“Opal!” Duncan commanded and, meekly, she went back to her seat to continue sobbing. “Houston, I’m going to address you as I would a man. I couldn’t care less if the man’d never had a bath in his life. That doesn’t bother me. He can certainly afford a bathtub. But there are things . . . ” He gave her a hard look. “There are stories, among the men, that Taggert has had a couple of men killed in order to make his fortune.”
“Killed?” Houston whispered. “Where did you hear that?”
“It doesn’t matter where—.”
“It does matter!” she snapped. “Don’t you see? The women of this town were angry because he ignored them, so they made up stories about him. Why would the men be any different? Leander told me of several men in town who tried to sell Mr. Taggert things such as worn-out gold mines. Perhaps one of them began the rumors.”
“What I heard comes from a very reliable source,” Duncan said darkly.
Houston was quiet for a moment. “Jacob Fenton,” she said softly and saw by the expression on Duncan’s square face that she was right. “From the gossip I’ve heard,” Houston continued, “Mr. Taggert dared to make advances to Jacob Fenton’s precious daughter Pamela. When I was a girl, I remember people whispering about the disgraceful way Mr. Fenton spoiled her. Of course he’d hate a man who’d once been his stable boy and who had the audacity to want to marry his spoiled daughter.”
“Are you saying Fenton’s a liar?” Duncan accused. “Are you choosing this newcomer over a family you’ve known all your life?”
“If I do marry Kane Taggert—and I mean if—yes, I will believe in him over the Fentons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I suddenly feel very tired and I think I’ll lie down.”
She swept out of the room with more grace than she actually felt and, once in her room, she collapsed onto the bed.
Marry Kane Taggert? she thought. Marry a man who talked and acted worse than any River Street ruffian? Marry a man who treated her without respect, one who hauled her in and out of carriages as if she were a sack of potatoes? Marry a man who kissed her as if she were a scullery maid?
She sat upright. “Marry a man who, as Blair says, when he kisses me makes me see red with little sparks of gold and silver?” she said aloud.
“I just might,” she whispered, leaned back against the bed, and for the first time began to consider becoming Mrs. Kane Taggert.
Chapter 6
By morning Houston had convinced herself that she couldn’t possibly, under any circumstances, marry Mr. Taggert. Her mother’d sniffed throughout breakfast and cried repeatedly, “My beautiful daughters, what will become of them?” while Blair and Duncan’d argued about how Blair’d ruined Houston’s life. Houston wasn’t sure it was an argument, since they seemed to be agreeing with one another.
Houston entered the discussion when it was said that Kane Taggert was her means of punishing herself for losing Leander. But no one seemed to hear what Houston said, and nothing made any difference to Blair’s misery, so Houston stopped listening to them. But being the cause of so much weeping made her decide she couldn’t marry Mr. Taggert.
Immediately after breakfast, people began “dropping by.”
“I was just starting to bake an apple pie and knew how much you liked them, Opal, so I baked two and brought you one. How are the twins?”
By midmorning, the house was full of food and people. Mr. Gates stayed in his brewery office, having one of the maids bring him his lunch, so Houston, Blair and Opal had to fend off the questions by themselves.
“Did you really fall in love with Mr. Taggert, Houston?”
“Have another piece of pie, Mrs. Treesdale,” Houston answered.
At eleven, Blair managed to slip away, leaving Opal and Houston alone to cope, and Blair didn’t return until three o’clock. “Are they still here?” she gasped, looking at the crowd on the lawn.
At three thirty, a man pulled up in front of the Chandler house driving a beautiful carriage such as no one in Chandler had ever seen. It was painted white, with white wheels, a cream-colored collapsible hood on top with shiny brass detailing. There was a seat in front upholstered in red leather and a smaller seat in back for an attendant.
The group of people on the lawn, on the deep porch, and spilling into the garden, stopped their questions and gawked.
A man, crudely dressed, stepped down and walked straight into the midst of the people. “Who’s Miss Houston Chandler?” he asked into the silence.
“I am,” Houston said, stepping forward.
The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and began to read. “This here carriage is from the man you’re gonna marry, Mr. Kane Taggert. It’s a lady’s drivin’ carriage, a spider phaeton, and the horse is a good ’un.”
He folded the paper, put it back into his pocket and turned away. “Oh yeah.” He turned back. “Mr. Taggert sent you this, too.” He tossed a small parcel wrapped in brown paper toward Houston and she caught it.
The man went down the path, whistling. Everyone watched him until he was out of sight around a corner.
“Well, Houston,” Tia said, “aren’t you going to open your gift?”
Houston wasn’t sure she should open the package because she knew what she’d find inside, and if she accepted his ring, it would mean she accepted him.