NOBILITY RANCH

Book One of Titled Texans Series
Zebra Ballads -- July 2000
ISBN 0-8217-6646-5

Chapter One
Texas Panhandle, January, 1882

As Lady Cecily Thorndale stepped down from the train that had brought her at last to Texas, she wondered why she'd waited until she was twenty-four years old to run away from home.

"I never dreamed the rest of the world would be so different from Devonshire," she said to Alice, her lady's maid, as the two stood on the station platform. She glanced toward the trio of brightly-dressed women who'd sat near them for the last day on the trip. "Or that I'd meet such interesting people."

"Where are we, Lady Cecily?" Alice's voice took on a plaintive whine as she set her carpetbag on the platform next to her mistress.

"Didn't you hear the conductor? We're in Fairweather, Texas." Cecily gathered her fur- lined cape more closely around her throat and scanned the area around the platform. In this case, fair weather also meant cold weather. A bitter wind whistled across the platform and white smoke poured from the chimneys of the square-fronted, wooden buildings facing from the depot. The roughly dressed men and women who crowded the board walkways in front of the shops were heavily bundled against the chill. Beyond the buildings, an expanse of frost-bitten land stretched toward the horizon, washed in the copper light of the setting sun.

She took a deep breath, and the cold air stung her nostrils with the aromas of sawdust, cinders, and manure. Texas even smelled different from home. She put one hand to her stomach, hoping to calm the nervous quiver there. You've come all this way, Cecily, she silently scolded herself. Don't act the coward now.

Alice sniffed. "Begging pardon, m'lady, but I don't see what's so fair about it." She scowled at a cowboy walking past; he tipped his high-crowned hat and gave her a lewd wink. "Well, I never!" Alice gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air.

Cecily bit back a smile. Alice was too stuffy for her own good sometimes. Granted, the wink had been improper, but then, so had Alice's look of disdain. "As soon as Nick fetches our trunks, we'll set about locating Lord Silsbee," she said.

"If Nick Bainbridge remembers to come back for us." Alice shook her head. "I don't trust that one m'lady. All he's talked about since we left England is seeing cowboys and riding horses and such. I'm thinking we'd be better off never having brought him along."

Cecily gave Alice a tolerant look. Despite the maid's harsh words, Cecily suspected she secretly had tender feelings for handsome Nick. "We couldn't very well travel half away across the world with no man to escort us," she said.

Alice pinched her lips into a thin line. "Perhaps we should have selected someone older, someone more responsible."

"Like Davis?" Cecily raised one eyebrow in a mocking look. "I'm sure Lord Marbridge wouldn't have appreciated losing his valet. Of course, there's always Hopkins -- he's only sixty if he's a day. Or what about Foster? Now there's someone I'd hardly call suitable. He stutters every time he looks at me."

Alice looked away, cheeks stained bright red. She cleared her throat. "I do hope his lordship isn't angry with us for coming," she said.

Cecily's stomach gave another nervous lurch. "I'm sure Charles will be delighted to see us." She spoke with more conviction than she felt. After all, in his last letter, Charles had expressed a desire to postpone their wedding yet again. She'd traveled all this way to convince him to change his mind. "I imagine he'll be impressed that I took the initiative to pay him a visit."

"About as impressed as Lord and Lady Marbridge will be when they receive that letter you wrote aboard ship." Alice gave her a scolding look. "Really, m'lady, running all the way to America without telling a soul -- it's not at all like you."

Cecily frowned. Of course it wasn't like her. But what else was she to do? She was of little use to anyone as Lady Cecily Thorndale of Devonshire. Truth be told, no one outside of her parents was likely to miss her in the least. And even they hadn't been able to hide their eagerness to have their spinster daughter safely wed and out from under their roof. At least Charles needed her, even if he didn't realize it yet. Every successful man needed a wife to look after him.

"Come, let's wait inside the depot." She started forward, but stopped to allow a group of men to pass. Each paused and tipped a hat in greeting. Cowboys, she'd heard them called. They all wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed hats, colorful scarves knotted at their necks. Their long coats reached almost to their ankles, and hung open to reveal trousers stuffed into the tops of tall, high-heeled boots. She tried to imagine dapper Charles, who was known for his finely tailored suits, attired like one of these men. He'd look quite handsome, she decided. But then, Charles, with his chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, had always been devastatingly good looking. Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again.

As a group, the men halted, their attention focused somewhere behind Cecily and Alice. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the three women who had traveled with her on the train. Madame LeFleur and her daughters had boarded at the station in Beaufort. Cecily had admired their fine silk and satin gowns and impeccable manners, and she'd invited them to share tea with her in the dining car. They had entertained her with stories of their life in Texas, tales of romance and adventure that made Cecily's proper English upbringing seem stifling indeed.

Catching Cecily's eye now, Madame LeFleur smiled and came forward. "I would say again how much my girls et moi enjoyed traveling with you," Madame said, her voice heavily accented. "If we can be of any assistance while you are in town, please do not hesitate to ask."

"How kind you are to offer," Cecily clasped the older woman's hand. Up close, it was apparent that Madame was well into her fifth decade, but the artful application of cosmetics made her look much younger, at least from a distance. Cecily had never known women who so obviously used cosmetics, but customs in America were different, she supposed.

"Do you ladies need help with your luggage?" One of the cowboys stepped forward. He grinned at Madame's youngest daughter, who had the unusual name of Fifi.

"Why sir, how kind of you to offer." Fifi simpered and fluttered her eyelashes. The low- cut bodice of her watered silk gown would have been deemed improper for daytime wear in Devonshire, but then, Cecily reasoned, the French were known for risque fashion, were they not? Still, the young woman must be freezing.

Other men stepped forward to shoulder the many trunks and bandboxes stacked around the LeFleur family. "I'll carry my own, thank you," Alice snapped at a black-hatted youth who tried to relieve her of the carpetbag.

"Where to, ma'am?" A tall, robust fellow who balanced a brass-bound trunk on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all, addressed Cecily.

"Oh, but I'm not actually with these ladies," she said, flustered by the way the man stared at her, as if he were trying to see through her enveloping cape. "We only met on the train."

"Everybody hold it right there!"

A hush fell over the group as a man in a black hat, with a thick black moustache, strode down the platform and came to stand directly in front of Cecily. "Put down that trunk, George. These 'ladies' aren't going anywhere."

"Is something the matter, Sheriff?" Madame LeFleur stepped forward.

For the first time, Cecily noticed the silver star pinned to the man's coat. He glared at the older woman. "The sheriff in Beaufort warned me you were headed this way, Madam. I don't intend to allow your kind in Fairweather."

Madame LeFleur gave the sheriff a withering look. "And what do you propose to do to stop us? As you Americans are so fond of saying, it is a free country."

"I intend to take you into custody for the evening and put you on the first train out of town in the morning." To her horror, the sheriff took hold her Cecily's arm and snapped a pair of manacles on her wrists. "You can take your whoring ways some other place. This is a peaceful, law-abiding town and I intend to see that it stays that way."

Cecily gasped and tried to struggle away from him, but he held her fast. "Sir, I'm afraid there's been a terrible misunderstanding," she protested. "Madame LeFleur and I only met on the train. I am not. . . I would never. . . Oh, this is a terrible mistake." She gaped at Madame and her 'girls', understanding washing over her in sickening waves. The cosmetics, the bright, revealing dresses -- these women were prostitutes. And to think she had tea with them!

"Unhand her, you brute!" Alice launched herself toward the sheriff, carpetbag raised like a weapon, but another man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.

"Hey there! You leave her ladyship be at once!" The footman, Nick Bainbridge, appeared around a corner, carrying two valises. He dropped the cases and launched himself toward the sheriff's men.

Cecily gasped as one man turned and slammed his fist into the footman's face. Nick groaned and sank to the dirt, unconscious.

"Get the rest of them, men, and we'll take them over to the jail." The sheriff nodded to several other armed men who had gathered around them.

"Please, you must listen to me," Cecily cried.

"She is right, Sheriff," Madame LeFleur said, as one of the lawman's assistants manacled her wrists. "She is not one of us. She is a true lady."

Still holding fast to her, the sheriff studied Cecily with narrowed eyes. "What's your name?" he demanded. "Your real name?"

She straightened her back and held her head up. "Lady Cecily Anne Thorndale," she announced. "My father is Earl of Marbridge."

"He could be the king of England for all I care." The sheriff continued to glare at her. "What are you doing in Fairweather?"

"I came to meet my fiance, Lord Silsbee."

"Is that so? Well I've got news for you, Missie. There's nobody in these parts by that name." He tugged on her arm. "You're coming to the jail with the others until I can figure out what you're up to."

She cried out in alarm as he almost pulled her off her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alice struggling with her captor. The maid was beating the man about the head and shoulders with the heavy carpetbag. With a grunt, he released her.

"Alice, run!" Cecily cried, as the sheriff dragged her toward the jail. "Find Charles!"

The maid gathered her skirts and fled, darting in and out of the crowd on the platform. Cecily sighed and stumbled after the sheriff. Her friends in Devonshire would be horrified if they learned Lady Cecily Thorndale was being carried off to jail with a trio of prostitutes. And Charles -- surely he would see this was all a horrible misunderstanding. Wouldn't he?

# # #

Charles Edward Worthington, Lord Silsbee, steeled himself as he slit open the thin blue envelope just handed to him by Hiram Perkins, Fairweather's postmaster cum storekeeper. Removing a single sheet of paper, he held the letter up in the afternoon light pouring through the front window of Perkins' Mercantile and winced as he recognized his father's handwriting. It was never a good sign when the earl chose to write himself, rather than delegating the task to his secretary. He scanned the cramped lines of writing that filled the page -- script as rigidly upright as the man who'd written them.

The clamor of the busy store receded as he read his father's words:

You must return at once. Your absence places an unnecessary strain on my affairs. I am counting on you to oversee the renovations at Camden House and to take charge of the East India investments. Likewise, you have been negligent in your duty to solidify our relations with Marbridge by taking Cecily to wife.

Charles scowled and turned to his valet, Gordon, who had been reading over his shoulder while appearing not to do so. "Why doesn't he plague one of my brothers with this? There's nothing on this list Reg or Cam or one of the estate managers couldn't just as well see to."

"Begging your pardon, m'lord, but I don't expect your brothers could marry Lady Cecily in your stead." Gordon had perfected the perfect British valet's knack for stating painfully annoying truths without a trace of smugness on his face.

Cecily. Guilt stabbed at Charles whenever he thought of his fiance. Lady Cecily Thorndale was a pampered, beautiful child. He'd been wrong to agree to his father's scheme to marry him off to the girl.

He carefully re-folded the letter in thirds and slid it back into the envelope. "We'd best be going, or I'll be late for dinner." He led the way through the half-dozen ranchers and townspeople who milled near the store's entrance, greeting each by name. "Hello, Bryce. Good evening, Dillon. Good to see you, Joe. No, I haven't got time to stop. I'm due at the Educational Society's soiree. Bad form to keep the ladies waiting, don't you know."

"Would you like to dictate a reply to your father's letter, m'lord?" Gordon asked as he followed Charles out into the street.

"I ought to write and tell him I've no intention of returning home any time soon, and certainly no intention of rushing into marriage with Cecily Thorndale." Charles buttoned his coat close around him as the January cold hit him full force. Like everything else in his new home, Texas weather offered variety; two days hence he might be strolling the streets in shirt sleeves.

"Pardon me, m'lord, but I thought you were quite fond of Lady Thorndale," Gordon interrupted his thoughts on the weather.

"Nothing's wrong with Cecily." He automatically touched the brim of his hat and bowed as he passed a trio of matrons. The women smiled and blushed like school girls. "Cecily is perfect," he continued. "As I recall, she is the perfect hostess. A charming dancer, competent musician, talented in watercolors and needlework. From birth, she has been groomed to be the proper British lady. She'll make a perfect wife. For someone else. I'm too young to wed."

Gordon coughed behind his hand. "I believe your father had been wed six years by the time he was your age, m'lord."

Charles gave his valet a haughty look. "That's all well and good for you to remind me. Father spent his youth roaming the globe. I've done precious little with my days." He fixed a cheerful look on his face and raised his hand in greeting to a pair of cowboys lounging outside a saloon. They whooped and raised their hats in answer.

Gordon glanced at the cowboys, then back at his master. "I always thought it was your choice to remain home and learn the family business."

"Hah!" Charles snorted. "You should know as well as I, choice had precious little to do with it. I've spent my life shadowing the earl because he chose for me to do so. Just as he chose for Reg to enter the service and Cam to take up the clerical collar. Just as he's chosen for me to marry Cecily. Deuces, Gordon, I hardly know the girl."

They paused at an intersection and waited for a freighter to guide his team across. He cracked his whip and gave them a gap-toothed grin. "Howdy, Charlie!" he called.

Charles returned the greeting. "I say, Gus. Do be a good fellow and look me up when you're back in town. I haven't forgotten you owe me a drink."

The freighter passed and the two men started across the street. Charles picked up the conversation once more. "Grant you, I've a mind of my own, but I find it easier to play along with the earl, then live as I please behind his back."

Two freckle-faced boys raced toward them. They skidded to a halt in front of Charles. "Penny for your thoughts, Lord Worthington," the older one said, beaming up at them.

"What do you say to two pennies? If you hurry, you can catch Mr. Perkins before he closes up shop." He flipped two coins into the air. The boys snatched them up and ran off, calling their thanks over their shoulders.

"That's all very good, m'lord, but how do you propose to break your engagement without unpleasant repercussions?" In that maddening way of his, Gordon refused to drop the topic. "Marbridge might very well press suit."

Charles's shoulders sagged. "If I keep putting her off, Cecily's bound to tire of me and find someone else," he said. "I'm surprised she's stayed on the shelf this long, really."

Gordon nodded. "Yes m'lord, as I remember Lady Thorndale is quite attractive."

Attractive enough to make a man forget his good sense. It was the only explanation Charles had for his initial acceptance of the idea of marriage. Once he'd put some distance between himself and the girl, he'd realized what a mistake his proposal had been. "Someone else is sure to come along and make her a better offer and I'll be off the hook, free for other pursuits," he said.

Gordon looked skeptical. "And what would that be, m'lord?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But the day I marry, I might as well lock myself in a dusty old clerk's office and throw away the key." He looked away, along a line of storefronts, each more ramshackle than the next. Light spilled from their windows, making patterns on the darkened street. He thought of the perfectly proportioned architecture of his father's estate house, every brick arranged in absolute symmetry, every day of life within those walls a replica of the one before. "You saw the letter -- the earl's already planning to saddle me with duties. I'll have retainers and tenants and clerks all looking to me to take care of them. Not to mention a wife and family."

"There's much good to be said for a wife and family."

"If that's so, then let one of my brothers take a wife and fulfill Father's wish for grandchildren." He opened his heavy wool greatcoat and fished out his gold watch and consulted it. "Deuces, where has the time gone? I'll have to hurry to avoid being late to this confounded dinner."

"Word among the locals is that you have been quite looking forward to this evening, m'lord. Miss Simms said you were one of the first to sign her subscription list for the Academy."

Charles turned up his collar against an icy gust. "Well, what was I supposed to do -- refuse to make a donation after she rattled on and on about the value of higher education and the importance of this Academy of theirs to the growing families in the area? I fail to see why she and her women friends are suddenly so keen to introduce morals and higher ideals into the town. Why, I hear they're talking of closing the saloons on Sundays."

"They say they don't want Fairweather to become another Tascosa or Dodge, with shootouts every night, and new graves each week on Boot Hill. They want this to be a safe place for families."

Charles grimaced. "Where does that leave the rest of us morally bankrupt sinners?"

"No doubt you'll feel differently when you have a family of your own, m'lord."

"That's just what I'm afraid of." He had a sudden picture of himself, dressed in a sensible dark suit, his hair gray and thinning, forehead creased in a permanent frown. All around him, people clamored for his attention -- clerks and tenants, half a dozen children with sticky hands, his wife nattering on about pin money or some other triviality.

Though he couldn't quite picture Cecily nattering. She was much too dignified for such behavior. Cecily, no doubt, would heartily approve of Miss Hattie Simms's efforts to civilize the town.

"Whatever your reason for donating, you're quite the hero with the ladies," Gordon continued. "Though I daresay, you've already managed to beguile the majority of women in town. Miss Simms seems particularly besotted."

Charles groaned. "Yes, well Miss Simms is a pleasant young lady." A trifle too earnestperhaps, always going on about one of the many causes which she supported. This week it was the Educational Society. Next week it might be City Beautification or the Temperance Union.

"I'm glad you approve, m'lord. I understand she's to be your dinner partner this evening."

He narrowed his eyes at Gordon. "You wouldn't!"

Gordon looked offended. "No, I would not, m'lord. But apparently, others would." His expression sobered. "Apparently, some of the women on the committee think it's high time you wed. They worry you are lonely."

"I am not lonely." Ah, well, there were times when he craved the sound of a woman's soft voice, or the feel of a woman's soft body in his bed. But what man surrounded by other men wouldn't feel those things? That didn't mean he was ready to settle down -- not with earnest Miss Simms, and certainly not with prim and proper Lady Cecily.

# # #

"Madame LeFleur, what exactly is it that you do, with these men who come to your salon?" Cecily addressed the woman who sat next to her on the hard bunk in Fairweather's city jail. Fifi and Cherie, whom she now suspected were no relation at all to their traveling companion, perched on the edge of the bunk across from them like two brightly colored, disgruntled birds. Though it was warmer within the jail, out of the wind, the women had not removed their wraps, as if to avoid any more contact than necessary with the iron-walled cell and its grim furnishings. Cecily was doing her best to keep from staring at the white porcelain chamber pot situated against the back wall. She had never seen such a personal item sitting out in plain view. Compared with that affront to her modesty, Madame's description of the 'gentleman's salon' she intended to open in Fairweather seemed almost tame.

"Why, we provide entertainment for the clientele of our salon," Madame said. "Estelle," She nodded toward the ruby-haired beauty across from them, "is an accomplished chanteuse. Fifi," She indicated the bosomy blond, "always commands an audience for her recitations."

Estelle and Fifi smiled demurely. Cecily leaned closer to Madame and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Yes, but is that all you do?" she asked. She felt a blush burn its way up her neck and across her cheeks as she spoke, but curiosity burned hotter within her. How was she to become a woman of the world if she did not take every opportunity to learn?

"Oh, you are tres curieux, non?" Madame patted Cecily's arm. "Perhaps you are wanting to please this handsome fiance of yours come your wedding night."

Estelle and Fifi tittered. Madame silenced them with a stern look. "I say it is commendable that you want to know. Of course, if more young women were like you, my girls and I would have much less business."

Cecily's face burned, and she wished the floor would open up to swallow her. "Oh my goodness, Madame, I never. . . "

"There, there, mon cher," Madame reassured her. "If you will come to see me in private when we are free of this wretched place, I will be happy to share with you the knowledge you seek." "But the sheriff said he would not allow you to open your salon in Fairweather," Cecily said.

Madame gave an elegant shrug. "The sheriff does not control the land outside of town. We will find a place somewhere close by to open our salon. The men will find us no matter where we are." She reached into the sleeve of her gown and extracted a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "Take this," she said, urging the handkerchief on Cecily. "It will help to take away the stink of this place."

Grateful, Cecily raised the bit of lace and dimity to her nose. The fragrance of rose petals replaced the cesspool stench of the cell. "Madame, you have been so kind," she said. She smoothed the handkerchief in her lap and avoided the older woman's eyes. "I'm sure you will think me terribly forward, but how can a woman such as yourself, a woman of obvious refinement, I mean, what led you. . . how can you. . .? "

"How can I sell my body for the pleasure of strangers?" Madame's eyes were soft with sympathy at Cecily's startled expression. "You are shocked that I would speak so frankly, non? I do not mean to offend, dear lady. And I do not mind answering your question." She stared out across the cell, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "I was once a lady, much like yourself. Yes, I see that you have led a very proper and sheltered life. I was like you.

"And then one day, in France, I met a handsome nobleman. He was much older than I, so very rich and so very handsome. I could not help myself. I fell in love, and allowed him to seduce me. Only later, when it was too late, I discovered the man I loved was already married to another." She sighed. "So you see, already ruined, I had no path open to me but to become another man's mistress. Unsatisfied with that arrangement, I decided to come to America, to go into business for myself."

"How terrible for you," Cecily murmured.

Madame smiled sadly. "I have accepted my fate. And I do not find it so terrible now. These two," She indicated Fifi and Estelle. "These two were never ladies. When I found them, working the streets, they knew nothing, they had nothing. I have taken them and taught them everything."

Cecily had noticed, when it came time for the Sheriff to issue a receipt to each of them for their personal belongings, the two younger women had marked a simple X in the ledger in the space for their name. She leaned toward them, curiosity once again overwhelming her manners. "Do. . . do you enjoy your. . . your work?" she asked. "I mean, have you ever thought of doing something else?"

"It's not as if there are lots of jobs available for women," Estelle said. She pulled her shawl more closely around her, a bored expression on her face. "To my way of thinking, I've got the best one available for a woman without an education."

Fifi giggled. "Why would I want to stand on my feet all day, clerking in a store, or teaching letters to a bunch of brats?" She eyed Cecily over the top of her fan. "Of course, not all of us have a handsome Lord waiting to sweep us off our feet."

Madame gave Fifi a sharp look, then turned to Cecily. "Tell me, mon cher, is your fiancé, Lord Silsbee, expecting you soon? I only ask because he was not here to meet your train."

Cecily ducked her head and concentrated on making neat pleats in the handkerchief. "I . . . I'd intended to surprise him."

"You came all this long way to surprise him?" Cecily heard the doubt in Madame LeFleur's voice.

"Yes, well, he wrote me a letter, you see. And in the letter he sounded. . . unsure . . . of whether he still wanted to marry me."

"Ahh, and you decided to come and settle his mind once and for all." Madame leaned toward her. "You are right not to let a man retreat from his obligations too readily. But I am surprised your family would agree to let you come so far unaccompanied, especially when the outcome of your journey is still uncertain."

Cecily shifted on the hard cot. "Yes, well, my parents did not actually see Charles' letter. I thought it best not to worry them. I had money of my own for the fare. And I did not come entirely alone. I brought my ladies' maid and a footman with me. Once we were aboard ship, I sent my parents a letter, telling them not to worry."

She lifted her head and found all three women staring at her, amazed expressions on their faces. She sat up very straight. "I am, after all, four and twenty," she said. "It's not as if I were a girl barely out of nursery."

Madame LeFleur burst out laughing. "So you are, so you are," she said, patting her arm. "And I would venture to say you will succeed on your mission here. Your Lord Silsbee will be overcome by your beauty and your determination."

Cecily blushed at the compliment. In spite of Madame LeFleur's scandalous occupation, Cecily liked her. She was even beginning to think of her as a friend. Madame appreciated Cecily for herself, not because of who her father was, or because of the parties her mother gave.

She only hoped Madame was right about Charles. Would he welcome her with open arms, or send her home in disgrace?

Copyright ©Cynthia Sterling

DESIGNED BY
MANN CREATIVE GROUP