Chapter Nine
BEFORE THE SOUND OF THE slap died, Cal Barton had erupted out of his chair with smooth grace and Nora’s father was lying flat on his back on the floor.
“You son of a—” Cal bit off the rest. He stood over the older man, his big fists closed and waiting at his sides, looking every bit as dangerous as the desperado Cynthia had first mistaken him for. “You touch her again and I’ll break your damned neck!” He didn’t even raise his voice, but the threat in it was blatant. His posture alone was intimidating. Added to the cold menace of his pale eyes and the authority with which he spoke, even Summerville took a step back.
Marlowe sat up slowly, incredulous, holding his cheek where his muttonchop sideburns stuck out. The man standing over him looked capable of any sort of violence with that low-slung gun belt. But he wasn’t threatening to use the gun. He seemed not to be aware of it. Marlowe struggled with a niggling respect for the man, despite his sore jaw. Not that he regretted his action; Nora had deserved that blow, he thought with remaining outrage at her scandalous behavior. The whole family would be disgraced because of her! He would never be able to face his social equals, and lurid tales of her would be told at local clubs. The thought was insupportable!
Nora’s eyes brightened as she nursed her sore cheek. At least Cal cared enough not to let her be manhandled. That was something. And it didn’t offend her one bit to see her overbearing father sitting on the floor with that flabbergasted look on his face. Imagine, hitting a pregnant woman!
“The child is mine,” Edward Summerville announced loudly. “I am willing to marry Nora, to make it legitimate.” He moved a little farther away from Cal as he spoke. The man looked vicious.
Cal glanced at Eleanor, and what he saw in her face contradicted all the things he’d thought up until now. She might have been away with Summerville, he might have wanted to have an affair with her. But that briefly noticeable light in her eyes was unmistakable. Despite everything, she loved Cal Barton. And feeling that way, she was hardly likely to climb into another man’s arms. He knew it, deep inside himself, regardless of Summerville’s claims.
“No,” Cal said quietly. He never took his eyes from Nora’s. “The child is mine. And Eleanor will marry me, as soon as I can arrange it.”
Eleanor’s eyes softened as she searched his.
Her father was outraged again. “My child, marry a common cowboy?” Mr. Marlowe burst out. “Why, I won’t have it!”
“What will you have?” Cal asked coldly. “This dandy as a son-in-law?” He jerked his thumb toward Summerville. Summerville bristled, but he wasn’t quite brave enough for a comeback. The man was wearing a big pistol, after all, and he was no fool. Summerville had no wish to join Mr. Marlowe on the floor.
“Edward has no income,” Nora added. “He told me that his father has gambled away his fortune. He had in mind marrying me to regain it through you, Father,” she said brutally. “The child is not his. I would never allow such repulsive hands to touch me!”
Edward colored. He glared at Nora. “You would marry this beggar? A man who dresses like a tramp on the streets, who does not even know to clean his shoes before he enters a decent home?” he taunted. He moved back another step, just in case. The cowboy looked vaguely murderous. “And where will you live, Eleanor, in a tiny shack? You will have to cook and clean. You will have no servants, no money.”
Nora’s face had gone a shade paler, but she didn’t say a word. She just sat stiffly on the edge of the dark blue velvet-covered sofa, staring into space, unmovable. She had thought of those same things, but she really had no options left. Cal did believe her. That was all that mattered just now.
Cal watched her expression closely. The child might be his. She might even love him. But she was still high society, and it was all too obvious that she didn’t think he was good enough for her. She wasn’t alone. Her parents were looking horrified as well. He smiled coldly. Well, Miss Eleanor Marlowe could marry him and come back to Texas, but not to the wealth of Latigo, the family ranch near El Paso. Oh, no, there would not be that elegant, monied setting for Miss Marlowe of Richmond. She could come and live with him in the foreman’s cabin on the Tremayne ranch and learn how to become a human being and stop looking down her nose at people she considered to be her inferiors. If he had to be robbed of his freedom because of their mistake, she would have to give up her life of luxury. It would be an even trade.
He was taken back to his own childhood as he stared at the older man, remembering one brief setback in his wealthy life when his father had very nearly lost everything. The family had been, just briefly, poor. A wealthy family in El Paso, the Tarletons, had been puppy-friendly while the Culhanes were powerful. But that attitude had changed abruptly when they were approached for a loan by a stiff-necked Brant Culhane when his fortunes sagged. Their attitude, though rare for El Paso, had left a deep scar on Cal’s young emotions. The youngest Tarleton boy had been friends with King and Cal. But soon after the financial blow suffered by the Culhanes, he told them that he had no desire to play with poor children. He made fun of the boys at school and generally made their lives miserable for the two years it had taken Brant to recoup his losses and regain his wealth.
Even now, remembering the taunts and gibes made Cal bristle. He had taken them to heart even more than King. When the Culhanes were wealthy again as the cattle market improved, the Tarletons found themselves the outsiders at local social gatherings. They were never again invited to Latigo. The youngest Tarleton boy was automatically excluded from any of the boys’ parties. But it was little recompense for the humiliation the Culhane boys had suffered at his hands.
While Cal was reminiscing silently, Nora’s father got to his feet at last. He glared at Cal, but he walked well around him. “I shall not countenance such a marriage,” he said curtly. “If you marry this ruffian, I wash my hands of you forever!”
“Oh, no, my dear, you can’t,” Cynthia wailed, finding her voice all too late. She had paled and started forward when he struck Nora, but she was much too intimidated by her husband to protest anything he did very strongly. She always had been.
“I can, and I shall,” her father said uncompromisingly. He looked at Cal with cold eyes. “I shall not allow my daughter to marry so far beneath her. She will marry a man of our own class and social level.”
Cal lifted an eyebrow at Nora. “So that’s where you learned it,” he murmured. He looked at her father. “It seems to me that it’s a little late to be so choosy. In another month or so, her condition is going to be very noticeable indeed. In fact,” he mused, noticing the faint thickening of her waistline, “it’s beginning to show already.” He found it amazing that he should feel a skirl of pride at the sight of her belly.
Nora gasped and covered her waist, while her father’s hands clenched at his sides.
Edward surveyed the general area and shrugged. He put on his hat carefully. “Well, I wish you joy,” he told Nora with a venomous smile. “When you tire of living like a slave, I might give you a second chance, Eleanor. If you are still…able to marry again.”
That was a veiled reference to the fever, and Nora paled. Despite the doctor’s reassurance, she had no real optimism about the future. She was afraid not only for herself, but for her baby.
“Someday God will pay you back for your part in my suffering, Edward,” she said in a whisper. “I promise you. Cruelty finds its own punishment, eventually.”
Edward only laughed, until he noticed the movement Cal made. He moved quickly toward the door. “I must be about my business. Good day.”
When he was gone, only the four of them remained.
“I have…had Mary make coffee,” Cynthia began.
Her husband’s face was flushed, and the cheek that Cal’s fist had found was very red. He turned to his daughter and looked at her with icy contempt. “Get your bags packed and get out of my house, you hussy,” he told Nora. “You will never receive another penny of support from me. You can turn to your…lover for that. And for whatever else you need. Never come here again. You have disgraced me!”
He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Cynthia was in tears. “Oh, Nora, how could you do this to us?” she asked miserably. “We tried to raise you to be a good girl, you were brought up in a Christian manner….”
Cal had had enough. Having seen her home life, he understood Nora much better, although Summerville’s veiled references still puzzled him, as did Nora’s parting remark to the man. He would have to ask her what that was all about, when he had the chance. Right now, getting her out of this hellhole was most imperative. She looked sick.
“Get your things and let’s go, Nora,” Cal told her gently, helping her up from the sofa. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more protective, or possessive, of anyone.
Nora didn’t argue. She went past her mother, sick at heart and trembling all over. Fortunately most of her bags were still packed from her trip overseas, and all Albert had to do was take them out onto the street where Cal obtained a carriage. She left behind the things that were unpacked, without regret.
Cynthia walked out with them. “Oh, Nora, how could you!” she wailed. “How could you shame us so, after all your father and I have done for you! How ungrateful you are!”
Nora looked at the older woman as if she had never seen her before. She was being made to feel like a condemned prisoner, without friend or solace in all the world. She lifted her chin proudly.
“You never defended me,” she accused. “All my life, anything he chose for punishment met with your approval. Even this,” she added, holding her red cheek.
Cynthia wrinkled her handkerchief. “He is my husband,” she said miserably. “It is my lot in life to do as he wishes. Besides, Nora, he is right, you know—you have ruined us.”
Nora bristled. “And it is your social status, and Father’s, which matters most to you, is it not?” she asked quietly. “My condition and that of my child does not concern either of you. I am outcast, discarded because I might cause embarrassment. I tell you that no daughter of mine would ever suffer such a fate in a similar condition, not if I were hanged from the nearest oak limb for defending her!”
Cynthia paled and clutched her handkerchief. “Oh, my dear, you do not understand. Your father’s business, his wealth—”
“It says in the Bible that it hardly profits a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul, doesn’t it?” Nora asked. She watched the flush run over her mother’s delicate features before she turned and was helped into the buggy by Cal, who had never been prouder of her.
He took the reins in hand with a cold, speaking glance at her mother. “One day,” he said very quietly, “you will have much cause to regret your actions. And so will your husband.” He nodded politely to her mother, without speaking, and started the horse moving. He was thinking ahead, to the time when Nora would know the truth, and so would her family. They might be well-to-do, but their finances were a pittance in comparison with the Culhanes’.
“Don’t let her see you break down,” he said quietly when her voice broke on a sob. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” He glanced at her red-eyed face. “And you’ll need them, where you’re going.”
She didn’t reply. She wiped her tears and composed herself. Even when they were well down the street, Nora didn’t look back. That part of her life was over. Somehow she would have to learn to live in a world drastically different from her pampered one.
THEY WERE AT THE TRAIN DEPOT before she spoke. On the way, she had begun to think about Cal and what she must have cost him by pleading with him to come all this long way. Besides that, there was the position she’d placed him in, surely an uncomfortable one. He didn’t want to marry her. He had rescued her, after a fashion, but she could hardly ask him for anything more. She would have to learn to take care of herself. Was that not what being a modern woman was all about? Perhaps she could be what she had dreamed of being, despite her condition and her infirmity, if she only had the courage to defy convention and fly in the face of gossip.
“I have been a great expense to you,” she said in a drained, ghostly voice. “But I have a little money saved. I can pay for your train ticket at least.” She fought tears as she took a steadying breath. “I only needed your help to escape being forced into marriage with Edward. I will be fine. I can go to New York and find some sort of job there.”
Cal studied her profile quietly. “The child is mine.”
It was a question. Her head inclined, still without turning. “That is true,” she said. “But I don’t hold you entirely responsible. The fault was mine as well. You don’t have to sacrifice your freedom.”
He sat back in the carriage and fingered the reins, staring ahead blankly. He hadn’t planned to marry and have a family, not for a long time, if ever. This development was interfering with all his dreams. But how could he desert her now? He felt violent anger at the memory of the things her father had said to her, at the way he had hit her. How dare the man treat his only child in such a vile way? It infuriated him.
“If you could help me get my bags on the train…?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her. “The only train you’re getting on is mine. We’ll be married along the way, so that we won’t shame your kinfolk by announcing your condition to a local minister.”
She closed her eyes on a wave of shame. She hadn’t thought of that aspect of it. She would be rejoining her aunt and uncle, but in a vastly different manner. Instead of a welcome guest, she would be little more than a servant. Her pride stung bitterly at the thought. “It’s not necessary,” she began, looking for a way out.
“The child should be our primary concern, not our own welfare,” he reminded her bluntly. “It didn’t ask to be created.”
She flushed, remembering that frenzy of creation that had occurred. “You don’t want me.”
“I don’t want a wife,” he said stiffly. “But I’m not so dishonorable that I can leave you to the mercy of strangers. Come.”
She followed him to the platform, standing back while he bought tickets. Her eyes lingered on his tall, broad-shouldered form warmly, loving the strength and size and authority of him. He had an air of command about him, something she decided that he had acquired while serving his country during the Spanish-American War of ’98. But it was more than that, too. He spoke with such authority, as if he were used to people jumping when he made demands. And he hadn’t hesitated to strike her father when he attacked her. Amazing, that he had no fear of a rich man. It delighted her that he was so fearless. She knew him in a physical way, but actually she knew nothing about him.
He turned, tickets in hand, and escorted her to a seat inside the depot on the smooth wooden benches with their curved backs and arms. She ran her hand over the wood while she sat, waiting.
“Would you care for a soda or some tea?” he asked politely.
She smiled impishly and didn’t look up. “Actually, I think a neat whiskey would be more in line with the way I feel, except that I have never tasted spirits in my life.”
He sat down beside her, the gun thudding as it brushed the seat. He moved it carefully and leaned toward her. “Are you all right, Eleanor?” he asked gently.
Surprised, she lifted her eyes to his, tingling as she met them at closer range than she’d expected. She laughed a little nervously. “Of course. Thank you for coming—for defending me.” Her thin shoulders lifted and fell as she rested her hands in her lap. “I would have fought my own battle, had I not been so ill from the return trip.”
“You would not have been up to your father’s weight, I fear,” he said, glowering as he remembered her cheek. He touched it, lightly. “Does it still hurt?”
“It is only sore.”
“That was unforgivable,” he said tautly, stroking the soft flesh. He watched her lips part, heard her breathing quicken, and he smiled as she tried to hide the reaction he provoked. “Is this a common thing for him to do, Eleanor?” he added.
“No,” she said. “He used to use a cane on me, when I was younger, but he was never brutal,” she added quickly.
He looked shocked. “A cane!”
She shifted. “Why, yes. Isn’t it the usual thing for a child to be struck for infractions?”
His jaw tautened and his pale eyes narrowed in anger. “Not a girl child,” he said roughly. “It is outrageous!”
She smiled. “He has not done it for many years. Now he only swells up in the face and blusters at me, as a rule. He cares, in his own way. So does my mother.” She remembered their horror at her condition and their censure, and tears stung her eyes. She turned her face away to hide them.
“You were never allowed to play with dirty children, were you?” he asked suddenly.
“With those of the lower classes? Of course not,” she said at once, and watched the light go out of his face. She grimaced. “I am sorry. That was rude.”
He looked away. She had a long way to go, he thought irritably, and it was going to be a difficult road for both of them. “How about that tea?”
“That would be lovely. Is there a tea shop close by?”
“Yes. And something even better,” he added, as his sharp eyes spotted a sign hanging over a doorway just down the street. “Come.”
They left the bags with the porter, since the train was not due for an hour—at least—and he escorted Nora down the long wooden sidewalk to a small house apart from the row of shops.
“Here?” she faltered, holding back.
He nodded solemnly. “Here. We might as well get it over with,” he added under his breath.
That comment hardly alleviated Nora’s own misery as Cal led her inside.
It didn’t take very long. The justice of the peace listened to Cal’s tale of woe about the two of them having to go all the way to Texas under a cloud of scandal since they weren’t married and wanted to be. Nora’s reputation would be ruined. He mentioned nothing about her condition, but went on and on, until the justice of the peace’s little wife was in tears.
“Why, of course, I shall marry you at once!” the small, elderly man said, and his wife patted Nora’s shoulder comfortingly. “Step right in here, Mr. Barton, and we shall fill out the necessary papers.”
Cal hesitated. He was going to have to do some fancy talking here, for sure. He couldn’t marry under an assumed name, but he had no intention of letting Nora know his surname. He and the justice of the peace filled out the papers, but Nora signed before Cal’s last name was added. Cal made sure that he had the license, not her, so there was no chance that she might see her true married name.
The ceremony was very brief, just the usual marriage service, and Nora stood beside Cal—who had taken off his gun for the occasion—in a miserable silence while the words were spoken. She had always envisioned a huge society wedding with all the right people attending, and herself gowned by Worth with a spray of white roses in her hand. Here she stood with a single yellow chrysanthemum, which was the only live flower the little woman could procure for her. She was wearing her oldest gray dress, not even a white one, and had not hat or veil because she hadn’t time to search for the hat that matched this garment. In fact, the dress was already too tight in the waist; if it hadn’t been a little big and belted to fit in the past, she wouldn’t even have been able to wear it. She was pregnant, and the man at her side didn’t want her. She felt as if she were being sold into slavery, and it was her own fault. She wanted to bawl.
And she did, when the justice of the peace declared them man and wife. She didn’t even have a wedding band. Nor had Cal moved one step nearer when the little man invited Cal to kiss her.
Cal looked down at his reluctant bride and saw the tears rolling past her mouth. His teeth clenched. He produced a handkerchief and slowly dried the tears.
“I didn’t even have a proper dress, whether or not I deserved it,” she whispered miserably, “and no bridesmaids or a bouquet or a minister…”
Cal’s face froze. “Well, you have a husband, at least,” he said sharply. “A woman in your condition should be glad of one!”
She gnawed almost through her lower lip and couldn’t look up. He was furious. She felt the anger as a tangible thing.
“There, there,” the justice of the peace comforted her, “it’s a very emotional moment, isn’t it?”
Cal said nothing. Her hasty words had made him aware once more of her condescending attitude toward him. Had he not precipitated this crisis by seducing her, he felt certain that she would never have married him. She would have been counting his money and checking the social register before she agreed to consider it.
Summerville was much more her sort. But she found the man repulsive, didn’t she? And, too, there was the matter of those veiled remarks she had made about the man. He glanced at her as she stood talking to the minister’s little wife, his eyes narrowing on her slender body. She was pretty and elegant, but except for that afternoon in the line cabin, he had thought her oddly cold. She had been a surprise and a delight to him, with her unexpected complexities. He remembered so vividly the way she had comforted him when he returned from the devastation of Galveston. But he also remembered her attitude toward his work and his clothes. She had been taught to be a snob. He wondered if she could be untaught.
His parents would never understand this lightning marriage. They would have to be told, and his mother would be outraged that her son had ruined a decent woman and had to marry her to save her reputation. She would be good for a fifteen-minute tirade when he finally went home. And as he looked at Nora’s shattered face, he wondered how she was going to react to the news that she’d married a very wealthy man.
He would have to tell her eventually. But not right away. He couldn’t risk letting the cat out of the bag until he finished gently guiding her uncle into more modern methods of cattle production. There were still a few details he had to work out with Chester. Then Miss Eleanor Marlowe—no, Mrs. Eleanor Culhane if she did but know it—was in for a few surprises.
He took her to the small tea shop and ordered sandwiches as well.
“I could not eat a thing,” she said wearily.
“But you will, Mrs. Barton,” he replied. “I want a healthy son.”
She flushed and glared at him. “Have you told God yet?”
He chuckled at her unexpected fire. “Not yet,” he admitted. His pale eyes narrowed on her thin face. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you?” he asked with quiet sympathy. “The trip overseas must have been an ordeal, coming and going. And I gather that Summerville was present all the time?”
She shook her head as she stirred the tea in the china cup with a distinctive Rogers silver spoon. “He found out from my parents that I was in London and followed me there. His family was friendly with my relatives, the Randolphs, who invited him to stay.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I detest him. Was it Melly who told you about Africa and what happened there?”
He scowled. “No. What about Africa?”
Her hand stilled. “But you said that you knew about Edward.”
“I knew that he was in Europe with you,” he said flatly.
That put a different complexion on things. She didn’t know what to say now. It was easy enough to tell him, but why put that burden on him, along with the others? Why inflict a worse ordeal than he already had to endure by informing him that he had married an invalid? His poor fortunes were worsening, because now he would have to support her. If she became ill, what then? How would he work and care for her? He was a proud man. It would devastate him. She stifled a sob as she realized the misery she had caused everyone by not being strong enough to refuse him in the cabin that day.
“Are you thinking about the wealth you gave up to marry me and regretting your hasty decision?” he asked when he heard the small sound and misinterpreted it. “Summerville might take you yet.”
“You are my husband now,” she began.
“And divorce is as unwelcome a prospect as unwed motherhood to you and your family, of course,” he said curtly.
“Oh, you infuriate me,” she retorted with a cold glare. She sipped her tea, enjoying its warmth. “I was looking forward to a grand party at Thanksgiving with my family and friends at our home, and now I shall eat beef in a cabin instead!” she said with deliberate hauteur, striking back at him where she sensed it would hurt most.
“Not beef, my dear,” he informed her blandly. “Turkey. Wild turkey. I trust you can cook. I have no culinary skills.”
“Cook?”
The look on her face brought a smile to his. “And clean,” he added. “And wash and iron and the other things that Texas wives do so cheerfully and with such pride.”
“My aunt…!” she began.
“Your aunt is now your social superior, or hadn’t you remembered that you are the wife of her husband’s foreman?” he said with deliberate sarcasm. “Imagine that, Mrs. Barton. Far from eating on delicate china, you may well find yourself working in the big house, washing it.” He leaned forward. “And as to the turkey, not only shall you have to cook it, my dear. First you shall have to catch it, and kill it, and clean it!”