Fate's Intervention Read online

  He had his own reasoning to contemplate. Why hadn’t he turned Weatherman down? Was he really so concerned over the welfare of this strange female that he would put himself in a position of spending time with her day in and day out for the rest of his life? Was he really concerned about losing White Star as a stud to his mares?

  As an employee, he had the option of leaving, but as owner of both the house and the business, and the provider of a sharp-tongued female. . . .

  “Okay, that’s settled then,” her father was saying. “We’ll stop by a lawyer’s office on our way to dinner and have him draw up the papers, and then we’ll head on back to the house after the auction tomorrow. Agreed?”

  “Sounds good,” Matthew shook Weatherman’s hand again, finalizing their arrangement. He wasn’t certain exactly what he was letting himself in for, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than losing his investment and White Star. He glanced over at Marcelle again, who had moved to her father’s side and was helping him with his coat.

  Was she truly dead-set against marriage, or was there really something wrong with her that made marriage out of the question? She was beautiful, no doubt, so why couldn’t she find a husband? It was definitely an interesting conundrum.

  Marcelle felt numb. Had she really agreed to live with Matthew – in sin after her father died – simply to prevent a marriage for which she had little desire? The funny thing is, she did want to get married eventually, but not while her father was ill and certainly not to the elderly men that her father continued to select on her behalf. Someone like Matthew, however, wouldn’t be such a bad catch. He appeared as disagreeable toward marriage as she claimed to be, which meant she probably would spend the rest of her days living under his roof, her body in a constant state of curious desire.

  She also knew that by accepting the agreement, shredded reputation and all, she would be making future marriage prospects close to nil. She shouldn’t care. After all, her father had made it clear she didn’t have to accept. So why did she care? She shook her head and refocused on her father, unable or unwilling to think about it just now. An agreement was an agreement and she’d uphold her end.

  “Are you sure you’re up to leaving the room, Father?”

  “Since I’ve unloaded the burden of marrying you off, dearest,” her father teased, “I feel as if I could do a jig down Main Street and back.”

  “Well, I’d prefer you just expend enough energy getting dressed and walking the short distance to the lawyer’s office and restaurant, if you don’t mind,” Marcelle smiled, attempting to lift her spirits. The decision they’d reached appeared to have lightened a heavy burden from her father’s heart, giving him a youthful energy she hadn’t seen in months. Perhaps what had happened today was for the best. She only hoped so.

  Matthew watched the two of them banter while Marcelle helped her father get ready, and couldn’t help the smile that played across his face. There was a lot of love in this family and it would be sad when it ended. It reminded him of a happier time in his own life, with Melody and his two boys.

  He wasn’t comfortable with the arrangement he’d made with Peter Weatherman, but he hadn’t any alternative to present to reject his offer either. The thought of living under the same roof with a beautiful woman, day in and day out, for an undetermined amount of time, without laying a hand on her, was going to be murder on his libido. Showing restraint would be a simpler matter while her father was alive, but after . . . perhaps if he thought of her as his ward. She was almost young enough.

  Marcelle couldn’t afford to dwell on it. When her father made the offer, all sorts of impure thoughts flitted through her mind before she could slam the door against them. Before temptation could strike again – opening that door and allowing the thoughts freedom – she turned the mental key on the mental door and threw it away, deep into the dark recesses of her mind. From this day forward, she thought, eyeing Matthew from beneath thick lashes, she’d think of him only as an employee and friend.

  From now on, Matthew thought, opening the door for Marcelle and her father, I’ll think of her only as my ward and my friend.

  Yeah, right! Both thought simultaneously.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “It’s open!” Peter called. He was hole up in the study with Marcelle, reluctantly showing her the accounts and going over their finances. He had not raised her to handle the household budget, but with his life clock slowly ticking his time away, he had to prepare her to take over; although should he continued to feel improved of health, he may just beat whatever it was that had a hold on him.

  Initially, upon returning to the house two weeks ago, he approached Matthew about the accounts, but Matthew had asked that Marcelle handle the books. The horses would take up his time, he said. He also would be busy traveling to solicit clients, delivering horses, training those horses and with the upkeep of his newly acquired property, finding time to do the books would be difficult at best. Matthew also told him that teaching Marcelle the books would give her something more to do with her time besides get into mischief.

  Therefore, for the past week, he spent most of his time giving Marcelle lessons in accounting. Fortunately, for him, she was an apt and eager pupil.

  Nancy’s head appeared in the doorway, “Sir, there’s a Miss Blackwarth here to see Miss Marcelle.”

  Peter glanced at his daughter, a quizzical look in his eyes.

  “I didn’t invite her,” Marcelle said, equally puzzled. “Should I have Nancy kick her out on her derriere?”

  “Manners, dearest,” her father chided. “Have Miss Blackwarth wait in the parlor and offer refreshments, Nancy. Marcelle will be along shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you think she wants here?” Peter asked the moment the door closed behind the maid. “It’s not as if she’s ever made a social visit before.”

  “She’s of marriageable age, remember?”

  “You don’t really think . . . ?”

  “Of course I do. Why else would she suddenly take an interest in visiting me? She’s never darkened our doorway before. There is one way to find out for certain, now isn’t there?” Marcelle said, a gleam in her eyes.

  “Marcelle, you will be pleasant to that young lady, do you hear me? Besides, she may have simply been waiting for you to call on her first. She is a new neighbor, after all, and properly reared ladies generally welcome the new young ladies in the vicinity. You, however . . . ,”

  “Saw her from a distance in town one day, which was plenty enough meeting for me,” Marcelle finished. “Besides, if she were any kind of lady and not the brainless twit that I take her for, she would have sought a friendship with me prior, and not used her first visit as a ruse to get to know our gorgeous new ranch hand.”

  “Gorgeous, is he?”

  “Never said he wasn’t.”

  “Well, nevertheless, her reason for visiting today may be innocent.”

  “Maybe, but at least have the courage to admit that it crossed your mind that her visit today has to do with Matthew and nothing to do with cordiality, will you?”

  “I’m too much of a gentleman. Now, go and greet your guest and do try to be pleasant as I’ve said.”

  Marcelle gave her father a quick peck on the cheek, “For certain, Father. But are you willing to make a small wager . . . ,”

  “Go!”

  Marcelle laughed and rose from her chair, “I’ll be back presently to finish going over the books.”

  “No, no,” her father said wearily, “we won’t bother with any more today. I need a rest before supper.”

  “As you wish. Can I have Nancy get you a glass of port to help you rest?”

  “That would be nice, dear.”

  Peter stood to stretch, and Marcelle rang the summoning bell. A moment later, the maid appeared again.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Pour Father a glass of port and then escort him to his chambers.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Well,
I had better go entertain our guest, or maybe escorting her to the real reason behind her visit would be better,” Marcelle said, heading toward the study door.

  “Manners,” her father warned again.

  “Oh, pooh!” Marcelle huffed, smiled at him, then turned on her heel and exited the room with a swish of her skirts.

  “She may not think she has a notion to marry Matthew,” her father murmured after she had gone, “but she’ll be damned if any other woman gets her claws into him.” He shook his head in bemusement and slowly followed Nancy from the room.

  Marcelle placed an oversized, vapid smile on her face, and glided airily into the parlor. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you round to my door, Miss Blackwarth?”

  Carol Ann spun with a gasp from her perusal at the French doors, her cheeks tinted pink. Her hand flew to her flat chest, Marcelle noted with a pleased glimpse at her own well-filled-out gown. She stole a quick glance over Carol Ann’s shoulder and grinned. Matthew was visible off to the far left, training one of the new horses they’d purchased, which they’d scheduled for delivery next week. His shirt was off, and even from this distance, she could see the sheen of sweat glistening in the sunlight on his bare chest. His well-toned muscles rippling with each swing of the whip. The sight made even her pulse race.

  “Heavens, you scared the wits out of me,” Carol Ann said in a rush of air, and moved to sit on the couch.

  “If you had any wits in you,” Marcelle murmured under her breath.

  “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

  You were supposed to, Marcelle thought, but instead said, “It was nothing, just making a mental note about the dinner menu, which I need to be seeing to in the next few minutes. Anyway, you were going to tell me why the social visit.”

  “Yes, well, we are neighbors after all and now that I’m a woman full-grown, I thought I would enjoy visiting other women in the area of like age, but since there aren’t any . . . I mean . . . well . . . ,”

  “I understand more than you realize, Carol Ann,” Marcelle offered sweetly, scoffing in silence at the ‘woman full-grown’ bit, nor did she miss the unintentional insult to her own advanced years, or was it intentional? She wondered. “You haven’t touched your refreshments. Are they not to your liking?”

  “Oh, dear heavens me,” Carol Ann exhaled and reached over for a sugar biscuit. “They are delicious,” she muttered nervously through a mouthful of cookie, “and I would have probably finished them off by now had I not been . . . well, that is to say, I, um . . . ,”

  “Was distracted by our rather attractive new employee?” Marcelle asked, and grinned mischievously when Carol Ann choked, spewing crumbs all over the Oriental carpet. “Are you quite all right? Perhaps you’d better drink something.” Marcelle lifted the glass of lemonade and shoved it under her nose.

  Carol Ann waved the glass away and continued coughing until all of the crumbs had exited her throat. She reached for the glass and downed half the contents before speaking again. “Why ever would you think I would do something so tastelessly as to stare openly at your employee?” She gasped. “I would hope my father raised me with better manners than that!”

  “Oh, come on, Carol Ann. I saw the way you were staring out the door, and no tree could put that kind of look on a lady’s face.” Marcelle winked and grinned even wider when Carol Ann’s already pink complexion turned a mottled red.

  “Well,” Carol Ann huffed indignantly, “it’s no wonder that you haven’t married yet. There’s not a man alive who would approve of that kind of bold speech from a lady. That’s right! I’ve heard rumors about your mental state, and I must admit, I found them hard to believe – until now.”

  “Well, you’re right about finding a man able to persevere against my ‘bold speech’, was it?” Marcelle said. “There do appear to be very few gentlemen that are willing to put up with someone like me, and quite frankly . . . ,”

  “I don’t think you know another method but frankly,” Carol Ann interrupted and Marcelle laughed.

  “Bravo, Carol Ann!” Marcelle clapped, “I do believe there’s hope for you yet.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hope’?”

  “You were just berating me about being too bold in speech and yet you appear to have no problem attempting to put me in my place.” Carol Ann blushed again and Marcelle laughed. “Speaking your mind is not the evil that people would have us believe it is. The way you responded to me just now, tells me there’s hope for you yet. I couldn’t imagine that you would want you to walk around with that stick lodged in your derriere for too long, you know?”

  “Are you always this crass?”

  “Most of the time, yes, but that’s a trait you’ll have to accept if you wish to continue your pursuit of Matthew, since you’ll be using me in your deception. Unless, of course, you develop enough honesty to make your intentions known directly to him on your own. It would be convenient if you did, you know. Then you wouldn’t have to pretend friendship with me when we both know perfectly well where your true interest lies.”

  “I am a lady,” Carol Ann replied indignantly, squaring her shoulders. “Ladies do not pursue men.”

  “Then how in blue blazes are you going to catch him?” Marcelle asked.

  “A lady also knows how to control a wayward tongue,” Carol Ann continued to admonish. “Which is something you obviously never mastered, and I don’t agree with you in the slightest that there is ‘hope’ for me in becoming anything like you.”

  “I do believe you just insulted me. Oh well, no matter, I am a lady,” Marcelle defended lightly, far from offended by her inference, “only my tongue never realized that. It seems determined to form its own opinions. Although I don’t believe Matthew much cares for ladies, wayward tongue or not.”

  “What man doesn’t want a lady?”

  “I guess I misspoke. What I meant was that I perceive that Matthew prefers a lady that knows how to be a woman,” Marcelle answered, “and if you ever intend to catch Matthew’s eye, you’re going to have to stop behaving like a fourteen-year-old girl and start acting like a woman, which means getting to know him directly without using me as an excuse to come calling.”

  “I see,” Carol Ann said, rising. “Well, perhaps I should be going, since spending too much time socializing with you would definitely be a poor influence on my young mind; and as you put it, there is no way to become acquainted with Mr. Matthew except through you, so perhaps my decision to come here today was not a good one. Good day to you, Miss Weatherman.”

  Marcelle stood, following yet another rapidly fleeing visitor to the front door. She definitely had an adverse affect on people. Usually suitors were the one who ran away. She had to give Carol Ann credit, though, the young girl may not have even been aware of it, or more likely willing to admit it, but she’d managed to hold her own against Marcelle’s twisted wit. Maybe there was hope for her yet. “Wouldn’t you like me to introduce you to Matthew before you leave?”

  Carol Ann halted in her tracks, startling Marcelle. She hadn’t expected her to consider it. Interesting.

  Carol Ann turned, a strange, thoughtful expression on her face, “I haven’t a mother, you know.”

  “Neither do I, and I hope you’re not suggesting that I marry your father in order to give you one.”

  “No, no,” Carol Ann said, smiling, “I wasn’t suggesting that. Although my father is looking for a new wife.”

  “It isn’t going to be me, because marriage isn’t on top of my list of priorities,” Marcelle said, tapping her toe with mild impatience. She had dinner to get on, so hoped Carol Ann would get to the “I want to meet Matthew” part of their dialogue – soon.

  “That’s nice to hear,” Carol Ann blushed, realizing the implication of that statement. If Marcelle weren’t interested in marrying, then she wouldn’t mind Carol Ann’s pursuit of Matthew.

  “I’m sure.” Marcelle arched a brow and tilted her head questioningly, “now why did you want me to know that you don’t
have a mother?” She asked, but Carol Ann simply continued.

  “I did hear that Clifford Stanharbor was looking for your hand in marriage.”

  “True, but he didn’t get it. I sort of scared him away,” Marcelle said, a pleasant blush tinting her cheeks at the memory.

  “I can see how. Perhaps I should consider visiting with you and picking up your techniques, since now he’s coming sniffing around my door.” Ah, the plot thickens, Marcelle thought. Perhaps Carol Ann was pursuing Matthew in the hopes of avoiding Clifford’s clutches.

  “Well, why I truly feel sorry for you, there not too much I can do about it.”

  “Do you know he’s got a daughter my age?” Carol Ann continued in that distracted, thoughtful voice. Marcelle only wished she knew what these questions and statements were leading.

  “Yes, I’ve met her,” Marcelle said, deliberately leaving out the circumstances under which that meeting occurred.

  “I did too,” Carol Ann said sadly, “just the once, though. Father had her and her father over to dinner last week. A rather shallow girl. I hope I’m not as superficial as all that.”

  Carol Ann looked at Marcelle expectantly, but Marcelle refused to put her mind at ease on that count, especially since Marcelle considered her only a shy bit less shallow than Elizabeth.

  “Anyway, dinner was a nerve-wracking affair, since I knew why he’d come, you see. I also knew why Father invited them.”

  “To parade you in front of Stanharbor?”

  “And to get a look at Elizabeth firsthand,” Carol Ann sighed. “If I ever did have a mother, I don’t think I’d want her to be much like Elizabeth Stanharbor.”

  “Well, if her appetite turns out to be like her father’s, your dad may not want to marry her either. By the way, do you have any food left in the house after their visit?”

  Carol Ann laughed, startling Marcelle.

  “It really isn’t polite to laugh,” she giggled behind her gloved hand, “but he is rather obese, isn’t he?”

  “Without a doubt,” Marcelle said, “but what is it that you’re trying to tell me? That you don’t want to marry that fat swine and be a mother to Elizabeth, or that you’d rather not have Elizabeth marry your father and be your mother?”