Linda Castle - Territorial Bride

For the next few days Missy moped around Ellen’s house, reading the latest Godey’s magazine and practicing at solitaire, which Ellen taught her…trying to forget the scene at the brownstone. Then one day during breakfast Ellen surprised her.

“I think it is time we answered a few of these invitations.”

Missy looked up and blinked. She was still numb all over, except for the unaccountable pain in her heart.

Why should I care if Brooks is engaged?

She had asked herself the question a hundred times and more, but she never came up with an answer that suited. It could be that she had harbored some silly girlish fantasy about him. Or it could be that it was just such a shock. After all, he had never mentioned the golden beauty who wore his ring. It might be all of those reasons…or none of them.

“Did you hear me, Missy?” Ellen frowned and pointed to a pile of calling cards and small white envelopes. “Gregory Whitemarten was here again this morning, and Charles Rutheford.”

“I don’t want to see anybody,” Missy said glumly.

“No, you’d rather sit at home and let him win.”

Missy’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Cousin Brooks is having his cake and eating it, too, if you ask me.” Ellen plunked two cubes of sugar into her tea and stirred it savagely. “He’s got Violet Ashland hanging all over him, telling anyone who will listen that they will be married, and you are sitting at home pining away.”

“I am not pining.” Missy blinked at the harsh words. “What a silly notion.”

“Prove it,” Ellen challenged with a toss of her yellow curls. “If you aren’t smitten with my cousin and you are not pining, then pick one of these invitations.”

“Right now. I won’t believe another word you say unless you prove it.”

Missy narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. She shoved the stack of cards and envelopes around on the table while she glared at Ellen. “I can’t believe you would get such a dunderheaded idea, Ellen.” When she could delay no more, she closed her eyes and picked up a slip of paper.

“Let me read it,” Ellen said as Missy stared at it blankly.

After glancing at it, Ellen swallowed hard, but then she inhaled deeply and looked Missy straight in the eye. “It is from Cyril Dover.”

“Which one was he?” Missy’s irritation had momentarily banished her misery over Brooks.

“He was the tall slim man with the blue eyes—the one who brought the bouquet of roses the morning after Aunt Patricia’s party.”

“Oh, him.” Missy sighed. “I guess he is as good as any of them to prove to you that I am not moping around because of Brooks. I don’t care one little bit that your cousin is engaged.”

Ellen’s brows rose over cornflower blue eyes full of doubt.

“Well, I don’t,” Missy reaffirmed.

For a few days Brooks went to his old haunts, including the theater and his favorite café, but everywhere he went he met with the memory of Missy’s dark eyes and the unwanted presence of Violet Ashland.

She kept turning up, clinging to his arm. It was all he could do to bite down on the inside of his mouth and remember that he had been given a gentleman’s upbringing. But it didn’t take long to realize that he was a changed man—a man who found the simpering blond beauty of Violet more annoying than intoxicating.

One gloomy morning when the clouds were a great gray frown across the eastern horizon, Brooks was staring into the dark brew at the bottom of his china coffee cup. He largely ignored the conversation of his mother and brother, enjoying a hearty breakfast.

When the doorbell rang, Tilly answered it, then appeared carrying a flat silver dish containing a white envelope.

Brooks barely stifled his groan. He had been expecting a long overdue summons from his eldest sister, Clair. He knew the envelope was going to contain a family invitation that would be unavoidable. Her parties were boring affairs, attended by dozens of horse-faced girls of marriageable age and doubtful charms—and without a doubt Violet.

He drained the contents of his cup and stood up, ready to beat a hasty exit before Tilly reached him. But the bemused look on his mother’s face as she read what was written on the creamy card stock she’d plucked from the silver tray stopped him in his tracks.

“Mother, what is it?” he asked. “Not bad news?”

She glanced up, as if only becoming aware of his presence. “No, not a bit. It is an invitation to a garden party.” Her voice was soft and slightly bemused.

“Just as I thought,” he grumbled under his breath. Clair was throwing another of her boring dinner parties and wanted him there. Well, he wasn’t going to do it, not this time. He wasn’t going to be there for Violet to use as a crutch to reenter the social set she had left when she was chasing a duke’s title. She had scandalized herself, and he was not about to act as if it all never happened.

Brooks headed in the direction of the French doors and freedom. He was nearly there when Rod’s hearty chuckle stopped him. Against his better judgment he turned and found Rod’s face wreathed in a cunning smile.

“I haven’t seen a smile that wide since the last stock report, Rod.” Brooks crossed his arms at his chest and watched his brother. “What has made you so happy?”

“Read the invitation addressed to you.” Rod returned his invitation to the dish Tilly continued to hold. “Perhaps it will bring a smile to your long face. Lord knows I am tired of seeing you scowl. I swear, you’ve had a frown since the night of Miss O’Bannion’s introductory party.”

“I have not.” Brooks jerked the envelope from the tray and ripped it open. He was disgusted for allowing himself to be manipulated by family connections and social ties. If his father wasn’t such a good friend of Horace Ashland’s, Brooks would simply call Violet a liar the next time she started all that nonsense about rings and engagement.

Hell, he just might do it anyway!

He scanned Ellen’s flowing script and felt the pace of his heart increase as he read. “A garden party…” His voice trailed off as he quickly read the entire invitation. “At Uncle Leland’s house. That might be nice.” He looked up to find Rod studying him, undisguised amusement twinkling in his brown eyes.

“Nice? Missy and Ellen are throwing a party and you think it is nice?”

“Yes.”

Rod grinned. “And what a happy coincidence, brother, that you’ll finally get to see Missy O’Bannion again.” He rose from the chair and pulled on his coat.

“Why in blue blazes would I want to see Missy? I have rather enjoyed not having my hide flayed off.” Brooks cleared his throat and wondered why his pulse was racing like a runaway mustang.

The image of her dark eyes as she’d turned and left him standing with Violet had kept him awake more than one night. He just wanted to explain that he had no intentions of settling down with any woman. That was all.

Wasn’t it?

Rod shrugged. “It was just a joke, little brother. Take it easy.” Rod walked to his mother’s chair and dutifully bent to deliver a kiss to the top of her silver curls. “I never dreamed you’d return from the Territory so serious, Brooks. Perhaps a garden party is what you need.”

“Where are you going, Rod?” Patricia looked up, still holding the invitation in her hand, with a happy smile on her face. Parties did that to her, Brooks mused.

“It is my morning at the gentlemen’s club.”

“Oh yes.” Patricia frowned at Brooks. “Why don’t you go too, Brooks? You have been a bit grumpy lately.”

“I have been grumpy?” Brooks repeated in astonishment. “I don’t know why you all keep saying that.”