matters now. I just want to go home.”

Plink, plink, plunk.

Mama’s brows rose again as Justine ignored them both to bang the keys into submission. “What is she playing?” she whispered.

“I have no idea,” Eliza told her.

“Beethoven,” Justine said as she continued to massacre the tune.

Mama’s face took on a sympathetic look. “Eliza, I know your father had strong opinions about Ben and the judge, but I never really had much objection to him, nor did his mother dislike you as a match for her son.”

“You never said a word about that,” Eliza said.

“Nor, I doubt, did Sally Barnhart.” Mama shook her head. “Someday when you’re a wife, you’ll learn when to speak and when to keep quiet. Men like to stomp about and make noise, but eventually they calm down and become reasonable again.”

“Is that what you and Mrs. Barnhart thought would happen with Papa and Judge Barnhart? Because unless it’s happened and we don’t know about it yet, I am skeptical that it ever will. Not that it matters now.”

Mama smiled and reached over to pat Eliza’s arm. “Whether you were to wed Ben or not, those men just need time and a reason to stop being angry with one another. God will provide both. After all, they were once friends.”

Until that night when Wyatt’s father died and Papa had Benjy hauled back to Waco to face his father.

Eliza leaned her head on Mama’s shoulder. The words she’d read in that letter stung, but if she were truthful, she had known a month ago that Ben must have turned his attentions elsewhere. A man in love wouldn’t wait two months to claim the woman he swore he couldn’t live without.

And a woman in love wouldn’t give up so easily on her man. But she had. Completely. So what she felt for Ben Barnhart never was love. In that moment, she was certain of it. She was also certain he had never loved her in return.

All at once she felt tired. Very tired. And lonesome for Texas.

“Can’t we just go home, Mama? We can get there just as quickly as any letter.”

“Your father would be furious with me,” Mama said. “But I do miss him.”

“And I miss the ranch. I miss my horses, and most of all, I miss the stars.”

Plink, plink, plunk.

“Justine, do find something else to do, please,” Mama and Eliza said in unison.

“The adults are having a conversation,” Mama added in a soothing tone. “Perhaps you might find a treat in the kitchen while they continue talking?”

“No, Mama.” Eliza rose and pulled her mother to her feet. “The adults are busy packing. Come on. If we start now, we can be on our way in a few hours.”

Justine skittered out of the room, presumably to find the treat that Mama mentioned. Or perhaps she would just wait out in the hall and listen in on this conversation as she apparently had with many others.

“Truly, Eliza,” Mama said when the child was gone, “that just isn’t going to be possible. We have obligations. Until you got that letter, you were excited about the masquerade ball tonight.”

Excited was absolutely not how she felt about the event that Mama had been chattering about for weeks. However, the fact that her mother thought so gave Eliza hope that she at least had managed her thoughts.

“Mama,” she said. “Please. I just want to go home.”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Today is for arranging the trip and packing. And for attending the ball. Your costume is absolutely stunning. Have you seen it?”

The maid had brought in a pale blue gown dusted in feathers and some sort of iridescent silk overskirt, but she’d barely given it any notice. The mask, wrapped in a matching blue fabric and lined with jewels and more feathers, was waiting for her on the dressing table.

The cost of that mask and its matching gown was likely twice that of a good horse. And she would take the horse over the baubles and finery any day.

“Eliza?”

“Oh, yes, I did see the dress and it is beautiful.”

“It must be,” Mama said. “You’ll stand out above all the young ladies there.”

“Mama?” Eliza said slowly as suspicion of her mother’s motives in attending the ball tonight rose. “What are you up to?”

“Why are you so suspicious?” Mama said. “The Heberts are old friends. If they have anyone special on the guest list, I am sure it would be a surprise to both of us.”

Which of course meant it was absolutely no surprise to Mama who this special guest was. “Are you matchmaking?”

“Me? Not at all.” Her expression of innocence was almost believable.

“Then it must be Papa.”

And there it was. The tiny crack in the armor. Eliza might not know this mystery man who would “accidentally” be thrown together with her, but Papa did.

She sighed. It would be all too easy to throw a fit and storm out. To complain that at the age of twenty-one she should not be subject to her parents’ attempts at finding her a husband of their choosing and not hers.

A thought occurred. Was it possible that Papa’s aversion to her engagement to Ben Barnhart was solely due to the fact he had not arranged it?

“I am not sure I want to know what you’re thinking,” Mama said.

She shook her head. “No, you probably do not. Just one question: Will Papa always require that I marry a man of his choosing, or will I ever reach an age where he will trust me to choose for myself?”

Though she expected a spark of irritation from her mother, instead Mama shrugged. “I suppose that is a question for your father. I will say that you will never reach an age where he doesn’t love you enough to choose what he knows is right for you over what you want.”

“What does that mean?” she snapped.

“It means that you may never know the things that have happened to make your life what it is,” she said. “And you may never know how difficult those choices were for your father.”

Still not an answer that made sense. She could have pressed for more. Could have insisted on an explanation. Instead, Eliza kept her thoughts to herself as she gave her mother a curt nod and swept out of the parlor.